"Gray, Julia - Guardian 01 - The Dark Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gray Julia)

Terrel nodded, knowing what his friend meant. The heretic's time was gone, and by coming here they had accepted the responsibility for his legacy. It weighed heavily on his shoulders.
'He wasn't much use as a sentry anyway,' Elam went on flippantly.
'Goodbye, Muzeni,' Alyssa said quietly, and with that the three friends began their journey back through the collection of crumbling mausoleums.
'If anyone asks, you were climbing a tree and fell out of it,' Terrel told Elam, as they entered the house. 'How are you feeling now?'
'Dizzy.'
Their roundabout route had taken them close to the stables, where one of the wardens had come out to enlist Alyssa's help in calming a restless pony, so the two boys had gone on without her. So far no one had paid them any attention.
'Are you sure you'll be all right?' Terrel asked, after he had helped Elam to his cell and on to his bed.
'Of course. Just leave me alone for a bit.'
Terrel did as he was told.
Two hours later, Terrel was sitting on the floor of the candlelit library, surrounded by books. Ever since he'd begun to study Muzeni's journal, he had wanted to compare it to things he'd already read. The sheer volume of the man's researches - even in a single journal - was astonishing. For the most part, his technical details about the lunar cycles, star maps, and the movements of the Floating Islands, were almost identical to the findings of other researchers -some of whom had made their discoveries much later. It was clear that Muzeni had been way ahead of his time.
However, he had also made many references to what he called 'the Code', which Terrel took to mean the Tindaya Code. He had read about this before, though not in any great detail. He was not even sure he believed in prophecy - and anything so ancient seemed unlikely to have any bearing on his own life and times. However, because Muzeni obviously thought it was extremely important, Terrel's interest was renewed.
It took the boy a long time to make even the slightest progress, but he gradually worked out that Muzeni took a much more pessimistic view of the future, including some vague but horrible predictions about a massive upheaval, while most of the other scholars apparently seemed content to record that at some point in the future - Terrel could not work out when - the so-called Guardian would arrive, and hence all questions would be answered and all problems solved. Terrel was frustrated by the fact that all the books he had access to were at least sixty years old. He couldn't help wondering what the seers' latest conclusions were, but could think of no way to find this out.
The other thing that made Muzeni's writing stand out from the rest was his preoccupation with the Dark Moon. He kept returning to it, obsessively detailing his observations, and measuring the timings of its orbit in ever more exact terms. As far as Terrel could see, Muzeni had discovered nothing unusual, and this in itself had seemed to frustrate him. It was almost as if he wanted the moon to prove his calculations wrong. The heretic's words were usually precise and functional, but when dealing with the Dark Moon he became almost poetic, and occasionally incoherent. Reading some passages made Terrel wonder if Muzeni had actually been a little mad after all.
Eventually, deciding that he'd better go and check on Elam, Terrel left the library by his normal route. The labyrinthine roof space seemed even gloomier than usual, but it was only when he reached the south wing that he realized - to his horror - that it was dark outside. He had lost track of time in the library, and now it was long past curfew.
He crept along the empty corridor, wishing that he had left the journal in the library. If he was caught he would be in dreadful trouble, and having to explain the book tucked inside his shirt would only make the situation worse - not to mention the fact that the wardens were sure to confiscate his find. He reached his own door, not knowing whether he wanted it to be locked or not. If it was, the turnkey might have assumed he was inside, but then he wouldn't be able to get in and so would have to hide all night. If it wasn't, he could slip inside, but this would mean that his absence had definitely been noticed. He was likely to be in trouble either way.
The handle squealed as Terrel tried it, sounding horrifyingly loud in the silence, and he froze, but no one came to investigate the noise. The door was locked.
Terrel stood where he was for a few moments, paralyzed by indecision, until he was struck by a new idea - an idea that both excited and terrified him. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, he told himself. Although he was familiar with the phrase, he had never seen a sheep or a lamb, and had only the vaguest idea of what they looked like. The only animals he'd ever seen were horses, Ahmeza's goats, and a few feral cats who roamed the grounds at night. I could do with cat's eyes now, he thought, and grinned, even though his heart was racing. Moving as stealthily as he could in the darkness, he set off again.
Terrel had never been outside alone at night before. The darkness did not bother him as much as the fact that there was so much of it. It had no limits. The sky above was full of stars, but even familiar objects on the ground looked just as distant, just as alien. It was a silver-grey world, bleached of all colour, the only contrasts provided by the variations of starlight and shadow.
He almost turned back, afraid to venture out into this void, but he forced himself to run, heading towards the lake. At the water's edge he paused, confident now that he was not being pursued, and looked around. Having moved away from the bulk of the house, he could see the half Red Moon in the western sky and the slender curve of the Amber Moon high above - two beacons of pale colour in the dark emptiness. He took reassurance from their presence, and began to walk towards the hill.
