"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 2 - When True Night Falls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

and loss . . .

And she had saved him. Lise. She had come, and she
had seen, and she had understood at once. And acted.
Somehow she'd killed the unnatural thing, or driven it off,
and she'd dragged Case to MedOps. Barely in time. Later,
when he had regained the wherewithal to communicate, he
asked her what she had seen. And she answered, steadily, It
was devouring you. From the inside out. That's what all
these creatures do, one way or another. They feed on us.

In the distance now he could hear the low rumble of a
tram approaching, its solar collectors vibrating as it
bumped over the uneven turf. Ian. It had to be him. The
trams had proven to be dangerously unreliable - two had
exploded while being started up, and three more simply
would not work - but Ian was one of the few who seemed
capable of making them run, and they gave him no
surprises. Likewise the man's weapons functioned
perfectly, while others jammed and backfired, and as for
his lab equipment . . . the botanist lived a charmed life,
without question. But at what price?

In his mind's eye Case could see the grisly stockpile that
Lise had discovered one night, after following Ian from
camp. Small mammals, a few birds, a single lizard . . . all
beheaded or dismembered or both, and hidden beneath a
thornbush at edge of the forest. When Case had confronted
Ian about them the botanist had made no attempt to
dissemble or even defend himself, but had said simply,
There's power in the blood. Power in sacrifice. Don't you
see? That's how this planet works. Sacrifice is power, Leo.

Sacrifice is power.

The tram was coming into sight now, and it was possible
to make out the form of a man behind its controls.
Lamplight glinted on red hair, wind-tossed: Ian Casca's
trademark. In the back of the tram was something bundled
in a blanket, that might or might not be alive. Case felt a
chill course through him as he gauged the size of the
trapped animal, and he thought, Might be human. Might be.
He couldn't see Lise's expression, but it was a good bet she
was thinking the same thing.

The blood is the life, the Old Testament proclaimed.
Lise had shown him that passage in Casca's own Bible,
underscored by two red lines on a dog-eared page. He
wondered if Ian had made those marks before or after this
horror began.