"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 10 - The Black Raven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

They shared a smile. Hand in hand they walked back to the camp while he sang
in the language of far-off Deverry.
'A love song,' he said abruptly. 'For you, my beautiful darling.'
And he did love her, of that she was sure. Never in their years together had
he spurned her, never had he amused himself with the young women who performed
in the troupe, not even once, no matter how old and thick and worn she'd
become. For that alone she would always love him, even though at times, such
as now, when he studied her face with a strange intensity, she wondered what
he was seeing when he looked at her.
With a squeal of delight Zandro came trotting to meet them. Keeta strolled
after, shaking her head, as if to say that he was beyond her control. It was
one of the strangest things about the boy, that he could walk as well as a
much older child, yet not be able to form a single word.
'Well!' Marka pointed them out. 'Look who's coming.'
'I see him, and a fine sight he is.'
When Marka said nothing, Ebany paused to look at her.
You're frowning,' he said. 'Why?'
'I'm just so worried about our Zan. He's just not right. We can't go on hiding
it from ourselves. I mean, he should be talking more, and then -'
'What? No, he's fine for what he is. He's a very young soul, just born for the
first time. And he's not human, truly. You can see it in his aura.'
He bent down and scooped the boy up. Laughing, Zandro buried his face in his
father's shoulder.
'What do you mean, aura?' Marka said.
'Look for yourself.' Ebany waved his free hand around the boy's head. 'All the
colours are wrong. What are you, my son? One of the Wildfolk, seeing what
flesh feels like? Did you choose this, or did we trap you, my wife and I, when
we were making a body for someone to wear?'
Marka felt her hands clenching into fists as if she could pummel his madness
into silence. When Ebany looked into Zandro's eyes, the boy stared steadily
back.
'Not one of the Wildfolk,' Ebany said at last. 'But some spirit whose time has
come to be born. You've a lot to learn, my darling, but now the world is yours
and all its marvels too.'
Carrying Zandro, Ebany walked back toward their tent. Marka lingered, fighting
back tears, until Keeta laid an enormous hand on her shoulder.
'I'm so sorry,' she murmured. 'It's so sad.'
Yes.' Marka wiped her eyes on her sleeve. 'It came on so slowly, didn't it? I
wonder now how long he's been this way, and I never would let myself notice.'
'None of us wanted to notice. Don't berate yourself.'
'Thank you. When he's not - well, when he's not saying peculiar things, I can
pretend that we still have our wonderful life. But then he'll come out with
something, like just now, and I don't know what to say.'
'There probably isn't anything to say. Ah well, we'll see what Myleton brings
us.'
Wherever Ebany walked, the Wildfolk went with him, sylph, sprite, and gnome,
and in the water undines, rising up to beckon him into the waves. In the fires
the salamanders played, rubbing their backs on the logs like cats, leaping up
with the flames. At one time in his life he'd called himself Salamander, back
in the land of his birth. That he did remember, though a great many other