"John Meaney - Sanctification" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meaney John)

worlds, and the oneness of all their paths to enlightenment. He was blind,
Ashara noticed, with sunken eye sockets hiding a hint of something pink.
His beard was long and grey, matted with black dirt. The lines of his face
were deep, engraved with pure filth. And he stank. But his voice was pure
and clear, like a child's.
Ashara squatted down to listen to him. After a while, he stopped. He
cocked his head to one side and smiled at Ashara, though he could not see
her.
"Did you like my story, little one?"
"No," Ashara said simply.
"Why not? Isn't enlightenment worth aiming for?"
Perhaps it was meant as a joke, but Ashara thought about it, frowning.
"No," she said finally.
"Ah, now. An unbeliever."
"My master does not allow me to worship. Or listen to philosophy."
"Oh. May I ask how old you are?"
"Twelve." Defiantly.
"And do you know of the Saints who live in the monastery?"
Ashara shook her head. Then realizing that she could not be seen, she said
quietly: "No." She took a bite of her fruit, in near ecstasy at the sweet
taste upon her tongue, and immediately regretted her thoughtlessness. She
twisted the fruit in two, and placed one half firmly in the old beggar's
hand.
"Thank you, daughter. Tell me, do you see the building at the end of the
Boulevard? It is very far away, a green jewel of a building, and even your
young eyes will need to strain to catch sight of it."
She strained indeed. Against the clear bright sky, many kilometres down
the shrinking perspective of the arrow-straight boulevard, she saw what
might have been a green speck with a dark spire reaching upwards. Not to
disappoint the old man, she told him that she had seen it. Pleased, he
nodded and settled himself. Fruit juice now mingled with the other stains
on his beard.
"You know of the worlds of Man, that we inhabit vast tracts of the galaxy.
Yet our vessels by themselves would take millennia to track between those
worlds.
"By ourselves, impossible. But the Saints, they can move their thoughts in
a blink, in the time it takes a wave function to collapse. Those of the
acolytes who achieve Sainthood have one Wish to make, and the wisdom and
the discipline to make their Wish come true."
"Saints? I've heard of them. I thought they were just a story."
"They are a terrible story, but a true one. They seek the path to deepest
enlightenment, to achieve oneness with the innermost depths of reality."
"Who are they, master?"
"I am not your master, little one." The old beggar half-laughed,
half-sobbed. "Anyone can try to become a Saint. But for those who draw
near to that goal, the consequences of failure can be - not
insignificant." For a moment, he drew his hand across his face, where his
eyes should have been.
Ashara did not see the gesture. She was peering into the distance, trying
to resolve further detail of the mysterious emerald monastery, almost lost