"Modesitt, L E - The Hammer of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"Flame!' he mutters without moving his head.
Flame!
He closes his eyes and tries to think.
He must be on Aurore. So why is it so painful? Aurore is
a vacation spot, a wonderful place to visit, where sensuality
has its special delights and where some people gain extra
powers. So why is one Martin Martel having such difficulty?
Too aware! The idea flashes into his thoughts. For what-
ever reason, his body is more sensitive to the environment.
Eyes still closed, he begins to let his thoughts, his percep-
tions, check out his body, starting with his toes, trying some-
how to dampen the ultrasensitivity, to dull that edge, to
convince himself that such perceptions should be voluntary,
not involuntary.
He can feel the sweat again pour down his forehead,
scented with fear, fear that he will not be able to regain con-
trol of his own body.
Others do it, he minks, suppressing the urge to talk aloud.
The headache and the soreness in his nose and neck retreat.
Martin opens his eyes. The room is a shade darker now, and
yet the light levels from the walls have not changed, he real-
izes.
He lifts his head slowly, turns on his side, and fingers the
rail release. After a time, tie again sits up, legs dangling over
the edge of the bed, heels touching the cold metal of the low-
ered rail.
He wills his vision to lighten the room. Nothing happens.
He relaxes the iron control on his perceptions.
The room wavers; his back itches; the soreness across the
bridge of his nose throbs; the light intensifies.
Martin clamps down on his control.
Not a matter of will, but of control. Of perception.
He experiments, trying to isolate one sense after another,
until the room begins to waver. He lies down, lets himself
drift into a sweating sleep.
He dreams. Knows he dreams.
He is on a narrow path, except there are no edges, no
walls, and the path arcs through golden skies. In front of him
is Kryn. Her golden eyes are cold, and her mouth is tight-
lipped.
Martin does not care, and yet he does. He takes a step to-
ward Kryn, and another one. With each step he takes, she is
farther away, though she has not moved.
Soon he is running toward her, and she dwindles into the
distance....
He sleeps and, presently, dreams. Again.
Martin watches a mountain spire, covered with ice, which
thrusts up from a floor of fleece-white clouds. A part of his
mind insists that he watches a meteorological impossibility,
but he watches.