"The Eyes Of A God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marco John)

Aral looked down, ashamed to face the man. "It's the way of the Fate."
The barman sighed. "It's a shame, though. She finally carried this one the whole way. To have it die so suddenlyЕ"
'It's over," snapped Aral. He felt his face redden suddenly, not with rage but with guilt. "There's nothing to be done about it now."
The barman went back to work, leaving Aral sulking at the corner table. Aral watched him suspiciously. He didn't suspect anything, did he? The idea made his heart race. And anyway it was hardly murder. More like a mercy killing, really. For farmers like Aral, having a girl child was disappointment enough, but having a blind one was unthinkable. Just another mouth to feed, and no help tending the crops. Vara, Aral's wife, had insisted that she could be taught to clean house when she got older, but what kind of daughter was that, banging around blindly with a broom? He needed sons. Or at least daughters with open eyes.
Aral picked up his mug and found that his hand was shaking. With his other hand he tried to still it.
'Damn it," he hissed. "Damn everything."
He went back to drinking.
A minute later, the door of the Red Lion opened, letting in an unwelcome gust of wind. On the threshold stood two figures, one A _ral Vale sat alone in the corner of the Red Lion, staring at his reflection in a tankard of ale. It was his third drink, at least, and the liquor embraced him warmly, like a lover. Outside, night had seized the city, suffocating all sound. It was well past midnight, and the inn had lost most of its patrons to sleep. Now it was very quiet, the way Aral needed it. He supposed his wife would be worried about him, but he didn't really care. Presently, Aral Vale cared about very little. He had his ale to keep him company and a gallery of ugly images in his mind, and all he could do was focus on the dreadful reflection in his ale and remember the grievous thing he had done.
Being a farmer wasn't easy. That's what Aral's father had told him. It had been intended as a warning not to leave the family coopery in Marn, but Aral hadn't listened. His father was a drunk and Aral had been anxious to be rid of him, and when he had learned that a parcel of inexpensive land had opened up near Koth, he had snatched the opportunity eagerly. Aral smiled forlornly. It all seemed like a very long time ago. In the intervening years he had married and poured his heart into his little farm, only to have weather and pests eat his profits. He had dreamed of being a landowner, like the Duke of Marn, but his land had given him precious little, mostly calluses. Worse, his wife had been as barren as his farm, giving him one stillborn child after patchwork coat, revealing a curious amulet around her neck. Hanging from a chain of braided gold, the amulet blinked like an monstrous eye, its ruby gemstone twinkling in the firelight. Aral stared at it, mesmerized. His nausea left him immediately, replaced by a sudden warmth. It was the drink, he told himself. Good, soothing ale.
'Yes," said the woman. "It's the drink."
Aral puzzled over her statement. Had he spoken? He hadn't thought so.
'Aral Vale," the woman whispered. "That's your name?"
Aral nodded. Somehow, she knew him.
'Oh, I know a great deal about you, Aral Vale," said the little woman. Aral could barely hear her. Her words were soft, like a breeze, sounding only in his head. He wondered if the barkeep was listening. Remarkably, the woman answered his query.
'He can't hear us," she said. "I'm talking only to you."
She was talking, yet she wasn't talking. Her lips moved as if by illusion. Aral watched the amulet around her neck. It was pricelessly beautiful. It seemed to pulsate as she spoke, echoing her words. He suddenly felt giddy, completely unafraid. They were an odd looking pair, but he didn't feel threatened by themЧnot the way he had when he'd first seen them. The woman had a gentle look about her and the man, if that's what he could be called, never said a word.
'Trog doesn't speak," the woman explained. She continued to scrutinize him, her eyes narrowing. "You have been here a long time, Aral Vale. You were difficult to find. But then, men who are hiding are often difficult to find."
Aral stiffened. "I'm not hiding."
'You have a wife at home who worries over you."
'That's none of your business. I just want to be alone. To think."
The little woman's black eyes flared. "Yes. You have much to think about, don't you?"
Aral's puzzlement grew. He lifted his gaze from the amulet, back toward the stranger's face. Her mute companion brooded over him, his jaw slack, his breathing raspy. Aral noticed the a giant, tall and wide, the other a woman, short as a child. Aral blinked at the sight of them. The woman wore a long coat of patchwork leather, colorful and dramatic. She stood barely four feet tall in her tiny shoes, and her eyes lit the room with cold radiance. The man towered over her, a great brute with a bald head and broken teeth that hung over his slack jaw in an over-bite. Aral had never seen anything like him, or his miniature friend. Neither, apparently, had the barman. The sight of them made the proprietor drop a glass, sending broken shards skimming across the bar. The little woman took notice of his shock and smiled.
'Oops! Careful now," she chirped.
She had a dazzling smile, unnaturally bright. The many colors of her coat seemed to move around her. Aral shook his head, sure that the drink had gotten to him. He suddenly felt nauseous. He pushed aside his drink, watching as the tiny woman and her beastly companion entered the inn. The giant stayed a pace behind the woman, his wide shoulders hunched, his broad back slightly curved. The little woman walked lightly toward the back of the inn, near the fire. Of all the empty tables, she chose the one next to Aral. She and her companion each pulled out chairs and sat down. The barman stared at them. "IЕ uhЕ Can I get you something?" The woman looked over at Aral's table and gave him the most disquieting grin. "We'll have what he's having."
