"Bujold, Lois McMaster - Chalion 3 - The Hallowed Hunt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bujold Lois McMaster)

УI wonder what the old ceremonies were really like,Ф she mused. УThe divines scorn the animal sacrifice, but reallyЕWhen I was a child at my fatherТs Temple fort, I went a few times withЕwith a friend to the marsh peopleТs autumn rites. The fen folk arenТt of the same race or language as the Old Wealdings, but I could almost have imagined myself going back to those days. It was more like a grand party and outdoor roast than anything. I mean, they made some songs and rituals over the creatures before they slaughtered them, but whatТs the difference if we pray over our meat after itТs cooked instead of before?Ф She added with an air of fairness, УOr so my friend said. The fortТs divine disagreed, but then, the two of them disagreed a lot. I think my friend enjoyed baiting him.Ф
It hadnТt been the menu that the Quintarian divines had objected to, for it wasnТt just meat that the Old Weald kin had taken from their hallowed beasts. The tribal sorcerers had defiled the souls of their battle lords with the ghosts of animals, making their leadersТ spirits fierceЧbut also unfit to offer, at the ends of their lives, to the gods. Ingrey doubted any festival this young woman would have been permitted to see involved any consumption beyond meat, though. УIt is said the fen men paint themselves with blood.Ф
УWell,Ф she said thoughtfully, УthatТs true. Or at any rate, everyone ran about splashing each other and screaming with laughter. It was all very messy and silly, and rather smelly, but it was hard to see any evil in it. Of course, this tribe didnТt sacrifice people.Ф She looked around the clearing as if imagining the ghostly image of some such evil slaying here.
УIndeed,Ф said Ingrey dryly. УThat was the sticking point, between the Darthacan Quintarians and the Old Wealdings.Ф For all that both sides had worshipped the same five gods. УSo when Audar the so-called Great slaughtered four thousand Wealding prisoners of war at Bloodfield, itТs said he didnТt pray at all. That made it a proper Quintarian act, I suppose, and not heresy. Some other crime, perhaps, but not human sacrifice. One of those theological fine points.Ф
That massacre of a generation of young spirit warriors had broken the back of the Wealding resistance to their eastern invaders, in any case. For the next hundred and fifty years, the WealdТs lands, ceremonies, and people had been forcibly rearranged into Darthacan patterns, until AudarТs vast empire broke apart in the bloody squabbles of his much less great descendants. Orthodox Quintarianism survived the empire that had fostered it, however. The suppressed animal practices and wisdom songs of the forest tribes had been lost and all but forgotten in the renewed Weald, except for rural superstitions, childrenТs rhymes, and the odd ghost tale.
OrЕnot quite forgotten, not by everyone. Father, what were you thinking? Why did you burden me with this bestial blasphemy? What were you trying to do? The old, painful, unanswered questionЕIngrey thrust it from his mind.
УI suppose we are all New Wealdings, now,Ф mused Ijada. She touched her Darthacan-dark hair, and nodded to IngreyТs own. УAlmost every Wealding kin that survived has Darthacan forebears, too. Mongrels, to a man. Or to a lord, anyway. So we inherit AudarТs sins and the tribesТ. For all I know my Chalionese father had some Darthacan blood. The nobles there are a very mixed lot, really, he always said, for all that they carry on about their pedigrees.Ф
Ingrey bit, chewed, did not answer.
УWhen your father gave you your wolf,Ф she began, УhowЧФ
УYou should go eat,Ф he interrupted her, around a mouthful of cold roast. УItТs going to be a long ride yet.Ф He rose and strode away from her, toward the wagon and its baskets. He did not want more food, but he did not want more of her chatter, either. He selected a not-too-wormy apple and nibbled it slowly while walking about. He stayed on the other side of the clearing from her, during the remainder of their rest.
а
AS THE CORTEGE RUMBLED ON THROUGH THE AFTERNOON, THE rugged angles of the hills grew gentler and hamlets more frequent, their fields more extensive. The sun was slanting toward the treetops when they came to an unanticipated check. A rocky ford, hock deep on the ride in, had risen with the rains and was now in full and muddy flood.
Ingrey halted his horse and looked over the problem. BolesoТs wagon had not been made watertight with skins or tar, so the chance of its floating away at an awkward angle and yanking the horses off their feet was slight. The chance of its shipping water and bogging down, however, was good. He set mounted men at the wagonТs four corners with ropes to help warp it through the hazard, and waved the yeoman onward with what speed he could muster from his tired team. The water came up past the horsesТ bellies, pushing the wagon off its wheels, but the outriders held it on course, and the whole assemblage struggled safely up the far bank. Only then did Ingrey motion Lady Ijada ahead of him into the water.
His gaze lifted to mark the wagonТs progress, then jerked back as the chestnut horse missed its footing, wallowed, and went down over its head. Lady Ijada was swept off into the torrent too quickly to cry out. Ingrey swore, spurring his horse forward into the flood. His head swiveled frantically, looking for dark hair, a flash of brown fabric in the turbid foamЧher clothing would surely hold water, skirts dragging her downЧthere!
The cold water tugged at his knees as he urged his horse downstream. The dark head bobbed up by a trio of smooth rocks that stuck out of the spate boiling around them. An arm reached, caughtЕ
УHang on!Ф yelled Ingrey. УIТm coming to get youЧ!Ф
Two arms. Lady Ijada heaved herself upward, belly over the rock, wriggled and scrambled; by the time Ingrey brought his snorting horse close, she was standing upright, dripping and gasping. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her horse make it to the bank farther downstream, where it surged up, stumbled through the mud, and bolted into the woods. Ingrey spared it an unvoiced curse and waved one of his men after it.
