"Emil Petaja - The Prism" - читать интересную книгу автора (Petaja Emil)

young and parentally training them in the arts of survival. With the Helden
suddenly the children were there. No gestation periods among the women.
No laboring. No final birth. They were suddenly thereтАФa new crop of
children for the Care Women to foster until it was time for the Teachers to
take over and train them in predestined skills.
Helden life was of a heroic cast, rich with excitement, with danger;
Helden heroes died young and while they lived it was always just on the
sword's point of death from a thousand perils. Each day brought new
hazards. So who had time for these questions and philosophical ponderings
on the meaning of life when death was but a stone's throw away, leering,
waiting, taunting?
Yet Kor did think. His nights were plagued with unwanted thoughts.
Something inborn goaded him on. It was as if what had been washed clean
from the minds of the rest had somehow slipped in his case. . . .
His thoughts and plaguings were all wrapped up in the Princess. He
equated the mystery with the strange high castle in the forever-mist. The
answer was up there. As for the Princess herself, Kor dared not think of her
as for him. Such a thing was impossible. Yet it was from the Princess he
would learn what she and he and the whole peaceless planet of Vicaria was
all about.
Princess Sena was beautiful beyond description. Of course she was.
Beautiful and unattainable. Every day's challenge was dedicated to the
Princess. Had it not been the slimy Greens of this morning's battles, no
doubt it would have been the fire-folk or the lurking white shadows of the
caves orтАФworst of anyтАФthe blood-sucking Dracs who kept Helden herds to
feed their young. And all for Princess Sena.
For Liti, too. Liti loved Kor and they were as good as bespoke. It was
Liti Kor chose to sit beside him at the bardic fire-sings although, as
strongest and bravest, Kor might have his choice. And Liti loved him. He
was chieftain. He was beloved by a lissome and desirable maiden.
Wasn't that enough?
No.
Princess Sena was a myth to the others, a goddess to fight and die for.
Her silver rose graced every Helden banner. But Kor . . . it had started
months ago, the coalescing of what had been a boyish dream deep in his
brain into a palpable reality. Mental, yes, but sometimes at night Kor saw
the Princess! He would swear it, if only to himself! He saw her raven-black
hair, her petal-soft face, her green-blue eyes. And she spoke to him. It was
as though she had chosen KorтАФout of all the warriors of all the Helden
tribesтАФchosen him out of some urgent need for a hero who would perform
some unimaginable task for her. And he must not fail her. He could not!
тАЬWhat a tedious procedure! He will climb the cliff halfway, then tumble
to his death. Must we, Sena?тАЭ
тАЬJust until he reaches the top, please?тАЭ
тАЬBut he won't make it. They never actually do get up to the castle; it's
not compatible with the Legend. Right, Gold Dorff?тАЭ
тАЬThere might have been some recent revision for piquancy. We permit
changes when the battle-to-the-death syndromes begin to bore even the
base-colors. But these big-muscled Helden are a little too obvious for me. I
leave them and their legend-gods to my assistants.тАЭ