By the time he reached the observatory Terrel was breathless and covered in scratches, but he hardly cared. Trying not to look at the pile of bones, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Somewhere overhead an owl hooted mournfully, but he was growing used to the noises of the night. Stepping up to the telescope, Terrel crouched down and looked through the eyepiece - and saw nothing.
The view it offered him was blank, so completely black that he wondered - absurdly - whether someone had covered the other end of the instrument. Then he thought -more rationally - that perhaps it was not working after all, that the long exposure and falling debris must have damaged it in some way. Fighting his own dismay, Terrel returned his eye to the lens, more in hope than expectation - and saw a star blink into life.
As he watched, mesmerized, more stars appeared -brighter and more beautiful than he had ever seen them before - until the entire circle was filled with their lustre. By then he knew what had hidden them and he looked up at the sky with his own eyes to confirm it, even as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
The fact that he had chosen to look through the immovable telescope at the exact moment when the Dark Moon was passing directly in front of it seemed to him to be an omen. Muzeni had dedicated his cloistered life to studying that mysterious black object - and now fate had passed the task on to another. Terrel swore a silent oath there and then, vowing that he would do everything in his power to be worthy of his long-dead mentor.
In the darkness above, the owl called again, bearing witness to the boy's promise.

Chapter Six

Terrel had decided to spend the rest of the night on the hill, using the same sheep-and-lamb reckoning that had taken him there in the first place. Because his days were regulated by the sun, he would usually have been asleep by now, but because he had no idea when he would be able to visit the observatory again, he was determined to make the most of this opportunity. However, he could not get the telescope to move - its mounting was indeed rusted solid - and watching the slow procession of a few stars across a fixed point in the sky soon began to pall, especially as to do so he had to crouch in an awkward position under the lens.
He became even more frustrated when he discovered that he would not be able to read. Even though the White Moon - which was waning but still three quarters full -had now risen and was spreading its 'cold light of logic' over the scene, there was not enough light for him to be able to decipher Muzeni's tiny handwriting. When he tried, Terrel's sensitive eyes - which were already tired - soon began to hurt, and what he thought he had read made little or no sense. He gave up, settled down on the floor with his back against the wall, and wondered what to do next. His body was beginning to crave sleep, but he was determined not to give in to it, afraid that he might not wake in time to get back before the haven began to stir in the morning. On the other hand he did not know whether he was capable of staying awake all night, in spite of the cold and discomfort. Terrel finally decided that if he was going to sleep it would be better to do it now rather than later.
Curling himself up on the hard floor, he closed his eyes and tried to relax, only to find himself distracted by the unfamiliar sounds of night. He was soon able to identify the calls of at least three different owls, but there were many other noises - the wind soughing in the broken roof, various rustlings and tiny squeals - and he could not even guess where some of them came from. Although these signs of unseen nocturnal activity no longer frightened him, he was accustomed to the relative silence of his cell and so grew less sleepy as time passed. Eventually he gave in and sat up again, stretching his stiffening limbs. For a few moments he thought about going outside, where the grass would at least make a more comfortable bed, but the idea of sleeping in the open, amid all the rustlings, was too much for him. He needed walls around him, even if the roof gaped open to the stars.
The pale moonlight was now falling on the cluttered table where Terrel had found the crystal, and this made him reach into his pocket and take it out. He spent some time polishing the stone, using his own spit and the cloth of his shirt, until the facets all seemed to glow with a light of their own. Inspired now, he rose and limped over to the table, found two strands of wire and cleaned them in the same way. Then, taking up a pair of small brass pliers and finding - to his surprise - that they moved easily enough, he began to twist the wire into a tiny cage, imprisoning the newly polished stone. This too was delicate work in the half-light, but he persevered, working as much by touch as by sight, making minute adjustments until he was finally satisfied. As he crafted his simple design, his mind flitted back and forth. He would have preferred the warmer light of the Red Moon for his purpose. It was not only the harbinger of violence and blood, but of fire as well, both in the literal sense and as a metaphor for passion - and for this task he wanted love, not logic. However, he could no more control the passage of the moons than he could control the flight of the wind, and the chaste light did at least bring out the inner brilliance of the stone. He thought of Alyssa, of her fragile health and unworldly manner, of her awkward grace and lambent eyes. And he wondered what she meant to him, and what he meant to her.
Finally, he inspected the new earring, balancing the end of its hook on the tip of one of his fingers, and felt a glow of satisfaction. He had created something that made the night's adventure worthwhile. And on that thought he lay down again, and promptly fell asleep.
Terrel dreamt of the sea - not the sea of his recurring nightmare, but of a huge, grey-green expanse, seen from the air as if he were a bird in flight. Under the varied moonlight the ocean seemed endless, transmuting the colours above to a restless shimmering of silver, pink and gold.
He watched, knowing that he was not the only one who did so, as a city of glass and crystal rose from the waves. It was not real; even he knew there could be nothing like this in the physical world. It was all in his mind, but it was important, though he couldn't work out why.
