"Silistra - 02 - The Golden Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris Janet E)

their rhythm. It blows upon the land and great forests are tumbled to the
ground. In this way is the old made new and that which has served its purнpose
cleared away. In such times it services one to delve into oneТs own fitness and
make ready.
Adjuration: The dayglass is upended and the salts begin the journey that divines
time within space. Each grain must wait its turn and pass through the narrowed
middle in a predetermined sequence. No grain may refuse to pass from top to
bottom, nor is the order of passage subject to alteration or review. Should a
stubborn grain thwart its destiny it will be ground to bits by its fellows and
the resultant powder will in the end assume its place.
With the woman as agent:
Around the waist there is nothing. That task to be accomplished is of such
gravity that a chald of eighteen chains becomes, meaningless by comparison.
The inward ear hears success and is not disнcouraged by the message. Replication
suspends natural law. That which is folly by reason is demanded in times of
Replication.
She receives the light of the north star Clous into her right hand and is not
blinded by its beauty. In times of Replication, when only that which is
preordained may be done, a material sign is always given at the outset.
Adjuration: She who receives the light knows herself not exalted, but drafted
into exacting service.
Чexcerpted from Ors Yris-tera (Book of the Weathers of Life), by the dharen
Khys, hide-year sixty-three
I. Ors Yris-tera
In the bloody sunТs rising, the desert was a sea of gore, the crack-riddled,
barren earth between it and the ravening crags east and west a vitrified corpse.
The fuming sun straddled the mountains, triumphant. Vanquished was the
beneficent night. All creatures great and small scuttled for cover, lest the
vampire in the sky suck them dry of life.
A dry wind sprang up out of the desert. From the southwest it came, driving the
sand before it in great clouds. Red-dark up from the south met the dawn and
devoured it. Deracou, the wind that devours, is such a storm called in Parset.
Deracou stalked the cloaked figure. The sighing, groaning sand it drove scoured
the dead sea bottom, until every crack was filled, making it, again sea;
roarнing sea, sea of sand. Deracou claimed the waste, covered it, drowned it,
and the high tide wave of it made once again shore of the rocky place where the
still form lay. I lay quiet as the desert, back turned to its courting. As it
had claimed the cracked wasted dead sea, so would Deracou claim me.
Out of caprice, it reached out its arm to me, when I thought I had escaped. The
temptation was strong within me to sleep. To let my body be covered forever by
the sand, to take the peace nature offered. I had, after all, fulfilled the
chaldra of the mother. To fulfill the chaldra of the soil, to give back what I
had borrowed, to die here upon SilistraЧindeed, the temptation was strong within
me.
The ShaperТs seal sign of my father, its great spiral, myriad points of light
worked into my cloakТs back, glittered and twinkled before my sand-sealed eyes.
My father; it said, did not deliver me home to Silistra, to the Parset Desert,
to die. My father, it reminded me, had need of me. My father, Estrazi, it
cajoled, would expect more from his daughter.
I lay, arms crossed over my head, with the cloak pulled close about me. When the