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

"After so long in a Silvanesti prison, the crossing nearly killed me. I was half-crazed with thirst when I saw that well. And when I could see the water, even watch people drink it, but found that it was all ephemeral as a dream, I fell unconscious. The next thing I knew ..."
Gilthanas's voice trails off as I rush hurriedly past him over to the dresser. Mala laid the paper down in order to gather another bundle of towels. Now I can read ...

*****

I can hear the comforting drone of hushed conversation long before the words become clear. It's Gilthanas and Falaius. They're not in this room, but they are nearby.
"I must say, I still don't understand the nature of this place," I hear Gilthanas say. He still isn't certain that the spectral people he sees aren't undead spirits; you can hear it in his voice. He expects for Mala and her family to suddenly give up their charade and reveal themselves to be life-draining fiends.
"I'm not sure anyone does" Falaius answers.
"My host seems to think he has an insight others cannot perceive."
"You must forgive, Aman" the Legionnaire says. "His sense of perspective is, shall we say, impaired when it comes to the woman he calls Mala." Yes. He would say that. Falaius has spent many years living here, but he has never truly accepted Gal Tra'kalas for what it is.
"Though you were half-blind with dehydration, your reaction to the Missing City was quite normal. Most people see the towers and walls waving in the desert heat and assume they are seeing a mirage. However, when they get here and see the amazing detail in the buildings and even the ghostly inhabitants, people change their minds, believing instead that the city is all one tremendous illusion cast by a long dead sorcerer, or perhaps even by the gods themselves."
"Yes," Gilthanas adds with authority. "I came to that conclusion myself, though I know no sorcerer of any robes who could create such an effect."
"But the truth is even more fantastic. The mirage really is Gal Tra'kalas." Falaius has a sense of wonder in his voice that I've never heard before. Perhaps he does understand the grandeur around him. "As near as I can tell, the city belongs to a world where the first Cataclysm didn't happen. I don't pretend to understand how it is possible, but the people we see are real. They are far too complex to be simple illusions. They are born, grow, fall in love, and die just like anyone you know. The city is alive too ... well, as alive as any city is. Buildings are built, others are razed. Businesses open and prosper. Animals run the back alleys looking for scraps of food. If you make it your business to pay attention to a particular building or person or family, you'll see the unmistakable rhythm of life unfold before you. Make no mistake about it, Gal Tra'kalas is real."
"If that is true," Gilthanas wonders aloud, "then how can anyone bear to live here?" The elf has faced many strange things in his life, but I dare say that other than the return of the gods, this must be the most bizarre.
"Well, we didn't know. When the Legion first came here, there was only the mirage and a city's worth of ruins-crumbled walls, and mountains of brick and mortar debris half-hidden by the mirage, which we too mistook for a magical reconstruction of Gal Tra'kalas. My tribe has always called this spot the Missing City, and it seemed like an ideal place to build an outpost. If we built exactly behind the illusion, doing our best to recreate the facades of the buildings, only the closest inspection would reveal our presence. We'd have a town that no one could find-truly a Missing City."
Even though I know the story backward and forward, I lie here listening to Falaius. The cot is comfortable, and I feel a little light-headed. Odd. I don't remember going to bed.
"It was only after we'd been here several months that anyone began to suspect the truth. And by the time we were certain, our outpost had grown into a town. Most people stopped building in the 'occupied' sections of town. When you feel well enough to come down to the pier, you'll see that the newest buildings all stand just past the end of Gal Tra'kalas's city limits."
Gilthanas considers what he's heard. "And the people who already built their homes in the shadow city?"
"Each made a choice" the Legionnaire says noncommittally. "Many of them relocated, but the Legion maintained their original building. After all, the 'phantom folk,' as some of my men call them, can't see, hear, or touch anything of ours.
"Of course, most of the civilians chose to move. The wealthy merchants in particular were uncomfortable with the notion of sharing their homes with others, even if those others are not of this Krynn."
"But there are others who chose to stay?"
"Obviously. Most of them simply refuse to accept the people of Gal Tra'kalas as anything other than illusions. They take pride in the fact that they maintained their homes while their neighbors were run off by mere tricks of the light. But others, like your benefactor, Aman, consider them wholly real. They build their lives around people from both worlds, neither more or less important than the other. My men call these folks 'shadow walkers,' because they tread the edge of two worlds. Most others just call them crazy."
"So the people in this house-Mala and her parents-are real to Aman?"
"They're more than real. They are his family. And Mala . . . well, let's just say that I don't think I've ever felt as strongly about anyone as he does for that ghostly woman."