He desperately wanted to go there, but no matter how hard he tried, the sparkling illusion remained out of reach. The city was beautiful but flawed, with obvious fractures running through the patterns of light. Without thinking, Terrel tried to mend them, to heal the wounds, but met with only partial success.
Other forces were at work now, and he grew afraid. A sword was hurled into the heavens by an unknown hand -his own? - and, as if in response to this challenge, the sky answered with a cluster of radiant meteors that hurtled down from above. The first few crashed into the sea in bursts of hissing spray, but then the fiery missiles began to hit the city, spreading an explosive chaos deep into its crystalline structure, crushing its ethereal beauty. Within moments it had collapsed, splitting into shards that sank beneath the waves, until all that was left was the sea, the sound of distant mocking laughter - and a scream.
'No!'
Terrel woke with the sound of his impotent denial still echoing within the observatory walls, and felt himself shivering. The wanton destruction of the crystalline city had been bad enough, but even more horrifying was the fact that the last thing he had seen had been Alyssa's eyes, trapped within the sinking ruins. Worse still was the knowledge that he had been able to do nothing to save her.
He scrambled to his feet, feeling chilled inside and out, and staggered to the door. There was no telling exactly how long he had been asleep, but he was relieved to see that there was no sign yet of the morning's brightness on the eastern horizon. Even so, he knew it was time to go.
Some time later, Terrel was crouched in the dark sanctuary of the spiral staircase near his cell. Sneaking unnoticed into the house had been easy enough; the difficulty now would be getting back into his own room without being caught. Everything depended on the turnkey unlocking the door without bothering to look in, but there was nothing Terrel could do about that. He just had to wait - and hope.
He had already been hiding there for more than an hour, and the journal tucked inside his shirt was beginning to irritate his skin. He had formed a vague plan to bring all the journals back from the observatory and take them to his library, but their combined bulk would mean several trips - and on this occasion he had felt it was too risky to take more than one. Now, as he sat wishing the last of the night away, he could only wonder when his next chance to climb the hill would come.
He gradually sensed the house come to life around him until, at last, he heard the measured tread of the turnkey on his morning round. Moving as stealthily as he could, Terrel crept down to the bottom of the stairs and then along to the junction of his corridor. Peering round, he saw the turnkey already past his own door, in the act of unlocking another. The man was whistling softly, and did not seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. When he went on his way, Terrel slipped round the corner and was in his cell a few moments later. It had been so easy, he almost laughed aloud - and then a new idea began to form in his mind.
He had only just had time to hide the journal and the earring, and to lie down on his bed, his eyes closing of their own accord, when the door was thrown open again. Ahmeza stood there, hands on bony hips and fire in her eyes.
'You'll do,' she declared loudly. 'Up! Up!'
Terrel was not the only one the cook had pressed into service that morning. Elam and Alyssa were there too, but he saw little of his friends because they were stationed at the far end of the long, noisy kitchen. Terrel felt as though he was sleepwalking, and was even more clumsy than usual - which led to harsh words and the occasional slap. In the end he was so desperate to escape and get some rest that he deliberately knocked a pile of plates from the draining board so that they smashed on the tiled floor. It was a risky stratagem, which earned him a stinging blow to the side of his head with an iron ladle - but it did serve his purpose.
'Clear that lot up and then get out!' Ahmeza screamed at him. 'You're more trouble than you're worth.'
Half dazed and in considerable pain, Terrel did as he was told, then fled back to his cell. He fell onto the pallet gratefully and was asleep in moments.
When he awoke it was well past midday, and he was thankful that no one had disturbed his delayed rest. His head still throbbed, but he felt more alert now. Reaching under his thin mattress, he retrieved the journal, unable to resist the temptation to read while he was still being left in peace.
This time, rather than flicking through the pages as he had on previous occasions, Terrel decided to work through the book systematically, hoping to get a feel for the work as a whole. In that he was frustrated, because the journal was in itself fragmented - leaping from astronomical observations to personal commentary, from theories about the past and future to vitriolic venting of the author's spleen. Muzeni had ranged over a wide assortment of topics, apparently at random, as the mood took him. There were some passages that Terrel could make no sense of, especially those dealing with concepts such as 'the invisible metallic flux which passes through all things' - and there were others that made his blood run cold, such as the one describing something called a 'volcano', which apparently involved fire spewing up from the earth below. Such an event sounded highly improbable to Terrel, but Muzeni's description of it was horribly convincing. There was even one page detailing the effects of such a fire under the ocean - which seemed even more absurd to Terrel - and which resulted in giant waves 'big enough to sweep away whole towns from the coast of Vadanis and, possibly, to alter the course of the entire group of Floating Islands'.
Easier to understand, though they still made for uneasy reading, were the parts relating to Muzeni's contempt for anyone who did not think as he did. ('Perhaps that is why they have put me here, hidden among their ancestors. The people in these graves make more sense than most of the living!') But, as Terrel had realized earlier, the subject that roused the heretic to his greatest bouts of passion was the Dark Moon. Reading one paragraph in particular left Terrel almost breathless.