"McCammon, Robert R. - The Wolf's Hour" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)

УIt was your choice. You be gentle. How can a person sleep with this mewling racket?Ф Franco belched, and then he abruptly turned and walked away, leaving Mikhail facing a short, round-bodied woman with long reddish-brown hair. She was older than his mother, Mikhail decided. Her face was cut and lined with deep networks of wrinkles. And her stocky, peasantТs body with its hefty arms and legs was vastly different from his motherТs svelte figure. This woman had the memory of field dirt under her fingernails. She, also, wore a similar animal-skin robe.
УMy name,Ф the woman said, Уis Renati. WhatТs yours?Ф
Mikhail couldnТt answer. He pressed against the mossy wall, afraid to move.
УI wonТt bite you,Ф Renati said. Her languid, brown-eyed gaze flickered quickly to the wounds in the childТs shoulder, then back to his face. УHow old are you?Ф
УSevЧФ No, that wasnТt right. УEight,Ф he remembered.
УEight.Ф She repeated it. УAnd what name would I use, if I were to sing you a birthday song?Ф
УMikhail,Ф he said. And lifted his chin slightly. УMikhail Gallatinov.Ф
УOh, youТre a proud little bastard, arenТt you?Ф She smiled, showing uneven but very white teeth; her smile was reserved, though not unfriendly. УWell, Mikhail, someone wants to see you.Ф
УWho?Ф
УSomeone whoТll answer your questions. You do want to know where you are, donТt you?Ф
УAm IЕ in heaven?Ф he managed to ask.
УI fear not.Ф She stretched out her arm. УCome, child, letТs walk together.Ф
Mikhail hesitated. Her hand waited for his. The wolves! he thought. Where are the wolves? And then he slid his hand into hers, and her rough palm gripped him. She led him deeper into the palace.
They came to a set of descending stone stairs, illuminated by rays of light through a glassless window. УWatch your step,Ф Renati told him, and they went down. Below was a smoky gloom, a warren of corridors and rooms that smelled of grave dirt. Here and there a little pile of pine cones burned, marking a trail through the catacombs. Vaults stood on either side, the names of those entombed and the dates of birth and death blurred by time. And then the boy and woman came out from the catacombs into a larger chamber, where a fire of pinewood logs spat in a grate and its bitter smoke wafted through the air in search of vents.
УHere he is, Wiktor,Ф Renati announced.
Figures were huddled on the earth around the fire, all of them wearing what appeared to be deerskin robes. They shifted, looked toward the archway, and Mikhail saw their eyes glint.
УBring him closer,Ф said a man in a chair, sitting at the edge of the firelight.
Renati felt the child shiver. УBe brave,Ф she whispered, and guided him forward.


