"Gray, Julia - Guardian 01 - The Dark Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gray Julia)

'Do you mind if I cross your field then?'
'Not if you clear off afterwards,' the man said gruffly. 'And don't come back. I've got enough troubles with my beasts without you bothering them.'
'Thank you.'
The farmer turned away without another word and stomped off after the herd, which was heading towards a gate at the edge of the woods. Terrel followed at a distance. By the time he reached the far side of the meadow and had spotted the path to the village, the animals had gone through the gate and turned in the opposite direction, obviously following a well-established routine. They were now trudging into a steep-sided gully between two boulder-strewn hills. As he ushered them onwards, the farmer abandoned his earlier cries of encouragement and spoke in an easy, conversational tone.
'Quiet now, girls,' he told the herd. 'We don't want to wake up Old Runeshanks, do we.'
Terrel watched them until they were out of sight, wondering who or what Old Runeshanks was, then turned and plodded on his way.
Terrel had lost track of how many days had passed since his escape. All he knew was that he couldn't go on as he was for very much longer. Unless his fortunes changed, he would soon become too weak to look after himself - and then it would only be a matter of time before he starved to death. There had already been times when he'd been tempted to give up, to lie down in a ditch somewhere and go to sleep, hoping never to wake up again. The only reason he had not done so was his promise to Alyssa.
From the moment he had found himself in the freedom of the world outside the haven, the boy had been torn. He had wanted to stay as close to his former home as possible, in the forlorn hope of getting news of Alyssa -and of eventually returning to her - but the dangers of doing this were obvious. Terrel had no idea whether Aylor would decide to pursue him in open country, but even if he did not, the problem of his tattoo being noticed - or of his being recognized as a fugitive - was much greater in and around the villages at the edge of the moorland. And so, reluctantly, he had begun to wander further afield.
It was not long before he realized that although his earlier life had been restricted, it had been simple in many ways, and surprisingly protected. He had been sheltered by the very routines that confined him, with a roof over his head, a bed to sleep on, food on a regular basis, and the company of friends. He had none of those things now.
From the outset he had been forced to beg or steal food, and each time he succeeded - whether through a rare act of kindness or because of his own dishonest stealth - he felt guilty and ashamed. He was not a natural thief, having an instinctive knowledge of right and wrong, and most of the people he encountered were themselves poor and could hardly afford to share their meagre provisions. It was true many of them treated him horribly, and that the insults and threats his appearance often provoked were hurtful, but in Terrel's mind that did not give him the right to rob them. He only did so out of desperation. If no one was willing to give him the chance to earn some sustenance lawfully, what else could he do? He knew almost nothing of scavenging for food in the wild, and was as likely to poison himself as satisfy his hunger that way.
He had slept in the open on many occasions - thankful for the relative warmth of summer - as well as in barns or outhouses whenever he could sneak into them undetected. On one occasion he had even stayed overnight in a cave he'd stumbled upon late one evening. He'd left in a hurry the following morning when he had seen that the floor was littered with bones. He had no wish to meet the hunter whose lair he had usurped.
This comfortless way of living had done nothing for Terrel's physical well-being, and he often woke to find himself bruised and stiff from another cramped night. But this was not the worst aspect of the hours of darkness. His dreams were often horrific and exhausting, so that he hardly seemed to get any rest at all. And even when he could not interpret their elusive images - or could remember only part of the disturbing visions - he inevitably linked them to recent events, and tortured himself with his waking thoughts and feelings.
Foremost among these was the corrosive regret that was eating him up from inside. His own actions at the haven -insisting on the visit to the observatory, and then forcing Elam to go with him to Alyssa's window - had led to his friend's death and his own self-imposed exile, and thus his enforced separation from Alyssa. His memories were made even more bitter by the fact that the entire expedition had been to no purpose. He would probably never even get the chance to read Muzeni's journals now, and his presence outside Alyssa's cell had achieved nothing. He still clung to the obstinate belief that she would somehow survive her ordeal, but when he thought about it rationally, he knew that her situation was terrible, especially as Havenmoon was in such turmoil. He had even less justification for his fervent belief that he would see her again one day.
Terrel also knew that trouble was brewing in the outside world, and this made his own prospects that much less promising. It was clear that great events were taking place, and that they were beyond the control - and the understanding - of ordinary men.
He was still in the process of learning just how large and how amazing the world was. Two days ago he had caught his first glimpse of a distant mountain range, and had stared at it in awe. The first time he had seen a large river he had been similarly amazed - and the first town he had come to had left him breathless and afraid. How could there be so many people, in such a small place? No amount of reading could have prepared him for such sights, and every day brought new wonders - and new terrors. Through it all his predominant emotions were bewilderment and fear, but there had been a few moments of exhilaration too, when he realized that all of Vadanis had been opened up to him. Whether it would ever offer him anything other than his current miserable existence remained to be seen.
Now, as he limped along the woodland path and saw a clearing where several trees had been felled, his thoughts returned to the morning of his escape.
It had still been dark when he had crept into the stable yard, but he had been able to see that Jon's cart was there, piled with corded wood, just as Ahmeza had said it would be. There did not seem to be any sentries on duty - or if there were they must have found a comfortable place to sleep away their watch - so Terrel moved fast, knowing that he did not have much time. Climbing up on to the cart, he began to clear a space in the centre of the pile of wood, placing bundles round the sides so that they built 'walls' around him. Then he climbed down into the hole he had created and began to cover himself over, starting with his legs. It was a painful and awkward process, and he had to dislodge the last few bundles and let them fall on top of him. When he had finished, the boy was lying inside a wooden tomb. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and he was not even sure that he could not be seen from outside. There was nothing he could do about that now - and it was only at this point that he had felt the finality and the anguish of leaving Alyssa behind. He wept silently for all the losses he had suffered, then composed himself to wait, motionless in spite of his discomfort and the cold embrace of his wet clothes.
Light came slowly, revealing a few small gaps in the wooden framework around him, but no one seemed to notice anything untoward. Terrel heard voices, including Jon's, and, shortly afterwards, he felt a gentle rocking as the ponies were harnessed to the shafts. Then they moved off, jolting and swaying over the yard and then along the rutted path towards the gate. This part of the journey seemed endless, and at one point the wood shifted around him, digging into his chest and arms and making him think it might fall and expose his hiding place, but Jon continued on his way. Eventually the cook's brother halted the ponies and exchanged greetings with the gatekeeper - who sounded bored and sleepy - while Terrel held his breath. Moments later he heard the sound of the iron-clad gates creaking open and felt the cart begin to move forward again.
Even though he couldn't see anything, Terrel knew that - for the first time in fourteen years - he was outside the walls of the estate. He could hardly believe it. Excitement made his heart race, but he remained hidden, knowing that staying on the cart was his best - perhaps his only - chance of crossing the moor. His thoughts turned to the end of the journey. The nearest village was Cotillo, which was where he assumed Jon lived, but he did not know what his reception would be there. Could he trust Jon? Ahmeza had helped him evade capture, but had she told her brother anything? Would it be better to try to break away before they reached the village?
In the end the decision was taken out of his hands. After about an hour of steady travelling, Jon spoke.
'You can come out now.'
Terrel froze, not sure whether the unexpected words had really been addressed to him.
'We're well out of sight of the haven, and no one's following us,' Jon added, reining in the ponies. 'You must be uncomfortable in there.'
A short while later, with Jon's help, Terrel had extricated himself from the wood pile and was sitting next to the driver as they continued on their journey. Jon had been taken aback by the sight of Terrel, but he recovered quickly enough.
'Did Ahmeza tell you I was going to try to come with you?' Terrel asked.
'No. She talked about you a bit, but she probably thought it best I didn't know your plans,' he replied. 'I knew they were searching for you, though, and when I saw that the wood had been disturbed, I put two and two together.'
'Why didn't you give me up?'
'And risk my sister's anger? No thank you! She's sharp enough when you're on her good side, and she liked you.'
Terrel took some time to digest this surprising news, and they rode in silence for a while. Before they reached the edge of the moor, Jon told the boy that he'd be better off not going all the way into Cotillo.
'There's some who don't think the way I do. And the way things are now, anyone with one of those . . .'He indicated Terrel's tattoo, '. . . isn't likely to get much of a welcome round here. You'd be better off heading west a way.'
Terrel nodded, seeing the sense of Jon's argument. He also knew that going into the village with Jon might get his rescuer into trouble, and he had no wish to see that happen. They parted company where the track divided, some distance north of Cotillo.
'Thank you,' Terrel said simply. 'Thank you.'
'Good luck,' Jon said, before he drove away. 'I hope you find what you're looking for.'
Terrel turned and began his journey into the unknown.
Since then Terrel had travelled a long way, without really knowing where he was going. But in one sense he was no further forward at all. He still had no idea what he was looking for.

