"Cecilia Dart-Thornton - The Bitterbynde 01 - The Ill-Made Mute" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart-Thornton Cecilia)

Had it landed on the rocks, it would have been killedтАФa kinder fateтАФbut it finished, instead,
facedown in a green thicket of Hedera paradoxis. Stealthily the juices of the poisonous leaves ate into its
face while it lay there for hours, insensate. When it awoke it was too weak to scream. It used its last
energies to crawl from the toxic bushes and lie frozen in the morning sunlight, its now-ghastly face turned
up to the sky.
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A benison of warmth began to creep into the chilled flesh, seeping into the very marrow of the
bones. Detached, as though it viewed itself from afar, the creature felt its jaws being forced open, inhaled
the steamy aroma of warm broth, and sipped instinctively. The sweet, rich liquid coursed inward,
spreading waves of flowing warmth. The creature sipped again, then fell back, exhausted.
As its body attempted to normalize, its thoughts briefly coalesced. It held tightly to the one idea that
did not spin away: the awareness that for as long as it could remember, its eyelids had been shut. It tried
to open them but could not. It tried again and, before being sucked back into unconsciousness, stared
briefly into the face of an old woman whose wisps of white hair stuck out like spiders' legs from beneath
a stained wimple.
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There followed millennia or days or minutes of warm, foggy half-sleep interspersed with waking to
drink, to stare again at that face bound in its net of wrinkles and to feel the first very faint glimmerings of
strength returning to its wasted body. Recognition evolved, too, of walls, of rough blankets and a straw
pallet on the stone-flagged floor beside the heat-sourceтАФthe mighty, iron-mouthed furnace that
combusted night and day. The creature's face felt numb and itchy. And as senses returned, it must endure
the sour stench of the blankets.
Stokers entered the room, fed the hungering furnace with sweetmeats of wood, clanged the iron
door shut, raised their voices accusingly at one another, then went away. Children with malt-brown hair
came and stared, keeping their distance.
The white-haired crone fed some broth to her charge and spoke to it in incomprehensible syllables.
It stared back at her, wincing as she lifted it, blankets and all, and carried it into a small room. Beneath
the peelings of bedding the creature was clad in filthy rags. The old woman stripped it naked before
lowering it into a bath of tepid water. Wonderingly, it looked down at its own skeletal frame, floating like
some pale, elongated fish, and perceived a person, with arms and legs like the crone but much younger.
The crone was doing something to its hair, which it couldn't seeтАФwashing it in a separate container
behind the bath, lathering the hair thoroughly with scented soaps, rinsing again and again.
The woman dressed the rescuee in garments of a nondescript sepia hueтАФthick breeches,
long-sleeved gipon, and thigh-length doublet corded at the waist. There was a heavy, pointed hood with
a wide gorget that was allowed to hang down behind the shoulders, leaving the head bare. About the
creature's neck, beneath the gorget, she strung a leather thong tied to a rowan-wood charm crudely
carved in the shape of a rooster. The bathed one sat, obediently, cross-legged while gnarled hands
combed the short hair dry.
Bewildered, feeble, it lifted its scrawny hand to its head and felt the short stubble there. Its spindly
fingers wandered to its face, where there was no sensation other than slight irritation. They found there
grotesque lumps and swellings: a knobbed, jutting forehead, thick lips, an asymmetrical cauliflower of a
nose, cheeks like bags of acorns. Tears filled its eyes, but its benefactress, chattering gummily to herself,
seemed oblivious of its agony of humiliation.
Time organized itself into days and nights.
The days organized themselves around eating, dozing, and the exhausting minutiae of existence.
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The spider-haired woman jabbed a stubby thumb at herself. "Grethet," she repeated. Apparently
she had discovered her charge was not deaf.
Instantly grateful for this first attempt at communication, it opened its mouth to respond.
No sound came forth.