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

УI think you can,Ф Wiktor said. УIf notЕ then you were already dead.Ф
He dropped the branch into the flames and stood up. He took off his sandals and drew his muscular arms out of the cloak to let it rest on his shoulders. He closed his eyes.
УStand back.Ф Renati pulled at Mikhail, tension in her voice. УGive him room.Ф
Across the fire Alekza sat up on her haunches, the fine blond down on her legs glinting like spun gold. Nikita and Pauli watched, kneeling on either side of Andrei. Belyi rubbed his hand across his lips, his pale face flushed and anxious.
WiktorТs eyes opened. They were dreamy, fixed on a far distanceЧa wilderness, perhaps, of the mind. Sweat sparkled on his face and chest, as if he were straining at some inner effort.
Mikhail said, УWhaЧФ but Renati quickly shushed him.
Wiktor closed his eyes once more. The muscles of his shoulders quivered, and the tawny robe with its snow-hare collar slid off to the floor. Then he bent his body forward, his spine bowing, and his fingertips touched the earth. He sighed deeply, followed by a quick intake of breath. His beard hung to the ground.
June one year ago, Mikhail and his sister had gone by train with their parents to see a circus in Minsk. There had been a performer whose bizarre talent had stayed with Mikhail. The Rubber Man had leaned over in the same position that Wiktor now assumed, and the Rubber ManТs spine had stretched with brittle cracking noises like sticks being stepped on. Those sounds now came from WiktorТs backbone, but it was clear in another few seconds that instead of lengthening, his torso was compressing. Bands of muscle stood out around WiktorТs rib cage and ran down along his thighs like quivering bundles of piano wires. Sweat gleamed on the manТs back and shoulders, and a darkness of fine hairs suddenly began to spread over the slick flesh like clouds moving across a summer field. His shoulders bowed forward, muscles straining upward under the skin. Bones popped, merry little sounds, and there was the noise of sinews bending and re-forming like squealing hinges.
Mikhail stepped backward, colliding with Renati. She held his arm, and he stood watching a demon from Hades struggle with the flesh of a man.
Short gray hairs emerged from WiktorТs scalp, from the back of his neck, from his arms and buttocks, thighs and calves. His cheeks and forehead rippled with hair, and his beard had clutched hold of his throat and chest like a phantasmagoric vine. Beads of sweat dripped from WiktorТs nose; it cracked, bringing a grunt from him, and began to change its shape. He lifted his hands to his face, and Mikhail saw the flesh writhe beneath his gray-haired fingers.
Mikhail tried to turn and run, but Renati said, УNo!Ф and held him tighter. He couldnТt bear to watch any more of this; he felt as if his brain were about to burst open in his head, and what would ooze out would be black as swamp slime. He lifted his hand, put his fingers over his eyesЧbut he left himself a narrow crack, and through it he watched WiktorТs shadow contort on the wall in the leaping firelight.
The shadow was still that of a man, but it was rapidly becoming both more and less. Mikhail couldnТt shut his ears; the cracking of bones and squealing of sinews were about to drive him mad, and the smoky air smelled of rank wildness, like the inside of a beastТs cage. He saw the contorted shadow lift its arms, as if in supplication.
There was a fast, shallow breathing. Mikhail closed the gap between his fingers. The breathing began to slow and deepen, becoming a husky rasp. Then, finally, a smooth bellows rumble.
УLook at him,Ф Renati said.
Tears of terror streaked from his eyes. He whispered, УNoЕ pleaseЕ donТt make me!Ф
УI wonТt make you.Ф Renati released his arm. УLook if you choose. If notЕ then not.Ф
Mikhail kept his hand over his eyes. The bellows breath neared him. Heat brushed his fingers. Then the noise of breathing faded as the thing backed away. Mikhail shuddered, choking down a sob. Truth is like fire, he thought. Already he felt like a pile of ashes, burned beyond all recognition of what had been before.
УI told you he was too small.Ф Belyi sneered from across the chamber.
The sound of that mocking voice caused a flame to spark at the center of ashes. There was still something left, after all, to burn. Mikhail drew a deep breath and held it, his body trembling. Then he released it, and dropped his hand from his face.
Not ten feet away, the amber-eyed wolf with sleek gray fur sat on its haunches, watching him with intense attention.
УOh,Ф Mikhail whispered, and his knees buckled. He fell to the floor, his head spinning. Renati started to help him up, but the wolf made a low grunt deep in its throat and she retreated.
Mikhail was left to stand on his own. The wolf watched, head cocked slightly to one side, as Mikhail struggled up to his knees, and that was as far as he could get for now. His shoulder was a mass of pain, and his mind spun like a kite seeking a balancing tether.
УLook at him!Ф Belyi said. УHe doesnТt know whether to scream or shit.Ф
The wolf spun toward Belyi and snapped its jaws shut about two inches in front of the young manТs nose. BelyiТs sardonic grin fractured.
Mikhail stood up.
Wiktor turned back to him and advanced. Mikhail took a single step in retreat, then halted. If he was going to die, he would join his parents and sister in heaven, a long way from here. He waited for what was to be.
Wiktor came on toward him, stoppedЧand sniffed MikhailТs hand. Mikhail dared not move. Then, satisfied with what he smelled, the wolf lifted his hind leg and sprayed a stream of urine onto MikhailТs left boot. The warm, acidic-odored liquid got on MikhailТs trousers and soaked through to his skin.
The wolf finished its task and stepped back. He opened his mouth wide, fangs gleaming, and lifted his head toward the ceiling.
Mikhail, fighting on the edge of another faint, felt RenatiТs strong hand grip his arm. УCome on,Ф she urged. УHe wants you to eat something. WeТll try the berries first.Ф
Mikhail allowed her to guide him out of the chamber, his legs wooden. УItТs going to be fine now,Ф she said, sounding relieved. УHeТs marked you. That means youТre under his protection.Ф
Before they got very far beyond the archway, Mikhail looked back. On the wall he saw a fire-scrawled shadow, lurching to its feet.
Renati took his hand, and they ascended the stone stairs.


