"Barbara Karmazin - Blackbird 2 - Out of the Dark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Karmazin Barbara)

Mider led the young Sidhe woman across the room and stood her beside a stationary bicycle. With her
mind wrapped deep in the healing trance of the cael marrach, she moved like a robot. The exoskeleton's
silver frame glittered against her jean-clad leg and hip.

He nudged her into a seated position, placed her hands on the handlebars and tightened the stirrup
straps around her sneaks. After a few pushes of his hands, her legs moved automatically on the pedals.
No sense in letting her body deteriorate while her mind healed.
тАЬThat's good. You're doing fine, my friend; I found your ID chip but it was damaged.тАЭ He winced.
Calling her 'my friend' felt so impersonal and insincere.

Perhaps he should make an attempt to find her family by placing an ad describing her appearance on the
WorldNet. Her sisterline would never forgive him if he left her in an emergency room and exposed her
non-human origins to the authorities.

Was there a connection between the bomb at the spaceport and Rachel's death outside the clinic? Had
someone followed Rachel from the spaceport and lost her trail when she went into the tunnels?

Mider shook his head. Until he had the answers to those questions, there would be no ad. Her family
would understand the need for secrecy even if they believed he'd kidnapped their daughter. He must hide
her until she healed.

A cloth bandage concealed her scalp and mottled bruises marred the right side of her face and eye. The
colors had darkened to black, green and purple.

He kept his voice soft and soothing, as if he were speaking to a small child. тАЬBecause you're Sidhe it
won't take long for your hair to grow back.тАЭ

Her eyes moved at the sound of his voice as if she was trying to locate him. That was good sign. It
meant her mind was healing too.

He went to the far corner of the clay-walled chamber and sank to his knees in front of a leather-bound
trunk. He lifted the lid and pulled out a heavy book, wrapped in oilcloth, a Torah Rachel had given him
for his birthday last week. He kept it wrapped up in the trunk because the damp tunnel air warped and
damaged books.

Today was Rachel's funeral. Mider selected his finest white linen shirt from the chest and put it on. The
white purity of the cloth would show his honor for Rachel's memory. He bound the long shirt to his waist
and arms with leather strips that matched his brown pants and boots. Then he plaited his white hair into a
five-strand Sidhe braid that swung down to his ankles.

Candles flickered on the shelves all around him. He selected a stool, sat down, opened the Torah and
ran his finger down to the passage he wanted to read. тАЬOne generation passeth away, and another
generation cometh, but the earth abideth forever.тАЭ

Rachel was dead. He was alive. The young Sidhe woman pedaling away behind him was alive. тАЬThe
wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north: it whirleth about continually and the wind
returneth again according to its circuits.тАЭ

Aliah was the old folklore word for the storm wind. It was the wind that whirled out of the dark to scour
and sweep away everything old, leaving behind a clean landscape, a new beginning. He would call the