4

The man named Wiktor sat, watching impassively, as the boy was brought into the ruddy light. Wiktor was draped in a deerskin cloak, the high collar sewn from the fur of snow hares. He wore deerskin sandals, and around his throat was a necklace of small, linked bones. Renati stopped, one hand on MikhailТs unwounded shoulder. УHis name is Mikhail,Ф she said. УHis family name isЧФ
УWe donТt care about family names here,Ф Wiktor interrupted, and the tone of his voice said he was used to being obeyed. His amber eyes glinted with reflected fire as he examined Mikhail from dirty boots to tousled black hair. Mikhail, at the same time, was inspecting what appeared to be a majesty of the underworld. Wiktor was a large man, with broad shoulders and a bull neck. His acorn-shaped skull was bald, and he had a gray beard that grew over his stocky chest to his lap. Mikhail saw that under the cloak the man wore no clothing. WiktorТs face was composed of bony ridges and hard lines, his nose sharp and the nostrils flared. His deep-set eyes stared at Mikhail without blinking.
УHeТs too little, Renati,Ф someone else said. УThrow him back.Ф There was jabbing laughter, and Mikhail looked at the other figures. The man whoТd spokenЧa boy himself, only about nineteen or twenty years oldЧhad dusky red hair smoothed back from his youthful face, his hair allowed to grow long around his shoulders. He had no room to talk, because he was small-boned and fragile looking, almost swallowed up by his cloak. Beside him sat a thin young woman about the same age, with waves of dark brown hair and steady, iron-gray eyes. The blond-haired girl sat across the fire, watching Mikhail. Not far away crouched another man, this one perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, dark-haired and with the sharp, Asiatic features of a Mongol. Beyond the fire, a figure lay huddled under a shroud of robes.
Wiktor leaned forward. УTell us, Mikhail,Ф he said, Уwho those men were, and how you came to be in our forest.Ф Our forest, Mikhail thought. That was a strange thing to say. УMyЕ mother and father,Ф he whispered. УMy sister. All of themЕ areЕФ
УDead,Ф Wiktor said flatly. УMurdered, from the looks of it. Do you have relatives? People whoТll come searching for you?Ф
Dimitri, was his first thought. No, Dimitri had been there on the lakeshore, rifle in hand, and hadnТt raised it against the killers. Therefore he must be a killer, too, though a silent one. Sophie? She wouldnТt come here alone. Would Dimitri kill her, too, or was she also a silent murderess? УI donТtЕФ His voice broke, but he steeled himself. УI donТt think so, sir,Ф he answered.
УSir,Ф the red-haired boy mocked, and laughed again.
WiktorТs gaze darted to one side, his eyes glinting like copper coins, and the laughter ceased. УTell us your story, Mikhail,Ф Wiktor invited.
УWeЕФ This was a hard thing to do. The memories were as sharp as razors, and they slashed deep. УWeЕ came on a picnic,Ф he began. Then he told the tale of a drifting kite, gunshots, his flight into the forest, and the ravaging wolves. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and his empty stomach churned. УI woke up here,Ф he said. УAndЕ next to meЕ was something all bloodyЕ I think it came out of one of those men.Ф
УDamn it!Ф Wiktor scowled. УBelyi, I told you to cook it!Ф
УIТve forgotten how,Ф the red-haired young man replied with a helpless shrug.
УYou pass it over a fire until it burns! It keeps the blood from running! Must I do everything myself?Ф Wiktor regarded Mikhail again. УBut you ate the berries, yes?Ф
The blueberries, Mikhail remembered. That was another strange thing; he hadnТt mentioned the berries. How did Wiktor know about them, unlessЕ
УYou didnТt touch them, did you?Ф The man lifted his thick gray brows. УWell, perhaps I donТt blame you. Belyi here is a complete fool. But you must eat something, Mikhail. Eating is very important, for your strength.Ф
Mikhail thought he gasped; maybe not.
УTake off your shirt,Ф Wiktor commanded.
Before MikhailТs numbed fingers could find the little wooden buttons, Renati stepped forward and unhooked them. She gently drew the cloth away from the furrows in his shoulder and removed the shirt. Then she lifted the grimy garment to her nostrils and inhaled.
Wiktor stood up from his chair. He was tall, almost six feet two, and he came toward Mikhail like a giant. Mikhail took a retreating step, but Renati clasped his arm and held him in place. Wiktor grasped the wounded shoulder, none too easily, and looked at the blood-crusted, oozing slashes.
УNasty,Ф Wiktor said to the woman. УGoing to be some infection. A little deeper and he wouldТve lost the use of his arm. Did you know what you were doing?Ф
УNo,Ф she admitted. УHe just looked good to eat.Ф
УIn that case, your aim is atrocious.Ф He pressed the flesh, and Mikhail clenched his teeth to stifle a moan. WiktorТs eyes sparkled. УLook at him. He doesnТt make a noise.Ф Again he pressed the wounds, and thick fluid spooled out. It smelled wild and rank. Mikhail blinked away tears. УSo you donТt mind a little pain, do you?Ф Wiktor asked. УThatТs a good thing.Ф He released the boyТs shoulder. УIf you make friends with pain, you have a friend for life.Ф
УYes sir,Ф Mikhail said hoarsely. He stared up at the man, and wavered on his feet. УWhenЕ when can I go home, please?Ф
Wiktor ignored the question. УI want you to meet the others, Mikhail. You know our fool, Belyi. Next to him is his sister Pauli.Ф He nodded toward the thin young girl. УThatТs Nikita.Ф The Mongol. УAcross the fire is Alekza. Your teeth are showing, my dear.Ф The blond girl smiled slightly, a hungry smile. УI think youТve probably already met Franco. He prefers to sleep upstairs. You know Renati, and you know me.Ф There was a hollow coughing, and Wiktor motioned to the figure lying under the cloaks. УAndrei isnТt feeling well today. Something he ate.Ф The sick coughing continued, and both Nikita and Pauli went over to kneel beside the figure.
УIТd like to go home now, sir,Ф Mikhail persisted.
УAh, yes.Ф Wiktor nodded, and Mikhail saw his gaze cloud over. УThe matter of home.Ф He walked back to the fire, where he knelt down and offered his palms to the heat. УMikhail,Ф he said quietly as AndreiТs coughing faded, Уvery soon youТre going to beЕФ He paused, searching for the correct words. УIn need of comfort,Ф was what he supplied. УIn need ofЕ shall we sayЕ family.Ф
УIЕ have aЕФ He trailed off. His family lay dead, out in the meadow. His shoulder wounds throbbed again.
Wiktor reached into the fire and pulled out a bit of fiery branch, holding it where the flames had not yet charred. УTruth is like fire, Mikhail,Ф he said. УIt either heals or it destroys. But it neverЧneverЧleaves what it touches unchanged.Ф His head slowly swiveled, and he stared at the boy. УCan you stand the flames of truth, Mikhail?Ф
Mikhail didnТtЧcouldnТtЧanswer.