He did not look to see if he was obeyed, for now he was within armТs reach of Lady Ijada. He leaned toward her, she leaned toward himЕ
A dark red fog seemed to come up over his brain, clouding his vision. Gripping her arms, he toppled into the stream, pulling her from her perch. Down, if he held her downЕwater filled his mouth. He spat, gasped, and went under again. He was blinded and tumbling. Some distant part of his mind, far, far off, was screaming at him: What are you doing, you fool! He must hold her downЧ
The force of the water clubbed his head into something hard, and starry green sparks overflowed the red fog. All thought fled.
а
SENSATION RETURNED IN PANICKED CHOKING. COLD AIR SLAPPED his face, somehow held up out of the water, and he drew enough breath to cough out both air and water. His limbs flailed, feeling desperately weak and heavy, as though trapped in oil.
УStop fighting me!Ф Lady IjadaТs voice snapped in his ear. Something circling his neck tightened; he realized after a dizzy moment that it must be her arm. He must save her, drown her, save herЧ
She can swim. The belated realization slowed his flailing, if only in shock. Well, he could swim, too, after a fashion. HeТd stayed alive through a shipwreck, once, admittedly mostly by hanging on to things that floated. The only thing floating here seemed to be Lady Ijada. Surely the weight of his blades and boots must drag them both downЧhis feet struck something. The current spat them into a back eddy, the river bottom flattened out, then she was dragging him up onto some welcome, blessed shore.
He twisted around out of her armТs grip, crawling up on hands and knees over the rocks onto the moss-covered bank. Pink water flowed from his hair, growing redder. He dashed it from his eyes and blinked around. The woods here were thick and tangled. He was not sure how far downstream they had come, but the ford, the wagon, and his men were nowhere in sight. He was shivering in shock from the head blow.
She stood up, water streaming from her clothes, and staggered out of the river toward him, her hand reaching. He cried out, a wordless bellow, and recoiled, wrapping his arms around a small tree, in part to hold himself upright, in part to holdЕУDonТt touch me!Ф
УWhat? Lord Ingrey, youТre bleedingЧФ
УDonТt come any nearer!Ф
УLord Ingrey, if you will justЧФ
His voice cracked. УMy wolf is trying to kill you! It is coming unbound! Stay away!Ф
She stopped, stared. Her hair had come partly undone, and water trickled from it in sparkling drops, plashing silently into the moss at her feet, steady and fascinating as some strange water clock.
УThree times,Ф he gasped hoarsely. УThat was the third time. DonТt you realize, I tried to drown you just now? ItТs tried twice before. The first time I saw you, when I drew my steel, I meant to run you through on the spot. Then when we were sitting, I almost tried to strangle you.Ф
She was pale, thoughtful, intent. Not running away screaming. He wanted her to run, whether screaming or not made no matter to him. As long as she could outrun himЕ
УRun!Ф
Instead, maddeningly, she leaned against a tree bole and began to remove her squelching boots. It wasnТt until she had tipped out the second one that she said, УIt wasnТt your wolf.Ф
His head was still ringing from the blow against the boulder. By the unpleasant rumbling in his gut, he was due to vomit some river water soon. He didnТt comprehend her. УWhat?Ф
УIt wasnТt your wolf.Ф She set the boot down next to its mate and added in a tight, even voice, УI can smell your wolf, in a sense. Not smell really, but I donТt know any other way to describe it.Ф
УItЧI tried to kill you!Ф
УIt wasnТt your wolf. It wasnТt you, either. It was the other smell. All three times.Ф
Now he merely stared, all words deserting him.
УLord IngreyЧyou never asked where the ghost of BolesoТs leopard went.Ф
It wasnТt a stare anymore, he feared. It was a gape.
УIt came to me.Ф Her hazel eyes met his for one level, intent moment.
УIЕitЕexcuse me,Ф said Ingrey hoarsely. УI have to throw up now.Ф
He retreated around his too-narrow tree, for what little privacy it could render him. He wished he could say the spasm gave him a moment to gather his wits, but they seemed scattered for a mile behind him up the river valley. Drowned, they were, without benefit of wine. All of the punishment, none of the reward.
He stumbled back around the tree to find her calmly wringing out her jacket. He gave up and sat down with a thump upon a mossy log. It was damp, but he was damper, his wet leathers sliding and squeaking unpleasantly.
She looked no different, to his eye. Well, wet, yes, sodden and wild, but still caressed by the slanting light as if the sun were her lover. He saw no cat shape in her shadow. He smelled nothing but himself, a sickly mix of wet leather, oil, sweat, and horse.
УI donТt know if it was BolesoТs intent that I should have it,Ф she continued in that same flat tone, undaunted by the repulsive interruption. УIt came to me when I touched his dying body, looking for the key. The other animals stayed bound, and went with him. He had held them longer, or perhaps the rite hadnТt been finished. The leopardТs spirit was very frightened and frantic. It hid itself in my mind, but I could feel it.
УI did not know what to do, or what it might do. BolesoТs men were fools. I said nothing about it, and no one asked.Ф
УYour defenseЧthat could be your defense!Ф he said in sudden eagerness. УThe leopard spirit killed the prince, in its frenzy. Not you. You were possessed by it. It was an accident.Ф