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

heartache. Zenshara said that she had no idea what sort of Wish would be
best. What she meant was, should she succeed in reaching Sainthood, she
could not tell Teacher now what her Wish might be. It would be impolite to
assume that she was going to succeed.
"What are the other sorts of Wish, Teacher? What are the strangest?"
"Ah, my child." He shook his head. "Those are the Metaphysical Wishes.
Wishes that have some profound effect, usually limited to that Saint's
homeworld, maybe just to their own monastery. The increased intelligence
and longevity of the human race is due to such Wishes."
Zenshara nodded, absorbed in her own thoughts.

On the day before her sanctification, Zenshara arose at dawn, and walked
out of the monastery.
No security system tried to stop her, as it would have at any other time.
No doubt it roused Teacher and some of his colleagues, but they would be
watching, not interfering, and hoping that she would return. Teacher, of
course, would have mixed feelings, for Zenshara knew he was more than fond
of her. If she did her duty and fulfilled her obligations, and achieved
the greatest ambition of those who served the monastery, then tomorrow
would be the last day of her life.
Sunrise touched the crystal blue roadway of the Boulevard of Hands. Eerie
light sparked the ground as pale green canopied the sky. There were few
people moving at this hour, but small dark bundles by the reaching stone
arms were in fact beggars wrapped in their rags, with nowhere else to
sleep. Zenshara enumerated the differences in her station between now and
her previous journey along this road. Now her feet were clad in expensive
shoes, and she wore a rich temperature-controlled robe instead of tatters.
Above all, she had her education.
As the sun rose higher the world came awake. Busy merchants and servants
on errands were the early risers. Many of the beggars did not stir (and
Zenshara wondered how many had died during the night, never to awaken),
but some were already reciting verses or scripture in the quiet morning's
cool. Though she had no hope of finding the old man who had caused her to
enter the monastery, Zenshara forced herself to examine the face of every
beggar she passed. Many of them had stumps or twisted limbs from disease
or accident. Grossly misshapen faces, with strange distortions or growing
lumps were the worst. Past Wishes had given men the ability to hang onto
life for three centuries despite crippling medical conditions. Had they
been able to afford the treatments, medic machines could have granted them
perfect health.
She used her credit ring to buy fruit at a shabby stall. The old woman who
owned it made deep obeisance to Zenshara as she handed over the fruit.
Disturbed by the homage, Zenshara walked on. She had not bitten into the
fruit at all when she saw a wizened man wake painfully from his sleep,
wrapped in grey rags at the foot of a pillar. Wordlessly, she gave him the
fruit, and passed on.
By midday she had reached a bazaar that might have been the one she had
visited all those years before. Among the crowds, she spotted a grubby
young urchin of a girl, picking the pocket of an old fat merchant. Moving
swiftly, she caught the young girl by the ear.