"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 2 - When True Night Falls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

And he pulled back, hard, with the kind of strength that
only rage could conjure. Metal cut into the back of
Damien's neck as the decorative links strained to part,
drawing blood as they finally gave way. The Patriarch
pulled the heavy collar from him. "You are unfit for our
society." He threw the collar to the floor, and ground his
foot into the delicate metalwork. "If not for any human
society," he added venomously.

For a moment Damien just stared at the Patriarch,
unable to respond. Despair overwhelmed him, and a sense
of utter helplessness. What could he say now that would
make a difference? The Patriarch's authority was absolute.
Even the Holy Mother, Matriarch of the westlands, would
respect and honor such a dismissal. Which meant that he
was no longer a priest. Which meant in turn that he was . . .
nothing. Because he suddenly realized that he had no
identity that was not Church-born; there was no fragment
of his psyche that did not define itself according to the
Prophet's dream, the Prophet's hierarchy.

What could he do now? What could he be? The walls
seemed to be closing in around him; the air was hard to
breathe. Blood dripped from the wounds on his neck,
staining his white robe crimson as it seeped down about his
shoulders. It gathered in a stain that mimicked the spread of
his collar. Why had he worn it here, this emblem that he so
rarely donned? What had moved him to make such a
gesture? Usually he scorned such regalia . . .

Usually . . .

His thoughts were a whirlwind. He struggled to think
clearly.

It's wrong. Somehow. Wrong . . . He tried to remember
how this meeting had come about, but he couldn't. His past
was a void. His present was a sea of despair. He couldn't
focus.

How did I get here? Why did I come?

Things began to swim in his vision: the collar. The
Patriarch. The gleaming white robes he never wore. And
some fact that lay hidden among those things, something he
could sense but not define, . . .

It's wrong, he thought. All of it.

And the room began to fade. Slowly at first, like a