"Stephen Lawhead - Song Of Albion 2 - The Silver Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

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Hear, 0 Son of Albion, the prophetic word:
Sorrow and be sad, deep grief is granted Albion in triple measure. The Golden King in his kingdom
will strike his foot against the Rock of Contention. The Worm of fiery breath will claim the
throne of Prydain; Llogres will be without a lord. But happy shall be Caledon; the Flight of
Ravens will flock to her many-shadowed glens, and ravensong shall be her song.
When the Light of the Derwyddi is cut off, and the blood of bards demands justice, then let the
Ravens spread their wings over the sacred wood and holy mound. Under Ravens' wings, a throne is
established. Upon this throne, a king with a silver hand.
In the Day of Strife, root and branch shall change places, and the newness of the thing shall pass
for a wonder. Let the sun be dull as amber, let the moon hide her face: abomination stalks the
land. Let the four winds contend with one another in dreadful blast; let the sound be heard among
the stars. The Dust of the Ancients will rise on the clouds; the essence of Albion is scattered
and torn among contending winds.
The seas will rise up with mighty voices. Nowhere is there safe harbor. Arianrhod sleeps in her
sea-girt headland. Though many seek her, she will not be found. Though many cry out to
her, she cannot hear their voices. Only the chaste kiss will restore her to her rightful place.
Then shall rage the Giant of Wickedness, and terrzfy all with the keen edge of his sword. His eyes
shall flash forth fire; his lips shall drip poison. With his great host he will despoil the
island. All who oppose him will be swept away in the flood of wrongdoing that flows from his hand.
The Island of the Mighty will become a tomb.
All this by the Brazen Man is come to pass, who likewise mounted on his steed of brass works woe
both great and dire. Rise up, Men of Gwir! Fill your hands with weapons and oppose the false men
in your midst! The sound of the battleclash will be heard among the stars of heaven and the Great
Year will proceed to its final consummation.
Hear, 0 Son of Albion: Blood is born of blood. Flesh is born of flesh. But the spirit is born of
Spirit, and with Spirit evermore remains. Before Albion is One, the Hero Feat must be performed
and Silver Hand must reign.
Banfdith of Ynys Sd
1
Doomsayer



We carried the body of Meidryri Mawr down from high Findargad to be buried in the Hill of Kings.
Three horses pulled the wagon: a red and a white to draw the bier, and a black to lead them. 1
walked at the head of the dark horse, guiding the great king's body to its rest.
Six warriors walked on either side of the bier. The horses' hooves and the wagon's wheels were
wrapped with rags, likewise the spearsand shields of the warriors. The Liwyddi followed, each man,
woman and child carrying an unlit torch.
Burial of a king has been observed in this way from time past remembering. The wheels and hooves
are muffled, so that the bier may pass silently through the land; the weapons are covered and the
torches unlit, so that no eye will mark the passing procession. Secrecy and silence are maintained
so that the gravemound will never be discovered and desecrated by an enemy.
As night drew its cloak of stars across the sky, we arrived at Glyn Du, a narrow valley tributary
to the Vale of Modornn. The funeral procession entered the black glen, moving beside the still,
dark water. The deep-folded valley was darker even than the sky above, which still glimmered in
blue twilight. The gravemound loomed on its hill as a mass of thick-gathered shadow.
At the foot of Cnoc Righ, the Hill of Kings, I kindled a small fire to light the torches. As the