"Morris, Janet - Silistra 03 - Wind from the Abyss UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris Janet E)

And he pulled me up beside him, and in those arms I poured out my pain to him, my confusion, my doubts. I begged him to explain why I wore the band upon my neck. I pleaded for my past, or some way he might know to make me whole without it. And I asked him of the child, and why it had been such a curse while residing in my womb.
WIND FROM THE ABYSS
17
He said nothing, until I had finished, dry of words and tears both.
"I will discuss it with you," he allowed, still holding me. "I am not prone to patience, I will speak of these things once, only. You will never ask me again."
I nodded, my head pressed against his chest, where his copper hair grew thick.
"First the band. When and if you show signs of emotional stability, we will consider removing it. When you were progressing so well, those first passes, I had thought we might have done so by now."
"It was the child, and the pain from its growth," I whispered.
"And it was you who chose to experience your pregnancy as you did. Another woman would have, perhaps, enjoyed it, loved the child, and cried when it was taken from her. Still another might have filled her time with study, or some creative work. Females have been bearing young for thousands upon thousands of years."
I pulled away from him. He looked at me narrow-eyed.
"I am not insulting you. I am going to explain something to you. You were, so to speak, born anew two years ago. You still gather the experiential perspectives most acquire when they are babies. Х You could not get them from lying, hungry, denied mother's milk. You could not get them, learning to walk. You still gather the experiential perspectives; those upon which adult behavior must be based. Wait!" he snapped, as I sought to interrupt him. I sat back upon my heels.
"You wear the band. It is my will that you con-;tinue to wear it. If it pleases you to feel that you are unjustly marked by it, then feel so. The fore-readers in common holding did not ostracize you of the band. Where there are women, there
18
Janet E. Morris
WIND FROM THE ABYSS
19
are great stores of information. I am sure they know all about you. You are not common-held. You come from the outside, but are complexioned as a blood princess among them. And those women from outside, perhaps rightly, hate the superior lake-breds. When I allowed it, I was sure you would not stay. I wanted you to realize the value of your isolation. You did not.
"No one has barred you from any studies you might have wished to pursue. Tutors of all sorts might attend you. One makes what one wants of the opportunities life presents."
"But I may not walk the lakeside. I may not even walk the dharen's tower."
"You attempted suicide. We found it necessary to restrain you."
"Before that?" I tossed my hair forward. It fell shining, past my knees, copper ends on the rust silks.
"It was too early. You were not ready. You are still not ready. If your memory does come back to you, and you have not become ready, it will destroy you. There is nothing I can do to hasten its return, nor would I choose to do so." His voice had a tinge of impatience. He closed his eyes for a moment.
"And my child?" I asked him.
"Your child is no monster, only the first of-its kind."
"How can that be?" I shifted, knees aching.
He rose and filled two bowls from that golden pitcher and brought me one. I tasted it, found it fine kifra, dry and live. I sipped, laid the cool metal upon my thighs.
"Look at yourself," he commanded. A muscle ticked upon his jaw.
I did, and back at him, my hand upon the bowl to balance it.
"Once the fathers spread their seed widely upon
the land. We have long been about gathering up those offspring. You are one we missed. Surely you knew it when you saw your resemblance to the lake-born."
I had considered it, but felt it some pretentious fantasy.
"But there are other children."
"Other attempts. This is the first that has matched my vision."
"I still do not understand."
"I did not expect you would. But I have told you that you at least have some truths to work with, building your particular reality. Build it well, for you must live within that construction." His voice had an edge, and he drained the bowl he held and set it down. My stomach lurched, tightened, as he approached.
"What is assessment?" I asked.
"You will find out, soon enough," he said, taking the bowl from my lap. His long fingers fondled my breast. I twisted, that I might free myself.
"Do not flinch from me," he ordered, but softly.
"I would give you a few more truths for your
reality. You are mine. I will do with you what
pleases me. Lie back."
-" I lay back, stretching my aching legs out straight.
"I do not wish to be touched, not now," I objected, but I did not move away from his hand.
"Then do not wish it. Your wish has very little bearing upon what will occur, at this moment, or any other. But you will wish it shortly. I promise
you."
I was his. And he did what he pleased with me, . and within an enth, all I wished was his couching.
I found myself alone, in his chambers. The doors ;, were not locked. He had looked back at me, almost TV smiling, and left one door ajar. Х'^ And I had risen to my feet and gone to stand ||;before them, my arms clutched around me, shiver-
20
Janet E. Morris
ing. Freedom lay, doubtless not, out those doors. He would see me disobey him. Or perhaps he would see that I could not,