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

'Few foreigners come to my homeland,' Kjolur responded. 'Most of my people prefer it that way. Even Ostan and his crew won't venture more than a few paces from the docks. For myself, I wish it were otherwise. Perhaps you're the first of many visitors.'
From what he'd heard,' Terrel felt it unlikely that Myvatan would attract many outsiders, but he chose not to say so. Instead he tried to bring the talk around to the merchant himself.
'Do other Myvatanians travel as you do?'
'Very few. We're an insular breed in more than one sense. And for much of the year our climate is not conducive to travel.'
'Is it true that the sun never rises in midwinter?' Terrel asked. It was one of the tales told about the island that he'd found hard to believe.
'It's true,' Kjolur confirmed. 'Just as it's true that for two months at midsummer the sun never sets.'
'Really?' Terrel breathed, his astonishment plain.
'You get used to it,' the islander said, smiling again. 'Of course, we sleep through the darkest months anyway.'
'You actually hibernate':" Terrel was even more astonished now.
'For about two median months each winter,' Kjolur confirmed. 'If you'd made this trip much earlier in the year, you'd have found us all asleep.'
This idea took a bit of getting used to. Although Terrel had come across long-term sleepers of a quite different kind, the prospect of an entire community deliberately falling asleep every year was bizarre.
'It's really a very practical arrangement,' the islander went on. 'We save on supplies at the bleakest time of the year, and conserve our own energy for when the light returns.'
Terrel nodded, even though he still felt that - practical or not - it was one of the strangest things he'd ever heard.
'Do you do the same thing on your travels?' he asked.
'No. When there's light and warmth, I've no need to. My body adjusts. I might feel weary, sometimes, but that's probably just old age creeping up on me.' He grinned.
As far as Terrel could judge, Kjolur was probably about thirty. Old enough, but hardly ancient. He grinned back.
'There's a story in here,' the merchant said, picking up his book, 'about Savik's Whale. I reread it last night after our talk.'
'Will you read it to me?' Terrel asked eagerly.
'Not the whole thing. Our poets tend to be a little . . . overelaborate, shall we say? But the gist of the tale is that it's more than just a sculpture. It's a beacon, a marker for the gods. They take notice of anything that happens there.'
'That's a daunting thought.'
'It is rather, but I shouldn't let it worry you,' Kjolur advised. 'As far as I know, the gods haven't put in too many appearances lately. What's more interesting is the fact that there's supposed to be a funnel that leads all the way up from a cave at sea-level to the top of the whale, where it emerges at the creature's blowhole.'
'Its what?'
'Blowhole. Whales aren't like other fish. In fact, some people say they aren't really fish at all. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? It's because whales have to come up to the surface every so often. They breathe the same air we do, unlike true fishes. The blowhole is on top of their heads, and that's how they breathe. Blowing water out and taking air in. But that's all beside the point. The stone whale mimics the real creatures in a most ingenious way. If there's a storm, and the wind is in the southwest, the waves force water up the funnel until it bursts out at the top in a spout.'
'That must be quite a sight,' Terrel commented.
'I'm sure it is,' Kjolur agreed. 'And according to the legend, anyone who stands beside the hole when it appears - especially if they're splashed by the seawater - is granted a vision of the future. Sound familiar at all?'
'It's certainly an odd method of prophecy,' Terrel said, 'but then it's a strange process by its very nature.' He was intrigued, and wondered whether he might be able to climb the sculpture. Then something else occurred to him. 'I'd rather there wasn't a storm when we get there, though. If Ostan's to be believed, going ashore's going to be hard enough as it is.'
The next morning, Terrel was beckoned over to the starboard rail by one of the sailors, who pointed to something
in the water some distance away. A smooth black hump rose above the waves, then sank again. It was replaced by a fluid shape that looked rather like a double-sided black sail. This rose, streaming foam, flipped over with slow grace, then slid back into the sea.
'What was that?' Terrel asked, though he thought he already knew.
'A black whale. That was its tail there at the end, when it dived.'
Terrel stared in awe, but saw nothing more. He had glimpsed only the top of the creature's arched back and its tail, but that was enough for him to tell that it was enormous. Which meant that the life-sized sculpture would be just as big.
Two days later, a shout from the lookout in the bows alerted both Terrel and the crew to the fact that their voyage was almost over. The healer gazed at the purple smudge on the horizon and knew that it was his first view of Myvatan.
Chapter Five
When Terrel eventually set foot upon the rocks of Myvatan, his first impression was not of the bitter wind that threatened to overbalance him, or of the black water that swirled around his perch. It was not of the daunting cliffs that towered above him, or of the seabirds that shrieked and whirled overhead. It was not even the sheer relief of finally having had the courage to leap from the skiff, timing his jump with the swell, and managing to gain a foothold on solid ground. The feeling that swept over him and through him, filling every particle of his being with a chill dread, was an almost overwhelming sense of madness.
