"Gray, Julia - Guardian 03 - The Crystal Desert" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gray Julia)

'On the other side of the ocean?'
'Two oceans,' Mlicki put in.
'Two?' Zahir exclaimed scornfully. 'You really believe that?'
'Why would I lie?' Terrel asked.
'The winds know why you would do anything. Did you live in a house on this barbarian island of yours?'
'Yes.'
'Houses tie you down, imprison you. We take our homes with us. The only true life is the nomad way.'
'I've become a traveller too,' Terrel pointed out.
'But you'll go back, won't you? To your prison.'
Terrel did not answer, knowing that nothing he could say would change the other's opinion of him.
'At least your eyes come from the desert,' Zahir stated mysteriously.
Terrel didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant, because at that moment Kalkara ran up to join them, moving as quietly as a feather blown on the breeze. The sudden movement behind them startled the captains, and they glanced round. When they saw who it was, one of them stuck out a foot so that the girl tripped over it. It was a deliberate but almost casual act of cruelty. Although Kala fell headlong onto the sand and stones, she did not
cry out. Mlicki yelled in protest, and hurled himself forward, intent on exacting revenge - only to find that Zahir had beaten him to it. He turned to the offender and dealt him a heavy blow to the chest with the heel of his hand - half punch, half push. The other boy fell to the ground, and Zahir stood over him, a look of poisonous rage on his face.
'You're a cretin, Marrad,' he growled. 'You never treat a woman with such disrespect.'
'She's not a-' the fallen captain began.
'Shut up!' Zahir shouted, cutting off the feeble protest. 'Get out of my sight.'
As Marrad scrambled to his feet and ran off, Zahir turned back to face Mlicki, who had gone to kneel beside his sister. Kalkara was sitting up now, and seemed more shocked than hurt by what had happened. Even so, she was wide-eyed and tearful. Terrel expected Zahir to offer some apology for his companion's thoughtless actions, but he did not. He clearly felt that it was beneath him to do so. For a few awkward moments no one spoke.
'If that's an example of manhood in your clan,' Mlicki declared eventually, 'then I'd rather be one of the unclean.'
For once Zahir had no instant retort, but the studied indifference in his dark eyes turned to anger once more Violence hung in the air like the stillness before a thunderstorm.
'Be careful what you say, boy,' Zahir growled.
'Why sh-'
'Enough!' Terrel cut in forcefully. 'It's done. Finished.' He moved forward and put a restraining hand on Mlicki's shoulder. 'Leave it at that.' He felt ill-suited to the role of peacemaker, but his words seemed to calm the nerves of both protagonists. After a few moments Zahir simply turned on his heel and stalked away, followed by his remaining cohorts. Mlicki balefully watched them go, as if wanting to be sure they would not return, while Terrel took one of Kalkara's hands in his own and pulled her to her feet.
'Let's have a look at you,' he said, inspecting her thin limbs. 'Just a few grazes. We'll soon sort that out.'
'Why don't you speak, Kala?' Terrel asked quietly. He was talking to himself as much as to her, neither expecting nor receiving an answer. 'I think you could if you wanted to.'
While he'd been checking to see that she had suffered no more than a few superficial scrapes, Terrel had let his intuitive senses reach out. He had found nothing physical that would prevent her from using her voice, but her mind - unlike her brother's - was closed off. Terrel doubted that he could have invaded her private thoughts, even if he'd wanted to. As it was, he found the idea of even trying to do this utterly repugnant.
On occasion, when her needs required it, Kalkara would respond to a direct question with a nod or shake of her head, and she was adept at using signs and gestures if she wanted to convey anything more complicated. She rarely needed to do this, though, as her brother usually anticipated her requests. She was a self-contained creature, and even though it was clear that she could understand the speech of others, she seemed to have no reason to use it herself. But that didn't stop Terrel from wanting to understand why anyone should voluntarily cut themselves off from communicating with her fellow human beings.
'I'm sure you could tell me some amazing stories.' And some awful ones too, he added silently. He could only imagine what it must have been like for a four-year-old to witness the murder of both her parents. 'I'd like to hear them one day.'
Kalkara glanced at him, but the expression in her brilliant blue eyes was unreadable.
The two of them were sitting at the crest of a sand dune, a little way beyond the edge of the encampment. They had gone there after Mlicki had returned to Vilheyuna's tent to calm down. The girl seemed none the worse for wear after her fall, and appeared to have forgotten all about the incident.
'I'd like us to be friends, Kala. Can we be friends, do you think?'
Kalkara thought about this for a moment, then gave the slightest of nods. It was the first time she had responded directly to anything Terrel had said, and he grinned. Her answering smile transformed her normally-serious little face, and Terrel laughed, genuinely delighted. But then her smile faded, leaving only the memory of its sudden glow. Kala's moods were as light and mercurial as the movements of her slender body.
'You remind me of Alyssa,' he told her. 'You don't look like her, but . . .' He paused, gazing out over the desert that stretched away into the sunset. 'She's sleeping now, like Vilheyuna, but she'll wake up one day. When I go home.'
