"Andre Norton - Darkness and Dawn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

Darkness and Dawn

DaybreakтАФ2250 a.d.
1
A Thief By Night
A night mist which was almost fog-thick still wrapped most of the Eyrie in a cottony
curtain. Beads of moisture gathered on the watcher's bare arms and hide jerkin. He licked
the wetness from his lips. But he made no move toward shelter, just as he had not during
any of the long black hours behind him.
Hot anger had brought him up on this broken rock point above the village of his tribe.
And something which was very close to real heartbreak kept him there. He propped a
pointed chinтАФstrong, cleft and stubbornтАФon the palm of a grimy hand and tried to pick
out the buildings which made straight angles in the mist below.
Right before him, of course, was the Star Hall. And as he studied its rough stone
walls, his lips drew tight in what was almost a noiseless snarl. To be one of the Star Men,
honored by all the tribe, consecrated to the gathering and treasuring of knowledge, to the
breaking of new trails and the exploration of lost landsтАФhe, Fors of the Puma Clan, had
never dreamed of any other life. Up until the hour of the Council Fire last night he had
kept on hoping that he would be given the right to enter the Hall. But he had been a child
and a fool to so hope when all the signs had read just the opposite. For five years he had
been passed over at the choosing of youths as if he did not exist. Why then should his
merits suddenly become diamond-bright on the sixth occasion?
OnlyтАФhis head dropped and his teeth clenched. OnlyтАФthis was the last yearтАФthe
very last year for him. Next year he would be over the age limit allowed a novice. When
he was passed over last nightтАФ
MaybeтАФif his father had come back from that last exploring ventureтАФIf he himself
didn't bear the stigma so plainlyтАФHis fingers clutched the thick hair on his head, tugging
painfully as if he would have it all out by the roots. His hair was the worst! They might
have forgotten about his night sight and too-keen hearing. He could have concealed those
as soon as he learned how wrong it was to be different. But he could not hide the color of
his close-cropped hair. And that had damned him from the day his father had brought him
here. Other men had brown or black, or, at the worst, sun-bleached yellow, covering their
heads. He had silver white, which showed to all men that he was a mutant, different from
the rest of his clan. Mutant! Mutant!
For more than two hundred yearsтАФever since the black days of chaos following the
Great Blow-up, the nuclear warтАФthat cry had been enough to condemn without trial.
Fear caused it, the strong, instinctive fear of the whole race for anyone cursed with a
different physique or unusual powers.
Ugly tales were told of what had happened to the mutants, those unfortunates born in
the first year after the Blow-up. Some tribes had taken drastic steps in those days to see
that the strain of humanтАФor almost humanтАФlineage be kept pure.
Here in the Eyrie, far apart from the infection of the bombed sectors, mutation had
been almost unknown. But he, Fors, had Plains' bloodтАФtainted, uncleanтАФand, since he
could remember at all, he had never been allowed to put that fact from him.
While his father had lived it had not been so bad. The other children had yelled at him
and there had been fights. But somehow, his father's confidence in him had made even
that seem natural. And in the evenings, when they had shut out the rest of the Eyrie, there
had been long hours of learning to read and write, to map and observe, the lore of the
high trails and the low. Even among the Star Men his father had been a master instructor.
And never had it appeared doubtful to Langdon that his only son Fors would follow him