"Ursula K. LeGuin - 3. The Farthest Shore" - читать интересную книгу автора (Le Guin Ursula K)

So the first step out of childhood is made all at once, without
looking before or behind, without caution, and nothing held in reserve.
Forgetting courtly farewells he hurried to the doorway, awkward,
radiant, obedient. And Ged the Archmage watched him go.

Ged stood a while by the fountain under the ash tree, then raised his
face to the sunwashed sky. "A gentle messenger for bad news," he said half
aloud, as if talking to the fountain. It did not listen, but went on talking in
its own silver tongue, and he listened to it a while. Then, going to another
doorway, which Arren had not seen, and which indeed very few eyes would have
seen no matter how close they looked, he said, "Master Doorkeeper."
A little man of no age appeared. Young he was not, so that one had to
call him old, but the word did not suit him. His face was dry and colored like
ivory, and he had a pleasant smile that made long curves in his cheeks. "What's
the matter, Ged?" said he.
For they were alone, and he was one of the seven persons in the world
who knew the Archmage's name. The others were the Master Namer of Roke; and
Ogion the Silent, the wizard of Re Albi, who long ago on the mountain of Gont
had given Ged that name; and the White Lady of Gont, Tenar of the Ring; and a
village wizard in Iffish called Vetch; and in Iffish again, a house-carpenter's
wife, mother of three girls, ignorant of all sorcery but wise in other things,
who was called Yarrow; and finally, on the other side of Earthsea, in the
farthest west, two dragons: Orm Embar and Kalessin.
"We should meet tonight," the Archmage said. "I'll go to the
Patterner. And I'll send to Kurremkarmerruk, so that he'll put his lists away
and let his students rest one evening and come to us, if not in flesh. Will you
see to the others?"
"Aye," said the Doorkeeper, smiling, and was gone; and the Archmage
also was gone; and the fountain talked to itself all serene and never ceasing in
the sunlight of early spring.

Somewhere to the west of the Great House of Roke, and often somewhat
south of it, the Immanent Grove is usually to be seen. There is no place for it
on maps, and there is no way to it except for those who know the way to it. But
even novices and townsfolk and farmers can see it, always at a certain distance,
a wood of high trees whose leaves have a hint of gold in their greenness even in
the spring. And they consider -the novices, the townsfolk, the farmers- that the
Grove moves about in a mystifying manner. But in this they are mistaken, for the
Grove does not move. Its roots are the roots of being. It is all the rest that
moves.
Ged walked over the fields from the Great House. He took off his
white cloak, for the sun was at noon. A farmer ploughing a brown hillside raised
his hand in salute, and Ged replied the same way. Small birds went up into the
air and sang. The sparkweed was just coming into flower in the fallows and
beside the roads. Far up, a hawk cut a wide arc on the sky. Ged glanced up, and
raised his hand again. Down shot the bird in a rush of windy feathers, and
stooped straight to the offered wrist, gripping with yellow claws. It was no
sparrowhawk but a big Ender-falcon of Roke, a white-and-brown-barred fishing
hawk. It looked sidelong at the Archmage with one round, bright-gold eye, then
clashed its hooked beak and stared at him straight on with both round, bright