"Douglass, Sara - Axis Trilogy 3 - Starman V.9" - читать интересную книгу автора (Douglass Sara)

The Prophet sighed again, and the five could see how much care and pain he laboured under. They respected him deeply, although they did not envy him, for they of all races perhaps best understood the power and compulsions of prophesying.
"Listen," he said, and then he intoned the Prophecy of the Destroyer.
The five moaned as they heard him speak, and leaned on each other's shoulders, and wept. They were accustomed to lives and thoughts of introspection and beauty and great mystery, but the Prophet's words destroyed the peace and harmony of their minds. How would they be able to resume their carefree existence after this? The words of the Prophecy would never leave them.
"The burden of a prophecy is a hard one to carry," one of the five said, and he took his wife's hand for comfort.
"That is so," the Prophet agreed.
Another of the five, one of two brothers, spoke. "And prophecies are terribly fragile. They prophesy only what might be, not what is certain."
"They can be easily bent out of shape," his brother added.
The youngest of the Charonites, a sensual and beautiful woman, now spoke. "And while the Prophecy indicates that this StarMan will reunite Tencendor, recreate its beauty despite the Destroyer's hate, his victory is not certain."
The Prophet waited.
Slowly the five spoke in turn.
"A prophecy is like ..."
"A garden ..."
"That is full of the promise of beauty ..."
"And dreams never-ending..."
"But that can, if neglected ..."
"Or left unattended ..."
"Fall into barrenness ..."
"And sorrow ..."
"And despair . . ."
"And death."
The Prophet took a deep breath, and the younger woman realised for the first time what a handsome face he had.
The most experienced of the Charonites noted the Prophet's easy way with power, and thought he might not be all that he appeared, or that he might be more than he appeared. But he held his peace and, later, it would be he who would share most of the Prophet's secrets.
But for now the Prophet expelled his breath and spoke. "I need a gardener. Someone who is prepared to serve the Prophecy, and see to its needs. Someone who will wait for he who is to appear, and guide and guard his steps."
"I will do it," cried one of the Charonites, prepared to leave her life of contemplation for the service of the Prophecy.
"And I!"
"Both of us would serve," cried the brothers in unison.
"And I, too, would serve this Prophecy," said the last gravely, and the Prophet nodded.
"It was the power of the Prophecy that led me here this night to meet with you. You will be my Sentinels, and to you will I entrust the Prophecy over the coming ages."
The five never returned to their UnderWorld home. They stayed with the Prophet and accepted the secrets he entrusted to them and the transformations he wrought in them. They lost their previous identities and forms and became the Sentinels, and they became closer to each other than they had ever been before.
The other Charonites mourned them, but, with the other mystical races of Tencendor, they came to know of the Prophecy and understood the cause to which their brothers and sisters had been lost. They contemplated the mysteries that the Prophecy had created and prayed that the garden would survive the storm that would eventually engulf it.
Now the five Sentinels sat in their circle, hands tightly held, needing the contact and warmth and love. For three thousand years they had waited. Over the past two years they had guided and watched and waited for the Prophecy to work itself through. There had been times of warmth and laughter and there had been times of deep sadness and loss, but the Sentinels had been content, knowing that they did their best for the Prophet and the Prophecy.
"The Prophecy moves apace," Jack said into the silence.
"It slides to its conclusion," Yr responded, her voice sad. Of them all, perhaps Yr would lose the most in the coming months. She had been the freest, and she had enjoyed her freedom.
"And we slide to our -"
"Enough, Ogden!" Jack cautioned. "We all knew what our service to the Prophecy would entail and there is no need to voice our fate now. But the fact remains that, as soon as Axis moves north towards his confrontation with Gorgrael, we will have to begin our final duties."
There, the words were said.
Yr nodded jerkily, and a moment later the other three nodded.
"Faraday moves east," she said. "Axis prepares to move north, and Azhure...well, who knows what she will do."
The others thought silently on Azhure. Even Jack, who knew many things, had been stunned by the appearance of the Enchantress' ring and its choice of Azhure. He had originally believed the Wolven and the Alaunt had gravitated to Azhure because of her parentage . . . but now that he'd seen the ring on her finger Jack knew differently.
As the original Enchantress had acted only as custodian for the ring, so WolfStar had acted only as custodian for the Wolven and the Alaunt.
Now all had come home.
Had the Prophet known of this? The Prophecy itself gave no clues . . . did it?
The appearance of the ring had vastly increased the Sentinels' respect for Azhure - and for Axis. It would only have reappeared when the Circle was complete, and it marked both Axis and Azhure.
"Who knows what part she will play in the final act," Veremund said. "But whatever happens, let us hope Gorgrael never learns her true identity."
Again all were silent for some moments, then Yr spoke, realigning the subject back to their circle.
"As we are currently in Carlon, then I must go first." Jack, his face unusually soft, nodded. "Yes, Yr. You will be first.".
Yr's eyes filled with tears. "And now that the moment is here, I find my heart is full of regrets."
None of the others begrudged Yr her words. Regrets filled every one of them and they would not hesitate to voice them. But they would not let regrets stop them in their final service to the Prophecy and to Axis. Not when they had come this far. "Many regrets.n
Ice Fortress For hours (or was it days?) Timozel sat knee to knee with Friend in the tiny boat, gliding smoothly and effortlessly over choppy grey waves and still, icy green waters alike. Friend kept up the pretence of rowing, but Timozel was sure some enchantment was being wielded. Who could row for hour after hour (day after day?) without tiring?
Friend had not said a word since he rowed out from the beach at Murkle Bay. But Timozel felt certain that within the shadows of the close hood Friend grinned maniacally at him. Timozel spent most of his time staring anywhere but at the darkness behind the man's black and gloomy hood.