"Dart-Thornton,.Cecilia.-.Bitterbynde.02.-.Lady.Of.The.Sorrows.V2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart-Thornton Cecilia)

"'Even in this extremity I can give you advice,' said she. 'Nonetheless, the challenge will be fraught with difficulty. You must take a sprig of rowan for protection and go to the Culver every night and lie down on top of it. Should they Themselves come to inquire your purpose, you must ask them to give back your daughter, but I warn you, what they may ask in return may not be easily guessed.'"
"The farmer did as she had advised and on the third night the Faъran appeared before him and asked him why he should be so bold as to lie down on top of the Culver."
"'I am come to ask for my daughter, who you took from me,' he said."
"'Well then, you shall have her back,' they said, 'if, before Whiteflower's Day you bring to us three giftsЧa cherry without a stone, a living bird that has no bone, and, from the oldest creature on your farm, a part of its body given without the shedding of any blood. If you come back with those three things, we will give you your daughter.'"
"Hope sprang afresh in the farmer's heart as he departed. But then he asked himself, 'How can there be a cherry without a stone, save that I should cut the stone out of it? But I am certain that is not what they mean. As for the bird, I could kill a hen and take its bones out, but how shall I find a living bird with no bone? And what of the last part of the riddleЧcould it mean milk from my old cow, Buttercup? Yet milk is not really part of an animal's body. What if I cut off the tips of her horns? But waitЧis not Dobbin the cart-horse older than Buttercup?' He tormented himself looking for the answers but could find none, and the carlin could not help him further. Unable to rest, he took to roaming through the countryside, asking himself those questions over and over, and querying whomsoever he met, but with no success at all, and Whiteflower's Day was coming closer."
The Bard leaned to caress the soft fur of the lynx. Taking advantage of the interlude, the Duchess of Roxburgh said, "Whenever I hear this tale I wonder at the thickheadedness of that farmer. How could anyone not guess the answers to such simple riddles?"
The Bard smiled, saying, "Not all folk are as clever as Alys of Roxburgh."
"Hmph!" she returned, feigning a slap at him with her folded fan. "Go on with the tale!"
"Barely three weeks remained before Whiteflower's Day," resumed Ercildoune, "when, as he trudged along the road, the farmer met a beggar."
"'Prithee, sir,' said the ragged fellow, 'can you spare a crust? I am famished!'"
"'A crust and more,' said the farmer feelingly. Opening his leather wallet, he generously handed out bread, cheese, and apples. 'I know what suffering is,' he said sadly, 'and I would alleviate the distress of others if I am able.'"
"'You have succored me,' said the beggar as he took the food, 'and in turn I will give you aid. The answer to your first question is: A cherry when it is a blossom, clasps no stone.'"
"In amazement the farmer stared at the beggar, but the old fellow just walked away, smiling. Although he seemed to walk slowly he was along up the road in a trice and quickly disappeared around the corner. The farmer ran to catch up with him but when he rounded the bend all that he saw was the long, empty road stretching away to the distance, and no traveler upon it."
"Marveling, the farmer walked on. He was passing a spinney of chestnuts when he saw a thrush trying to escape from a kestrel, which stooped to kill it. Momentarily setting aside his woes, he seized a pebble from the roadside and hurled it at the hunting hawk. The kestrel fled, but the thrush returned. It fluttered down to perch on the bough of a thorn bush, regarding its rescuer with a bright and knowing eye."
"Seeing such a look, the farmer was hardly surprised when the bird opened its beak and spoke to him in melodious tones."
"'You acted in kindness. Now I will reward you with the answer to your second question. If a broody hen sits on an egg for fifteen days, that egg will hold a chicken without a bone yet formed in its body.' The man gaped at the little brown bird, but it trilled three musical notes and flew away."
"The farmer was vastly encouraged. 'Two answers!' he said triumphantly to himself, 'Two answers have I!' Then he thought, 'But what good are they if I cannot find the answer to the last question?' And he almost despaired."
