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

Jayme's face was now completely white and his mouth trembled. He held out a hand. "Axis!" But Axis was gone.
The memory of that visit disturbed Jayme so much that he abased himself once more before Artor's icon, seeking what comfort the crude figure could give him.
The guards had taken from his room the beautiful gold and enamel icon of Artor that had held pride of place in the centre of the main wall. During the first two days of his captivity Jayme had laboriously carved out a life-sized outline of the great god into the soft plaster of the wall. Even though he had torn his nails with the effort, at least he had an icon to pray to.
He pressed his forehead to the floor.
The sound of noisy celebrations in the streets below finally roused him in the early evening. Curious despite his despondency, Jayme wandered over to the window.
Cheerful crowds thronged the streets and Jayme listened carefully, trying to make out what they shouted. Most held beakers of beer or ale, a few had goblets of wine. All were smiling.
"A toast to our lord and lady!" Jayme heard one stout fellow shout, and the crowd happily obliged.
"A marriage made in the stars, they say!" shouted another, and Jayme was horrified to see that it came from one of several winged creatures in the crowd.
He frowned. Had Axis married Faraday already?
A tiny piece of plaster fell to the floor behind him. Then another. Deep in concentration on the scene below him, Jayme did not hear.
"To Axis!"
"And to Azhure!"
Large cracks spread across the wall, and a piece of plaster the size of a man's fist bulged into the room.
"Azhure?" Jayme said. "Azhure?"
More plaster crumbled to the floor as further cracks and bulges raced across the wall, but Jayme was so engrossed in the crowd's celebrations he did not hear it.
"Who is this Azhure?" Now Jayme had both hands and face pressed to the window pane in an effort to catch the shouts of the crowd.
She is one of the many reasons for your death, fool.
Jayme whimpered in terror and his eyes refocused away from the street below him and onto the reflection in the glass.
Plaster fell to the floor in a torrent as the wall came alive behind him.
Jayme whimpered softly again, so horrified he could not move. His eyes remained glued to the terror in the reflection.
Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this, and yet he knew precisely what it was.
Artor, come to exact revenge for the failings of the Brother-Leader of his Seneschal.
"Beloved Lord," Jayme croaked.
In the reflection Jayme saw the wall ripple and a form bulge through, taking the shape of the icon Jayme had scratched in the plaster days ago.
It was too much, and Jayme screwed shut his eyes in terror.
Have you not the courage to face Me, Brother-Leader? Have you not the courage to face your Lord?
Jayme felt a powerful force seize control of his body. Suddenly he was spun around and slammed back against the window; he retained only enough power over his muscles to keep his eyelids tightly closed. Some part of his mind not yet completely numbed with terror hoped that Artor would use too much force and the window panes would crack behind him, allowing him to fall to a grateful death on the cobbles below.
But Artor knew His own power, and Jayme did not hit the glass with enough force to break it.
He was held there, his feet a handspan off the floor, and none of the crowd celebrating Axis and Azhure's marriage spared so much as a glance above to see Jayme pinned against the window as effectively as a cruel boy will pin an ant to a piece of paper.
The great god Artor the Ploughman completed His transformation and stepped into the room. He was stunningly, furiously angry, and His wrath was a terrible thing to behold. Jayme had failed Him. The Seneschal was crumbling, and soon even those fragments that were left would be swept away in the evil wind that blew over the land of Achar. Day by day Artor could feel the loss of those souls who turned from the worship of Artor and the Way of the Plough to the worship of other gods. He was the one true god, He demanded it, and Artor liked it not that those gods He had banished so long ago might soon walk this land again.
Jayme had failed Artor so badly and so completely that the god Himself had been forced from His heavenly kingdom to exact retribution from Brother-Leader Jayme for his pitiful failure to lead the Seneschal against the challenge of the StarMan.
What have you done, Jayme?
Jayme shuddered, and found that Artor had freed those muscles he needed to speak with. "I have done my best, Lord," he whispered.
Meet My eyes, Jayme, and know the god that you promised to serve.
Jayme tried to keep his eyes tightly shut, but the god's power tore them open - and Jayme screamed.
Standing before him was a man-figure, yet taller and more heavily musclebound than any man Jayme had ever seen before. Artor had chosen to reveal Himself in the symbolic attire of the ploughman: the rough linen loincloth, the short leather cape thrown carelessly over His shoulders, its hood drawn close about Artor's face, and thick rope sandals. In one hand Artor held the traditional goad used to urge the plough team onwards; the other hand He had clenched in the fist of righteous anger.

Underneath the leather hood of His cape Artor had assumed the heavy, pitted features of a man roughened by years of tilling the soil, while His body was roped with the thick muscles needed to control the team and the cumbersome wheeled plough.
And underlying this immensely powerful and angry physical presence was the roiling fury of a god scorned and rejected by many of those who had once served Him.
Artor's eyes glittered with black rage. Daily My power diminishes as the Seneschal crumbles into dust. Daily the souls of the Acharites are claimed by other, less deserving gods. For this I hold you responsible.
"I could not have foreseen -" Jayme began, but Artor raised the goad menacingly above His head and took a powerful step forwards, and Jayme fell into silence.
The power of the Mother threatens to spill over into this land as the bitch you failed to stop prepares to sow the seeds of the evil forest across Achar. The Star Gods now threaten to spread their cold light through this land again.
"I had not the knowledge or the power to stop these gods of whom you speak -"
Yet you incubated the egg that would hatch the traitorous viper. You nursed the viper to your - to My - bosom! You raised him, you taught him, you gave him the power and the means, and then you turned him loose to destroy all that I have worked to build.
"Axis! I could not have known that he -"
As the Brotherhood of the Seneschal falls to its knees so the worship of the Plough fades and I grow weak. Long-forgotten gods seek to take My place and banish Me from this land.
"Give me another chance and I will try to Ч"
But Artor did not want to hear empty excuses or useless promises. His judgment was final.
/ shall seek out among those remaining to find one who will work My will for me. One who is still loyal. One who can steer the Plough that you have left to wheel out of control. Die,
Jayme, and prepare to live your eternity within My eternal retribution. Feel My justice, Jayme! Feel it!