"Colin Wilson - Spiderworld 04 - The Delta" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Colin)

swallowed a red hot sword, and his eyes were throbbing with pain. He tried to sit up, but
a cool hand rested on his forehead and gently forced him back on to the pillow. The pain
seemed to dissolve away.
The next time he woke it was daylight, and the room was full of pale blue light.
He was lying in a wide bed, with his bare arms on the coverlet. Through the transparent
blue wall he could see a large tree with yellow flowers; it shaded the room from the
sunlight. The ceiling was covered with a pattern like rippling green leaves.
He raised his hands to his throat, and his fingers encountered a hard shell. His
neck was completely encased in a substance that looked like dried clay, held in place by
bandages. Suddenly he realised that he was naked, and that the thought mirror was longer
round his neck. He sat up in alarm, then saw that his clothes were on a chair beside the
bed, and that the thought mirror lay on top of them. Beside it lay the telescopic rod. He
sighed with relief.
The door opened, and Selima came into the room. She smiled when she saw that
he was awake.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Much better." But his voice was unnaturally hoarse.
She laughed. "You sound like my grandfather." She sat beside him on the bed,
and placed both hands on his cheeks. He immediately felt the pleasant, cool sensation that
he had experienced in the night. The ache in his throat vanished. He asked her: "How do
you do that? Do you have something on your hands?"
"No." She showed him her palms. "It is a power that comes from my mother. Our
family has the gift of healing."
Niall felt as though he was floating down a slow stream, under green overarching
branches. He allowed himself to sink into sleep.
When he woke again, Doggins was standing by his bedside. The window was
open, and he could hear voices of children playing in the fountain. Behind Doggins stood
an old man whose sunburnt face was covered with wrinkles and lines; the penetrating
grey eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. He wore a shabby tunic of a dull green colour,
like dying moss, and was carrying a bag of the same material.
Doggins said: "This is Simeon. He's our medicine man."
Niall nodded and said hello, but his voice still sounded as if it was being strained
through dry leaves. Simeon stared at him intently with his strange grey eyes, which
seemed to contain points of light, then took his wrist. After feeling the pulse, and placing
his hand on Niall's cheek -- there was a brief, tingling sensation as he did so -- he rested
his bag on the bed, and took from it a short knife with a pointed, heavy blade. With this
he began to cut delicately at the plaster round Niall's throat; after a few long, deep
incisions, he was able to pull it apart. The air felt unpleasantly cold on the exposed skin.
The old man reached out and touched Niall's throat with his forefinger; it made Niall
wince.
Doggins asked anxiously: "What do you think?"
"He was lucky. Another inch to the right and he'd be dead." Simeon had a deep,
throaty voice that was almost a growl.
Niall tried to peer down at his own neck, but it was impossible. Doggins picked
up a hand mirror from a dressing table, and held it out. Niall was shocked at the blotchy
travesty of his face reflected in the polished steel. The eyes were bloodshot, and the
cheeks were covered with red and purple marks that looked like bruises. His throat was
circled by yellow and purple fingermarks.
He asked Doggins: "What happened to Odina?"
"We buried her this morning."