"As he tramped on his way, frowning and cogitating about the third riddle, there came to his ears a pathetic wailing. In the hedges bordering the road, a rabbit was trapped in a wire snare. Its crying moved the man to pity. Crouching beside the creature, he gently set it free, expecting it to run away forthwith."
"Like the thrush, it focused its gaze upon him. This time, he was not astonished, yet a sense of wonder welled in him."
"'Sir,' piped the rabbit, 'you have done me a favor, therefore here is the final answer you require. If you cut off a lock of hair, it will come away from the body without shedding one drop of blood. As for the oldest creature on your farm, why the looking-glass will answer that.'"
"When the farmer blinked the rabbit was gone, but he threw his cap into the air and ran jubilantly home. Hurrying to the chicken coop, he placed an egg under a broody hen. When fifteen days were past he took the shears and chopped off a lock of his own hair. Then he went out into the orchard and gathered a great bough of pink-and-white cherry blossoms. Throwing his cap in the air, he whooped for joy."
"He could hardly wait for night to fall. At sunset, he stuck a sprig of rowan in his cap and went down Willowvale and up to the top of the Culver. There he sat down and bided his time, and the stars came out over his head, and the night was warm and still, and yet he kept vigil. After a time he heard music and laughter, which seemed to be coming from beneath the hill, and soon the Faъran came. They were annoyed to see him there, but they could not touch him because of the sprig of rowan, and they could not abduct him because he had failed to transgress their code. When he showed them the blossom, the egg, and the lock of hair, they had to give him back his daughter. At first she gazed at her father in bewilderment, as one who has woken from a dream, but then she gave a cry of happiness and threw her arms around him. They returned home together, and never again did she try to spy on the Faъran."
With a discordant twang, a string broke on Toby's lyre. At the sound, the listeners started.
"The Faъran had their own laws," continued Ercildoune after a sidelong glance at his apprentice, "as this tale shows. And when those laws were broken, they meted out their own forms of punishment. Yet they were not unmerciful. First, they gave the farmer opportunity to reclaim his kin. Secondly, they tested him to see if he was worthy of reward. Because he showed kindness, they themselves gave him the answers to the riddles. Kindness in mortals was a virtue which they esteemed highly."
"Also great courage," Alys contributed.
"Aye, and neatness and cleanliness, and true love, and the keeping of promises," added the Bard.
With a practiced air, Toby removed the broken string from his lyre and unrolled a new one.
"I have learned," said Rohain, "that they delighted also in feasting, dancing, and riddlesЧa merry race, it seems they were, but also dangerous."
Ercildoune, leaning on his elbow, called for a page.
"Bring piment!" he said. "Does m'lady like piment?" he added, turning to Rohain.
"I know not what it is."
"A brew of red wine, honey, and spices."
"I am certain it would please me."
The Bard snapped his fingers and the lad hurried away. Toby plucked a rising scale of liquid notes to tune the string as he tightened it.
"Did they live under the hills?" pursued Rohain. "Was their Realm underground, in caves?"
Ercildoune laughed. "Not underground, not under water, not under or over anything. Faerie lay elsewhere. It was Away. The traverses that linked Aia and the Fair RealmЧsome called it the Perilous RealmЧused to lie in such places as eldritch wights now see fit to haunt. There was an access under the Culver, as under certain other hills. These green mounds were known by many names, such as raths, knowes, brughs, lisses, and sitheans or shians, but passage existed also under lakes, in coppices, in wells, in high places and low. So you understand, Rohain, the little girl gathering primroses did not look into an underground cavernЧshe looked through a traverse into the Realm itself."
"Well," said Rohain, "abduction seems severe retribution for an unwary glance."
