"Books - David Eddings - Polgara the Sorceress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

Then mother gave us a somewhat clinical explanation for the
bloodstains on our bedding, and I passed the information on to my
distraught sister.
'Is it going to go on forever now?' Beldaran asked me in a
trembling voice.
'No, only for a few days. Mother says to get used to it, because
it'll happen every month.'
'Every month?' Beldaran sounded outraged.
'So she says.' I raised up in bed and looked across the room
toward Uncle beldin's bed - the place where all the snoring was
coming from. 'Let's get this cleaned up while he's still asleep,'

'Oh, dear Gods, Yes!'she agreed fervently. 'I'd die if he found out
about this.,
I'm fairly sure that our misshapen uncle was aware of what was
happening, but we never got around to discussing it, for some
reason.
Uncle Beldin has theorized about when the members of my
extended family develop what father calls 'talent', and he's
concluded that it emerges with the onset of puberty. I may have had
something to do with that conclusion. I think I was about twelve
or so. It was that time of the month' for Beldaran and me, and my
sister was feeling mopey. I, on the other hand, was irritable. It was
all so inconvenient! Mother had mentioned the fact that 'something
might happen' now that Beldaran and I had reached a certain level
of maturity, but she was a little vague about it. Evidently, it's sort
of necessary that our first venture into the exercise of our 'talent'
be SPOntaneous. Don't ask me why, because I haven't got the faintest
notion of a reasonable explanation for the custom.
As I remeniber the circumstances of that first incident, I was
dragging a large bag of wheat down to the Tree to feed my birds.
I was muttering to myself about that. Over the years my birds had
come to depend on me, and they were not above taking advantage
of my generosity. given half a chance, birds, like all other creatures,
can be lazy. I didn't mind feeding them, but it seemed that I was
spending more and more time hauling sacks of wheat from the
twins' tower to the Tree.
When I reached the Tree, they were all clamoring to be fed, and
that irritated me all the more. As far as I know, not one single bird
has ever learned how to say 'thank you'.
There were whole flocks of them by now, and they cleaned up


my daily offering in short order. Then they started screeching for
more.
I was seated on my favorite perch, and the shrill importunings
of the birds made me even more irritable. If there were only some
way I could have an inexhaustible supply of seed on hand to keep
them quiet.
The jays were being particularly offensive. There's something