"Liz Williams - Empire of Bones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Liz)

Jaya's hand curled around the tranquilizers, and she closed her eyes with relief at the small victory. She
had almost ten pills now, carefully collected in a fold of the mattress. The doctor might think diat
Westerners knew it all, but Fraser was no match for a conjuror's daughter. She looked down at her
withered hand. The knuckles had swollen, but at least it kept the old ring on her finger: a band of cheap
bronze, with a garnet set crookedly in it—the last and only legacy of her mother. Her hands were those
of an old woman, a grand-mother. When she looked at them, it was hard to believe she was only
twenty-eight years old.

Jaya lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. She would wait until she felt a little stronger, and then
she'd make an-other bid for freedom. Until then, there was nothing she could do but lie still, and
remember.

JAYA, seven years old, crouched in the dust, watching as magi-cal ash poured from her father's
fingertips. Faces jostled above her head, blotting out the bleached heat of the sky. The air smelled of
incense and the fragrant bitterness of the ash as it drifted down into the bowls held out by the eager
villagers. Jaya glanced up, noting how many of the faces were filled with won-der at this latest miracle,
and how many were not. There were a few skeptical expressions toward the back of the crowd, mainly
young men, grinning with knowing disbelief. She heard a whis-per: "It's up his sleeve. You can see it,
loo't" Jaya held her breath, but the villagers glanced round angrily at the whisperer.

An elderly woman said sharply, "Hold your tongue, Indri Shamal. More respect for the gods might make
you less stu-pid."

The villagers nudged one another with sly grins, and Jaya saw the young man's face grow sour. His
friends laughed. Jaya breathed out, slowly so as not to disturb the flow of ash, and prayed to whatever
god might be listening: Don't be angry. Please don't be angry with us.

"See," Jaya's father murmured as the villagers pressed for-ward to collect the sacred ash. His voice was
sweet as candy, with no trace of its usual bitterness. "Vibhuti, the manifesta-tion of divinity. The gods are
kind; the gods are wise." He brushed the ash on the forehead of a woman who knelt before him, making
a powdery smear between her eyes that covered the red mark of her marriage. She bowed her head in
grati-tude.

First the ash, then the bowl-and-bean trick, then the disap-pearing wooden duck in a bucket of water.
And then it was time for the real conjuring: the ultimate show, the illusion of death.

"You see my daughter?" her father demanded. "She's a pretty one, isn't she? But the gods don't care how
pretty you are; they'll take you if they want to, snatch you into death and bring you back to life
again…"He glanced up with sharp abruptness. "I'll show you what it's like, when the gods decide to take
a child. It's a terrible thing. Don't watch if you're faint of heart. But for those who are brave enough to
look, take careful note of this ring." He held up a little band of bronze with a garnet set in it. "This is a
magical ring, and it can save you from anything."

"Even the new sicknesses? What about Selenge?" asked a skeptical voice.

Jaya's father was earnest as he replied, "Anything. As long as you have faith, and have no doubts. The
ring will only pro-tect my little girl if she loses her faith in me. But first, she must be silenced, in case she
cries out and offends the gods."