"Lackey, Mercedes - Born To Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

Then there was a tremendous flash of light; Sam was blinded, and felt himself falling. He flailed his arms wildly, and landed on his back, hard enough to drive the breath out of him.
He wheezed and rubbed his eyes, trying to force them to clear. The sound of someone choking made him look up, squinting through watering eyes, still trying to catch his breath.
What he saw made him forget to breathe.
A tall, terrible blond stranger, dressed in odd clothing, like something out of the pantomimes of King Arthur, was holding his father by the throat. John Kelly was white-faced and shaking, but was not trying to move or fight the stranger. This was no one Sam had seen in or near the village, and anyway, most of the people around here were small and dark, or small and red-haired. Not tall and silver-blond. The man looked down at Sam for a moment, and even though the only light came from the moon overhead, he sawЧclearlyЧthat the man had bright, emerald green eyes; eyes that looked just like a cat's. And long, pointed ears.
This was no man. This could only be one of the Fair Folk, the Sidhe; and the fairy-man's eyes caught Sam like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a motorcar.
Sam couldn't move.
John Kelly made another choking noise, and the stranger turned those mesmerizing eyes back towards his captive.
УJohn Kelly,Ф the terrifying man saidЧwith a gentleness made all the more terrible by his obvious strength. УJohn Kelly, you're a good man, but you're on the way to a bad end. 'Tis the luck of your God that brought you here tonight, within my reach and my ken, for if you hadn't struck your lad just now, I wouldn't have known of your troubles and your falling into the grip of pain and whiskey. Now get hold of yourself and get your life straight againЧfor if you don't, I swear to you that we'll steal this lovely boy of yours, and you'll never see him again, this side of paradise. Remember what your mother told you, John Kelly. Remember it well, and believe it. We did it once within your family, and we can and will do it again, if the need comes to it.Ф
There was another flash of light. When Sam could see, the man was gone, and his father was sinking slowly to his knees. Sam still couldn't move, numb with shock and awe, and feelings he couldn't put a name to.
For a long, long time, John Kelly lay in the dirt, his shoulders shaking. Then, after a while, John looked up, and Sam saw tears running down his Da's face, glistening in the moonlight.
УDa?Ф he whispered, tentatively. УDa?Ф
УSonЧФ John chokedЧand gathered Sam into his arms, holding him closely, just the way he used to. Sobbing. Somehow that made Sam feel both good and bad. Good, that his Da was the man he loved again. Bad, that his Da was crying.
Sam said again. УDa, what's the matter? Da?Ф
УSamЧsonЧФ John Kelly wept unashamed. УSon, I've been wicked, I've been blind with pain, and I've been wicked. Forgive me, son. Oh, please, forgive meЧФ
Sam hadn't been sure what to say or do, but he'd given his father what he asked for: Forgiveness, and all the love and comfort he had.
Eventually, John Kelly had gathered his son up in his arms, and taken him home. And from that day until the day he died, he never touched another drop of alcohol.

It can't beЧ he thought dazedly, from the perspective of half a century away. It can't beЧ
Despite the Sight, he'd assumed for decades that the whole incident had been a dream, something his childish imagination had conjured up to explain his father's brief, alcoholic binge and his recovery.
He'd only been five, after all. But this, this tall, blond man striding toward them was the same, the very same person as that long-ago stranger. No matter that the long hair was pulled back into a thick pony-tail, not flowing free beneath a circling band of silver about the brow. No matter that the clothing was a form-fitting black coverall, incongruously embroidered with УKevinФ over the breast pocket, and not the tunic and trews of a man of the ancient Celts. There was no mistake.
Sam knew then that he must be going mad. It was an easier explanation than the one that fit the situation.
The man strode towards them with all the power and grace of a lean, black panther in its prime. As he neared them, he smiled; a warm smile that reached even into those emerald eyes and made them shine. УYou've grown into a fine man, Sam Kelly,Ф he said, stopping just short of them, and resting his fists on his hips. УA fine man, like your father John, and smarter than your father, to wash your hands of a dying land and seek your life on this side of the water. Now you know why we chose you, and no other.Ф
УI see you've met,Ф Tannim said, with an ironic lift of an eyebrow.
This man, this УKevinФЧhe hadn't aged a day since Sam saw him fifty years ago. He'd looked thirty or forty then, which would make him what? Ninety? A hundred?
Either he had discovered the fountain of youth, orЧ
УYouЧФ Sam said, finally getting his mouth to work. УYou'reЧФ
УOne of the Fair Folk?Ф Keighvin said, with a lop-sided smile, and a lifted brow that echoed Tannim's. УThe Lords of Underhill? The Kindly Ones? The Old People? The Elves, the Fairies, the Sidhe?Ф He chuckled. УI'm glad to see you still remember the old ways, the old tales, Sam. And, despite all your university learning, you believe them too, or at least, you're willing to believe them, if I read your heart aright.Ф
In the face of a living breathing tale out of his own childhood, how could he not believe? Even when it was impossible? He had to believe in the Sidhe, or believe that someone had read his mind, picked that incident out of his childhood, and constructed someone who looked exactly like the Sidhe-warrior, and fed him all the pertinent details.
It was easier and simpler to believe in the SidheЧthe Wise Ones who had stolen away his granny's brother, because great-grandfather had beaten him once too often, for things he could not help. He remembered his granny's tales of that, too, for Patrick had been granny's favorite brother, and she'd told the story over and over. Poor Patrick; from the vantage point of near seventy-five years Sam knew what Patrick's problem had been, and it hadn't been willfulness or clumsiness. They'd have called him Уdyslexic,Ф these days, and given him special teaching to compensate.а.а.а.
УWe helped him,Ф Keighvin said, as if reading his mind again. УWe helped him, and sent him over the sea to this new land, and our kin here in Elfhame Fairgrove. He prospered, married a mortal girl, raised a family. Remind me to introduce you to your cousins, one day.Ф
УCousins?Ф Sam said, faintly. УI think I need to sit down.Ф

