"Robin Hobb - Elderkings - Homecoming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hobb Robin)

Day the 7th of the Plow Moon
Year the 14th of the reign of the Most
Noble and Magnificent Satrap Esclepius

My child is still dead. Ah, such a foolish thought to write, and yet still it seems impossible to me.
Narissa, Narissa, you cannot be gone forever. Surely this is some monstrous dream from which I will
awake!

Today, because I sat weeping, my husband pushed this book at me and said, тАЬWrite a poem to comfort
yourself. Hide in your art until you feel better. Do anything, but stop weeping!тАЭ As if he offered a
squalling baby a sugar teat. As if art took you away from life rather than plunging you headlong into it!
Jathan reproached me for my grief, saying that my reckless mourning frightens our sons and threatens
the babe in my womb. As if he truly cared! Had he cared for us as a husband and a father, never would
he have betrayed our dear Satrap and condemned us to this fate.

But, to stop his scowl, I will sit here and write for a time, like a good wife.

A full dozen of the passengers and two crewmen have died of the flux. Of one hundred sixteen who
began this voyage, ninety-two now remain. The weather has calmed but the warm sunlight on the deck
only mocks my sorrow. A haze hangs over the sea and to the west the distant mountains smoke.

Day the 18th of the Plow Moon
Year the 14th of the reign of the Most
Noble and Magnificent Satrap Esclepius

I have no spirit to write, yet there is nothing else to occupy my weary mind. I, who once composed the

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wittiest prose and most soaring poetry, now plod word by word down a page.

Some days ago we reached the river mouth; I did not note the date, such has been my gloom. All the
men cheered when we sighted it. Some spoke of gold, others of legendary cities to plunder, and still
others of virgin timber and farmland awaiting us. I thought it marked an end to our voyage, but still it
drags on.

At first the rising tide aided our upriver progress. Now the crew must labor at their oars for every ship-
length we gain. The prisoners have been taken from their chains and utilized as rowers in tiny boats.
They row upriver and set anchors and drag us against the current. By night, we anchor and listen to the
rush of the water and the shrieks of unseen creatures from the jungle on the shore. Daily the scenery
grows both more fantastic and threatening. The trees on the banks stand twice as tall as our mast, and the
ones behind them are taller still. When the river narrows, they cast deep shadows over us. Our view is a
near-impenetrable wall of greenery. Our search for a kindly shore seems folly. I see no sign that any
people have ever lived here. The only creatures are bright birds, large lizards that sun themselves on the
tree roots at the waterтАЩs edge, and something that whoops and scuttles in the treetops. There are no
gentle meadows or firm shores, only marshy banks and rank vegetation. Immense trees root stiltlike in
the water and dangling vines festoon them, trailing in the chalky water. Some have flowers that gleam
white even in the night. They hang, fleshy and thick, and the wind carries their sweet, carnal breath.
Stinging insects torment us and the oarsmen are subject to painful rashes. The river water is not potable;