"Donnelly-Bloodletting" - читать интересную книгу автора (Donnelly Marcos)

cornerstone of Roma.

It draws its hood back, and I am struck by the satan's incarnation. Not exactly
the form imagined in my Most Grievous Inner Sin, but enough to cause me to sway.
Dark gray eyes, full hair and no signs of balding, unlike the men and women
outside the Wall. Not a single blemish from the Curse.

And I hesitate. The woman-face the creature wears is sad. The Writs have spoken
of voracity in satan eyes, and of licentiousness and Hell-light, but never of
sadness. I hesitate because I believe I am seeing a new guise of the satans, as
did St. Carlisle of Old, and I decide it might be important to discern the
creature's full nature before ripping its throat. I have always performed
special worship to St. Carlisle, and this unholy incarnation may be the Saint's
way of repaying my devotion. The Saint is revealing to me a new class of satan,
that I might win honor for my name and his.

Or perhaps the satan is striking at my pride, the second of my Most Grievous
Inner Sins.

"Oh, Shirrah," the satan speaks, calling me by a name not mine. This is a good
sign. If a satan speaks your name, you lose a portion of your spirit. "Your
head," it says. "Your hands."

It looks at me piteously, seducing me into believing it sympathizes with the
pains of the sacred Bloodletting. I have bored holes through my palms,
completely through. Few sacerdotes have gone as far. The cuts in my head are not
as deep as they could be, and I feel shame for a moment. But my hands are holy;
I will kill it with my hands.

It walks past me to the window of my cell. I have still said nothing to it,
because I cannot remember what Saint Carlisle had said to his new demon. But I
should know! This satan confuses my mind, and I must fight to remember.

It is looking out the window, completely trusting that I will not attack it from
behind. This, too, confuses me. The satans are not so careless. "The stars," it
says, its voice low and bewildered. "The stars have never been this close. No
time that I remember." It tums and faces me. There is a tear coming from one of
its eyes, and I know now, for certain, that I am indeed blessed to cast down a
guise of the satans so unique. Never have the Writs mentioned tears.

"You were right," it says. "No patterns, never a set amount of time. You knew,
and now I do."

It pulls a dagger from beneath its robe. I have prepared myself against
surprises, but I gasp nonetheless. She has turned so that starlight reflects
from her right eye, the one without the tear. It is Hell-light, I realize. I
begin a silent word ritual to St. Carlisle of Old.

She screams now. "You remember nothing after this? Notying?" The hand with the
dagger is shaking violently. This satan acts like a human, but speaks arcanely.