"Eisenstein,.Phyllis.-.Elementals.2.-.1988.-.Crystal.Palace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eisenstein Phyllis)

Chapter1
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 . 3
Chapter 2 . 19
Chapter 3 . 25
Chapter 4 . 38
Chapter 5 . 68
Chapter 6 . 99
Chapter 7 . 118
Chapter 8 . 147
Chapter 9 . 180
Chapter 10 . 191
Chapter 11 . 218
Chapter 12 . 247

For Martha and Hank Beck
Chapter 1
Time had been kind to Castle Spinweb. A dense coat of ivy had covered the cracks
in its pale stone walls, and all around it the forest had regrown, thick and
tall. Only a scattering of charred stumps, half hidden by mossy undergrowth,
hinted that a wild sorcerous battle had once raged here. Now, morning glories
bloomed again along the parapets, birds nested among their twining stems, and
insects of all kinds sheltered beneath their leaves.
Beneath one particular leaf, on this bright summer day, a large yellow
caterpillar was spinning itself a cocoon. It worked quickly, steadily, back and
forth, circling its plump body with thread after thread until only its blunt
head was exposed, then only its mouth. Then, with a final convulsive effort, it
pursed that last opening shut, and the cocoon lay still, glistening whitely in
the morning sunlight.
A few moments passed, the space of three or four human heartbeats, no more, and
then the silken enveнlope began to writhe. As if the seasons had run their
course and come to summer once more, the cocoon split apart and its occupant
emerged, transformed. The head was small now, with tapering antennae, the body
was sleek, and the many stubby caterpillar legs had been replaced by six long,
delicate ones. With these new legs, the creature took a few wobbly steps and
clung, upside down, to a morning glory stem. Then it unfurled its yellow wings,
each as large as a manТs hand, and flexed them slowly.
There were nectar-bearing flowers all around, on the walls and in the garden
enclosed by those walls, but the butterfly ignored them. Instead, it launched
itself upward, broad wings flapping more like a birdТs than an insectТs. High
above the treetops it flew, swiftly, purposefully, over rivers and lakes and
rolling meadнows, over grain fields and villages, walled towns and mighty
castles, and at none of these did it stop, at none did it even dip downward.
Only when it reached a line of mountains far beyond SpinwebТs horizon did it
slow its flight.
Among these peaks, the butterfly swooped and cirнcled, skimming over streams and
water-worn gullies, sweeping past overhangs where landslides had recently
exposed the soil, venturing into the dark mouths of caves. At last its
preternatural senses detected the telltale signs of gold, and it lighted in a
crabapple tree whose roots seemed to penetrate the deposit.