"Phyllis Eisenstein - Elementals 02 - The Crystal Palace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eisenstein Phyllis)

mead-ows, 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 SpinwebтАЩs
horizon did it slow its flight.

Among these peaks, the butterfly swooped and cir-cled, 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.

The tree was in full bloom. The butterfly selected a flower and sampled its nectar, seeking some trace of
the special flavor of gold. Finding none, it examined the petals, the calyx, the stem. Delicately, it walked
the branch that bore the flower, peering into other blossoms, tasting, smelling. It evenscraped at the bark
with the tip of one slender leg. Nothing. It flitted to the ground then, to inspect the herbs and mosses that
grew at the base of the tree, even the mushrooms that clung to the partially exposed roots, but there was
not the faintest hint of gold in any of them. The nearby undergrowth was equally barren, and finally the
but-terfly soared skyward to search elsewhere.

Three days it stayed in the mountains, questing in the sunlit hours, sleeping amid leafy branches at night.
It found more gold, but none in any plant. On the morning of the fourth day, it gave over its search and
flew back to its birthplace.

The garden at the heart of Spinweb was home to many a butterfly. Open to the sky, it was filled with
flowers, especially with sweet-scented roses. On this day, as on thousands of others, the mistress of the
place sat upon a sun-warmed bench in the midst of her roses. Dressed all in blue feathers, she hummed a
soft tune as she embroidered on a piece of bleached linen.

The yellow butterfly alighted on the bench beside her.

тАЬAh,тАЭshe said, smiling at the bright insect, тАЬI was beginning to wonder when youтАЩd be coming back.тАЭ

The butterfly flexed its wings once, twice, and then they began to shrivel as if they had been made of
wax and held too near a flame. The contours of the sleek body changed, four of the legs became
stubbier, and the other two shrank into the torso even as the anten-nae shrank into the head. Abruptly,
instead of a but-terfly, a naked manikin sat on the stone bench. A few heartbeats later, Cray Ormoru had
grown back to his normal size.

For a moment, he stretched his arms up to the sky, letting the heat of the summer sun wash through him
and ease the stiffness that the insect form had left in his muscles. Then he made a small gesture with one
hand, and his clothes fluttered down from the high window of his bedchamber and scurried across the
garden to him like so many puppies eager to greet their master. The woman helped him dress, and as she
laced up his shirt, he kissed her forehead and grinned, saying, тАЬYou were right about my being hungry,
Mother. IтАЩm ravenous.тАЭ

Delivev Ormoru laughed softly, тАЬYes, IтАЩve never found nectar very filling, myself. But thereтАЩs a cold
roast fowl and fresh bread waiting for you in the kitchen.тАЭ

Linking arms, they strolled into the shaded coolness of SpinwebтАЩs corridors. They looked much alike,
mother and sonтАФboth tall and fair, both young and vigorous. Only her eyes betrayed the extra centuries
Delivev had seen.