"Monica Hughes - Devil On My Back" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Monica)

After he had been motionless for some time a squirrel, which had been busy all day collecting
nuts for its winter store, decided it would be safe to take a short cut by his body. It stopped right in front
of him, wrinkling up its nose and twinkling its silky whiskers. Tomi did not move.

4
Rowan
Tomi was inside a soft plastic cocoon that shut out cold and hunger and pain. He would do very well if
only they would leave him alone. "Go away!" His voice was thick and far away, like a strangers.
"Ah-ha! So the skinhead can talk, can he?" A woman's voice, or a girl's.
Slowly Tomi became aware that the cocoon was himself, and that the Other was furiously
rubbing his arms and legs. His eyes flickered open to unbearably bright light and he closed them with a
cry of pain. He felt an arm under his shoulders and something hard and cool against his mouth.
"Drink," the voice ordered.
He drank obediently. It was horribly bitter, and the cupful had hardly landed in his stomach when
it came up again. He rolled over onto his side, groaning and retching.
"Good," the distant voice approved. He would have argued, but he hadn't the strength. His face
was wiped with a cool wet cloth and he was ordered to drink again. He shook his head and wished that
he hadn't, as it went on spinning long after he had stopped shaking it. His whole body was whirling round
in a funnel that led down to nothingness.
He groaned and leaned back against the Others shoulder. The cup was pushed against his lips
and some of its contents trickled down his throat. It was water this time, clean and sweet. With a feeble
hand he helped tip the cup to his mouth.
Then there was a dream of movement. Of lying still, but with the sound of grass swishing beneath
him and the smell of crushed herbs close to his face. Plants softly brushed his sides. He slept.
He woke ravenously hungry. Whatever had been wrong with his eyes had righted itself. Things
were in focus and the light no longer hurt. He found that he was lying on his back looking up at a ceiling
which seemed to have been made out of thin tree trunks laid closely together, rather like his raft. The
surface he was on was hard, but padded with furry cloth. As he moved pain shot from his shoulders into
his head. His paks had dug into him as he slept and now the pain was excruciating. He eased himself onto
one elbow with a groan and looked around.
He was in a small square room whose walls were made of horizontally laid tree trunks. The only
light came, not from overhead, but from a small window to his left and an open door beyond the foot of
the bed.
The golden squares of light were inviting, and he swung his legs off the bed and stood up
unsteadily. Why, he was as weak as an infant! What had happened to him and where in the Dome was
he? He staggered over to the door and grabbed the frame, stepped through it into a sunny glade
surrounded by wooden houses. There was a fire burning in the center, and the mouthwatering smell of
food drifted towards him.
Stiff-legged, Tomi crossed the glade and stared down at the fire. There were clay pots propped
on stones and a lump of strange stuff that hung above the flames, hissing drops of fatty liquid into the fire
beneath. The smell was overwhelming. He reached out a hand.
"What do you think you're doing?" He spun round at the accusing voice. A young girl, hands on
her hips, was glaring at him in a most unwomanly way. Her head wasn't clean, but covered with long red
hair, and she wore a tunic of the same furry stuff that had covered his bed.
"Get me some food. I'm hungry," he ordered.
She laughed and Tomi flushed angrily. No one, not even one's best friend, laughed at a Lord.
"Get me some food at once!"
She strolled across the grass towards him. Her feet were bare, the nails rough and broken, and
her legs were a golden brown except for the white scars of thorn scratches.
"Supper is not ready yet. We do not eat until the others come home from hunting."