"Bradley,.Marion.Zimmer.-.Darkover.-.Clingfire.1.-.Fall.Of.Neskaya.(.With.Deborah.J.Ross)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

"No, just plain Liane-"
"Storn?" And yet, she didn't look like a monster, even if she was too stuck up for her own good ...
"We're not supposed to brag about our families," she replied tartly, getting to her feet. "And if you don't stop harping on this name nonsense, I won't come back and visit you tomorrow!" She picked up the tray and, with a toss of her flaxen-red braids, headed for the door.
"Don't!" Coryn exploded. "I never want to see a single one of the whole cralmac-brained, self-serving Storn Nest again!"
She whirled, cheeks flushing at the insult. "You! You nobody out of nowhere! You were nothing more than a half-drowned rat when we rescued you! How dare you say that about my family!"
"Get out!"
Liane jerked the curtain aside and slammed the door behind her. Her quick, light footsteps receded and Coryn was left alone, feeling more miserable than ever.
Coryn stayed in bed for another day, growing increasingly bored and restless. Meals were brought by Marisela, a cheerful motherly woman who kept smoothing the covers and tucking them around him. Gareth came to monitor him every morning and evening.
"Laran is carried through the body in special channels," Gareth explained. "But these channels also carry sexual energy. In some people, laran is awakened at adolescence, when such feelings begin to stir, so the channels are particularly vulnerable to overload. That's one of the causes of

threshold sickness. With care and training, this need not be a continuing problem. You will learn to monitor yourself, to learn what is safe for you to do."
"You mean I did something to cause this?" Coryn asked, shuddering.
"Not at all," Gareth shook his head. "Except possibly to grow up. You ... you seem to be past the worst of it now."
The monitor rose as a figure in flowing red robes entered the room. Although the movements were quiet and spare, the room seemed to vibrate with a sense of presence. For an instant, Coryn didn't know if this was a man or a woman, for the face was beardless, the jaw delicate. A faint tracery of lines covered pale skin. Moonlight-colored hair spilled over slender shoulders.
"Gareth, please," the newcomer said, gesturing to the monitor to sit again, then smiled at Coryn. "I am Kieran, Keeper of the Third Circle here at Tramontana, and your kinsman."
This must be the Aillard cousin Lord Leynier had spoken of. At the sound of the voice, Coryn decided it must be a man, possibly one of those sandal-wearers who had never participated in any manly activity. Coryn had himself come in for a bit of teasing from the stable hands when it was known he was to go to a Tower. But there was nothing weak in the fiery eyes sweeping over him, nothing effeminate in the sure way those slim six-fingered hands gestured.
"Forgive me, young Coryn, for not welcoming you earlier. It was not from lack of concern for you, for Gareth assured me you were recovering well and he is our most skillful monitor."
Coryn felt he ought to say something. Despite Kieran Aillard's small physical stature, his energy filled the room. His faintly distracted air, as if part of his mind were on other, greater matters, only added to his aura of power.

