"David Zindell - Requiem of Homo Sapiens 01 - The Broken God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zindell David)

there came a dreadful whirring and whooshing that he had never
experienced before; the air itself seemed to be splitting apart
with the sound. The Old Ones were coming for him, his left side
whispered. He dare not move or else they would know that he was
still just a frightened boy. How could Soli be making such a
sound, his right side wanted to know? He dare not move or Soli
would have to do a terrible thing.
'Danlo!' a voice screamed out of the darkness. 'Danlo-mi!'
It was not Soli who called to him; it was not the voice of a
man. 'Danlo, dorona ti-lot! Danlo, we require your blood, now!'
It was the voice of a terrible animal he had never heard
before. It screamed like a thallow and roared like a bear, all
at once. He began to tremble, or perhaps he was just shivering,
he couldn't tell which. Despite the intense cold, drops of
sweat burst from his skin all across his forehead, chest, and
belly. The animal screamed again, and Danlo waited motionless
for it to tear at the throbbing arteries of his throat. He held
his head rigid, pressing it down into the fur. He wanted to
close his eyes and scream, but he could not. Straight up at the
dazzling lights he stared, and suddenly the lights were gone.
The animal was standing over him, bending low, blocking out the
night sky. It
28
wasn't really an animal at all; it was the Beast of the young
men's stories. It had horns and great conical teeth like a
killer whale; its cruel, hooked beak was dipping toward his
face; its claws were the claws of the snow tiger, and they
were sweeping down toward his belly and groin. He had never
seen a man wearing a mask before, but even if he had, his left
side would still be shouting that the Beast was about to rip
away at him. He held himself very still.
'Danlo, we require your blood!' the Beast growled out again.
To live, I die, he thought, silently repeating the Devaki
prayer of initiation.
Ever since he could remember, ever since he had seen the
older men naked and looked between their legs with dread and
wonder, he had known this moment must come. The Beast reached
down and grasped his membrum. Its claws were cold and sharp
against the shaft. In his fear and cold, his unprotected stones
tightened up in their sac. He was very afraid; never had he
known such a belly-tightening fear, not even when Haidar fell
sick from the slow evil and began bleeding from his ears. The
fear was all over him, like dead cold air falling down from the
sky, suffocating him, clutching in his lungs. He was afraid the
Beast would cut him, yes, afraid of the pain, but even more he
dreaded convulsing like a frightened snow hare and trying to
run away. And if he did that, he would be slain. The Beast
would kill him for giving in to his fear. This thought, in
turn, fed his fear, intensified it until the sweat poured off
his ribs and soaked the furs beneath him. The wind began to