This was not the harmless and occasionally benevolent lunacy of someone like Alyssa. This was violent, furious, unreasoning and yet malicious. Evil. What was even more disconcerting, it seemed to be coming from the island itself. It was as if the whole place was insane.
The initial onslaught was so savage that Terrel instinctively clutched at his head, then staggered and almost fell back into the sea. He recovered just in time, tried desperately to shield his mind, and went on. As he clambered over the barnacle-encrusted rocks, taking himself further from one peril at least, he heard yells of encouragement from Kahl and the other oarsmen who had brought him ashore. He couldn't pick out their words, but knew they
were glad both that he had survived the first stage of his journey and that their part in his escapade was over. They were pulling away again now, returning to the Skua.
Catching his breath once he was no longer in any immediate danger of being sucked back into the icy water, Terrel watched the skiff's retreat. Doubts assailed him. He'd been so sure that coming ashore at Whale Ness was the right thing to do, and yet now his decision seemed incredibly rash. Even without the all-pervading sense of madness, this was a bleak and forbidding place, where any number of dangers might await him. Even if he succeeded in climbing up to the island proper, there was nothing to suggest he'd be able to survive long enough to achieve his purpose there Ч whatever that was. He could die of cold or starvation. Even a minor injury could prove fatal.
That's all irrelevant, he told himself. You're here now. There's no going back, so you just have to make the best of it.
Readjusting his pack, which contained his few belongings and the food he'd been given, Terrel got to his feet and moved further inland. His first intention was to get well out of reach of the waves, even if the wind freshened, and then to try to find some shelter. It was already growing dark and he had no intention of attempting to scale the cliffs that night. He concentrated on each footstep, on making sure his boots did not slip, and tried to focus on his immediate practical problems. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't dismiss the atmosphere of insanity from his mind. As a healer he felt it as a sickness, an unnatural state, but treating such a disease was clearly beyond him. The best he could hope for was to ignore it -and to ignore the implications for his own mission. This was easier said than done.
'Don't you believe in first impressions?' Kjolur had asked. Terrel was beginning to wish he didn't.
It had been late afternoon by the time the Skua had dropped anchor off Whale Ness, but Ostan hadn't given his passenger the choice of waiting until morning. The captain's words had been succinct. 'It's now or never, Terrel. Make up your mind.' One of the reasons for his haste had been the fear of encountering local naval vessels. Sea raids apparently played a major part in the war, and Ostan hadn't been willing to linger near a forbidden zone and risk being discovered by military forces. And he and all his crew had also been anxious to reach Akranes and complete their trading so they could sail for home as quickly as possible. The detour had already cost them several hours, and any further delay was out of the question.
The little Terrel had seen of Myvatan had not been encouraging. He'd already known it was very different from Vadanis. For a start, it was much bigger and Ч of course Ч it was not moving. But from the sea it had not really seemed like land at all. So much of it was covered in snow and ice, some of it apparently permanent, that it looked more like a piece of ocean that had frozen over, like a giant iceberg. Even from a distance it was clear that the mountains of the interior were huge. They were mostly shrouded in mist or cloud, but when the sunlight finally broke through, their peaks shone like pure white beacons.
As the Skua sailed closer, the rugged nature of the coastline had become apparent. Where the slopes were too steep to be covered with snow, much of the rock was black or dark grey, but even that sparkled, as if it were studded with crystals. Finally, Terrel had caught a glimpse of the fabled sculpture. Although he'd known it would be
impressive, the real thing had taken his breath away. The manner in which its sinuous lines mimicked life, almost as though it were swimming in the air above the cliff, was remarkable. This was no crude shaping of a convenient piece of rock; this was a true work of art, as beautiful as it was astonishing. And the fact that it could achieve this effect on such a huge scale was truly awe-inspiring. The stone whale was colossal. To conceive of such a structure, let alone actually shape it, did indeed seem to be the province of gods rather than men.
As the Skua had drawn round into the lee of the headland, Terrel had gazed up in wonder. For a moment he'd thought that perhaps a real creature had been frozen in stone many ages earlier, just as the dragon-lizard and her eggs had been preserved in the desert of Misrah. But he'd soon dismissed the idea. Savik's Whale was a deliberate creation, not an accident of history.
He had been given no more time to stare and speculate, as preparations had quickly been made for his departure. At least the weather had been kind, with the sea as calm as it was ever likely to be. Terrel's blithe assumption that a landing would have been possible whatever the conditions had seemed very foolish then. If it had turned rough, he would have had no chance at all. As it was, he'd already begun to doubt his own decision, purely because of the nature of the terrain he would be entering.
'I hope you know what you're doing,' Ostan had said in parting.
'Be careful,' Kjolur had advised. 'The Gold Moon is full tonight.'
Terrel had not known why this was relevant Ч and at that moment, as he climbed down the rope ladder to the waiting skiff, the position of the moons had been the least of his worries. The rest of the crew had been silent or, like