"A. E. Merritt - Dwellers in the mirage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merritt A. E)

plainly violent exercise of his will, held it steadily over the yellow
stone. One drop of colourless fluid fell and mingled with my blood.

The room was now utterly silent, high priest and his ministers seemed
not to breathe, staring at the stone. I shot a glance at the Uighur
leader, and he was glaring at me, fanatic fires in his eyes.

There was an exclamation from the high priest, echoed by the others. I
looked down at the stone. The pinkish film was changing colour. A
curious sparkle ran through it; it changed into a film of clear,
luminous green.

"Dwayanu!" gasped the high priest, and sank back into his chair,
covering his face with shaking hands. The others stared at me and back
at the stone and at me again as though they beheld some miracle. I
looked at the Uighur leader. He lay flat upon his face at the base of
the dais.

The high priest uncovered his face. It seemed to me that he had become
incredibly younger, transformed; his eyes were no longer hopeless,
agonized; they were filled with eagerness. He arose from his chair, and
sat me in it.

"Dwayanu," he said, "what do you remember?"

I shook my head, puzzled; it was an echo of the Uighur's remark at the
camp.

"What should I remember?" I asked.

His gaze withdrew from me, sought the faces of the others,
questioningly; as though he had spoken to them, they looked at one
another, then nodded. He shut the jade case and thrust it into his
breast. He took my hand, twisted the bezel of the ring behind my thumb
and closed my hand on it.

"Do you remember--" his voice sank to the faintest of
whispers--"Khalk'ru?"

Again the stillness dropped upon the great chamber--this time like a
tangible thing. I sat, considering. There was something familiar about
that name. I had an irritated feeling that I ought to know it; that if
I tried hard enough, I could remember it; that memory of it was fust
over the border of consciousness. Also I had the feeling that it meant
something rather dreadful. Something better forgotten. I felt vague
stirrings of repulsion, coupled with sharp resentment.

"No," I answered.

I heard the sound of sharply exhaled breaths. The old priest walked