"M-my father sends you greetings," Coryn stammered, "and thanks for your help during the fire."
"So your man Rafael said. We have not yet come to the point, we here at Tramontana, when we can do nothing more useful than to create weapons for other men's wars. Now, young Coryn, may I examine your laran channels, as Gareth has done?"
Coryn gave his assent, wondering a little that a personage as important as a Keeper must ask his permission. Perhaps this was how things were done in a Tower. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes and composed himself. When Gareth monitored him, Coryn had not felt anything, except perhaps a faint warmth from the other man's hands. Now something airy as a feather whispered over his skin, cool and not at all unpleasant. It warmed, sinking ever deeper until it became a part of him.
Soft, gray-blue light filled him as if he were made of glass. His body relaxed, and his mind began to drift. Dimly, he became aware of a lightless blot deep within his body. When he tried to focus on it, panic rose. He turned away quickly, fleeing to the soothing warmth.
From afar, he heard Kieran say in a soft voice, "Yes, I see what you mean, Gareth. I don't think even an Alton could force his way past that barricade. It doesn't seem to be linked to any of the essential channels. Perhaps as he learns to master his talent and to trust us, he will be able to lower his guard...."
I'm not doing it on purpose, Coryn thought.
I know, lad. Had Kieran spoken aloud, or only inside Coryn's head? Rest for a moment now, and then come back to us.
A few minutes later, Coryn sat upright once more, to hear Kieran say, "Gareth, is it your opinion this boy is recovered enough to join the other novices in their lessons tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think he's more than ready," Gareth said with an easy smile. "In fact, I think he's going to start tearing the infirmary apart if we try to keep him any longer."
With a sweep of red robes, Kieran left the room. Coryn stared after him. "So that's Grandmama's cousin. He doesn't look that old."
"Oh, he is close to a hundred years now," Gareth said. "Not all the Aillards are so long-lived, but it's said there is a strong strain of chieri blood in that family. Knowing Kieran, I can well believe it."
"And he has six fingers!"
"And he is emmasca, but what of any of it?" Now Gareth sounded angry. "When we enter the Tower, we leave behind rank and family, as well as petty prejudices. This is the one place where we are judged by what we make of our own lives, not by the number of our toes or the color of our hair or what lies our fathers told. Or if we have six fathers or none at all! Our bodies are as the gods have made us, but what is in our hearts, that is who we truly are!"
Gareth finished with gentler words, encouraging Coryn to sleep well because lessons would begin the next morning. Thoroughly awake, Coryn lay back, thinking about what the monitor had said and wondering about the new world he had entered.
The next morning, Coryn said good-bye to Rafe, who had waited until he could witness Coryn's recovery with his own eyes before returning to Verdanta. The Keepers supplied Rafe with a sound riding horse and trail food enough to take him on the circuitous trip. "There should be no more storms like the last one," Mikhail-Esteban, a matrix mechanic who had good weather-sense, said with a hint of disapproval.

Rafe gave Coryn a gruff, silent hug and left with his usual lack of words.
Coryn went down to the dining hall, where the other young people had gathered for breakfast. There were six novices at Tramontana at this time, three close to his own age and three older, one of whom was shortly to leave for Hali, to work as a monitor there before leaving the Towers for an arranged marriage. Coryn's two age-mates were Liane and a tall, dark-eyed boy named Aran MacAran.
Liane glared at Coryn when he sat down, then tossed her head and pretended to be interested in the conversation on her other side, something about layering energon rings along a crystalline lattice. Coryn had no idea what they were talking about.
"Is it true," Aran asked shyly, "that you were caught without shelter by the Aldaran storm? And that you had to kill your horses and climb inside their bodies to stay warm?"
Coryn stared at the other boy, mouth open. "Well, yes, there was a storm, but-"
"But they'd never have made it if we hadn't come along and rescued them!" Liane snapped her head around.
"We were doing just fine, minding our own business, when you came along and picked a fight! Almost got us killed. Some help!"
"Picked a fight? We weren't the ones trespassing- spying-"
"That will be quite enough." The quiet voice came from the other end of the table. Coryn recognized it instantly as Kieran's. He flushed. What was he thinking, to let Liane goad him into such behavior and on his first real morning at Tramontana? He was not surprised when Kieran, in a voice just as calmly authoritative, commanded him for a private word after breakfast. Liane's smirk quickly disappeared when she in turn was ordered to see Bronwyn.

Coryn got up from the table, his breakfast untouched. Aran touched him gently on the back of the wrist, a gesture Coryn now understood was common among telepaths.
"I never believed the story about the horses," Aran said. "But it did sound as if something exciting had happened. Maybe you can tell me later. I'm sorry if I got you into trouble."
"It wasn't you, it was that-that-" Coryn managed to stop himself before he said anything else he'd regret.
A short time later, he stood before Kieran in the Keeper's small, stone-walled sitting room. Despite the morning's chill, no fire warmed the fieldstone hearth. Kieran sat at ease in his simple chair, his six-fingered hands quiet in his lap. The austerity of the scene, as much as the temperature, set Coryn shivering.