"Tom Deitz - David Sullivan 02 - Fireshaper's Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Deitz Tom)

Water spread before him, and all of it was grayтАФgray, that is, save where it was silver filigree stretched
thin across the towering fronts of monstrous waves, or the froth of ragged ivory lace atop them.

Or gold where the Straight Tracks threaded through them.

But it was not the healthy sun gold that told of easy passage; it was the weak, shifting color that told of
danger and the perilous way. For the Circles of the Worlds turned out of track this season: the suns rose
against each other in the Lands of Men and Faerie; the moons added each their contentious influences.
And in the skies of the Mortal World was a hairy star that wrought its own disruption.

And so all the seas of Faerie ran high, and not even the ships of the Tuatha de Danaan could sail upon
them. Storms raged in the High Air, so that those same ships could not skim above those seas, nor birds
any longer fly there. And the Tracks between the realms were so weak and fickle that no foot or wheel
dared pass upon them, as had not been the case in five hundred of the years of men.

тАЬLord, you may not pass. You would not return,тАЭ said the border watch. тАЬThe way is sealed, no one
goes that way, except to lose himself forever.тАЭ

тАЬBut what of my ravens?тАЭ Nuada asked. тАЬI would set them a-traveling: word must be sent to Annwyn
and Erenn of what passed at the Trial of Heroes. Nearly a month that word has waited, and it can wait
no longer.тАЭ

But wait it did, for almost a change of seasons. It was summer in the Lands of Men before the eastward
Road reopened.

Chapter I: Mail
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




(MacTyrie, GeorgiaтАФFriday, June 21)

p. 10David SullivanтАФMad Dave, as he had somehow come to be called during the previous school
yearтАФhad what his mother would have termed in her Georgia mountain twang тАЬthe nervous, pacing
fidgets.тАЭ

Except that he wasnтАЩt exactly nervousтАФjust impatient, which was generally worse because it was usually
somebody elseтАЩs fault. And except that he wasnтАЩt, for the moment, pacingтАФbut only because Alec
McLean had just asked him, quite forcefully, to stop. For the fourth time in twice as many minutes he
flopped down in the window seat snuggled beneath the dormer of AlecтАЩs second-floor bedroom and
took another stab at reading the page ofNew Teen Titans he had likewise commenced four times before.

And once again was not successful.

Before he knew it, his gaze had wandered away from the comic to survey the neat, odd-shaped room
beyond his cubby. An aluminum-framed backpack dominated his view, bulging lumpily atop the double
bed at his left like a blue nylon hippopotamus. And just beyond it, David knew, lay the very heart and
center of his impatience: a pair of half-empty suitcases.