Chapter Fifteen

When Terrel finally reached the village, he saw that it was little more than a hamlet, a scattering of single-storey wooden houses built at the crossing of two trails. From a distance it seemed almost deserted, but as he drew closer he could see several old people sitting in groups around their doorways, and a knot of small children playing at the far end of the main thoroughfare, watched over by a trio of women. There were no young men anywhere, and although Terrel wondered what had taken them from their homes, he also felt some relief at the thought that he was less likely to have to face any violence.
Mindful of the hostile reactions his appearance often provoked, he had already done what little he could to improve matters. He had washed his hands and face in a small stream, run wet fingers through his hair and brushed down his ragged clothes as best he could, before rubbing some dirt on to the back of his hand to mask the tattoo again. Now he simply walked into the village, squinting in part because the sun was strong, but also to minimize the effect the sight of his eyes might have on the inhabitants.
He meant to approach one of the groups outside the houses, hoping to receive some sort of welcome, however reluctant, from the village elders, but before he could reach them his attention was drawn to a notice nailed to a post at the central crossroads. He went up to it, aware that he was now being watched by several pairs of eyes, and saw that it was an official proclamation, issued in the name of the Governor of Saefir Province. He began to read, already reasonably certain of what it would be about, but was interrupted by a voice behind him.
'Can you read that, young man?'
Terrel turned round to see a man who was clearly very old but who held himself upright and with pride. Only his eyes, which were so clouded they were almost white, betrayed him. He was holding the hand of a small boy, who was presumably acting as his guide, and it was the child who reacted to the sight of Terrel's eyes. His gasp was accompanied by an expression of fear and horror, and the old man clearly sensed the boy's unease.
'What is it, Rico?'
'His eyes,' the child whispered.
'Are they worse than mine?' the old man asked, smiling.
'They're full of stars!'
'Really? Well, that's good, isn't it? The stars-'
'No! It's horrible,' the boy exclaimed. 'And his arm's all bent.'
'Rico!' the elder admonished. 'You mustn't say such things. It's wrong to judge a person by their appearance.' He turned back to Terrel, who had waited uncertainly throughout the exchange, and added, 'Please excuse my grandson. He's very young.'