Aral's head continued to swim, yet he could not bring himself to look away from the strangers. The woman was remarkably small, with long white hair and a peculiar face set with elfin features. Two bewitching eyes looked back at him, deep and uncannily black. As the barkeep brought them their drinks, Aral finally managed to pull his gaze free of the pair. He stared down at his drink, hoping the woman wasn't watching, but when he lifted his head again he discovered those mocking eyes, studying him. "What?" he asked defensively. The woman didn't answer. Her monstrous companion hardly stirred.
'Please," Aral said. "Stop staring."
But the woman didn't stop. Instead she casually opened her the big man to stir. The woman held up a hand to keep her companion down.
'No, Trog, it's all right," she said. Her expression lost all its prior grace, and her little mouth curled back in a snarl. "Like I said, I make it my business to know things about the children born around here. And I know what you did, Aral Vale."
Aral could bear no more. He rose from the table, shoving back his chair so hard that it tumbled over, and headed for the door. He was eager to be away from the bizarre woman, eager to escape her incriminating gaze. Pushing open the door, the night and its cold air swallowed him instantly. He took a deep, cleansing breath, then ran down the abandoned street, fleeing the Red Lion and its freakish patrons.
barkeep across the room absently cleaning glasses with a rag, pretending not to be listening.
'Who are you?" Aral whispered. "How do you know me?"
'It's not important," replied the woman. She sat back and closed her coat, shutting away the amulet and its radiance. Instantly, Aral grew alarmed as reality snapped back into focus. He coughed, shaking his head, sure that the ale had sickened him. The woman was no longer staring. Instead she and her companion sipped their drinks, ignoring him. The woman made small talk, chuckling convivially. Aral loosened his collar. The room was very warm and he felt flushed. He tried to relax and catch his breath.
'Barkeep," called the woman. She banged her tankard on the table. "Another, please."
The proprietor drew another ale and brought it to their table. As he set it down, the woman said to him, "You have a nice place here."
'Thank you," replied the man suspiciously.
'Koth is very nice."
'Yes." He shrugged. "It is nice here."
Aral couldn't help but overhear their strange conversation. He toyed with his drink, pretending not to care.
'Such a tragedy at the castle, though," the woman continued. She spoke too loudly, deliberately raising her voice.
The barkeep frowned. "Tragedy? What would that be?"
'Hadn't you heard? The castle has a new baby. One of the king's servants gave birth just the other evening." The woman shook her head as if it were the saddest thing in the world. "Deformed."
'Is that right? I wouldn't know much about the castle folk." The barkeep laughed. "They don't come in here much! How do you know about it?"
The woman slowly turned toward Aral. "Oh, I make it my business to know such things," she said softly.
The barman shrugged and strode away. Aral swallowed hard under the woman's accusing gaze.
'What are you staring at?" he demanded. His tone finally got ,'Vral walked for an hour more, ignoring the chill and the lateness of the hour. A breeze blew down the avenue, sending bits of rubbish tumbling toward him, and the candles in the windows above had all been snuffed out long ago, lending the street an eerie stillness. In the distance, Akeela's castle rose above the common housing, sending a moonlit shadow over the city. Aral considered the castle. He was sick with himself, sick with what he had done, and he thought about the words of the odd woman in the inn, and how a deformed baby had been born within the castle's walls. An epidemic of bad luck had hit the city, apparently, and he wondered what the parents of the newborn felt. Rage? Enough to drive them toЕ
'Forget it," he growled. It was done, and he wouldn't torture himself about it. It was time to go home.
He rounded a corner and headed to the south side of the city, where he hoped to catch a carriage home to his farm. He was far too tired to walk the whole way again, and he had just enough money left to pay the fare. Moving quickly, he went the way most familiar to him, heading for the alley that would shorten his time. He was in a bleak part of Koth, where the buildings were close together and smelled of decay. As he reached the alley, the slime-covered walls of the structures rose up around him. He closed his collar around his throat and decided to hurry. The alley With a small nod from his mistress, the giant took hold of Aral, inverting him and plunging him headfirst into the barrel. Cold water rushed down his throat; blackness enveloped him. He screamed, releasing a stream of bubbles. The giant's viselike grip held his legs, driving him again and again against the bottom of the barrel. Aral felt his lungs exploding, then watched an image of his wife flash before him, cradling their newborn daughter.
It was the last thought he had before dying.
was long and narrow and spattered with garbage. The rain barrels along the gutters gurgled with filthy water from the rooftops after last night's downpour. Aral quickened his pace, but before he took another step he saw something up ahead, a shimmering along the left-hand wall. His heart began to pound. Out of the wall, or emerging from its shadow, stepped the woman from the Red Lion. Her patchwork coat writhed around her, changing colors, mimicking the alley. She stepped out into the center of the street, facing Aral, and once again the fractured smile appeared. "You left before we finished our conversation." Aral panicked. He whirled to dash away, but discovered the monstrous bald man behind him, blocking his path. The behemoth stalked toward him, his arms outstretched. Aral stumbled backward. The woman remained in front of him. Determined to push her aside, he turned and started toward herЧuntil she opened her coat.
The amulet around her neck glowed furiously. Aral's feet stuck to the floor, glued in place by its compelling aura. A strangling terror seized him. He tried to scream but couldn't, and soon the big man was upon him, wrapping his massive arms around his chest and pulling him from the ground. Aral struggled but his attacker was impossibly strong, and his iron grip squeezed the air from Aral's lungs. He lifted Aral effortlessly, hauling him toward one of the rain barrels. The little woman scurried alongside them, looking up at Aral as he squirmed.