"Lee,_Mary_Soon_-_Vigil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lee Mary Soon)

There was something warm beside Branwen in the bed. She curled around it, dopey with sleep, imagining she was back in the house she grew up in, sharing the mattress with a brace of marmalade cats.
The warmness hugged her in return. "I missed you," said a small voice.
Branwen sat bolt upright. On the bed beside her Evan blinked at her. "Evan!"
For a second, Branwen was too appalled to act. Then she hoisted Evan in her arms, ran to the cottage door. "Corporal!" She sprinted over to the soldiers' tents, barely slowed by the squirming boy in her arms. "Corporal?"
The corporal scrambled out of his tent, his shirt half unbuttoned.
"Corporal, please, you have to take Evan away -- "
"I'm sorry. I can't."
"You must -- "
"It's too late. The hill's surrounded." The corporal freed Evan from Branwen's grasp, and set the boy down. "I'm sorry. Is this your son?"
"I'm Mistress Branwen's apprentice," Evan said proudly.
Branwen couldn't speak. She walked to the edge of the burial ground, stared down the hill at the approaching enemy troops. Their shields glinted in the last of the day's light. On the path below, a last wagonload of corpses neared the burial ground. The smoke hurt her eyes. She blinked back tears.
Years before, Branwen had given her solemn vow to help the dead, and never to abuse the trust placed in her. She watched the wagon approach, and steeled herself to break that vow. The men in the wagon had been soldiers; Evan was just a child. She could not, would not, let him die.
* * * *
Twelve wraiths faced Branwen across the burial pit, barely visible in the gloom of dusk. At the east side of the burial ground, the corporal and his men waited by the stone wall, ready to make their last stand. The corporal had promised to guard Evan as best he could.
Only the ghosts watched Branwen as she took a kitchen knife from her pocket. She drew the knife across the palm of her left hand. A curious sensation; to the hand wielding the knife, indistinguishable from slicing meat for dinner; to the hand being sliced, a razor edge of pain.
Branwen stared at the blood welling from her skin. She did not know exactly what would happen to these ghosts if she continued. But the old legends all spoke of a ravening hunger that stripped away a wraith's memories. For a few hours, perhaps a day, a wraith might hold onto memory and purpose, before its mind emptied. After that the wraith posed little threat, too undisciplined to menace anyone, and yet it might wander for years, searching for it knew not what.
She could still stop. She could lay these soldiers to rest as she had vowed, as these men deserved. Blood ran down her wrist, over her bracelet, filling the gap where the silver rabbit had hung.
Branwen looked up and met the wraiths' waiting gaze. "With my blood I call you to the memory of your deaths, slain by the enemy on the battlefield to lie in cold earth. Now I offer you vengeance."
She walked onto the soft earth filling the pit, and outstretched her left palm. "One thing I ask in payment, that you save the life of the boy who waits by the east wall. In return for his life, I give you a chance for vengeance. The enemy approaches. Will you do battle once more?"
A pale grey wraith, its body rent almost in two by some vast blow, surged forward, surrounding her hand. Blood leapt from her palm, mingling with the wraith. Where she touched it, a dark grey stain spread through the wraith like ink on blotting paper.
Another wraith grabbed for her hand; the wind funneled its words into a battle-cry. Another and another ghost drank from her palm, siphoning blood. Six, eight, a dozen spirits reached through her to vengeance.
Branwen swayed, light-headed. As if in a dream, she crossed to the soldiers' tents. She lifted the tent flap. No one inside, but a pile of weapons lay heaped on the ground. The wraiths surged past her, hefting swords and shields in their grey hands.
Branwen followed them to the drystone wall. She paid no attention to the corporal as he shouted at her. She paid no attention to the enemy soldiers marching up the hill.
Only Evan, that was all she looked for. The boy ringed by twelve grey figures in the moonlight. Safe.

-----------------------

At www.fictionwise.com you can:

* Rate this story

* Find more stories by this author

* Read the author's notes for this story

* Get story recommendations