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

It lasted only an instant. If he had not been looking intently in the right direction he would never have seen
it. A golden thread, thin as a slice of fire, that stretched across the sky from the direction of the vanished
sun directly toward him, bright as the reflection of light upon the water. But there was no water there, just
sky. What had it been?

With a sudden start that shook his body he realized where he was—and how late it was. The first stars
were coming out above him and he was far from the village and his side of the river.

Coatlicue!

Ignoring anything else he hurled himself from the boulder and sprawled in the sand, then came up running.
It was almost dark and everyone would be bent over the evening meal: he headed directly toward the
river. Fear drove him on, around the bunched darkness of the cactus and over the low, thorny shrubs.
Coatlicue! She was no myth: he had seen her victims. Reason fled and he ran like an animal pursued.

When he reached the bank of the riverbed it was completely dark and he had only the light of the stars to
show him the way. It was even darker below the bank—and this was where Coatlicue dwelled.
Trembling, he hesitated, unable to force himself down into the deeper blackness below.

And then, far off to his right in the direction of the swamp, he heard the hissing as of a giant snake. It was
she!

Hesitating no longer he threw himself forward, rolled over and over on the soft sand and splashed
through the water. The hissing came again. Was it louder? Tearing with desperate fingers he climbed the
far bank and, sobbing for air, ran on through the fields, not stopping until a solid wall loomed up before
him. He collapsed against the side of the first building, clutching the rough adobe bricks with his fingers
and sprawling there, gasping, knowing he was safe. Coatlicue would not come here.

When his breathing was normal again he stood and made his way silently between the houses until he
came to his home. His mother was turning tortillas on the cumal and she looked up when he came in.

"You are very late."

"I was at another house."

He sat and reached for the water bottle, then changed his mind and took the container of octli instead.
The fermented juice of the maguey could bring drunkenness, but happiness and peace as well. As a man
he could drink it when he wanted to and was still not used to this liberty. His mother looked at him out of
the corners of her eyes but said nothing. He took a very long drink, then had to fight hard to control the
coughing that swept over him.

During the night there was a great roaring in his dreams and he felt that he had been caught in a rockslide
and that his head had been hurt. A sudden blaze of light against his closed eyelids jerked him awake and
he lay there in the dark, filled with unreasoning fear, as the great sound rumbled and died. Only then did
he realize that it was raining heavily; the roar of drops on the grass thatch of the roof was what had
penetrated his dreams. Then the lightning blazed again and, for a long instant, illuminated the ulterior of
the house with a strange blue light that clearly showed him the fire stones, the pots, the dark and silent
form of his mother sleeping soundly on her petlatl, the billowing of the mat in front of the doorway and the
runnel of water that ran in onto the earthen floor. Then the light was gone and the thunder rolled again
with a great noise that must have filled the entire valley. The gods at play, the priests said, tearing apart