Before Winter. Nancy Wallace K.
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Название: Before Winter
Автор: Nancy Wallace K.
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Героическая фантастика
isbn: 9780008103606
isbn:
“We need to leave now!” Marcus instructed as Devin still stood mesmerized, fingering the journal in his hands.
Devin slipped it through the ripped seam in the lining under his left arm, feeling its weight drop toward the hem below. What did he carry with him from this place and what providence led them to find it?
Marcus shoved Devin outside, taking one final moment to place the Bible gently in Father Sébastian’s lap before closing the door. He gave the key a turn in the lock and slipped it into his pocket. “When we reach La Paix,” he said, “I will drop this key from the top of the waterfall. Father Sébastian deserves to rest in peace now that he has passed on his legacy.”
“Sébastian.” Devin repeated the name suddenly. “That’s what Lavender told us. She said Sébastian had told her we needed the key. Maybe it wasn’t her brother she was talking about.”
Devin turned away from Marcus, anxious to test his theory. He took off up the winding steps, each step firm and secure, as he dodged fallen branches, trees, and rocks.
“Devin, stop!” Marcus called behind him. “You’ll break your neck!”
But Devin climbed higher and higher into the sudden brilliant gold of that late-August afternoon, the reassuring weight of Father Sébastian’s journal in his pocket.
He stopped at the top, blinking in the strong shafts of sunlight that enshrouded the church. Lavender was gone. He knew she would be. He circled the empty crater where the church once stood but there was no sign of her dirty gown or brown, wrinkled face. In the valley below nothing moved but the water of the stream flowing endlessly to the south. A gentle wind tossed the branches above his head and he realized that up here the air was much warmer. He was glad Marcus had packed their things this morning, because he didn’t want to go back down to spend another night among the valley’s shifting mist and ghostly whispers.
Marcus reached the top of the steps. “Damn it, Devin!” he gasped, bending over to catch his breath. “What’s the hurry?”
“Lavender’s gone,” Devin said, reaching to retrieve the freshly carved head she had left for Marcus on the rock where she had been sitting. He held it out to him.
Marcus made no move to take it. “What are you trying to say?” he asked.
Devin shook his head and gently placed the wooden image of Marcus into his bodyguard’s hand. “I’m not trying to say anything, Marcus. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.”
Marcus insisted that they look for Lavender, and they did, but if she still existed, she had blended back into the landscape like a native flower or shrub. Nothing remained but the little carved head of Marcus and their memories of her.
“I made her cry,” Marcus said gruffly, stuffing the carved head in his pocket.
Devin sighed. “Perhaps it wasn’t you as much as the situation. It’s been hard on everyone.”
“Do you think she was …” Marcus hesitated.
“A ghost?” Devin asked. “Perhaps. But we touched her, smelled her, she ate our food.”
“The food sack,” Marcus said suddenly and set it down to rummage through it.
Devin knew what Marcus would find before he announced it. “The heads are all gone. Every last one of them.”
“Except the one she carved for you,” Devin pointed out.
Marcus withdrew it from his pocket, held it humbly in his hands for a few moments. “Did I ever thank her?”
“I’m sure you did,” Devin replied.
Marcus slipped the token back in his pocket.
Devin’s eyes still searched the rocks and bushes around them, hoping that he might catch sight of a scrap of tattered brown fabric or a tiny footprint to convince them that Lavender had traveled with them and touched their lives for several days.
Marcus grabbed his sleeve. “Come on, then,” he said finally. “Night falls earlier now. We need to go.”
They left the ruins of Albion’s church behind. Above the deep ravine, the terrain flattened out. Statuesque spruce trees circled a small clearing knee deep in long grass and scattered wildflowers. Here hawks soared, and rabbits and deer grazed in the late-afternoon shadows. It was like another world compared to the valley behind them. Light, fragrant, and warm.
Devin tripped on a raised stone. He dropped his pack, hoping it might be a headstone, and knelt to pull the weeds away.
“The Town of Albion, Destroyed by Flood, 12 Avril 1406,” he read as Marcus bent to look. “It’s the same day Father Sébastian’s journal begins.”
Devin walked in a wide circle from the stone, swinging his foot to crush the tall grass. “I’d hoped there might be some gravestones,” he said in disappointment.
“The bodies would have washed downstream and Father Sébastian couldn’t have dragged bodies up that slope anyway, Devin!” Marcus said. “Not only that, whoever destroyed the dam, would have searched for survivors. Had even a few of the bodies been buried, it would have been obvious that someone survived. Anyone who knew the truth about what happened would have been killed.”
“And yet, Lavender knew the story.”
“The person who created the story may have made an assumption as to who destroyed the dam.”
“But the Chronicles are very precise,” Devin objected. “The story of Albion’s destruction would never have been included in Tirolien’s Chronicle if there was some doubt about its veracity.”
“Lavender never said the story came from the Chronicles, Devin,” Marcus pointed out. “She said that her father told her about it.”
Devin inclined his head. “That’s true.” His eyes drifted over the clearing, watching as the tall grass bent like waves in the wind. “But if this really was one of the first settlements in Llisé, it existed for hundreds of years before its destruction. There would have had to be a cemetery for the church. All of those graves would predate the flood.”
“I’m sure you’re right but we don’t have time to look for a cemetery, Devin. We need to get back to La Paix as quickly and safely as possible. I’m sorry.”
Devin exhaled. “I understand.”
Marcus skirted the clearing, startling the deer, their white tails flashing as they dashed into the forest beyond. “Perhaps the journal will answer some of your questions.”
“I hope,” Devin said. It was as though the book was physically hot, burning a hole in his jacket lining. He wanted desperately to take it out and read it, to sit down right in this field СКАЧАТЬ