"Jane S. Fancher - Moonlover and the Fountain of Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fancher Jane S)

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MOONLOVER AND THE FOUNTAIN OF BLOOD
Jane S. Fancher

I DON'T remember the day I was born, but the moment of my death is seared into memory.
I'd been riding with my lovers-too many lovers, Mother would say, and not enough friends, but that's
another story. . . .
Or, perhaps not. As to that, only time will tell.
But I get ahead of myself.
As I say, I was riding. Upon returning, I'd sent my lovers on to the house ahead of me, wanting time in
my garden, and my garden being that one, hidden part of my Self that I shared with no one: lover,
friend ... or enemy.
I recall the scent of the roses. Even then, with senses no better than any other human's, I could close my
eyes as I walked and know where I was in the maze by the scent of the nearest rose. As the essence of
sun-warmed raspberries filled my nostrils, I paused, opening my eyes upon my current favorite, a rose
that radiated the color of the glowing sun at its center, shading to the deepest of mountain berries along
the edges of the petals. I remember noting that it thrived while its neighbors wasted- perhaps because it
was my favorite. I felt guilty that in loving one more than the others I'd caused suffering.
I knelt beside the nearest of those distressed plants and thrust my fingers deep into the soil, seeking the
flow of lifeblood from the Fountain. As I'd suspected, the sunberry was getting more than its share, the
patterns flowing deep beneath the neighboring plants, rising again to touch the roots of the sunberry.
I sternly redirected the flow, then stood watch as the wilted leaves plumped, and the heads of the valiant
buds lifted.
Tomorrow there would be blooms.
Assured the flow had stabilized in the new pattern, I sent a silent apology to those I'd neglected and
moved on, working my way inward toward the Fountain that glittered with rainbow colors in the
sunlight. Weaker colors than was my preference, as the lifeblood's scent had been weak, hence my
determined march on the center of the maze.
In the pool at its base, those colors swirled, eddied as I passed my hand through them. I thought of my
lovers, and the liquid calmed, turned mirrorlike, reflecting those thoughts, not my own face.
As I knew they would, they'd retired to the rejuvenating pools deep in the mountain beneath the tower,
basking in the soothing liquid, doing what lovers did.
I blew their reflections a kiss and silently wished them joy. Perhaps I'd join them later.
And perhaps not. It depended on how hungry the Fountain was today.
I drew my knife, set the point to my wrist and jabbed quickly, cleanly, severing only skin and the artery
that was my target.
Blood streamed across the pool, dissipating quickly. Too quickly: the Fountain was starving. I held my
hand steady, resisting the instinctive urge to thrust it into the pool, feeding the Fountain until at last the
mirror on my lovers turned deep, rich red.
Finally, weak with blood loss, I lowered my hand into the mirror, scattering my lovers into the
Fountain's red spray. I closed my eyes, sent my inner awareness to the wound, waiting only long enough
for the Fountain to heal the artery before pulling free.
My knees gave way, and I sank to the ground beside the pool. Leaning my back to the stone edge, I drew

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