William King - Shadowblood
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- Название:Shadowblood
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He moved forward. There was a feeling such as he sometimes had in dreams of taking a step and beginning a fall down an infinite well. He was surrounded by blackness and grasping presences, the whisperers he had heard before, so like the ones who resided within his head, but which seemed to be native here, the natural inhabitants of this dark cold place. He sensed vague echoes of the world from which he had come, the bleak presences of shadows of trees and plants and small animals.
He put out his hands to steady himself, aware that somewhere ahead was an exit from this strange foul place. His lungs felt like balloons in a vacuum, as if all the air within him were threatening to explode outwards. His eyes stung and he felt the cold kiss of the void on his flesh.
He had no idea how long he fell for. He seemed to be outside time, in a dream space where events that lasted hours could be over in seconds and things that should have taken a heartbeat held the leaden touch of eternity.
Then he emerged from wherever he had been and stepped into the shadow of himself that anchored one end of the path. Time seemed frozen for an instant, as if he had stepped from a reality in which things moved much faster and to which his senses were still attuned. He was aware of a moth caught frozen in the air. It seemed as still as if it has been painted and he was certain he could have reached out and caught it if he so desired.
The shadow coated him like a film, surrounding him. He was it and it was him, and it was as if he had no more reality than it. He sensed possibilities there, of becoming like a shadow, of remaining in that strange half-realm between worlds and for a moment, sought to maintain the form and take a few steps. It was a strange feeling, as if he had suddenly become much lighter, or travelled to a world where gravity was far less and so was his mass.
He felt more like he was flowing over the surface of the world than walking on it, as if he were invisible and intangible as a shadow in darkness. He could not hold the form though, and his concentration slipped and somehow he was back in his own world, slumping to his knees, feeling gross and heavy and made of flesh and clay, with blood flowing sluggishly in his veins and his heartbeat ringing in his ears. His breath came from his lungs like a hurricane and he felt more real and yet more like a dream than ever he had in his life.
In another heartbeat Tamara was standing beside him, without having passed through the intervening space and without any part of the expenditure of energy it had cost him, or so it appeared. She stood over him, and looked down, at once worried and appalled.
“What did you do, there at the end?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I felt the gate open because I was linked to you when you created it but you were not there where it emerged. I am not sure what you did, but I thought something had gone wrong, that you were struggling to emerge, that you had failed and were gone forever.”
So he had been invisible to her. Rik considered telling her what he had experienced, the sense of the strange possibilities that he had encountered. It seemed apparent that she had no idea of what he had encountered. Tamara was a very good actress but he could not see what she had to gain by pretending ignorance of what he had just been through. If it was not something she knew about, it was not something she could help him with, and the knowledge might prove useful to him, give him some advantage over her if she planned treachery so he said, “I do not know. I felt like I was drowning and had to force my way back to the shore, and fortunately I succeeded.”
“It’s as well,” she said. “Staying too long in the shadow world can kill you. Natural laws are different there and you can run out of breath or heat or life. It is best to spend as little time there as possible and make your escape when you can.”
“Doubtless you are correct.” He allowed himself a smile as the realisation sank in that, whatever else he had achieved this night, he had performed his first successful shadow-walk. He had proved he had the gift, even if he had required her guidance at first to use it. He cast his thoughts back over the procedure and he thought he understood what she had done, and how he could duplicate it. “I did it,” he said. “I walked through the shadow.”
She nodded, obviously troubled by what had happened and not nearly as elated as he. “That you did. That you did.”
“I want to try it again, on my own this time.”
She shook her head grimly. “Not tonight. You have used up enough of your energy for one night. A second time and you might not make it.”
He felt oddly disappointed but he could see the sense of her words. He had barely enough energy to get to his feet and he had to place both palms on the ground and push himself up. He really did feel like an exhausted swimmer pulling himself from the sea.
“You did well,” she said. “It took me months to master what you have learned today.”
He concealed his inward feeling of triumph, and clutched his secret revelations close. He felt like he had touched on a source of power independent of Asea and of her, one which would be his alone, and in that moment became aware that he was feeling the lure of Shadow.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sardec studied the ruins. There were bodies on the cobbles. Whole streets had burned to the ground; it looked as if the fire had started somewhere and there simply were not enough people to get it back under control. There had been rain since then and water puddled in the streets. His small party moved amid the desolation like the last survivors in a dying world.
The children looked around them with wide, wondering, frightened eyes. The adults had the same childlike quality about them.
Sardec wondered if there was anyone left alive in this place, if there was anyone left alive in the entire world. Where had all the people gone? Where could they possibly have fled to? Surely it was not possible that they were all dead?
"There's an apothecary's shop on the corner, sir," said Weasel. "We can look in there for some healing herbs and sleeping drafts. We'll probably find lead for bullets as well."
"Go to it, Sergeant," said Sardec. "And keep your eyes open for any survivors. I'd like to talk to any locals that you can find. We need to find out what's going on in this country. We need news. We need information."
Weasel gestured for the Barbarian and Toadface to follow him, and loped off towards the building he had indicated. Sardec sat down on the remains of a tumbled down wall and indicated to the rest of the party that they should stand easy.
"I don't like this," said Rena, coughing. "It's like everything and everyone has died. It's like we’re the last people in the world. I'm starting to believe all those folk who claimed that the end times are here."
"I can understand how you would see things that way," said Sardec.
"Whatever happens now, I don't think the world will be the same."
Sardec nodded. "They say it was like this during the last days of Al’Terra. The Princes of Shadow unleashed all manner of strange sorceries. I always thought those things were exaggerations, but now I think they might have understated the reality."
"I wonder if the plague has reached Talorea. I wonder how the people I know in Redtower are doing."
Sardec reached out and stroked her hand in an attempt to reassure her. It was the first time a long time she had mentioned the town in which she had grown up. She had lost many of her family to a previous plague. He was surprised that she was holding up as well as she was.
Weasel’s shout was terrifyingly loud when it came and he realised then how quietly they had all been speaking. It was as if they were standing in a graveyard, talking respectfully of the dead.
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