"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Black Throne 01 - The Black Queen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

may do what I want.тАЭ
He could no longer see her. If he wanted to know why she brought him here, he had no
choice but to follow.
These stairs were slick with dirt. They had once been as polished as the others, but
time and wear had destroyed that. There were no handholds, and the corner steps were
tricky. He braced his palms on nearby boulders, hoping to keep his balance.
Madot was so far ahead of him that he could only see the edge of her robe. She was like
a dream image, ever elusive, impossible to catch.
The farther down he went, thee darker it got. No sunlight reached here, and in the
little patches of dirt beside the large rocks, nothing grew. But the air was warmer than he
expected, and smelled faintly of flowers. He didnтАЩt know where the scent came from.
After a final twist, the stairs ended. Another platform surrounded by high rock walls
greeted him. Above him he could see patches of blue sky, but it felt as if he were indoors.
No Shaman Protectors greeted him here. Only Madot waited, her hands clasped before
her. She looked ancient and small, standing beside the black-scarred stone.
There was something about this place, a feeling of great history and great age, a feeling
that much had happened hereтАФmore than Gift could take in at one moment.
тАЬDid you have a Vision last night?тАЭ Madot asked.
He shook his head. тАЬI havenтАЩt had a Vision since I came to Protectors Village.тАЭ If he
had, he would have told her. She knew that. Apprentices were required to report their
Visions.
тАЬYou felt nothing last night?тАЭ
 тАЬNothing,тАЭ he said.
His answer didnтАЩt seem to satisfy her. He didnтАЩt know why. It wasnтАЩt unusual for
Visionaries to go years without a Vision. Some Visionaries only had three or four in their
entire lives. A Shaman was trained to invite Visions, but Gift hadnтАЩt reached that stage of
his training yet.
тАЬHave you ever Seen this place?тАЭ she asked.
He understood the question. She was wondering if he had had a Vision about it. He
looked around. The stone here wasnтАЩt black. It was red, a deep, deep red, the color of
drying blood.
тАЬNo,тАЭ he said.
She frowned, but said nothing. With a quick movement, she spun and headed into the
darkness. He followed. They went under an overhang that hid a doorway. This may have
been a cave at one time, but it had been so long ago that he couldnтАЩt tell. It didnтАЩt look like
a cave. It looked like a building carved out of the rock. The doorwayтАЩs dimensions were
uniform, itтАЩs edges smooth. The floor was the same polished stone, the walls sanded
smooth. Beside the door were Fey lamps. Gift recognized their construction. The Fey
lamps he had been raised with carried the captured souls of enemies, and when someone
touched the lamp in the proper place, those souls flared with a brilliant light.
These lamps, though, were not warrior lamps. They were filled not with the souls of
enemies, but the souls of volunteersтАФFey who had died of illness or old age, or who chose
to serve their people in this final way.
Madot picked up a lamp and handed it to him, then took one herself. Gift touched the
base of the lamp before grasping the metal handle. The lamp flared, revealing several
souls inside. They still had their Fey form, and they looked at him through the glass as if
he were the curiosity.
Over the years, he had learned not to pay the souls inside a Fey lamp too much
attention. The worry was that they would flare to light whenever they wanted, and burn
themselves out early. He gave them a small smile, then looked around the room.