"Kate Forsyth - Eileanan 05 - The Skull Of The World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forsyth Kate)

Wondering if the shaman meant her words to be a comfort, Isabeau gathered together her shaggy furs
and followed the Soul-Sage to the Rock of Contemplation, a small rock ledge that faced east toward the
rising sun. She had to meditate here from sunset to sunrise, without food or water or fire, a harsh
tribulation in the bitter cold.

The snowstorm passed some time during the evening and the clouds cleared away so she could see the
stars, huge and luminous in the overarching sky. Although she sat still, she moved her fingers and toes
constantly in their fur-lined gloves and boots, and concentrated on her breathing so that the blood in her
veins ran hot and strong.

A while before dawn Isabeau saw, far away, a strange greenish glow that hung across the horizon like a
slowly rippling curtain, edged with crimson and occasionally crackling with gold fire. Her own people
called that fiery curtain the Merry-Dancers. She stared at it in awe and wonder until at last it sank away
into embers. It too was an omen of some kind, though what it foreordained she did not know.

Then dawn came, the stars fading. Color slowly swept over the vast panorama of billowing cloud and
peaked mountains. The clefts of shadowed valleys darkened to indigo, and the little owl blinked her
round eyes and crawled within Isabeau's sleeve to sleep. Isabeau stood and stretched, chilly and stiff but
filled with serenity.

The Soul-Sage came up the uneven steps and crouched at the back of the cave, not speaking but
scanning Isabeau's face with eyes so heavily hooded that the color could not be seen. What she saw
seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded curtly and indicated her pupil follow her back down into the cave.

The central bonfire had been built high and the members of the pride crowded about it. The first meal of
the day was always communal, and as usual Isabeau was one of the last to receive her portion of gruel
and dried fruit, being still nameless and without status. She waited till everyone else had finished, then
clustered close with the other children, most not even reaching her waist, holding up her wooden bowl for
the scrapings of the large pot. No one spoke to her or even glanced her way, but Isabeau was not upset
by their disregard, being used to it.

Isabeau then knelt before the Firemaker and received her wordless blessing. The old woman drew her
great-granddaughter to her and kissed her brow, a gesture of affection most unusual among the
Khan'-cohbans. "Be wary," she whispered. "There are many dangers in the mountains. You have to cross
land belonging to other prides, so remember your manners. You are kin to the Firemaker, though, and
should be shown respect. Know that once you leave the haven the taboos on your Firemaker powers are
lifted, but not your debt of honor to the children of the White Gods."

Isabeau nodded. She knew her great-grandmother was telling her she would be allowed to use whatever
powers she had to help her in her quest, but that she must not use her powers against any other
Khan'cohban, no matter the provocation. The Firemaker was bound by a rigid code of rules and very
rarely drew upon her powers in case she should offend. Isabeau had been confined by the same
restrictions, which had sometimes chafed her unbearably, used as she was to drawing upon her witchcraft
whenever she wanted.

Isabeau pulled on her boots and satchel, wrapped her coat around her, and gripped her tall wooden
staff, the skimmer tied to her back. Any excitement she might have felt was totally overwhelmed by fear.
She realized that all she really knew was that she had to journey across the harsh snowy wastes to the
Skull of the World, where some gods she did not really believe in would somehow give her a new name.