"Hamilton, Laurell K - Nightseer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

stairway. At the top there was a narrow landing and one door. Harque smiled down
at Keleios, smiled with her vision-befuddled eyes, and the child shrank back.
She dragged Keleios to the door. “Don’t you want to see your mother?”
There was an odor now, faint but growing stronger. The stench of sickness and
uncleaned clothes soured with sweat. Keleios tried to pull away, but the grip
was like iron. The door opened so slowly. The smell washed over the child, and
she vomited on the stones. Harque held her forehead, gently, and helped her
stand afterwards.
Keleios balked, not wanting to enter the room. Harque dragged her along the
floor, screaming, dragged her over the doorsill into the stinking room. She was
jerked to her feet and told, “Look.”
The room was narrow with only a rickety bed in it. Something was tied to that
bed. It was black, and pus oozed from it. The skin was cracked and bleeding as
if the sickness were too much for the skin to hold. Keleios stared at the thing
for a time, not understanding. Her eyes wouldn’t make sense of it.
The small girl realized a person was tied to the bed. Keleios began to cry.
There was no hint of who it had been, only that it had been a person.
The black face turned toward them and opened its eyes—brown eyes, her mother’s
eyes.
Keleios screamed.
Harque’s voice came. “Where is the fair Elwine the Gentle? Where is she now?”
The nightmare faded to the sounds of her own screams.
She woke, panting and sweat drenched. Magda, her nursemaid, was there, brought
by her screams. “Keleios, child, what is it?”
Keleios cried into Magda’s plump bosom, sobbing, unable to talk. The fear was
still there, horrible and complete. She could not breathe around the terror of
it. She could not think for the sight of her mother’s eyes, her mother’s death.
There was a soft footstep and the rustling of silk in the reeds that covered the
floor. Elwine was there, tall and slender, dressed in white. Keleios fought free
of the nurse and scrambled for her mother.
Elwine held her and stroked her hair until her breathing calmed and her sobs
quieted. “Now, little one, what has happened to upset you so?”
Keleios whispered, “I dreamed.”
“But we’ve talked before, Keleios; dreams cannot hurt you.”
Keleios prided herself on being brave and would not look at her mother, but
stared at the silver thread worked into her mother’s bodice. It formed a silver
line of leaves and common flowers, the sort of things that went into an herb
spell. Mother smelled like peppermint and faded apple blossoms. She had been
working a spell when Keleios screamed.
Elwine forced the child away from her and said, “Look at me, Keleios.”
The child did, half-afraid.
“Are you still afraid?”
Keleios nodded. “It isn’t gone, Mother.”
“What isn’t gone?”
“The dream, the bad dream. It’s still here,” She touched her forehead, “It’s
still here.”
Elwine motioned the nurse to leave and crawled up on the bed with Keleios, She
snuggled the child to her and said, “Now tell me about this dream that won’t
leave.”
Keleios told her everything. Her mother listened and nodded and made all the