THREE
Grand Entrance


1

Stone stairs, Michael thought. Just the thing to break an ankle on. He blinked, and returned from his inner journey.
Darkness all around. Above his head an open white parachute, hissing as the wind strummed the taut lines. He looked down and to all sides; there was no sign of the green blinker.
A broken ankle wouldnТt be pleasant, and certainly not the way to begin his mission. What was he descending onto? A marshy field? A forest? Hard, tilled earth that would twist his knees like bits of taffy? He had the sensation of the ground coming up fast now, and he grasped the chuteТs lines and angled his body slightly, bending his knees for the impact.
Now, he thought, and braced himself.
His boots smashed into a surface that gave way under his weight like mildewed cardboard. And then he slammed down against a harder surface that shook and creaked but held him from falling any farther. The harness tightened under his arms, the chute snagged on something above. He looked up and could see a jagged-edged hole in which stars sparkled.
A roof, he realized. He was sitting on his knees under a roof of rotten wood. Somewhere out in the night, two dogs barked. Working quickly, Michael unsnapped the harness straps and shrugged out of the parachute. He narrowed his eyes, could make out heaps of material around him; he grasped a handful. Hay. He had crashed down into a barn hayloft.
He stood up, began to get the chute unsnagged, and drew it in through the hole. Faster! he told himself. He was in Nazi-occupied France now, sixty miles northwest of Paris. The German sentries on their motorcycles and in their armored cars would be all over the place, and the radio messages might be crackling: Attention! Parachute spotted near Bazancourt! Patrol all nearby farmland and villages! Things might get hot very soon.
He got the chute into the loft, then began to bury the silk and pack in a large pile of hay.
Four seconds later he heard the scrape of a latch drawing back. He tensed, becoming motionless. There came the soft squeaking of hinges below. A reddish glow invaded the barn. Michael slowly, silently slid his knife from its sheath, and saw by the lantern light that he was balanced near the loftТs edge. A few more inches and he wouldТve gone over.
The lantern probed around, spreading light. Then: УMonsieur? O∙ ъtes-vous?Ф