"David Zindell - Requiem of Homo Sapiens 01 - The Broken God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zindell David)

Later that night, above the cave, he buried Soli with the
others. After he had hefted the last frozen boulder onto his
grave, he prayed. 'Soli, pela ur-padda, mi alasharia, shantih.'
He pressed his eyes hard before shaking his head and crying
out, 'Oh, Ahira, what shall I do?'
He fell into the dreamtime, then, and the wind through the
trees answered him. There was a rush of air carrying the
deep-throated hooing of the snowy owl. It was Ahira, his
other-self. Perched high on a yu tree's silvery branch, across
the snow-covered graveyard, Ahira was looking through the
darkness for him.
'Ahira, Ahira.'
The owl's snowy round head turned toward him. His eyes were
orange and black, wild and infinitely wise.
'Danlo, Danlo.' The owl turned his head again, and there was
a shimmer of starlight off his eyes. And Danlo suddenly beheld
a part of the circle of halla: the World-soul
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did not intend for him to join the Patwin tribe, nor any other
tribe of the islands to the west. Who was he to bear the taint
of shaida to his uncles and cousins? No, he would not burden
his people with such unspeakable sorrows. No matter how badly
he needed to hear the whole Song of Life, his future and his
fate did not lie in that direction.
I must journey east, he thought. I must go to the Unreal City
alone.
Somehow he must make the impossible journey to the city
called Neverness. And someday, to the stars. If the stars
really were fusion fires burning in the night, they were part
of a vast, larger world that must know halla, too.
To Ahira, he solemnly bowed his head. 'Mi alasharetha,'
Danlo said, praying for that part of himself that had died.
'Shantih.'
Then he turned his back to the wind and wept for a long time.
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CHAPTER TWO

Danlo the Wild

The organism is a theory of its environment.
– Walter Wiener, Holocaust Century Ecologist

It took Danlo nine days to prepare for his journey. Five days
he spent in his snowhut, recovering from his cutting. He
begrudged every day of it because he knew that the sledding
across the eastern ice would be dangerous and long. According
to Soli's stories, the Unreal City lay at least forty days away
– perhaps more. Since it was already 82nd day in deep winter,
he couldn't hope to reach the City until the middle of
midwinter spring. And midwinter spring was the worst season for