"Thomas E. Sniegoski - The Fallen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sniegoski Thomas E)

Husbands and wives, shielding small children between them, scramble across sand-covered streets
desperately searching for shelter. Again he listens to their fear-filled voices. He does not understand their
language, but the meaning is quite clear. Their lives and the lives of their children are in danger.

For nights too numerous to count he has come to this place, to this sad village and witnessed the panic of
its people. But not once has he seen the source of their terror.

He moves through the winding streets of the dream place, feeling the roughness of desert sand beneath
his bare feet. Every night this city under siege becomes more real to him, and tonight he feels its fear as if
it were his own. And again he asks himself,fear of what? Who are they who can bring such terror to
these simple people?

In the marketplace a boy dressed in rags, no older than he, darts out from beneath a tarp covering a
large pile of yellow, gourdlike fruit. He watches the boy stealthily travel across the deserted market,
sticking close to the shadows. The boy nervously watches the sky as he runs.

Odd that the boy would be so concerned with the sky overhead.

The boy stops at the edge of the market and crouches within a thick pool of night. He stares longingly
across the expanse of open ground at another area of darkness on the other side.

There is unrelenting fear on the dark-skinned youthтАЩs face; his eyes are wide and white.What is he so
afraid of?Aaron looks up himself and sees only the night, like velvet adorned with twinkling jewels. There
is nothing to fear there, only beauty to admire.

The boy darts from his hiding place and scrambles across the open area. He is halfway there when the
winds begin. Sudden, powerful gusts that come out of nowhere, hurling sand, dirt, and dust.

The boy stops short and shields his face from the scouring particles. He is blinded, unsure of his
direction. Aaron wants to call to him, to help the boy escape the mysterious sandstorm, but knows that
his attempts would be futile, that he is only an observer.

And there is the sound. He canтАЩt place it exactly, but knows it is familiar. There is something in the sky
aboveтАФsomething that beats at the air, stirring the winds, creating the sudden storm.

The boy is screaming. His sweat-dampened body is powdered almost white in a sheen of fine dust and
desert sand.

The sounds are louder now, closer.

What is that?The answer is right at the edge of his knowing. He again looks up into the sky. The sand
still flies about, tossed by the winds. It stings his face and eyes, but he has to seeтАФhe has to know what
makes these strange pounding sounds, what creates gusts of wind powerful enough to propel sand and
rock. He has to know the source of such unbridled horror in these people of the dream-cityтАФin this boy.

And through the clouds of fine debris, he sees them. For the first time he sees them.

They are wearing armor. Golden armor that glistens in the dancing light thrown from the flames of their
weapons.