"Jo Walton - The Rebirth of Pan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Walton Jo)

thought I am on my feet, crossing to the kitchen window to watch it. I can't remember when I last saw a
storm like this. The lightning tears the sky open, the thunder following close behind with a crash that is a
surprise even when I am holding my breath expecting it. Somewhere behind the rent and scudding clouds
there is a full moon, and every now and then she sails clear for a moment. The power is down, and the
candle is just a flicker behind me. At every flash the huge black silhouettes of the elms and oaks on the
ridge, bare branches reaching out, stand stark against the sky. Between the flashes it is very dark. It is
magnificent. I feel an urge to sing loudly, to cheer on the passion of the elements, but I keep silent. I do
not want to risk waking Emrys. If he can sleep through this I definitely shouldn't disturb him. At last the
clouds break and I hear the rain come hissing and pattering towards me. There is some hail in it. It has
reached the trees but not the house when there is another flash, and I see a shape on the road, a man's
shape trudging along, collar pulled up against the driving rain and the wind.

I know at once it is nobody I have ever met. I cross to the table and pick up the candle, bring it
back to the window and set it up on top of the speaker. There, the light will show against the darkness. I
have done my share. If the man wants shelter from the storm, or sanctuary he will see it. When the next
flash comes he is nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, two flashes later, there is a knock at the front door.
I pick up the candle and walk across the room carefully, trying to avoid stepping on Emrys' toys that
have been left around. Despite my care something small and plastic crunches underfoot.

I open the door and hold the candle up, to see his face. He is standing against the light of the moon,
which is clear for the moment, and I can see that he is tall, clean-shaven, his hair slicked back under the
rain, but that is all. He does not speak.

I draw breath to ask who he is, and find my breath taken by another, who speaks through me in
strange old-fashioned words. Every time I think I will get used to this when it happens, when one of the
indwellers acts through me. Every time it is a surprise. I could take back control if I would, but when I
bade the spirits welcome I knew there would be strangeness. Mostly they just mutter advice in my head,
but sometimes they know to speak or to act when I do not. This is an old, old voice, but new to me, old
beyond naming, reaching me from times long gone. The words echo from my own mouth.

"Is it sanctuary you're seeking this dark night when the gods are thundering and storming in the sky
or only a little bit of a place to lodge you out of the rain and the wind?"

He comes a step closer, peering into my face as another flash of lightning rends the sky. Part of me
that is me wants to cover my scarred cheek from that gaze, but neither I nor the indweller who is
speaking through my mouth make any move to do so. I see him clearly for the levin's instant of light. His
is the saddest face I ever saw. He has dark hair and dark eyes and his face is etched with the lines of
deep grief. When he speaks his voice surprises me, and surprises those who watch within me. Somehow
I expected this stranger to be a foreigner, but his voice is gentle with the soft accent of the West of
Ireland.

"I was only seeking a dry place out of the storm, but if you can offer sanctuary I'd have you know
no god would stretch out a hand to save me from a falling bolt or the driving hail." I am minded to let in
any man who can answer an indweller so, with matching words. Such are rare in this age and I should
greatly like to talk to him, be he a godless man or not. The indweller herself knows better, and does not
budge.

"And what should I be calling you? Have you blood on your head, or something worse, that the
gods should seek you out and you under my roof?" She's right. If he is blood cursed then I can't risk
having him inside in a storm when it would be so easy for a bolt to strike. There is more than myself at