"Harry Harrison - Captive Universe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

"Cactus… in the high bed against the wall… picking the fruit and it was late, but I was not finished…
Even if the sun went down I would be in the village by dark… I turned and saw it…"

"Come forth, Tezcatlipoca, here is the way," the first priest said, and pushed his knife deep into the
wound.

"SAW THE LIGHT OF THE GODS COME TOWARD ME AS THE SUN WENT…" the youth
screamed, then arched up once against his restraining bonds and was still.

"Tezcatlipoca has gone," Citlallatonac said, dropping his instruments into the bowl, "and the boy is free."
Dead also, Chimal thought, and turned away.




4
It was cooler now as evening approached, and the sun was not as strong on Chimal's back as it had been
earlier. Ever since leaving the temple he had squatted here in the white sand of the riverbed staring into
the narrow trickle of stagnant water. At first he had not known what had brought him here and then,
when he had realized what was driving him, fear had kept him pinned to this spot. This day had been
disturbing in every way and Popoca's sacrificial death had heated the ferment of his thoughts to a boil.
What had the boy seen? Could he see it too? Would he die if he saw it?

When he stood his legs almost folded under him, he had been seated in the squat position so long, and
instead of jumping the stream he splashed through it. He had wanted to die earlier under the water, but he
had not, so what difference did it make if he died now? Life here was—what was the right word for
it?—unbearable. The thought of the unchanging endlessness of the days ahead of him seemed far worse
than the simple act of dying. The boy had seen something, the gods had possessed him for seeing it,, and
the priests had killed him for seeing it. What could be so important? He could not imagine—and it made
no difference. Anything new in this valley of unchange was something that he had to experience.

By staying close to the swamp at the north end of the valley he remained unseen, circling the corn and
maguey fields that encircled Zaachila. This was unwanted land, just cactus, mesquite and sand, and no
one saw him pass. The shadows were stretching their purple lengths along the ground now and he hurried
to be at the eastern wall of the cliff beyond Zaachila before the sun set. What had the boy seen?

There was only one bed of fruit-bearing cactus that fitted the description, the one at the top of a long
slope of broken rubble and sand. Chimal knew where it was and when he reached it the sun was just
dropping behind the distant peaks of the mountains. He scrambled up on all fours to the top of the slope,
to the cactus, then clambered to the summit of a large boulder. Height might have something to do with
what Popoca had seen, the higher the better. From his vantage point the entire valley opened out, with
the village of Zaachila before him, then the dark slash of the riverbed and his own village beyond that. A
projecting turn of the cliffs hid the waterfall at the south end of the valley, but the swamp and the giant
stones that sealed it to the north were clearly visible, though darkening now as the sun slipped from sight.
While he watched it vanished behind the mountains. That was all. Nothing. The sky went from red to a
deeper purple and he was about to climb down from his vantage point.

When the beam of golden light spun out at him.