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

Terrel felt his face grow hot and knew, to his shame, that he was blushing furiously.
'I have a girlfriend,' he claimed defensively.
'In Betancuria?' the pedlar guessed.
'No.' Terrel thought of Alyssa lying in her cell, abandoned and alone, her spirit wandering. He longed to see her again, preferably in her own shape, but as an animal if necessary. He needed to talk to her, to tell her how he felt. Why wasn't she there? He was the one who had been abandoned now. And then the import of their most recent meeting came back to him in a rush, and all the terrible things he had learnt then left him sobered and afraid.
Babak watched the changes come over him with interest, wondering what secrets his apprentice was hiding.
'Ordinarily, I'd say that most worries are soluble in wine,' he said, 'but in your case I think that would be a mistake.'
Terrel nodded, pushing his half-empty cup away. He no longer wanted any part of its falsehood.
'It's been a long day,' the pedlar observed. 'You should get some rest.'
The boy nodded again, his eyes downcast, but made no move to rise from his seat.
'Is there something you want to talk about?' Babak asked.
What can I say? Terrel thought. His companion's generosity deserved the truth, but that was impossible. Better to say nothing. He looked up and shook his head.
'Remember your eyes,' the pedlar said quietly.
In his distraction, Terrel's eyes had returned to their genuine colouring, and although no one in the tavern seemed to have noticed, they were bound to do so as he walked from the hall.
Terrel blinked, and his eyes were blue again.
'Good lad,' Babak said, with some relief. Whatever was ailing the boy, he was still able to control his talent. 'I'll see you later. And tomorrow we'll have some fun, eh?'
Terrel stood up and left without a word, threading his way between the tables with his awkward, lopsided gait. Babak watched him go, feeling a disquiet of his own.
Some time later, when all the wine was gone, the pedlar went out into the street. He had a 'girlfriend' of his own in Tiscamanita - one of several in various places around Vadanis - and after his conversation with Terrel, he felt in need of the comfort she would provide.

