"Thomas E. Sniegoski - Leviathan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sniegoski Thomas E)

"Others like you,"the mouse finished, nervously gnawing on the piece of bread.

Suddenly the repenter was glad that he had sent the Crna Reka brothers to town for supplies this day. If
what the mouse was telling him was true, he did not wish to risk the well-being of anyone else. The
brothers had been quite gracious in allowing him into their place of quiet solitude, and he did not want to
see any of them suffer for their charity.

He listened, focusing on the sounds of the monastery around him: the muffled roar of theBlack River
flowing beneath the structure; the creak of the bridge outside, jostled by the winds blowing into the gorge
from the mountains above; the rumble of thunder.

No, not thunder at all, something far more ominous.

The penitent picked the mouse up from the floor and placed it in his palm as he stood."And where
exactly did you see these others?" he asked.

"Outside,"it answered, continuing its nibbling."In sky. Outside in sky."

It was then that the repenter began to feel their presence. They were all around him. The floor of the
monastery began to shake, as if in the clutches of an angry giant. Rock, dust, and wood fell from the
ceiling, and the walls began to crumble. He clutched the tiny life- form to his breast to protect it from the
falling debris. An explosion, filled with sound and fury, rocked the monastery, and the walls before him
fell away, sliding into the Black River Gorge to reveal theSerbianMountains, and those who awaited him.

They hovered there, at least twenty in number, their mighty wings beating the air—the sound like the
racing heartbeat of the wilderness valley surrounding them—and in their hands they held weapons of fire.

The repenter stepped back from the jagged edge of a yawning precipice and held the trembling mouse
closer. He did not take his eyes from them. He was not afraid. Some bowed their heads as his gaze fell
upon them, remembering a bygone time when he had commanded their respect—but that was long, long
ago.

"Lift your heads,"ordered an angry voice in the language of messengers. Their numbers began to part,
and he who led them moved forward."The time for this one to be shown reverence passed when the
first seeds of the Great War were sown."

The penitent was familiar with he who spoke: a wrathful angel in the Choir called Powers. His name was
Verchiel, and he bore the scars of one who had recently fought a fierce battle. The repenter wondered
why they had not healed, and almost asked the angel—but decided this was not the time.

"We have come for you, son of the morning,"Verchiel said, pointing his sword that burned like the heart
of an inferno.

With those words, the angels of the Powers glided closer, their weapons raised for conflict.

"Your corrupting time upon God's world hasended,"Verchiel said with a gleam in his deep, dark eyes of
solid night.

"You'll receive no fight from me,"the repenterreplied, looking from the fearsome Powers drawing
inexorably closer to the mouse still held in his hand against his chest."Just keep your voices down," he