"Marta Randall - Journey" - читать интересную книгу автора (Randall Marta)

and she could not see him. Her eyes felt dry and her feet hurt. People jostled
against her and, unused to moving in a crowd, she lost her balance again and
again, clinging to the struts and beams of the barn to keep from falling. She
moved without purpose, forgetting why she was here but knowing that she could
not leave, and the sights and sounds became meaningless. Then a hand grabbed
her forearm and swung her around. She staggered and held to a beam.
"Girl, give me a blanket."
Quilla faced a young woman, whose age she could not judge, save that
she seemed older than Quilla but younger than Mish, and it took her a moment
to push enough of the fog from her mind to understand that the woman was
talking to her.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
The woman looked exasperated. "I said, fetch me a blanket. Can't you
hear?"
Quilla shook her head to clear it. "They're over in the corner," she
said, trying not to let weariness slur the words. She pivoted and pointed
toward the barn door.
"I didn't ask where they are, stupid!" People gathered around, faces
blank, and the woman flipped red-brown hair from her face and tilted her chin.
"I want a blanket and I want it now, so get it! I'm not going to wait all
night."
_Always remember that you are a Kennerin_, Laur's voice said with calm
assurance, and under that Quilla heard Hart's thin screams of terror, saw Jes'
tired eyes, remembered Mish's stories of a different life on a different
planet, saw her father bow with equal respect to the kasirene in the fields.
It seemed to her that she stepped from her own skin and watched with amazement
as some other Quilla straightened, set her hands on her hips, and stared at
the woman. When the words came, they came from someplace Quilla did not know.
"My name is Quilla Kennerin. My family owns this planet. We fetch and
carry for no one. Do you understand?"
"Well," the woman said, the beginnings of uncertainty in her voice. She
suddenly looked much younger than before.
"Do you understand?" Quilla demanded. The girl nodded. "Good. The
blankets are in the corner. You may have one, and not more than one, and
you'll get it for yourself."
The girl's hands fluttered as though in protest, then she turned and
walked toward the blankets. Quilla watched, still baffled by this wonderful
stranger who had taken over her body and her mouth, and had done the right and
proper thing. The girl selected a blanket. Quilla turned and moved toward the
door, conscious now of the many eyes on her, still too amazed to glory in her
own performance and her own dignity. Then a tall, pale man with gray eyes
touched her arm and saluted her with his flute.
"Good for you," he said in a low voice. His smile barely creased the
corners of his mouth. "Taine's had that coming for a long time."
She looked at him as though he had just told her that her jeans were
split behind. Her composure vanished. She nodded, clutching at her dignity,
stared at his eyes, turned, and stumbled and flailed as she lost her balance.
He reached for her shoulders and steadied her.
"You must be as tired as I am," he said. She gaped at him, still off
balance, and grabbed his flute. Her dignity shattered. She thrust the flute at