"Elizabeth Haydon - Symphony of Ages - Threshold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haydon Elizabeth)

The five walked in silence through the packed-sand and crushed-shell streets, leading their mounts, the
only sound the whine of the coastal wind, the cracking of thatch or the groaning of wood, the skittering of
dock rats and the occasional snorting of the horses.

At the remains of each building one of the group peeled off from the others and poked through the
fragments; little was left, as fishermen were practical people and had harvested whatever was usable in
their village before packing their vessels and heading out in one of the earliest flotillas to the northern
continent, the nearest haven.

On two earlier occasions they had found squatters, wild-eyed men, women, and children who had come
from places inland, seeking passage off the Island after the Fleets had already gone. These lost souls had
taken shelter in the shells of the huts that remained, praying for miracles or wandering in aimless dementia.
Luck had it that places for them could be found on the few remaining rescue ships that came in the wake
of the exodus of the Fleets. Hector himself prayed that he would never again have to tell a living soul that
the time had passed when escape was possible; the wailing that resulted was too reminiscent of the
sobbing he had heard upon breaking other such news.

As always, his mind wandered to Talthea and the children. If he closed his eyes he could almost see her,
her belly great with child, her hand on the shoulder of his sonтАФ

тАЬBody,тАЭ Cantha called from within the ruins of the old salting shed.

Jarmon and Anais made their way over the litter of tin lantern shells and rusted iron hinges in the sand and
opened the door. Cantha stood just over the threshold, her arms crossed, staring at the corpse, that of an
old man who had curled up beneath what at one time had been the skinning table, its longboard missing.
Flies swarmed in the heat.

тАЬWasnтАЩt here the last time we passed throughтАФthat was less than a fortnight ago, was it not, Hector?тАЭ
Anais asked.

Hector only nodded, pulling forth his tinderbox as the others stepped out of the shed. He struck the flint
against the steel and set the spark to the fragment of brittle twigs that remained in the roofing bundles.

тАЬWhoever you are, I commit your body to the wind and your soul to the care of God, the One, the All,тАЭ
he said blandly, a chant he had intoned many times in the last few weeks. It was a NamerтАЩs benediction,
but without a name.

Cantha, Kith by birth and thus a child of the aforementioned wind, blew gently on the sparks as she
passed. They glowed brighter, then kindled, igniting a moment later into a thin flame.

When the remnants of the shed began to fill with smoke, and the flames had started to consume the roof,
the group turned away and continued their task. Finding no one else in the empty village, they mounted
again and rode south, not looking back at the billowing smoke and flames behind them.



The cobbled streets of Kingston, the great port city that lay south along the coast of the fishing village,
introduced the element of noise back into the journey as the horsesтАЩ hooves clattered loudly over the
stones, echoing off the empty alleyways leading to the town square.