"Anthony,.Mark.-.Last.rune.01.-.Beyond.The.Pale.(UC)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Mark)

For a thousand years the Pale King lay mantled in dark, enchanted
slumber, imprisoned in his desolate dominion of Imbrifale.

And then



2 The derelict school bus blew into town with the last midnight gale of
October.

Weary brakes whined in complaint as the vehicle pulled off a stretch of
Colorado mountain two-lane and into an open field. Beneath a patina of.
highway grime that spoke of countless days and countless miles, the
bus's slapdash jacket of white paint-a shade called Pearly Gates, just
five-ninetynine a gallon at the Ace Hardware in downtown Leavenworth,
Kansas-glowed like bones in the phantasmal light of the setting horned
moon. The bus's folding door squeaked open, and two painted-over stop
signs flopped out from the vehicle's sides like stunted angel wings. One
sign admonished Repent Your Sins Now, while the other advertised Two for
the Price of One.

A figure stepped from the bus. Wind hissed through dry grass around his
ankles and plucked with cold fingers at his black mortician's suit. He
reached up a quick, long hand to keep his broad-brimmed pastor's hat
planted on his head, then gazed into the darkness with dark eyes.

"Yes, this will do fine," he whispered in his steel-rasp and
Southern-honey-pecan voice. "This will do just fine."

Then the man-who had been called many names in the past, but who these
days went by the moniker of Brother

3

4

Cy-leaned his scarecrow frame toward the bus, like a lodgepole pine
bending before the storm, and called through the open door.

"We have arrived!"

A chorus of excited voices answered him. Someone flicked on the bus's
high beams, and two cones of light cut through the night. The rear
emergency door swung open, hinges creaking, and a dozen shadowy forms
leaped out. They dragged a heavy bundle into the field and unrolled it
with deft movements. More dim figures scurried from the back of the bus,
wrangling poles and rope, and hurried to join the others. Brother Cy
stalked to the center of the field and paced a wide circle, digging the
heel of his worn black boot into the turf at measured intervals. When
the circle was complete, he stood back and looked on in satisfaction.