"The Reader's Companion Series 01 - The Odyssey of Gilthanas - Douglas Niles & Steve Miller & Stan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragonlance)

Mala walks right by, taking as little notice of the prone form as she does me. While she lowers her bucket into the well, I run up to the body. Where did it come from? Who is it? Perhaps one of the Legionnaires from the port? Or a seaman from that trading ship that put in last night? Put enough rum in one of those sailors and he'll wander halfway to Icewall before passing out. This one is lucky to have staggered only this far.
As I near the body, though, I realize this is no sailor sleeping off too much drink. His clothes are too threadbare, his skin too fair (though he's severely sunburned). Rolling him over, the stranger's hair falls away from his face revealing finely chiseled features and slender tapering ears. An elf!
We've seen a few elves passing in the weeks since Military Governor Konnal sent word that all loyal Silvanesti elves should return to their homeland, and the ones we have seen were all headed toward the forest as quickly as possible (though I hear that even they can't get through the invisible barrier that's gone up around the elf lands). This one looks like he's crossed the desert alone and unsupplied. I can only guess that he's coming from Silvanesti, that he somehow got out before the shield was raised and fled across the sands. It's not terribly far, but without the proper clothing and a sufficient supply of water, the trip still can be deadly.
While I check to see that the elf is indeed still among the living, Mala retrieves her full bucket, grips the handle with both hands, and carries it off. Completely oblivious to the elf's plight or my ministrations, she rounds the corner, heading for her house-a good idea.
There is nothing I can do for the elf here. I have to get him out of the sun and find a healer to tend to his wounds. I'll leave him at Mala's house. He'll be safe there while I go down to the port. Falaius Taneek and his Legionnaires are always looking for ways to help folks. I can't think of anyone who needs help more than this poor fellow.

