"Greg Keyes - Chosen of the Changeling 2 - Blackgod" - читать интересную книгу автора (Keyes J Gregory)

of pain. It was most of what remained of him, though not all. The little spaces between the memory of
that blade stroke were like a doorway into nothing, opening and closing with greater and greater speed,
and through that portal danced images, dreams, remembered pleasures—danced through and were gone.
Soon all would gambol away like fickle ladies at a ball, and he would be complete again, just the
memory of his death, and then not even that.

But then it seemed as if the sword shattered, raced up and down his spine like rivers of crystal shards;
and the belly of death was no longer dark, but alive with light, charged with heat and lightning, burning,
pouring in through that doorway. The light he recognized; he had seen its colors blossoming from the
water as his head parted from his body. The doorway gaped and wrapped around him, bringing not
darkness, not oblivion, but remembrance.

Remembrance carried hatred, bitterness, but most of all hunger. Hunger.

Ghe remembered also a word, as strands met and were torturously yanked into crude knots within him,
tied hurriedly, without care.

No, he remembered. Ah, no!

No, and he fought to hands and knees he could suddenly feel again, though they felt like wood, though
they jerked and quivered with unfamiliar weakness. He could see nothing but color, but he remembered
where he wanted to go and had no need of vision. Down, he knew, and so he crawled, blind,
whimpering, hungrier by the moment.

Down for he knew not how long, but after a time he fell, slid, fell again, and then plunged into water that
scalded so terribly that it must have been boiling.

For a while, he could think of nothing but boiling water, for pain had returned to him, as well.

No. The pain went into him like a seed, grew, spread roots, sent limbs out through his eyes and mouth,
shoots from his fingers, and then, very suddenly, ceased to be pain. He sighed, sank down into the water,
which now enfolded him like a womb, utterly comforting and utterly without compassion; just a womb,
a thing for him to grow in, but no mother or love wrapped around that. There he waited, content for a
while, and after he was sure the pain was gone, he looked about for what had not blown through that
dark doorway into nothingness—what remained of him.

He was Ghe, the Jik, one of the elite assassin-priests who served the River and the River’s Children.

file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Keyes,_J_Gregory_-_[Chosen_of_the_Changeling_02]_-_Blackgod_(V1)_[html].html (6 of 432)22-12-2006 20:35:33
 THE BLACKGOD

Born in Southtown, the lowest of the low, he had risen—the memory stirred!—he had kissed a princess!
Ghe clenched and unclenched his unseen hands as he felt the ghost of his lips brushing hers. He realized,
dully, that he had kissed many women, but that the only actual, particular kiss he could remember was
hers.

Why was that? Why Hezhi?

They had sent him to kill her, of course, because she was one of the Blessed. His task had been to kill
her, and he had failed. Yet he had kissed her…