"It seems so to us," agreed Ercildoune. "Howbeit, bearing in mind that the Fair Realm could be a place of delight, the Faъran may have seen it merely as a way of preventing the child from telling others all that she had seen, and thus preempting an influx of human gawkers. Generally, they considered mortal spying to be an outrageous crime and they were swift to avenge, as I shall relate. But first allow me to provide you with a further example of traverses and mortal transgression."
A hallmarked lore-master, ever enthused by his trade, the Bard launched into another story.
"There was once a Faъran right-of-way at Lake Coumluch in the mountains of Finvarna. Coumluch is a solitary lake with a mist of white vapors ever on it and lofty cliffs rising all around. For most of the year the lake waters were unbroken by any reef, rock, or isle, but every Whiteflower's Day there would be an island in the lake's center, and at the same time a Door would appear in the face of the cliffs. The Door stood open, and if anyone should dare to enter they would follow a winding stair descending to a long, level passageway. This traverse beneath the lake was a right-of-way into the Fair Realm. At the top of a second stairway, a Door led out onto the island. Fair and stately was this domain, with its long, verdant lawns, its great drifts of perfumed flowers like clouds of colored silks and confetti, its arbors dappled with freckles of golden light and lacy shade. The Faъran made their bedazzled guests welcome, bedecking them with garlands of flowers. They plied them with dainty viands and refreshing drafts, which were not of the Fair Realm but had been broughtЧstolen, perhapsЧfrom Erith; for the Fair Folk did not wish to capture their guests, only to entertain them, before letting them go. Neither would they allow the Longing for Faerie to come over them. Eldritch wights struck up tunes on their fiddlesЧFaъran musicians rarely played for the amusement of mortalsЧand the guests were invited to join the dancing. In mirth and revelry the day fled by, and as evening drew in the mortals must take their leave."
"The Faъran imposed only one condition on their visitors: that none should take anything from the island. Not so much as a blade of grass or a pebble must be removed. The gifts of flowers must all be put aside before the guests went down the stairs to the passage beneath the lake."
"For centuries, this condition was met. Eventually, however, one man's curiosity overcame him. Just to see what would happen, he plucked a rosebud from his garland before he put it aside, and slipped the bud into the pocket of his coat."
"Down the stone stairs beneath the lake he went with the rest of the departing crowd. Halfway along the passage he felt in his pocket, but the rosebud was no longer there. At this, terrible fear gripped him, for he guessed that the Faъran had ways of knowing about transgressions like his. He hastened to the Door in the cliff-face, and passed through it, and all the jovial crowd with him. As the last guest passed out of the right-of-way, a voice cried, 'Woe to ye, that ye should repay our hospitality with theft.' Then the Door slammed shut and, as usual, not a crack remained to show where it had been."
"But from that day forth, the island never reappeared on Whiteflower's Day, nor was there ever again any sign of the Door in the cliff-face. The Faъran of the Isle never forgave mortals for that theft. They withdrew their annual invitation and closed that Gateway forever. One of the traverses to the Fair Realm was closed, never to be reopened, but it was only the first. Later, at the time of the Closing, all the rights-of-way were barred forever."
"Why?" asked Rohain.
"Mortals have done worse than steal flowers from the Fair Realm. Some of the Faъran were greatly angered by the deeds of our kind. They wished to have no more commerce with us."
"And you say that these traverses were barred forever? Can they not be reopened?"
"No."
"Perhaps it is for the best," suggested Rohain. Alys nodded.
"Never say so!" cried the Bard, now heated. "Aia has lost its link with a world of wonder such as mortals can only dream of. The Fair Realm was and remains a perilous land, aye, and in it were snares for the unwatchful and prison towers for the foolhardy, but it was far-reaching and unfathomed and lofty and filled with many things: all kinds of birds and beasts, shoreless oceans and stars beyond measure, beauty that is spellbinding and dangerous, gramarye both rich and strange, joyousness and sorrow as piercing as any Dainnan blade. In that Realm a man may have considered himself lucky to have roamed."