"Voices in the Wind by Mary Soon Lee" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lee Mary Soon)

"_No one_ makes decisions for me. And I'm not such a fool that I would marry a man who had no redeeming qualities." Tiron picked up a velvet-wrapped object from beside her chair, and passed it to Cern. "Play for us."

Gently, Cern lifted the harp free of the fabric, and held it up. The candlelight glowed softly against the honey-colored wood, and he ran one hand across the strings. His throat tightened uncontrollably as he thought of his father's hands touching those strings as though they were an extension of his body.

He pushed his chair back and began to play. The notes flowed from the harp in liquid tones that seduced the air. Tiron's eyes closed, and Cern felt the music spreading in widening circles until the whole hall was listening. The sounds pulled at him strangely. He heard the waiting darkness outside the hall, the bleak and tuneless countryside stretching without measure.

The melody twisted out of his control, the chords echoing with sadness. He glanced over to the old Dim, saw tears coursing down its face. The Dim's eyes opened and it stared at him, mutely begging him to continue. And so Cern played.

The music lingered with Cern long after he put down the harp. He was only vaguely aware of the crowd starting to stir again, of the clink of cutlery, the rising swell of conversation. The harmony haunted him, urging him to complete it, but he was too weary to move.

Someone gripped his shoulder painfully, and shook him. Unresisting, he watched the room bouncing across his vision.

"Let him be!"

The sharpness of the voice penetrated his daze. Slowly, he focused on the bearded face of the healer.

"The boy's just tired." The healer grinned down at Cern, "I didn't know you were so gifted."

"It, it wasn't me," Cern mumbled. He let the healer lift the harp from his lap. Another face swam into view, green eyes wide with concern. His mother hugged him, her dark hair falling like a curtain around them. He breathed in deeply, comforted by the rich musky scent. In a moment, he would ask her about the music, but his eyelids were so heavy. . . .

He blinked. The hall had darkened. Only his mother was left, walking down the room, extinguishing the candles. Her footsteps echoed, an eerie counterpoint to the wind howling outside.

There were voices in the wind.

He got up, dry-mouthed. He stepped down from the dais, heading for the huge oak doors. The wind rose, ringing against the windows, calling him.

"Cern? What are you doing?"

"I'm going outside."

"Cern --" Tiron hesitated, and then nodded once.

The doors swung open easily, damp air chilling Cern as he strode out. Two crescent moons, one waxing and one waning, lit an empty expanse of rain and shrub and stone. The voices led him north, their words fading at the borders of his thoughts.

Ahead, the edge of a wood loomed darkly. He heard the grass singing under his feet, the leaves answering above. He passed the outer trees. Before him hung a tracery of smoke, shining palely in the moonlight. His hair blew wildly across his face, but the smoke was perfectly still.

Reaching out, Cern touched one delicate white wisp. Ice burned through his fingers, freezing him where he stood. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the branches bending toward him, fine-leaved hands surrounding him. A wet blackness blinded him.

Screaming, he tore at his eyes, pulling away a soggy clump of leaves. He was in a small clearing, tall white rocks leaning against the trees. A fierce wind gusted, but the music and the smoke had gone.

One of the rocks moved. Cern started: they weren't rocks at all -- they were Dims. And his father had been found lying ice-cold in a clearing like this. He grabbed at a stone and centered it in his palm, wishing he had a more substantial weapon. "Did you kill him? Did you call my father here and then kill him?"

The Dims' eyes narrowed, and a low rumbling resonated uncomfortably in the chill air. "Your father died helping us. Bring us his harp."

The wind stung at Cern's eyes, and he blinked hard. The moonlight reflected strangely from the creatures, hollowing their features to an underlying sorrow. He could almost understand why a man might want to help them.

"The harp. Play us away."

"Why do you want --- no." Cern shook himself angrily. What they wanted didn't matter. And it was stupid to be scared of them; Dims never hurt anyone. He looked around, wondering if he could find his way home.