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

strongest taboo on the planet."
"Would it have been better if I let her drown?"
"In their minds," Ammons nodded at the departing crowd, "yes. By
touching her, you've soiled her in front of the Old Ones."
"Superstitious bastards." He spit out a wad of mud." I suppose that
means their crops will fail and their roofs will leak."
"It means," Ammons said more gently than before, "that when she makes
her jump she is going to die."
****
More paths converged until the trail became a true road as they neared the
temple. Hundreds of pilgrims lined the way, a surge of bright cloth and
humanity wending toward Festival. Battered and exhausted, Kells crawled off
his slipper as they reached camp, the sun already overhead. He stumbled toward
a quiet spot near the edge of the broad field, rolled out his mat and was
immediately asleep.
Dreams played through his mind, discordant images of angry faces and
rushing water, the flavor of mud and ice cold rain. He bolted awake, sunlight
warm on his back. His clothes were caked with mud, his boots, once so finely
polished, scuffed and dull. Kells pushed himself up on an elbow and surveyed
the camp. Children laughed and chased each other while their mothers cooked
and gossiped. Men gambled as usual, or threw long knives at circles drawn in
the soft ground. Venders and musicians wandered between fires. Only around him
was there any open space, the area conspicuously absent of people. Kells shook
his head, disgusted with their attitude. Even Ammons and the wranglers sat
apart and pretended not to notice he was awake.
A warm wind rolled across the meadow. Smoke swirled vigorously, thick
with the rich scent of peppers and the ever-present rotor-flies. Kells pulled
himself to his feet and looked westward. The black butte dominated the horizon
now, only a few hours distant. The tower rose like a spike into the azure sky.
Something about it bothered him, a gathering sense of dread. At his shoulder,
someone coughed.
Kells spun around. He hadn't heard the white-robed woman approach. She
stood quietly and starred at the ground between her feet, her hands clasped in
front of her thin body. Her slim, childlike fingers twined around each other,
betraying her nervousness, though her voice was surprisingly calm.
"Ser' Kells? Would you accompany me?"
Too surprised to do anything else, he nodded, and followed her toward a
large, peak-roofed pavilion in the very center of the square. The rank of
dancers had swollen also. Dozens of women in white silk stood quietly outside
the tent, brass bowls in hand to accept what offerings passersby left.
Wordlessly, he was ushered through the curtained door. More of the sisterhood
waited within, their faces lined, the first touch of gray in their hair.
Scrolls and leather bound books covered a low table placed beside the nearest
tent pole. One of the women, tall and starkly thin, her green eyes stern,
bowed.
"You are the merchant Sean Kells?"
"Yes."
"I am told this is yours." She opened her hand palm up. A single gold
coin gleamed within. "After much discourse, we have determined your
indiscretion was not meant with malice. I would give back your offering, if