"Esther M. Friesner - Hallowmass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

square-fingered hand. "It's common knowledge that these creatures of fire and
air are soulless as stone!"

The boy turned his face toward the bishop's voice and said, "Then this knowledge
is very common, but knows nothing at all, either of souls or stones." His head
swung back vaguely in the direction of the elvenlord. "You were her kin, yet you
never knew her. If you dreamed you loved her at all, you loved her as a mirror
of yourself. But I -- I have no use for mirrors. I held her image not before my
eyes, but in my heart. She knew love, forgiveness, mercy, prayer. Knowing all
these, could she help but know God? Could she do other than own a soul? I have
heard it preached how the rich man Dives turned the beggar Lazarus from his
palace gate and burned in hell for his sins. Will the same God who judged Dives
thus for uncharity lack charity Himself? Will He turn her from the gate of His
cathedral now?"

"Boy, you walk dangerous ground," the bishop said harshly. "Who taught you it
was your place to speak of Scripture? Your elven woman is of no importance to
our Lord. How can He even be aware of her presence, when it takes a human soul
to call upon His mercy and be seen?"

"I do not ask Him to see," said Benedict. "Nor did she. Only to listen." And he
closed his sightless eyes, pressed his hands together, and opened his mouth in
song.

It was the song that Master Giles had heard the boy sing while his fingers
worked the clay. It entered his body not by the ears but by the bones, the
blood, the pulsing of the heart. Note by tremulous note, it was a song meant to
ascend the golden steps of Paradise.

And then it was gone, sharply, abruptly, with no warning. Benedict sprawled
face-down on the stones before the south porch of the cathedral, a little
trickle of blood running from his head. Over him stood Margaret.

"Damn you, you bastard limb of Satan, give this creature what it wants and let
it be gone!" she shrieked, waving the cudgel with which she'd struck the boy. It
was a piece of wood garnered from the trash of the street, bristling with
splinters. Master Giles stood as one lightning-struck, unable to believe the
brutality he'd just witnessed. Margaret ranted on at the unconscious boy:
"You'll have us all killed by faerie magic, else turned over to the Church
courts for harboring a heretic like you!" She whirled to face the elvenlord.
"Take your sister! Take her! Have no more dealings with the boy -- he's mad! I
am his guardian and I speak for him. Take her! She is freely given!"

The paralysis left Master Giles's limbs in a rush of red hate. He leaped forward
with a roar, hands hungering for Margaret's skinny neck. She shrieked and threw
herself for the bridle of the elf-lord's steed, hoping perhaps to merit his
protection as his good and faithful servant. The elf-lord merely tugged at the
reins and caused his mount to step primly back, out of the way between Master
Giles and Margaret. The stonecutter's hands met the woman's papery flesh and
closed tightly around her windpipe. The egg-faced highborn ladies chirped and