"Fiona McIntosh - The Quickening - 03 - Bridge of Souls" - читать интересную книгу автора (McIntosh Fiona)

Epilogue

CailechтАЩs long arms reached around Valentyna and hugged her close.

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Prologue


It felt like an eternity to Fynch.

There was brightness, unbearably sharp, and combined with a hammering pain. He squeezed his lids
tightly but the dazzling gold light hurt his eyes all the same as he helplessly relinquished control of his small
body to the vast agony exploding through it. He believed he felt his body writhing uncontrollably, but in
truth he was rigidly still, his teeth bared in a grimace as the force of magic gifted from Elysius radiated
painfully into him.

At one point he thought he glimpsed the sorcerer passing through him to his death, like a distant memory
he could not quite bring into focus. Elysius appeared whole again and he was smiling. Fynch vaguely
sensed him offering thanks but was unable to lock on to it as the pain claimed all of his attention.

The sickening throb of power began to pulse through his body in time with his escalating heartbeat, each
push harder, each more breathless in its intensity, until he lost all sense of himself. He no longer knew
who he was or where he lay; he had to relinquish all to the excruciating pain until, finally, he glimpsed its
end. The agony ebbed gradually but steadily until he realized he was bearing it. His pulse was fast but his
heart no longer felt as though it might explode through his chest. The blinding light had dimmed to flashes
of gold, as if he had been staring at the sun too long, and his breath was no longer panicked and shallow
but came in deep, rhythmic drafts.

His wits returned. He had survived.

Trembling from the chill that now gripped him, Fynch opened his eyes to slits. He registered a new layer
of pain and closed them again; this time it was a headache that prompted instant nausea. He felt like
crying. But where other youngsters might have had the comfort of a motherтАЩs voice and love, there was
no such consolation for Fynch. He was alone. Wyl had gone.

Fynch hated the way they had parted. He knew Wyl had wanted him to leave the Wild immediately and
he had watched his friend battle his inclination to say as much. YlenaтАЩs face was too expressive to mask
what her brother was thinking. And yet Wyl had said nothing, had permitted Fynch to make his own
decision and remain a little longer. Fynch felt a profound sadness for his friend who had suffered so much
loss already and would suffer more yet, he sensed. He wished he knew of a way to spare Wyl more
pain, or at least to share some of it with him.

He sighed. The nausea had passed. His eyes were still closed and he realized the pain had dimmed
considerably. But the loneliness remained. There would not even be Elysius to offer solace. No. The boy
suspected he was alone in the Wild, save for the four-legged beast who was his constant companion.