Faerie Tale. Raymond E. Feist

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       • Chapter Two •

      Sean and Patrick marched along the little stream, wending their way among the rocks as they followed the tiny rivulets of water. The gully deepened and Sean, the more cautious of the two, said, ‘We’d better go up there.’ He pointed to where the bank began to rise on the right.

      Just then Bad Luck came galloping down the creek bed, red tongue lolling and tail wagging a furious greeting. He circled around the boys, then began sniffing at the ground.

      ‘Why?’ asked Patrick, contemptuous of anything resembling caution.

      ‘’Cause we could get caught down there,’ Sean answered, pointing to where the gully dropped rapidly into a dell, his voice sounding thin and frail over the water’s merry gurgle. ‘Besides, Mom said not to go too far.’

      ‘That’s dumb; she always says stuff like that,’ was Patrick’s answer as he tugged on Bad Luck’s ear and set off to follow the water. His catcher’s mitt hung by a thong from his belt and his Angels cap sat upon his head at an aggressive angle. He carried his Louisville Slugger over his shoulder as a soldier carries his rifle. Sean hesitated a moment, then set out after his brother, struggling to keep his beat-up old Padres cap on his head. Twins they might be, but Sean just didn’t seem to have Patrick’s natural confidence, and his timidity seemed to rob him of grace, causing him to slip often on the loose gravel and rocks.

      Sean stumbled and landed hard on his rear. He pulled himself upright, all his anger at the tumble directed at his brother. He dusted himself off and began to negotiate the steep drop of the gully. He half scrambled, half slid down the incline, his baseball glove and ball held tightly in his left hand. Reaching the bottom, he could see no sign of Patrick. The gully made a sharp bend, vanishing off to the right. ‘Patrick?’ Sean yelled.

      ‘Over here,’ came the reply. Sean hurried along, rounding the bend to halt next to his brother.

      In one of those moments the boys shared, they communicated without words. Silently they voiced agreement, This is a scary place.

      Before them squatted an ancient grey stone bridge, spanning the gully so a trail barely more than a path could continue uninterrupted as it rambled through the woods. The very stones seemed beaten and battered as if they had resisted being placed in this arrangement and had yielded only to brutish force. Each stone was covered in some sort of black-green moss, evidence of the presence of some evil so pernicious it infected the very rocks around it with foul ooze. Overgrown with brush on both sides above the high-water line on the banks, the opening under the bridge yawned at the boys like a deep, black maw. Nothing could be seen in the darkness under the span except the smaller circle of light on the other side. It was as if illumination stopped on one side of the bridge and began again only after having passed beyond its boundaries.

      The boys knew the darkness was a lair. Something waited in the gloom under the bridge. Something evil.

      Bad Luck tensed and began to growl, his hackles coming up. Patrick reached down and grabbed his collar as he was about to charge under the bridge. ‘No!’ he shouted as the dog pulled him along, and Bad Luck stopped, though he whined to be let loose.

      ‘We better get back,’ said Sean. ‘It’ll be dinner soon.’

      ‘Yeah, dinner,’ agreed Patrick, finding it difficult to drag his eyes from the blackness under the bridge. Step by step they backed away, Bad Luck reluctantly obeying Patrick’s command to come with them, whining with his tail between his legs, then barking.

      ‘Hey!’ came a shout from behind, and both boys jumped at the sound, their chests constricting with fright. Patrick hung on to Bad Luck’s collar and the Labrador snarled and spun around to protect the boys, pulling Patrick off balance.

      Patrick stumbled forward and Sean fell upon the dog’s neck, helping to hold him back from attacking the man who had come up behind them.

      The man held out his hands to show he meant no harm. Bad Luck struggled to be free. ‘Stop it,’ shouted Sean and the dog backed away, growling at the stranger.

      Both boys looked the man over. He was young, though not recognized as such by the boys, for anyone over the age of eighteen was a grown-up.

      The СКАЧАТЬ