"Janny Wurts - Wayfinder(2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wurts Janny)

Spooked by strangeness that threatened to draw her like some hapless moth
to a flame, Sabin sprang to her feet and fled. Out and through the hall she pounded,
and on down the stair beyond. Kala called out as she passed through the kitchen, to
say the noon meal was waiting. But the girl did not stop until she had left the house,
and raced at reckless speed down the cliff path to the place she called her chair seat.
There she spent the afternoon, while the Wayfinder slept. She did not return
for supper, though Kala called from the back door to say that their guest had risen
for the meal. By that Sabin understood that her uncle had accepted the Wayfinder at
his word; an outsider who spoke false might stay because he was ill and had need,
but he would not be invited to table. One supposed that Kala and the stranger had
settled their hostilities by not speaking.
At nightfall, when most folk gathered at the tavern, the beachhead glittered
with torches. Word had passed round of a wager, and every boy with the sea in his
blood turned out to ask Ciondo's leave to man the sloop, never mind that the craft
was handy and needed little crew. The commotion as boasts were made and shouted
down, and lots were finally drawn to keep the choice fair, enabled Sabin to sneak
past and hide under the nets in the dory. Certain she had not been seen, she peered
out cautiously and saw the tight knot of men stepping back. They left the Wayfinder
standing alone with black cloth muffling his head. He turned unerringly toward the
tender that was Ciondo's. If his steps were unsteady due to weakness, the line he
walked was straight. He crossed and found the thwart without fumbling, and spoke
so no others could hear. "Your good aunt does not know where we sail. I never
mentioned to your uncle that I know your cousin Juard to be alive. Before we arrive
at the Barraken Rock, I give you the burden of telling him."
"Aunt Kala would curse you for putting your lies in my mouth," Sabin
accused from under damp nets, the reek of which suddenly made her dizzy. She was
trembling again, and that made her angry, for he sensed her fear, she was certain.
She could feel those pale eyes burning even through their veiling of cloth as he said,
"But you are not Kala. You are the child of a weaver, and your fears are not ruled by
the sea."
"They are when I sit in a boat!" she snapped back, more like her aunt than
herself.
He laughed in his broken, rasping way, and because there was no malice in
him, she wanted to hit him or scream. Instead she shrank into a tight huddle. Light
and voices intruded, and the boat lifted, jostling, to be launched. As the keel
smacked the water, and blown spray trickled through her cocoon of nets, she tasted
warm salt with the cold. Tears: she was crying. The man seemed so certain that
poor, lost Juard still breathed.
Sabin felt the rampaging buck of the surf toss the dory over a swell. The
alternative terrified, that her cousin had rightly drowned, and that this stranger who
lured the people laughing to their boats to follow his blindfolded quest was a
sorcerer who could swim in iron chains. They might rescue Juard, or else join him,
leaving more bereaved families to weep and to curse at the sea.
Sabin rubbed the stinging cheek her uncle had smacked when he found her,
and smacked again when she told what the Wayfinder had said of her lost cousin.
While the wind shifted fitfully, slapping sails and stays in contrary gusts, and
moonlight silvered the wavelets, she braced against the windward rail, away from the
men by the binnacle. Their talk grew ever more sullen as Juard's fate was uneasily
discussed, and shoreline and lights shrank astern.
"Nothing lives on the Barraken Rock but fishing birds that drink seawater!"