"Gray, Julia - Guardian 04 - The Red Glacier" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gray Julia)

Kjolur looked up sharply, but did not seem particularly surprised to see who it was. The islander had a thin, pinched face, with pale green eyes.
'It's a collection of old legends. My great-grandfather made a point of writing them all down. I'm not sure why.
But they help to pass the time on a voyage like this. Do you read?'
'I do,' Terrel replied, 'but probably not in your language.' They were speaking in what the sailors called 'the northern tongue', which was common to many lands bordering the cold ocean and which, according to Kahl, was widely spoken on Myvatan. That had come as a relief to Terrel, because it simplified the process of communication. Psinoma enabled him to learn new languages quickly, but he still felt guilty about the necessity of prying into other people's minds. However, he had rarely had any need to become familiar with the written word.
'Then you've travelled far,' Kjolur concluded.
'I have, but I don't come across books very often. May I take a look?'
'Of course.' The islander passed the slim volume over and Terrel flicked through a few pages of the precise calligraphy. This was enough to tell him that it was quite indecipherable.
'It's beautiful,' he said, handing it back, and remembering a time at the haven when he'd had access to a whole library of books. For the first years of his life, those books had been the source of everything he'd known about the outside world. The reality Ч especially after he'd left Vadanis Ч had proved rather different.
'The tale I've just been reading says that Myvatan once floated free in the ocean, like a gigantic ship. Can you believe that?'
'Perhaps,' Terrel replied, amazed at the apparent link to his dream Ч and to his own homeland.
'My people apparently ruled all of Nydus from their mobile fortress,' Kjolur went on, 'but then one of our enemies put a curse on the island and froze it in place, isolated from all the other countries. That must have been
some sorcery.' He was grinning to show he regarded the story as no more than an imaginative myth, but Terrel wasn't ready to dismiss it so lightly.
'I come from an empire that's made up entirely of floating islands,' he said.
'Really?' It was the merchant's turn to be amazed.
'The main one is called Vadanis.'
Kjolur's expression made it clear that he had never heard of it, something that did not surprise Terrel at all. His homeland no longer seemed real, even to him.
Chapter Three
By his own reckoning, Terrel was now twenty-one years old, and he was a very different person to the terrified boy who had been cast adrift from Vadanis. It was incredible to think that his exile had already lasted more than seven years, and that there was no immediate end in sight. During all that time he had been almost constantly on the move, and he'd experienced more than he could ever have imagined when he was growing up in the confines of the remote madhouse. His bargain with the elementals, the strange creatures who had no substance or shape and yet who wielded immense power, had become the core of his existence - and it drove him onward still. However, he had begun to feel that the circle was closing at last, that he had passed the furthest point in his long journey. He had come to believe that each step along the unknown road now took him closer to home.
That feeling had been reinforced by his most recent meeting with his ghostly allies. Their latest theory was that his trip to Myvatan might be the end of the road, the point at which he could finally fulfil his bargain, and thus set himself free to return to Vadanis - and to Alyssa. The hope that this might be true had given Terrel the strength to carry on, after a long period in which he had not seemed to be achieving anything.
Three and a half years - an eternity in his young life -
had passed since he'd left the deserts of Misrah, and since his last encounter with one of the elementals. When he'd crossed the northern borders of that territory he had been full of expectation, sure that he would soon find out what his next task would be. But although he'd hoped that this would begin with his 'going to the other side of the mountains' - the first part of his journey - he had subsequently been presented with an almost limitless succession of choices, and had been given little or no guidance. He'd been left to trust his own instincts Ч instincts he had begun to doubt more and more as time passed Ч to decide where he should go next at each stage. It was only recently that his goal had become clear, which was why he was now aboard the Skua. Yet in his heart it was not Myvatan but another island, on the other side of the world, that he longed for. Although Terrel was indeed a different person from the boy he'd once been, he still sometimes felt like a homesick child.