I'm shocked. Not only does Falaius understand the city, but he also understands me. I always thought he snickered behind my back like the rest of them, mocking my feelings for Mala. I have to apologize to him.
I sit up on the bed, and the room spins. I have a lump on the back of my head the size of a dagger's pommel. What happened?
"Yes," Gilthanas sighs, "I understand. His life is very similar to the one I've led these past years. The only things that matter to him are untouchable. For me, they were memories-shadows of the mind-but no less real because I too could not touch them. At times, it was easier to believe they were reality and my cell was a recurring nightmare. Silvanesti is full of those memories."
"But the people of Gal Tra'kalas are not memories," Falaius replies. "They are here, as much a part of the Missing City as we are."
"And how much the worse for our friend if he cannot separate his dream from his waking world?" the elf pauses. "We ought to awaken him for this."
Falaius clicks his tongue, as he always does when wrestling with a difficult question. "I think it may be kinder to let him sleep. There's nothing he can do. Watching this would be too painful."
What's wrong? Did Mala's father have another seizure? Did he die? We all knew it was coming, but no one is ever prepared for such a thing.
"If Aman must lose the one he loves, it's best that we afford him the opportunity to bid her farewell. In the years to come, he will draw solace from the closure. Otherwise, this will be a wound that never heals."
Mala? Has something happened to Mala? By all the departed gods, no!
I stand on uncertain legs.
If she's dying I must go to her. I have to be there for her, with her-even if she doesn't know it.
"What will happen when they leave the city?" Gilthanas asks.
Another tongue click announces that Falaius doesn't have a definite answer. "People leave Gal Tra'kalas all the time. They just disappear as the pass through the gates. Who can say where they go after that? The merchants come and go on a regular schedule, and they always return with carts full of goods from Silvanesti or Nordmaar. Do they really go to those places? Who can say? Maybe there's a whole other Ansalon for our ghostly neighbors to explore. For Mala's sake, I hope so, though that will be no real comfort to Aman."
Leave the city?
Now I remember!
The note that had Mala so excited was an invitation for the family to come live with her aunt in Shoole. They are leaving the city. That realization must have been too much for me. I think I blacked out. That must be how I got this lump on my skull. How long have I been unconscious? What does it matter? What matters is that Mala is leaving!
I've got to stop her!
My legs already are moving. I stumble out the door of my house-our house. Gilthanas and Falaius stare like I'm a wild beast. Perhaps I am. My heart beats with the same desperation as a rabbit's when the scent of the fox is in the air. The wagon rounds the corner pulled, I'm sure, by the horse Mala's sisters have given them-a cheap price to have their embarrassing relatives leave the city for good.
Gilthanas catches my gaze. I can see he knows the panic that sweeps through me. "Do what you can," his eyes seem to say. "In the end, it will do no good."
Meanwhile, Falaius walks toward me with a sad expression on his face. He holds out his massive hand, obviously meaning to lay it sympathetically on my shoulder. As heart-felt as that consolation might be, I know his true thought is to keep me here until it is too late.
Before Falaius can clasp my shoulder, I dash down the street. If Mala's going to Shoole, she'll take the wagon out the North Gate, and that's only a few blocks away. On the streets, I'll never catch the horses, but I have an advantage: I don't live in Gal Tra'kalas-I'm in the Missing City!
In the middle of the block, I turn right and run straight through the front wall of the candle-maker's shop. Leaping over the pile of rocky debris that used to be the kiln, I pass out the back and into the alley that cuts across the Northern District. Gilthanas can't possibly keep up with me; he's still too weak from his ordeal. In most instances, Falaius would have no trouble overtaking and subduing me, but he doesn't know this section of the Missing City as well as I do. He doesn't know which spectral buildings can be passed easily through and which hide dangerous piles of rubble, or even open pits. No, my well-meaning friends will have to take the streets just like Mala.
Through the Tan Griffin Inn and around the livery stable (it's been impassable since that merchant rebuilt the colossal barn), I see the North Gate ahead. I run heedlessly through the Gal Tra'kalans on the street. Usually I treat them with the same courtesy I do the more solid citizens of the Missing City, but right now I'd run straight through anyone who stood in my way.
At the gate, I stop and look back down the street. Nothing. No carriage. No Mala. Just the usual spectral pedestrian traffic. Did I read the note wrong? Is she heading for the West Gate instead? I can't possibly get there in time.
Before my fear sharpens to panic, a flat wagon pulled by two horses rounds the corner. Driving the team at a slow trot is my own Mala, a smile of breathless anticipation painted on her face.
"No!" I shout, waving my arms back and forth wildly. "Mala, stop! Don't go! Don't leave me!"