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Chilled exorcist. Александр Алексеевич Алексеенко
Читать онлайн.Название Chilled exorcist
Год выпуска 2024
isbn
Автор произведения Александр Алексеевич Алексеенко
Издательство Автор
"No, come on, Envnir, they're floating on a vast body of water! The Great Dark Frontier. There's no land there at all. Neither dry nor wet, neither light nor gray," she leaned toward him and, seeing the realization in his eyes, kissed the top of his head.
"You have correctly observed that they are of the same nature. They say the Hollow went into the earth, made it bad," the woman nodded, confirming her words. The small crib, more like a bench, was shaking with the movement. "And he hasn't flown since."
"What if he flies again?" the curious child, in its spontaneity, would not stop.
"It won't. The shroud was defeated long ago. The shroud of Ignorance is a kind of darkness that hangs in the air and wants to swallow up the careless traveler. Neither fire nor water can help against it, only special ancient crystals left by hunters and priests. And the gray earth…" The young mother thought for a moment. "…It came afterward. You saw it yourself, remember?" the storyteller noticed the glint of understanding in the child's eyes, and he nodded readily.
"And so, when the brave heroes landed on the island that is now near the mainland on which we live..... The first to land on it was Dümmal Grave Mohawk, the Emperor's distant great-grandfather and the first king of men. His descendants still rule the entire land of Terresia and the archipelago from this Amber Island," the door creaked open and the child's mother turned around. The father of the family finally entered the house and appeared on the threshold. In his hands he was holding damp wood that smelled of fresh tar. "Had to chop some new ones," the young woman guessed. He kicked the mud from his shoes against the threshold and stood motionless.
"The landing near the mainland was the first milestone in the development of new lands that were still hidden by the Hollow of Ignorance." The woman looked up at the man. Their gazes met. He called out to her with a nod to the side and walked into the other room.
"Darling, let me tell you the sequel tomorrow?" she asked, and a traitorous tear ran down her cheek.
"Are you crying?" his question sounded somehow particularly piercing.
"No! I'm just very hot from the fire – my eyes glistened. Please, I've told you a story. Go to bed and tomorrow you'll hear the rest. Okay?" She pulled up the blanket and covered him, got up and walked from the room to the door.
"It's a deal," the child agreed, and the woman went out.
The boy lay and looked at the fire, listening to his calm breathing. The flames played with him, caressing his face and closing his eyes.
"Did you recognize it?" came a muffled voice.
"They will come for him tomorrow," he sighed and answered sadly.
"Didn't you try to challenge the decision?" the first voice persisted.
"How could I…" there was a pause in the speech. "I tried, it didn't help."
"Why don't we just run away?" a tinge of slight madness and hope came into the voice.
The answer was silence.
The silence went on and on. The flames swirled, and the child was distracted by them. He fell asleep without realizing what his parents were saying.
Only then did he hear a muffled sob. Another and another. The hail pounded the roof and swept like a broom under the doorstep. The storm was right over the house. The storm pounded harder and harder at the windows and shutters on all sides, and soon the sobs were inaudible. Yellow-Eyed howled again; she did not regard the grief of others as more important than her own.
Chapter 2: "The Forgotten Village"
The waters of memory flushed as abruptly as they came up to his eyelashes.
Standing at the triple crossroads was a man in black robes. Clothes worn in the Order by the messengers of the night. A tattered cloak flapped in the wind, and a long-brimmed hat pulled upward more like a hood. The wanderer's mouth was safely hidden behind a milchemist's mask to filter the air, but believe me, he crinkled at the taste of memories. Like a cat squeamishly jerking its paw at water, the gloomy traveler tried to forget it as soon as possible. The unpleasant past, it seemed to make him weaker, more vulnerable. He no longer recognized himself in it. There was someone else, naive, with eyes open to the world, ready to believe anything. And here stood a completely different person. A huge block of granite stood in front of him, pointing the way. It was just like him. Like that cold, guiding piece of rock from his memories.
The horse snorted behind him, digging its hoof into the ground, leaving another pothole. The animal demanded to move on again. The man was uneasy, too. A chill ran down his back. Here the hornet had penetrated far to the south. All around, as far as the eye could see, was poisoned gray earth, and only the forest ahead burned with the green fire of life. The traveler lowered his head. His long and black Order cloak whipped around his leather boots with protective metal inserts.
He intercepted his crossbow. On the handle of his weapon, a sling swung up. And on it jingled a token for shooting the chilled. The grim reaper of the restless dead looked forward. His thick, clinging goggles gleamed two scarlet lightning bolts in the reddened strands that hung over the forest of Titan Jodcheim. The lights of the blue vaulted. The cover of night was closing in.
You want to know about the past of this world? I'm not the best storyteller. Look ahead, friend. The titan of the sky, Jodcheim, always walks his usual path, soon to disappear into the distant mountains. There, according to legends, he will fight all the evils of this world and win the battle against Tlekorz the Apprentice. Remembering this name, the exorcist, and judging by his crossbow, it was exactly the killer of uncleanness, spat on the ground, revealing his protective mask.
You want to know why he's called the Apprentice? I have to disappoint you. I don't know. I was taken from my family too soon by the Order's minions, and they don't care about legends. All they care about is that we're good at killing the restless dead. So we don't die every time we meet a cold one in our path. But this isn't about the Order, it's about the legend. Where was I? Oh yes… But in that ancient battle, Jodkheim himself would die, only to be reborn across the sea and follow his own path, returning to the continent from the west of the Light Continent, where the first ships came from. Only he will walk along the blue vault instead of sailing through the Great Dark Frontier to light up the ancient island and the capital city of the same name – Amberesvet the Great – with his mane of hair from afar. The Chill Killer examined his gauntlet.
The first fork road led to the castle of a rebel lord who had decided to no longer serve the Crown of Grave Mohawk. And so his domain lay desolate, and his servants were cold and wandering among the ruins of the castle on a lonely cliff. Many small lords have sought to gain more autonomy, or even independence. Now that the gray earth is spreading so rapidly that I do not recognize even the blooming places where I once was, all has been devoured by the ruinous wasp. And so Fortress Rukh kills anyone who comes within ten paces of the Second Gate of Light. And this is now that the High Priest of Hotta has fled the islands from the amber capital to the Fortress of Rukh. He stole the Titan Child of Jodcheim with him and proclaimed the Thunderbird Lands as the Last Possession of the Light. Now that the dastardly Cult of Bones is influencing the mind of Emperor Retreat of Grave Mohawk, the ruler will only laugh back at the messenger and his troubles. And will drink more wine, looking through the rims of his glass at his subjects – small bugs with insignificant problems. Many have tried, but not all have succeeded.
Lonely walls and stones are what remains of this castle. The name of the local lord is gone from the pages of the annals, and now no one knows who lived there. Perhaps if the village near the castle had been alive, people would still remember, but it was not spared by the oser. People either left or died of starvation. "Perhaps the Light will be merciful to their souls," I thought angrily as I fired an arrow from my crossbow at the rebel who had carelessly approached me. He let out a cry of something akin to surprise and fell to the ground. The rebel lord's dead guard tried sharply to break free,