'You are a long way from home,' Kjolur commented, bringing Terrel back to the present with a rush. 'What brings you to this part of the world?'
Once again Terrel wondered how to answer this most obvious of questions. If he replied truthfully Ч that he came in search of a shadow-born entity that possessed intelligence and strength but no physical body Ч he would be dismissed as mad and would lose any prospect of being helped by a potential ally. After some consideration, he chose to move one step closer to the truth than he had done with Ostan.
'The seers of my homeland prophesied that I would make this journey. I swore an oath to follow their guidance, wherever it led.' He paused, trying to assess Kjolur's response, but the islander's expression was unreadable.
'Seeing into the future,' Kjolur said, nodding slowly. 'That's a useful talent.'
Terrel couldn't tell whether the other man was being genuine or facetious Ч and wasn't sure whether he agreed with what the islander had said. Prophecy had been his travelling companion for seven years, but it had brought as many pitfalls as triumphs.
'It is sometimes,' he said cautiously, 'but augury isn't an exact science.' That was one of the seers' favourite axioms.
'I find that rather reassuring,' the merchant said. 'I wouldn't like to think that everything was preordained.'
'Me neither,' Terrel agreed, remembering one particular vision in which he had seen the moment of his own death.
'And yet you're sailing to Myvatan because of this prophecy?'
'Sometimes you can't argue with destiny,' Terrel replied, knowing it was a feeble response. He was aware that his companion was studying him intently, and guessed that Kjolur was a shrewd character. It was obvious that the islander was not only weighing up his words but also the expressions on his face. Was it possible that those pale eyes could somehow see beneath the surface of their conversation? Could it even be that Kjolur was skilled in the use of psinoma, and thus able to read Terrel's thoughts without him knowing it? This was an unnerving idea, but the healer was able to convince himself that it couldn't be true, that he would know if his mind was being probed.
'Those are old wounds?' Kjolur asked, indicating Terrel's misshapen limbs. 'Were they received in battle?'
The abrupt change of subject took Terrel by surprise.
'No,' he replied. 'I was born this way.'
In fact the injuries had been caused by a battle of sorts -but not the kind Kjolur meant. Terrel had been in his mother's womb when he'd been crippled by his twin
brother. Their enmity still caused occasional conflict between them, even though they were many hundreds of miles apart. Jax was the Emperor's son, the acknowledged heir to the Floating Islands. Terrel had been discarded at birth.
'Old wounds indeed,' Kjolur said. 'That was bad fortune.'
Terrel shrugged; his misfortunes had played a part in making him who he was.
'Too late for our healing pools to be of use,' the islander added, still watching Terrel closely.
'Healing pools?'
'You've not heard of them? Each quarter has them, but their efficacy is limited. And most are restricted, kept for military use. A soldier's injuries can be repaired if they're treated quickly enough, so that he can return to the war. But after a certain time ...' He spread his hands in a gesture of futility.
Terrel belatedly caught the implication of his words.
'You think that's why I'm going to Myvatan? In the hope of healing these?' He tapped his right hand on his leg.
'The thought had crossed my mind,' Kjolur admitted. 'I've seen it before, with those who've had no luck elsewhere. There are legends told about the pools - there's one in this book, in fact Ч of miraculous cures, and when all other hope is gone that's the sort of thing people cling to. It's generally women who make the voyage, though.'
'Why women?' Terrel asked curiously.
'Because a supposedly barren wife once gave birth to twins little more than nine median months after bathing. A tale like that soon turns to myth if enough people want to believe it. But only the truly desperate come now. They know they have very little chance of even getting close to the waters. The army guards them jealously.'
'Well, that's not why I'm here,' Terrel said. 'I didn't even know about the pools, and I'm not sure I'd want to be cured even if it were possible. I'd like to see them in action, though.'
'Your line of work,' Kjolur said, nodding. 'You might be lucky. I may even be able to help.'
'That would be wonderful. Thank you.'
'I'm not promising anything, mind. A merchant only has influence with the generals when he's got something they want.'