Chapter Twenty-Six

On his first morning in Tiscamanita, Terrel woke to the sound of snoring. Even though he had lain awake for some time the night before, he had eventually succumbed to the comfort of the soft bed, and had not been aware of Babak's return. He was there now all right, making a sound that shook the walls.
For a while Terrel was content to rest in unaccustomed luxury, but as he listened to the noises of the tavern and the town beyond coming to life, he grew restless. He guessed that the sun had only just risen, but had no idea when the pedlar would wake up. The temptation to get up and explore on his own became too great, and he slipped out of bed and dressed quietly.
There was a cool breeze blowing down the street outside, and Terrel instinctively turned to walk into it, realizing that it must be coming from the sea. The air carried with it a tang of salt, and another, unidentifiable, odour that made him feel strangely invigorated. The lure of the ocean was strong, and he wanted to view it from close to, but he was not destined to reach the shore that day.
After walking for a while, Terrel reached an enormous paved square, clearly the hub of the town's activity. Near each corner piles of wood and other dry material were stacked in such a way that Terrel assumed they were bonfires waiting to be lit. He recalled Babak's remark about the 'fires of love' burning brightly, and decided they must be part of the festival. In between these piles, keeping a respectful distance, a number of merchants were already setting up their stalls in readiness for the fair. Terrel paid them little attention, because he had seen what must be Kativa's Shrine.
It stood at the exact centre of the market place but, as if by unspoken agreement, none of the traders had set up for business within fifty paces of the extraordinary structure. The shrine rose in a twisted, sinuous curve, like an unruly flame that had been frozen in time, reaching further into the sky than the two-storey buildings that lined the perimeter of the arena. There was something alive about it, as if it had grown to that height rather than being built.
As Terrel drew closer, he could see that it was made entirely of wood, intricately carved to resemble a vast, distorted trellis, entwined with thousands of roses - all of them painted red. It should have been ugly, the most unnatural of sculptures, but its perverse, obsessive patterns were strangely beautiful - and Terrel wished that he had waited for Babak after all, so that the pedlar could have told him its story. He was far from alone in his absorption. Several other people were staring at the shrine, all apparently caught in its spell.
'They used to be real roses once.'
Terrel glanced round to see who had spoken, and saw a young woman, not much older than himself. Her gaze was fixed on the shrine, and her voice was quiet and respectful.
'And all of them the colour of the lovers' moon,' she added. 'Wonderful, isn't it?'
'Yes, it is,' he replied. 'Do you know when it was built?'
'You don't know the story?' she exclaimed, looking at him in surprise. 'I thought everybody . . .'
Her voice died away, and Terrel mentally checked to see that his eyes were still 'blue'.
'I've never been in this part of Vadanis before,' he explained. 'Will you tell me?'
'Of course.' She was obviously delighted at the chance to display her knowledge. 'Kativa lived here over two hundred years ago. She was the only daughter of the foremost noble family of the province, and she was very beautiful. Her fame spread as far as Makhaya, and the Emperor sent for her to be his fourth bride, but she'd already fallen in love with one of her household, a squire named Siverio. Knowing that their love would be forbidden, they planned to elope on the night when the Red Moon was full, but they were betrayed. Kativa's father held her prisoner, while some of his men went to meet Siverio in this square and murdered him.' The young woman paused. 'When Kativa found out what had happened,' she went on in a wistful tone, 'she took poison rather than submit to an unwanted betrothal, but she didn't die. Instead she fell into a coma, still alive, but unable to do anything except breathe and dream.'
Terrel had been engrossed in the tale, but at this mention of a coma his thoughts flew to Alyssa. Was she dreaming as her spirit wandered?
'Kativa lay, unmoving, for almost three years,' the storyteller continued, 'but then, when almost all hope was gone, she revived. She came here, to see where her true love had died. Siverio's blood had stained the paving stones and, no matter how hard anyone scrubbed at it, the mark could not be removed. When Kativa saw this she wept, and her tears made his blood shine red again.
'By then, of course, the Emperor had lost interest in her, and so she was free to stay in Tiscamanita. She commissioned the best craftsmen of the town to build a monument to love, and this is what it became. Every day for the rest of her life, Kativa brought a single red rose and placed it on the monument. Even in the depths of winter, when no other flowers grew, she still came, faithful to the last. And as each rose faded and decayed, the woodcarvers replaced it with one of their own making, so that her love would never die.'
Terrel found himself looking at the shrine with a new reverence. He was close to tears.
'Is there someone you love?' his companion asked kindly.
Terrel hesitated before replying, then simply nodded, not trusting his voice.
'Then you must come back tonight,' she told him, 'and place a flower on the shrine. A rose would be best, of course, but they're always expensive, so anything will do - as long as it's red. The flower sellers will be here soon. That's why I came early, so I could get one of the best.'
Terrel did not like to tell her that he had no money at all, and could not afford to buy a flower of any kind.
'Does leaving a flower bring good luck?' he asked.
'For lovers, yes,' his informant replied happily. 'Jari and me are getting married soon, so I had to come this year.'
'The festival is only held once a year?' He had been assuming it was every long month, whenever the Red Moon was full.
'Every year at the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox,' she confirmed, 'but it only starts when the moon has risen and the fires have been lit. I can hardly wait!'
Terrel saw the excitement shining in her eyes and smiled, then looked back at the shrine, wondering whether Babak would give him some money so that he could leave a rose for Alyssa.
Terrel watched Babak from a distance. The contrast between the stooped figure he had first encountered and the charismatic salesman who was now standing on his cart, regaling his eager audience with his irrepressible patter, was startling. Although Terrel could put a name to the difference, that did not make it any less astounding. In one sense, nothing he was seeing was real; in another it was all as real as the paving stones beneath his feet.
The afternoon was some hours old now, and as the time of moon-rise drew nearer, the atmosphere in the crowded square had reached fever pitch. What had once been a sober, almost religious festival, was now simply an excuse for riotous celebrations - and this year, because of the inexplicable events in the heavens - there was an almost hysterical note to the proceedings.
As well as the stalls selling all sorts of goods, platforms had been set up in various parts of the square on which entertainments were performed and couples publicly announced their betrothals. Mock battles were staged too, depicting the third of the Red Moon's major influences. Violence, even in a strictly symbolic form, took its accepted place alongside fire and love. Musicians, jugglers, beggars and pickpockets roamed the streets, plying their various trades, and both food and wine were in plentiful supply. A riot of smells assaulted every nose, with the heavy perfume of flowers the most prominent element in the intoxicating medley.