"Laurence Manning & Fletcher Pratt - City of the Living Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Manning Laurence)

THE sun sank slowly behind the far-off, torn and rocky crags, throwing up a last red glare like a shout of defiance as
the white tooth of Herjehogmen mountain blotted the last beams from Alvrosdale. A deep-toned copper bell rang acros
the evening, and the young men and girls, leaving their dancing on the ice, came trooping up the path in little groups to th
Hall of Assembly, laughing and talking. Their gay-colored clothes stood out brilliantly against the white backgroun
of the snow in the Northern twilight that often seems like day.
At the door of the Hall they partedтАФnot without sadness, since for many it was the last partingтАФsome going into the
Hall, others passing on up the path to the line of houses. Those who entered were grave, though they had smiled not lon
before. Yet they were a goodly company for all that, some three-score in number and all in the fire of youth.
Within the hall might be seen benches; a great fire against one wall, and against the other the mouldering remains of
those Machines that were the last relics of the days of old. At the center was a dais with places for the elders of Alvros,
and midmost among these sat a man full of years, but in no wise feeble. Strong, stern, white-headed, he bore on one arm
the silver band of authority, and in his hand he held a small, shiny Machine, round in shape and with a whiteface which
bore twelve characters written in black. As the youth took their places, he twisted this Machine, so that it rang a bell, lo
and stridently. Then there was silence, and the old man rose to speak.
тАЬMy friends,тАЭ said he, тАЬyou will leave Alvrosdale tomorrow. Your skis are even now prepared; your glider wings aw
you outside. In this Hall of Assembly, which was once the House of Power, we are met tonight, as is the custom of our
people, that I may tell the story of the last of the Anglesk and warn you of the dangers you will meet. Some of youтАФGo
grant it may be few!тАФwill be caught in treacherous winds and flung against the Mountain of the South to die.
Some may be caught by the Demon Power, whom the Anglesk worshipped. Some will find green fields and prosperi
and will meet the others of our folk who have gone before . . . But a few of you will wish to return. To these I now
sayтАФstay behind! You are better off here! And I cannot go on with my tale till I have asked whether there are any amo
you who would prefer the life of this quiet dale to that of the outer world, with its Power, its mountains, and its living
dead.тАЭ
HE made a pause, and for a breathing space none stirred. Then a maid of the company arose, sobbing; she cast her
shawl over her face and said she would live and die in Alvrosdale; then she went forth from the Hall. With her went
likewise the young man of her choice, and as the door of the Hall clanged to behind them, the rest sat the closer and gav
ear to the voice of the old man.
тАЬThere are none now left alive,тАЭ he said, тАЬwho remember Hal Hallstrom in his youth; but I give you my word that it w
as lusty a youth as any of yours. I was light and gay and would roll the flavor of adventure under my tongue. In those da
before the year 4060 A. D., as was the reckoning, there, were legends of the lords of old, and how the Demon Power
drove them through the skies and over the waters and under the earth. But they were the rusty legends of those who tell
tale without understanding its meaning. This very Hall of Assembly was held to be the home of the Demon Power, a pla
so accursed that none dare approach it. This Demon was believed to be the same who had so dealt with the Mountain o
the South that it fell across the neck of our dale and cut it off from the world in long past ages. We know now that this is
not true; but men thought otherwise then.
тАЬIn those days I heard also legends that came down from my fathersтАЩ fathers, how, when the Mountain of the South
closed off the dale, the Anglesk sent men through the air to bring us this thing and that; but such tales were held foolish
beyond words. Now, lo!тАФwe ourselves fly through the air, though not as the Anglesk with the aid of the Demon Powe
тАЬAlso there were legends of the splendor of the villages of the Anglesk: how they piled stone on stone to make
mountainous dwellings in which the night was bright as day by suns of their own contriving; how they quarreled and slew
each other from afar with thunderbolts; how the voices of men long dead spoke to them from Machines, and the voices
men far away spoke to them through the clouds.
тАЬOld wivesтАЩ tales? But I was young, and youth must ever test the false and true by the touchstone of experience, eve
as you now go forth to do.... One who has reached my age seeks neither for truth nor beauty any more, but only for res
Herewith, one of the elders touched the arm of the old man, who thereupon looked around and, as one who has been
recalled to his narrative, went on.

Wanderlust
 тАЬON a day in spring, then, as I was in charge of the flock close by the brink where Oster Dalalven plunges into the
channel that carries it under the Mountain of the South, I was seized with a great longing to see these dwellings where m