Название: The Painted Man
Автор: Peter Brett V.
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Героическая фантастика
isbn: 9780007287758
isbn:
âHave you ever killed a coreling?â he asked the Messenger.
âNo,â Ragen said, shaking his head. âBut Iâve fought a few. Got the scars to prove it. But I was always more interested in getting away, or keeping them away from someone else, than I was in killing any.â
Arlen thought about that as they wrapped Cholie in a tarp and put him in the back of the wagon, hurrying back to the Cluster. Jeph and Silvy had already packed the cart and were waiting impatiently to leave, but the sight of the body defused their anger at Arlenâs late return.
Silvy wailed and threw herself on her brother, but there was no time to waste, if they were to make it back to the farm by nightfall. Jeph had to hold her back as Tender Harral painted a ward on the tarp and led a prayer as he tossed Cholie into the pyre.
The survivors who werenât staying in Brine Cutterâs house were divided up and taken home with the others. Jeph and Silvy had offered succour to two women. Norine Cutter was over fifty summers old. Her husband had died some years back, and she had lost her daughter and grandson in the attack. Marea Bales was old, too; almost forty. Her husband had been left outside when the others drew lots for the cellar. Like Silvy, both slumped in the back of Jephâs cart, staring at their knees. Arlen waved goodbye to Ragen as his father cracked the whip.
The Cluster by the Woods was drawing out of sight when Arlen realized he hadnât told anyone to come see the Jongleur.
They had just enough time to stow the cart and check the wards before the corelings came. Silvy had little energy for cooking, so they ate a cold meal of bread, cheese, and sausage, chewing with little enthusiasm. The demons came soon after sunset to test the wards, and every time the magic flared to throw them back, Norine cried out. Marea never touched her food. She sat on her pallet with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, rocking back and forth and whimpering whenever the magic flared. Silvy cleared the plates, but she never returned from the kitchen, and Arlen could hear her crying.
Arlen tried to go to her, but Jeph caught his arm. âCome talk with me, Arlen,â he said.
They went into the small room that housed Arlenâs pallet, his collection of smooth rocks from the brook, and all his feathers and bones. Jeph selected one of these, a brightly coloured feather about ten inches long, and fingered it as he spoke, not looking Arlen in the eye.
Arlen knew the signs. When his father wouldnât look at him, it meant he was uncomfortable with whatever he wanted to talk about.
âWhat you saw on the road with the Messengerââ Jeph began.
âRagen explained it to me,â Arlen said. âUncle Cholie was dead already, he just didnât know it right away. Sometimes people live through an attack, but die anyway.â
Jeph frowned. âNot how I would have put it,â he said. âBut true enough, I suppose. Cholie â¦â
âWas a coward,â Arlen finished.
Jeph looked at him in surprise. âWhat makes you say that?â he asked.
âHe hid in the cellar because he was scared to die, and then killed himself because he was scared to live,â Arlen said. âBetter if he had just picked up an axe and died fighting.â
âI donât want to hear that kind of talk,â Jeph said. âYou canât fight demons, Arlen. No one can. Thereâs nothing to be gained by getting yourself killed.â
Arlen shook his head. âTheyâre like bullies,â he said. âThey attack us because weâre too scared to fight back. I hit Cobie and the others with that stick, and they didnât bother me again.â
âCobie ent a rock demon,â Jeph said. âNo stick is going to scare those off.â
âThereâs got to be a way,â Arlen said. âPeople used to do it. All the old stories say so.â
âThe stories say there were magic wards to fight with,â Jeph said. âThe fighting wards are lost.â
âRagen says they still fight demons in some places. He says it can be done.â
âIâm going to have a talk with that Messenger,â Jeph grumbled. âHe shouldnât be filling your head with such thoughts.â
âWhy not?â Arlen said. âMaybe more people would have survived last night, if all the men had gotten axes and spears â¦â
âThey would be just as dead,â Jeph finished. âThereâs other ways to protect yourself and your family, Arlen. Wisdom. Prudence. Humility. Itâs not brave to fight a battle you canât win.
âWho would care for the women and the children if all the men got themselves cored trying to kill what canât be killed?â he went on. âWho would chop the wood and build the homes? Who would hunt and herd and plant and slaughter? Who would seed the women with children? If all the men die, the corelings win.â
âThe corelings are already winning,â Arlen muttered. âYou keep saying the town gets smaller each year. Bullies keep coming when you donât fight back.â
He looked up at his father. âDonât you feel it? Donât you want to fight sometimes?â
âOf course I do, Arlen,â Jeph said. âBut not for no reason. When it matters, when it really matters, all men are willing to fight. Animals run when they can, and fight when they must, and people are no different. But that spirit should only come out when needed.
âBut if it was you out there with the corelings,â he said, âor your mam, I swear I would fight like mad before I let them get near you. Do you understand the difference?â
Arlen nodded. âI think so.â
âGood man,â Jeph said, squeezing his shoulder.
Arlenâs dreams that night were filled with images of hills that touched the sky, and ponds so big you could put a whole town on the surface. He saw yellow sand stretching as far as his eyes could see, and a walled fortress hidden in the trees.
But he saw it all between a pair of legs that swayed lazily before his eyes. He looked up, and saw his own face turning purple in the noose.
He woke with a start, his pallet damp with sweat. It was still dark, but СКАЧАТЬ