"Jane Jensen - Gabriel Knight 1 - Sins of the Fathers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jensen Jane)

not what sets him apart. His hair is worn long,
most of it covered by a large, square black hat.
Thick blond locks lay on the shoulders of the
man's black cloak and those locks gleam like real
gold in the firelight. Beneath the cloak is a flash of
white collar. But it's the man's face that draws the
eye. He's staring at something, face pale, eyes
wide. He trembles and weeps. Fear and loathing
are stamped indelibly on his features as if the
hand of God had put them there.
And then, just as if it were the very first time,
Gabriel's dream eye turns to follow the man's
gaze. At first he only notices the fire. The pile of
wood that fuels the flames is high and broad, an
enormous bonfire. The flames rear up over the
heads of the crowd. Then he sees that there is
something in the flames, some matter, tall and
dark, and it takes him a moment to categorize it in
his mind because, really, he's never seen anything
like this before and the image will not register.
It's a woman. They're burning a woman.
It punches into him: shock, horror, guilt. He
feels a terrible guilt, although he does not know
why. He's afraid, too, as he looks at her. He feels
helpless and nasty—like a child caught stealing—
but it's a thousand times worse, as if what he'd
stolen was . . .
Her life.
The woman's head is thrown back in the flames,
a mute scream of agony driven to the sky. He
doesn't want to watch, but he does. She slowly
lowers her head and looks at him. Her face is
unmarred yet by the flames, and it is a beautiful
face. He can see now that she is dark-skinned.
And she is young, oh, yes, but powerful and
piercing. She knows such things. She laughs at
him, her cracked lips parting, her white teeth
gleam. Her disgust at his nasty ways is in her
laugh, as though she had spit on him instead of
laughed, and she might have, had he been closer.
Then her face begins to melt and he moans with
repulsion. He doesn't want to see this! Doesn't
want to watch as her body is consumed! But it
isn't the fire, and her face is not being consumed.
It is being transformed. The face in the flames
restructures itself into the head of a leopard. It
screams at him in fury.
And he runs, his dream self. Runs away, not over
the ground, but into the air. He plows through the
black night sky, higher and higher, toward the