У.а.а.аso, that was when the Fairgrove elvenkin got interested in racing,Ф Tannim said, as Sam held tight to his cup of coffee, and Keighvin nodded from time to time. Sam sat on an overturned bucket, Tannim perched like a gargoyle on top of an aluminum cabinet, and Keighvin leaned against one of the sleek, sensuous racecars. Now that there was no need to counterfeit the noise of a real metal shop, things were much quieter, though there was no less activity. УNow roughly a fourth of the SERRA members are either elves or human mages. At first it was mostly for enjoyment. The Fairgrove elves in particular got interested in the idea of using racing to get some of their members out into the human world, the way things used to be in the old days.Ф
УAye,Ф Keighvin seconded, leaning back against a shining, black fender, and patting it absent-mindedly, as if it was a horse. УIn the old days, it could be you'd have met one of the Sidhe at any crossroads, looking for a challenge. You'd have found a kelpie at every fordЧand on moonlit nights, the woods and meadows would be thick with dancing parties. Plenty of the Sidhe like humans, Sam; you give us a stimulus we sorely need. It was Cold Iron that drove us Underhill, Sam, and Cold Iron that drove us away, across the sea. It's deadly to us, as your granny doubtless told you.Ф
УButЧФ Sam protested, gesturing with his coffee cup. УWhat aboutЧthat? You're leaning against Cold Iron.Ф
Keighvin grinned, white teeth gleaming in a way that reminded Sam sharply that the man was no human. УThat I'm not.Ф He moved away from the car, and the carЧtwisted.
It writhed like something out of a drug-dream. Sam had to close his eyes for a moment; when he opened them, there was no car there at all, but a sleek, black horse, with wicked silver eyes. It winked at him, and stamped a delicate hoof on the concrete. Sparks struck and died.
УAn elvensteed,Ф Tannim said, with a chuckle. УThat's how the pointy-eared smartasses got into racing in the first place. They transformed the elvensteeds into things that looked like cars, at least on the outside. But once club racing started having inspectionsЧФ
УI'd have found it damned difficult to explain a racecar with no motor,Ф Keighvin supplied, as the elvensteed nuzzled his shoulder. УRosaleen Dhu can counterfeit most things, including all the right noises for an engine to make, but not the engine itself. Only something that looks superficially like an engine.Ф
Black Rose. She's beautiful.а.а.а.
Tannim gestured at the lovely creature with his chin. УAnd that's how Fairgrove is setting the pace in aerodynamics, too. Put an elvensteed in a wind-tunnel, and alter the design by telling it what you want. No weeks of making body-bucks and laying fiberglass.Ф Tannim gloated, and Sam didn't blame him. This was better even than computer modeling.
УButЧyou're still racing now, with a real teamЧФ Sam protested. УWith real carsЧreal enginesЧФ
УWith every part we can manage being replaced with nonferrous materials,Ф Tannim told him. УThat's what we started doing even before the inspections. It was no challenge to race an elvensteed that can reach half the speed of sound against Tin Lizzies. It was a challenge to try and improve on human technology.Ф
Keighvin held up his hands, and only then did Sam notice he was wearing thin leather gloves, black to match his coverall. Sam also noted a black web belt and a delicate silver-and-silk-sheathed knife, more decorative than a tool. УAnd for those things that can't be replaced by something other than iron and steel, well, some of us have built up a kind of tolerance to Death Metal. Enough that we can handle it if we're protectedЧand we try not to work much magic about it.Ф He patted the horse's neck. УI'll explain the Laws of it all to you laterЧand how we're breaking them.Ф
Tannim jumped down off the cabinet, catching Sam's eye, and began pacing. Sam suspected he needed to ease an ache in that bad leg. УRacing and building cars was what lured the elvenkin out from Underhill,Ф he said. УBut racing wasn't the real reason that some of the elves wanted more of their company out in the human world, and to be more active in it.Ф
УSome didn't approveЧФ Keighvin said.
УBut most of Fairgrove did,Ф Tannim interjected. УAnd now we have to get into some old history. That's Keighvin's subject.Ф
The horse had turned back into a car again while Sam had been watching Tannim; Keighvin leaned back against its fender (flank?) and folded his arms.
УDo you have any idea why I confronted your father that night, Sam Kelly?Ф Keighvin asked. УOr what I was talking about, with your great-uncle and all?Ф
Sam blurted the first thing that came into his head. УThe Fair Folk steal childrenЧeverybody knows thatЧФ