Although Kalkara did not react to his words, he was aware that she had grown very still. Unlike many of the nomads, Terrel felt quite at ease in the girl's company, and he was able to talk to her readily enough - even about subjects he normally kept to himself. Part of the reason for that, he knew, was because he could be certain she would not repeat anything he said. But there was more to it than that. There was a connection between them that he couldn't explain.
'I think I'm finally where I'm meant to be,' he said thoughtfully. It was a feeling that had been growing within him slowly for some time, and he could only hope his instincts were right. He had already travelled further than he could ever have imagined, and had been away from Vadanis for an unbelievable length of time - and he was beginning to despair of ever fulfilling the bargain that had driven him on. Since he'd joined the Toma there had been some hopeful signs at least - but he was not given time to dwell upon them now because Kalkara suddenly sat up straight and stared over to the west. It took Terrel a few moments to spot what she had seen -and when he did, he did not understand her evident alarm.
The camel train was evidently moving at some speed - the dust raised by their passage making a small cloud behind them - and they were heading directly towards the Toma's camp. Such haste and purpose were unusual, and as soon as he had worked this out, Terrel realized what was bothering Kala. Was this how it had begun on the day her parents had been murdered? He stood up and gazed intently across the sun-burnished terrain, wondering if the newcomers really were raiders.
'Come on,' he said, after a few moments. 'Let's go and warn Algardi.'
They set off, running down the slope. Even as his thoughts were preoccupied with the possible approach of danger, Terrel could not help but compare his own awkward, lopsided gait to the girl's fleet progress. But although her sandals barely seemed to graze the sand, there was no mistaking the urgency in her flight.
Chapter Three
Long before Terrel and Kalkara reached the elder's tent, it became clear that their warning would not be needed. The alarm had already been raised, and the entire camp was bustling with activity. Most of the women and older children were rounding up the camels, while the younger children were gathering in one of the larger tents under the supervision of some of their mothers. Meanwhile, the men were arraying themselves for battle.
Terrel had always thought that the Toma seemed like a peaceful people. Their concerns were their families, their camels, and the never-ending search for water and food. They appeared to have little time for thoughts of war, and even their storytellers preferred romantic tales of love or daring to heroic feats of arms. Although most of the men wore daggers in their belts, these were generally encased in beautifully decorated scabbards, which made them seem more like ceremonial items of jewellery than weapons. Nonetheless, the curved blades within were razor-sharp and could be deadly, and Terrel was amazed to see the variety of other weaponry that had now been produced from the nomads' tents. Men carried long spears, leather slings, swords, throwing axes, and the short bows that they normally used for hunting birds. And Terrel could see, from the fierce, determined expressions on their faces, that they would put all these weapons to effective use should the need arise. Even Medrano, whose role within the clan was as an artist, was holding a staff topped by a fearsome metal hook. The man who could produce extraordinary pictures using nothing more than a few handfuls of different coloured sand - and whom Terrel had thought to be the gentlest of spirits - now had a murderous gleam in his eyes and wore a sword at his side.
'Is this as bad as it looks?' Terrel asked.
'It's a raiding party,' Medrano replied, his tone betraying a mixture of dread and excitement. 'We think it's the Shiban. But we're ready for them.'
Terrel had no idea who the Shiban were, but it was clear that they represented a real threat.
'This is all happening so fast,' he murmured. He wasn't sure if there was anything he could do to help.
'We had look-outs posted,' Medrano told him. 'Sign of the times, eh? Not so long ago-' He broke off as a loud call overrode the general hubbub. 'They're coming.' He ran off to join his comrades in arms.
Knowing he would be of little use in a fight, Terrel stood where he was for a few moments, trying to decide on his next move. A tug at his sleeve reminded him that Kalkara was still there.
'Go to Vilheyuna's tent,' he told the terrified little girl.
'That's where Mlicki will be. You'll be safe there.' As safe as anywhere, he added to himself.
Kala shook her head violently, pulling at his arm again, but before she could make her wishes plain, she was swept up into the arms of one of the Toma's matriarchs and carried towards one of the central tents. Kalkara struggled, but to no avail, and Terrel was glad to see her taken out of immediate danger. His only decision now was to work out what role - if any - he could play in the coming encounter.
In the end he found himself a mere spectator to the confrontation, which - much to his relief - did not take the form of immediate violence. To his surprise, the raiders left their mounts a few hundred paces from the camp and crossed the intervening ground on foot. He had expected them to use their height advantage, but soon worked out what must have happened. The Shiban had obviously realized that they had lost the element of surprise, and against a well-prepared enemy their camels could be a liability as well as an advantage. The inelegant creatures were belligerent enough, but they were vulnerable to steel - and in desert conditions even quite minor wounds could prove fatal. They were also very valuable animals, being not only a means of transport but also a measure of a tribe's wealth and prestige, and would not be wasted lightly in battle. And so - as if by mutual agreement - the two clans walked towards each other, coming to a halt only a few paces apart.