The Painted Man. Peter Brett V.
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Название: The Painted Man
Автор: Peter Brett V.
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Героическая фантастика
isbn: 9780007287758
isbn:
Even if the fire remained contained, the ash and smoke in the air could easily obscure more wards with their greasy stain, giving corelings the access they desperately sought.
No corelings tested the wards around Leeshaâs house. It was a bad sign, hinting that the demons had found easier prey in the dark.
Helpless and afraid, Leesha did the only thing she could. She cried. Cried for the dead, cried for the wounded, and cried for herself. In a village with fewer than four hundred people, there was no one whose death would not cut her.
Just shy of thirteen summers, Leesha was an exceptionally pretty girl, with long, wavy black hair and sharp eyes of pale blue. She was not yet flowered, and thus could not wed, but she was promised to Gared Cutter, the most handsome boy in the village. Gared was two summers older than her, tall and thick-muscled. The other girls squealed as he passed, but he was Leeshaâs, and they all knew. He would give her strong babies.
If he lived through the night.
The door to her room opened. Her mother never bothered to knock.
In face and form, Elona was much like her daughter. Still beautiful at thirty, her long hair hung rich and black about her proud shoulders. She had a full, womanly figure that was the envy of all; the only thing Leesha hoped to inherit from her. Her own breasts had only just started to bud, and had a long way to go before they matched her motherâs.
âThatâs enough of your blubbering, you worthless girl,â Elona snapped, throwing Leesha a rag to dry her eyes. âCrying alone gets you nothing. Cry in front of a man, if you want your way, but wetting your pillow wonât bring the dead to life.â She pulled the door closed, leaving Leesha alone again in the evil orange light flickering through the slats of the shutters.
Do you feel anything at all? Leesha wondered at her.
Her mother was right that tears would not bring back the dead, but she was wrong that it was good for nothing. Crying had always been Leeshaâs escape when things were hard. Other girls might think Leeshaâs life was perfect, but only because none of them saw the face Elona showed her only child when they were alone. It was no secret Elona had wanted sons, and Leesha and her father both endured her scorn for failing to oblige.
But she angrily dried her eyes all the same. She couldnât wait until she flowered and Gared took her away. The villagers would build them a house for their wedding boon, and Gared would carry her across the wards and make a woman of her while they all cheered outside. She would have her own children, and treat them nothing like her mother treated her.
Leesha was dressed when her mother banged on her door. She had not slept at all.
âI want you out the door when the dawn bell rings,â Elona said. âAnd Iâll not hear a murmur about you being tired! I wonât have our family seen lagging to help.â
Leesha knew her mother well enough to know that âseenâ was the operative word. Elona didnât care about helping anyone but herself.
Leeshaâs father, Erny, was waiting by the door under Elonaâs stern gaze. He was not a large man, and to call him wiry would have implied a strength that wasnât there. He was no stronger of will than of body, a timid man whose voice never rose. Elonaâs elder by a dozen years, Ernyâs thin brown hair had deserted the top of his head, and he wore thin-rimmed glasses he had bought from a Messenger years ago; the only man in town with the like.
He was, in short, not the man Elona wanted him to be, but there was great demand in the Free Cities for the fine paper he made, and she liked his money well enough.
Unlike her mother, Leesha really wanted to help her neighbours. She was out and running towards the fire the moment the corelings fled, even before the bell.
âLeesha! Stay with us!â Elona cried, but Leesha ignored her. The smoke was thick and choking, but she raised her apron to cover her mouth, and did not slow.
A few townsfolk were already gathered by the time she reached the source. Three houses had burned to the ground, and two more still blazed, threatening to set their neighbours alight. Leesha shrieked when she saw that one of the houses was Garedâs.
Smitt, who owned the inn and general store in town, was on the scene, barking orders. Smitt had been their town Speaker for as long as Leesha could remember. He was never eager to give orders, preferring to let people solve their own problems, but everyone agreed he was good at it.
â⦠never pull water from the well fast enough,â Smitt was saying as Leesha approached. âWeâll have to form a bucket line to the stream and wet the other houses, or the whole village will be ashes by nightfall!â
Gared and Steave came running up just then, harried and sooty, but otherwise healthy. Gared, just fifteen, was bigger than most grown men in the village. Steave, his father, was a giant, towering over everyone. Leesha felt a knot in her stomach unclench at the sight of them.
But before she could run to Gared, Smitt pointed to him. âGared, pull the bucket cart to the stream!â He looked over the others. âLeesha!â he said. âFollow him and start filling!â
Leesha ran for all she was worth, but even pulling the heavy cart, Gared beat her to the small stream flowing to the River Angiers, miles to the north. The moment he pulled up short, she fell into his arms. She had thought seeing him alive would dispel the horrible images in her head, but it only intensified them. She didnât know what she would do if she lost Gared.
âI feared you dead,â she moaned, sobbing into his chest.
âIâm safe,â he whispered, hugging her tightly. âIâm safe.â
Quickly, the two began unloading the cart, filling buckets to start the line as others arrived. Soon, more than a hundred villagers were in a neat row stretching from the stream to the blaze, passing up full buckets and handing back empty ones. Gared was called back to the fire with the cart, his strong arms needed to throw water.
It wasnât long before the cart returned, this time pulled by Tender Michel and laden with wounded. The sight brought mixed feelings. Seeing fellow villagers, friends all, burned and savaged cut her deeply, but a breach that left survivors was rare, and each one was a gift she thanked the Creator for.
The Holy Man and his acolyte, Child Jona, laid the injured out by the stream. Michel left the young man to comfort them while he brought the cart back for more.
Leesha turned from the sight, focusing on filling buckets. Her feet went numb in the cold water and her arms grew leaden, but she lost herself in the work until a whisper got her attention.
âHag Bruna is coming,â someone said, and Leeshaâs head snapped up. Sure enough, the ancient Herb Gatherer was coming down the path, led by her apprentice, Darsy.
No one knew for sure how old Bruna was. It was said she was old when the village elders were young. She СКАЧАТЬ