"Justin Stanchfield - Sisterhood of the Stone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stanchfield Justin)

unfamiliar constellations more comforting than the constant overhang of
branches they left behind. The air was sharper, the flavor of rain riding the
stiff breeze. Ahead, motionless above the looming black butte, an enormous
thundercloud rose. He watched the play of lightning over it, certain now he
saw a spire at the edge of the precipice, backlit by the uneven flashes.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Ammons rode closer as they topped yet another
narrow ridge. They paused a moment and let the beasts catch their breath.
"That's the temple? It must be enormous."
"Wait until you see it up close." Ammons spurred his slipper down the
other side. Sean Kells waited a moment longer, eyes locked on the distant
butte. Far below, the torches of the dancers flickered as they trudged
forward. They seemed to sway back and forth along the meandering road. Now and
then a flashlight beam would cut the darkness, nervous travelers wasting their
expensive batteries to light the dangerous trail. He nudged the hen forward.
Around the next bend a flat terrace waited. An enormous stone stood in
the middle of the small clearing. Kells stared up at, shocked to see a face
carved in the worn boulder, lidded eyes staring placidly across the ages. He
looked closer and the face vanished, a trick of moonlight and shadow. "What is
that thing?"
"No one knows." Ammons shrugged. "You find them now and then. They call
this one 'The Watcher.'"
"You make it sound as if it was put here deliberately."
"Do you have a better explanation?" Ammons kicked his slipper ahead. He
reached out and patted the stone face as he passed. "For luck," he called over
his shoulder.
Kells snorted, unbelieving. Still, he placed his hand against the rock,
the granite rough under his palm. He let the hen set the pace as they turned
westward. The rain scent grew stronger. Wind poured off from the distant
summits, and by the time they reached the bottom of the ravine the first fat
drops began to fall.
"Find shelter," Ammons shouted as he threw his riding cloak above his
head. Hailstones bounced off the boulders lining the dry stream bed. Kells
slid off his hen and huddled under the branches of a pillow tree. The feathery
leaves did little to shed the downpour. The slippers hooted and bunched
together, heads hung low as the hail gave way to rain so thick it seemed steal
the air.
One after another, torches hissed, their flames doused, leaving the
broken caravan in darkness except for the irregular flashes of lightning that
bounced overhead. Drenched and shivering, Kells squatted under the tree. The
next flash showed more people hurrying to shelter, driven toward the little
copse of trees. The dancers from the Sisterhood ran across the narrow gulch,
all dignity forgotten. The girl in blue brought up the rear. Miserable and
wet, Kells pulled his cloak tighter.
A new sound filled the air, a rushing, liquid roar. Kells strained to
hear. Suddenly, he realized it was water he heard, a flash flood bearing down
the steep _wade_. His own safety forgotten, he dashed out from under the tree,
hampered by the darkness. He screamed above the wind and rain.
"Get to higher ground!" His ankle tangled in an exposed root and he
fell face first in the mud. Swearing, Kells rose and managed to reach the bank
lining the sandy bottom. He held out his hand and pulled up one of the