"R. A. MacAvoy - L2 - King of the Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

had not recovered entirely from the miscarriage, she was not slowing us down.
We ate what we had packed, except the once when I was able to exchange chopping at a tree for a, hot
supper. That work humbled me, for I wasn’t used to the air of, the alti-tude—some nine thousand
feet—and I felt my heart drum against my ribs. The local folk of Norwess think it the great-est hilarity to
watch a visitor collapse, gaping like a fish. Perhaps if my life had not taken such an unexpected
down-ward turn, my sense of humor would be the same. I like to think not.
The high waters of the duchy are more foreign than the air: black round lakes too deep to gauge, and
rapacious streams floored in stone that fling down to the South, where they feed Vestinglon, or east,
where exhaustion and level countryside turn them into the sweet waters of Ekesh. When I put my hand
into one of the streams to fill our waterskin, the touch on skin was much like the sting of the dry-weather
sparks that run from one’s hand to a metal doorknob. This, however, may be sheer coincidence or the
inexactitude of my human perception. I have heard you deny any connection between the nature of
sparks and of cold water. If I had remained Timet of Norwess, these daunting lakes and streams would
be normal waters to me.
Please believe that I keep returning to this “Timet” ghost not because I grieve for a life denied me, but
because I fear it. At the time of my narration, it appeared that the very memory of Timet, son of Eydl of
Norwess, was enough to doom Arlin and me both.
As Vestinglon is the heart of Velonya, so Norwess is its ancient bulwark and protection. From Norwess
comes the tall, fair, lean-faced human stock we think of as true Velon-yan, though Velonya possesses
more folk as nondescript as I than it does heroes of the old stamp. In Norwess I felt more than ever that
I was a dwarf who crawled out from under the stones of the earth—there were appropriate stones
every-where. But even in these high conifer forests, I noticed more people with Arlin’s black hair than my
own dandelion shade. (I have heard you say that blonds are an anomaly everywhere and inclined to be
weak-eyed. But then, you are not a blond.)
When we were some five miles from the ducal honor, the road passed the highest point of our travels,
and some man of wealth (perhaps Eydl, my father) had deared a place and commissioned a stone table
and benches, too heavy for thieves to carry away. Here we sat in a high, sunny wind, looking out over
every quadrant of the compass.
I cut for my weary lady the last of our biscuits and cheese. I remember that the cheese had a coat of
mold and an un-derjadcet of shining grease. “There,” I said, “behind you.
That broad blue horizon is the North Sea.” Arlin turned to look. Even from the mountain heights we
could see ,a metallic sparkle of light from the water. The movement of the glitter implied that the sea was
rough. “And over your right shoul-der, that dark line like a cloud is the Great West . Ocean. We can see
both from here. And down the slope behind you amid the green is a flash of white limestone from one of
the towers of Palace Norwess. Leone, I mean.”
Arlin has a special guarded expression (one of many), which I have learned means she is thinking about
me. “So,” she said, smearing the cheese onto the dry biscuits, frag-menting the biscuits in the process,
“you did come here be-fore. When I was with Powl.”
“I wandered this far,” I admitted. The white flashes of limestone disappeared as the wind died among the
trees, and then reappeared.
“Wandered.” She repeated the word without expression and ate the sticky mess she had created. Cold
wind whipped her short black hair over her face. “Did you also wander as far as the palace, then?”
I admitted it. “I begged a meal. I cleaned stalls and slept in the home farm byre.”
Arlin smiled her wolfish smile. “Don’t apologize, Zhur-rie. Anyone is interested in the place he is born.
More so if he was’ ripped away early. It has to hurt.”
I had to look away. I watched the white glow of lime-stone wink in and out. The bright glitter of water,
winking. “It hurts,” I said.
I saw my father and my mother once, Powl. Long after they were dead. I don’t know if I ever told you
about that. I was very sick at the time, and how can I prove the experience was real? Nevertheless, I
saw them.