*****

The healer was right, after a few days of rest and lots of water, the elf is looking much better. He still hasn't awakened-well, not fully. He's opened his eyes a few times and mumbled all sorts of crazy things in his sleep. He's talked quite a bit about "the war" (though with the long lives that elves lead, I can't really be sure which war he's talking about) and silver dragons, and he even looked me square in the eye and called me "Tanis." I'm sure that when he wakes up, he'll have some interesting tales to tell.
But wait-his eyelids are fluttering. I think my guest is finally conscious. Yes. Yes, I can see this is no waking dream he's having. He rubs his eyes as the world swims into focus. Look at him, gazing around the room unsure of where he is, not even certain whether or not this is a dream. I should speak to him instead of sitting back in the shadows, but this is the best way to determine his intentions. You can't be too careful these days.
The elf stands and walks slowly across the room, staring at everything with undisguised wonder. He clearly doesn't even know what city he's in. Reaching out, his hand passes straight through the chair standing in the middle of the room.
This is cruel. I shouldn't torture him so. But it is fascinating to watch him try to puzzle it out. Is he a ghost? Why can't he touch the chair? He's an educated and well-trained one, this elf. Despite the peculiar (some would say unnatural) surroundings, he doesn't panic. Instead, he tries to think of an explanation for the phenomenon he sees. I'll just watch another moment before I-no! Mala enters the room, that same hopeful smile on her face.
The elf sees her. "What manner of place is this?" he asks and reaches out to grab her shoulders. First his hands, then arms, and finally the whole of his body passes straight through her. And she goes about her business, taking no notice of him in the least.
"She cannot see you," I say from the corner, finally stepping out of the shadows and into the candlelight.
"Am... am I dead?" the elf asks.
"No." I laugh. "And before you ask, neither is Mala. She's just somewhere else. Don't ask me to explain it. That's simply how things are here in Gal Tra'kalas. Get used to it."
He stares at Mala as she bustles out of the room with an armful of towels, clearly amazed at what he sees. She's full of life and beauty, but as Mala passes between us, he still can see me through her body; she's more real than a phantom, but not fully of this world.
"Gal Tra'kalas? The Missing City! How did I get here?"
"If you don't know, then I'm not sure anyone does, friend." I try to calm him. The first few hours in Gal Tra'kalas can be very disorienting. "Sit down. The bed is quite real, I assure you. You slept soundly on it these past few days."
"This is your home, then?" The elf tries to act casual, but he's obviously still disoriented and more than a little distracted by what he sees.
"Yes, mine. But hers as well. It's a little difficult to explain."
A knock on the front door breaks the awkward moment. The elf turns to me as if to ask if that's a real knock or a phantom one.
"That's for me-or more likely for you." I get up and move to the door in the front room. "You can't hear anything that goes on in Mala's world."
When I open the door, the frame is filled with a giant of a man. This is Falaius Taneek, leader of the local Legion of Steel cell. They maintain the port and govern the Missing City (though they have no influence on the spectral happenings in Gal Tra'kalas). After the healer finished with the elf, he told me Falaius likely would check on things when the elf was up and around. Apparently Falaius deserves his reputation for always being in the right place at the right time. Either that or the healer has an uncommon gift for judging recuperative powers.
"Good day, Aman Daun" Falaius rumbles with his usual terse formality. For a barbarian, he's terribly well-mannered, but it never comes off naturally; he always seems to be forcing civility into his voice, and, in the end, it makes him seem all the more imposing (quite a trick for a man whose shoulders spread wider than the broadest oak tree). "Is your house guest feeling better?"
"Very much so," I answer and invite the Legionnaire into my home with a flourish of my arm. I always feel the need to respond to his stiff courtesy with my best interpretation of courtly grace. "In fact, he just awakened. Mala put quite a scare into him, and I've been trying to explain the situation."
"No explanation is necessary." The elf has gathered his wits and comes to meet us at the door. My sham of courtly behavior is evident by his every move-this elf is used to moving in the company of kings. "I know the tale of Gal Tra'kalas. The city was destroyed in the first Cataclysm, yet somehow clung to spectral life. Phantom buildings rose from the rubble, and ghosts continued walk its streets in an unnatural mockery of life."
Ah, I forgot how deeply elves detest the undead. Of course, such feelings are only natural for a people whose culture is so closely tied to life. Restless spirits foul any area they touch, leaching the beauty and life from the most verdant site.
"You do not know the tale well enough, my friend" I say, trying to put the elf at ease.
"True," adds Falaius in his soothingly deep voice. "The people of Gal Tra'kalas may be ghostly, but they are not ghosts. None of the scholars, mystics, or sages who've passed this way can tell me what they are, but they are clearly not undead monsters."
"Bah! I've told you time and again what they are-who they are." I always lose my patience when we have this conversation. No one wants to believe the truth of the matter.
"Yes, Aman, you have. Forgive me for being so thick-headed that I cannot see the truth, but I am just a simple warrior. The workings of the magical world confuse me." Falaius tries to placate me. He doesn't really accept the truth, but for my sake, he pretends. I believe he thinks I'm on the brink of madness and it's best to humor my "delusions."
Just then, Mala strides through the room (and through both Falaius's and the elf's bodies) carrying a bundle of neatly folded shirts. What's she doing? Perhaps she's going to donate old clothing to the poor. That would be just like her. They barely can afford to put food on the table, yet she still wants to give to the needy.
"I must say, I know some small bit about magic, but even the little I've seen today is beyond my ken." The elf again passes his hand through a piece of furniture, then shakes his head wryly.
"Yes." Falaius uses the word to clear his throat. He's not one to waste time in idle conversation. "Forgive my lack of manners, friend, but now that Aman has brought you back to health, I have some questions that need answering, most of them concerning who you are and how you arrived in the Missing City."
"Of course. My name is Gilthanas Solostaran, and I am at your service." With this, he bows deeply and is overcome by a wave of dizziness, nearly collapsing in a heap at our feet. "If it is not too much of an imposition," he asks after regaining his composure, "may we continue in the other room? I believe I have not yet recovered fully from my ordeal."
We return to the bedroom where Gilthanas sits on the corner of the cot-only after making sure there truly was a solid object under the hazy blanket and sheets. Apart from occasional bouts of fatigue, he seems to be fine. Falaius sits cross-legged against the wall, his left shoulder and knee swallowed up by a phantom dressing table, and I return to my accustomed spot in the dark corner.
As Gilthanas tells his tale, filled with intrigue and adventure befitting a Hero of the Lance, Mala continues to flit around the house bundling more and more of her family's worldly goods into towels, sacks, and even a small crate. I find that my attention to Gilthanas's story wavers, then disappears entirely. What is she up to?
Finally, while Gilthanas describes a harrowing escape from certain death, Mala enters and strips the bed on which he sits (something both he and Falaius find particularly distracting). However, she doesn't lay fresh sheets on the bed, as she does every week when changing the linen. When she merely gathers up the bedding and carries it into the other room, I can take no more. I leave behind the elf's account of a harrowing, headlong flight into the desert and follow Mala into the main room.
Practically everything the family owns is packed and stacked near the doorway. Mala's mother ties a knot in a towel containing the few pieces of jewelry she owns, then cinches the towel around her waist like a belt Her father sits on a barrel, his familiar scowl much less severe than usual. Meanwhile, Mala runs about making sure that all the packages are sealed tight. Her lips never rest all the while; she obviously is bubbling happily about the reason for all this activity-whatever that is. Obviously, they are going somewhere, but where? This is more than a short excursion- they're taking everything they can carry.
They must be moving!
Perhaps one of Mala's sisters finally has offered to bring their parents to live in her husband's mansion. More likely, the husband has decided that it is too embarrassing to have his wife visit this dilapidated section of town and so has paid for his in-laws to relocate. They'll finally get the comfort and care that they deserve. I knew Mala's hard work would be rewarded.
But will Mala move with them? Surely neither of her sisters would want to have to tend the parents herself. They will have to bring Mala with them to continue to act as their care-taker.
After I built my home literally within hers, just so that we can be close to one another, is Mala going to leave me? Certainly, I can visit her wherever in Gal Tra'kalas she goes, but it will take me months, possibly even years to rebuild. And just think how expensive it will be, since the new home is sure to be much more opulent that this one.
But what if someone else already has built a home in that part of the Missing City? The Garden District is one of the most popular locales for merchants and Legion officers to live. What if the sister's home already has been claimed by that foul-smelling Khurrish trapper? Or worse, that gray-haired Legion scout? That lecherous old ruffian will spend his idle time watching Mala bathe, or taking target practice at her mother hobbling around the house! I will not stand for such things!
Whoever lives there now simply will have to move. There are plenty of Gal Tra'kalan homes that have not yet been reconstructed. I'll do the work for them myself, but Mala and I must stay together! I cannot bear for us to be apart.
Look at her. Flitting around so happily, completely unaware of the agony this causes me. Oh, Mala, if only I could talk to you. If only you could tell me what's happening. But wait! She takes a piece of paper out of her apron pocket and opens it up. As she reads it, her face flushes with joy and anticipation. What does it say?
I rush to look over her shoulder, but she dances out of the room and into the kitchen. Following her, I find that it's too dark to read anything in there, but Mala doesn't put the paper away; she gazes at it even in the dark. The words are so joyous, she can read them with her eyes closed.
What could be on that paper? It looked like a letter. Why would her sister send a letter with the news? Perhaps they aren't moving in with one of Mala's sisters. But why else would they be moving? And why would Mala be so happy?
I follow close on her heels as she goes back into the bedroom where Gilthanas's story is reaching its conclusion. He recalls seeing the city after a day and night in the desert.