"Martha Wells - Wheel of the Infinite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

Keo.”
Rian assumed “it” was another water demon, following them along the river’s course. If it was
something worse, he wasn’t going to ask. “If it could stop us and it doesn’t, there’s got to be a reason for
it,” he said, thinking of an ambush somewhere ahead in the dark.
“So say it doesn’t want to stop us.” She halted on the muddy bank and leaned on her staff, thoughtful.
The wagon with the lamp pulled ahead and Rian couldn’t read her expression in the dark. Sounding
frustrated, she said, “I can’t tell if it’s self-aware and following us out of some intelligent motive, or if it’s
just a remnant of what attacked us before, tied to the boy’s body and trailing it. Or if it’s both.”
“When are you going to get rid of the body?” Rian asked her. The corpse had been rolled in an old
blanket and placed in one of the canvas slings that hung underneath the wagon, which were used to haul
fodder for the oxen.
“When we pass the dike that crosses the road and marks the outer boundary of the city. It’s not far
now; we’ve already passed the first of the Passage Markers.” These were waist-high square stones
carved with protective symbols that stood on either side of the road at intervals of twenty-one feet, and
would apparently continue all the way to the city. Rian had seen them on the roads that led to the smaller
shrines and temples; they were another one of those things Koshans thought necessary.
“Does it make such a difference whether we dump the body inside the boundary or outside it?” Rian
knew little about magic and less about religion, but he had been here long enough to know that the
Kushorit never put anything anywhere, not a road, not a water trough, and probably not a pig sty,
without a reason involving spirits and the Infinite.
She nodded slowly, looking off into the dark.
Rastim’s wagon drew even with them, and he peered down from the seat. “What is it?” he asked.
“I almost made a mistake,” Maskelle told him.
An hour later the road began to rise and Rian knew they must be nearing the dike. In country that
flooded during the rainy season, the city would need massive dikes as well as canals to control the water.
Maskelle was riding on the driver’s bench of her own wagon, and when the upward slope became more
dramatic, she tapped Old Mali on the shoulder. The old woman guided the oxen to the side of the road
without a word and Rian waited beside it. The other wagons rolled slowly past them, the sleepy faces of
the Ariaden peering curiously out; only Rastim knew what they meant to do.
When the last wagon passed, Rastim reined in and said worriedly, “Are you sure about this?” He
tipped his head toward Rian significantly. Rian glanced upwards in annoyance.
“Yes, yes,” Maskelle said impatiently, shooing a grumbling Old Mali across the muddy road to
Rastim’s wagon and glancing over her shoulder back toward the river, as if she could feel something
watching them from that direction. “Just hurry and go.”
Old Mali climbed up onto the bench and settled herself with a gusty sigh. Reluctantly, Rastim pulled a
battered shovel out from under the bench and tossed it down to Rian, then he shook the reins and the
wagon rolled on.
 Rian moved ahead, finding a good spot at the side of the road. Maskelle cut the ties holding the sling
to the underside of the wagon bed as he started to dig. Rian had pointed out that burying the sling with
the corpse was a waste, but apparently once it had been in contact with the curse living in the boy’s
remains, it couldn’t be used to carry food anymore, even food for animals.
As Maskelle came back toward him, she froze suddenly. Rian dropped the shovel and reached for
his siri, but she wasn’t looking toward the jungle. She stood with her head tilted a little, as if listening
intently to the undercurrents in the night.
When she shook herself and moved forward again, Rian picked up the shovel again. He felt obligated
to point out, “This is still a stupid way to get rid of a corpse. When it rains again, which will probably be
in the next hour, it’ll wash right out of this bank.”
“We’re not hiding it from the Imperial Constabulary,” she told him impatiently, “we’re laying a curse.”
She helped him dig, scraping the muddy dirt out with her hands. The night was very dark with just the
one lantern, and Rian could almost feel the stalking presence buried in the jungle himself.