JК
Swallowing Darkness :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 53 из 242The only thing that remained was the huge oak tree spreading its branches above the meadow.
Sholto yelled, "Ride for the oak. It's real. The rest isn't."
He was so certain, so utterly certain, that it left no room for doubts in my mind. I kicked my mare forward, and rode at Sholto's shoulder. The riders in back of us came with us, with no doubts voiced. I wasn't certain whether they truly had no doubts, or whether they simply had no choice but to follow the huntsmen. In that moment, I did not care, only that we pushed forward, and Sholto knew the way.
His horse hit the far side of the oak, and it was as if a curtain peeled back. One breath we rode in a summer meadow, the next we clattered on stone, and were before the jeweled doors.
Sholto's many-legged stallion reared in front of the doors, as if he could not pass. Powerful magic indeed to stop the hunt. I'd known that the doors were old, but I hadn't realized that they were one of the ancient relics brought here from the old country. These doors had stood before the throne room of the Seelie Court when my human ancestors were still making houses out of animal skins.
I urged my mare forward slowly. The hounds whined and scratched at the door, high, eager sounds that sounded almost too puppyish to come from the thick throats of the white mastiffs. Our prey was within.
I smelled roses, and I whispered, "What would you have of me, Goddess?"
The answer came not in words, but in knowledge. I simply knew what needed doing. I turned the horse so we were sideways to the huge doors. I pressed my hand against them, a hand covered in the drying blood of my grandmother. I felt the pulse of the doors, almost a heartbeat. The truly ancient objects could have that, a semblance of life, so strong was their magic, so powerful the powers that forged them. It meant that certain objects had opinions, could make choices, all on their own; as some enchanted weapons will only fight in the hands of their choosing, so other things will listen to reason.
I pressed the blood against the door, reached for that pulse of almost life, and spoke. "By the blood of my kinswoman, by the death of the only mother I ever truly had, I call kin slayer on Cair. We are the wild hunt. Taste the blood of my loss, and let us pass."
The doors made a sound, almost a sigh, if wood and metal could make such a sound. Then the double doors began to open, revealing a slice of the glittering room beyond.
Chapter Eight
There was a confusion of colors: yellows, reds, and oranges, and over it all was gold.
Sholto yelled, "Ride for the oak. It's real. The rest isn't."
He was so certain, so utterly certain, that it left no room for doubts in my mind. I kicked my mare forward, and rode at Sholto's shoulder. The riders in back of us came with us, with no doubts voiced. I wasn't certain whether they truly had no doubts, or whether they simply had no choice but to follow the huntsmen. In that moment, I did not care, only that we pushed forward, and Sholto knew the way.
His horse hit the far side of the oak, and it was as if a curtain peeled back. One breath we rode in a summer meadow, the next we clattered on stone, and were before the jeweled doors.
Sholto's many-legged stallion reared in front of the doors, as if he could not pass. Powerful magic indeed to stop the hunt. I'd known that the doors were old, but I hadn't realized that they were one of the ancient relics brought here from the old country. These doors had stood before the throne room of the Seelie Court when my human ancestors were still making houses out of animal skins.
I urged my mare forward slowly. The hounds whined and scratched at the door, high, eager sounds that sounded almost too puppyish to come from the thick throats of the white mastiffs. Our prey was within.
I smelled roses, and I whispered, "What would you have of me, Goddess?"
The answer came not in words, but in knowledge. I simply knew what needed doing. I turned the horse so we were sideways to the huge doors. I pressed my hand against them, a hand covered in the drying blood of my grandmother. I felt the pulse of the doors, almost a heartbeat. The truly ancient objects could have that, a semblance of life, so strong was their magic, so powerful the powers that forged them. It meant that certain objects had opinions, could make choices, all on their own; as some enchanted weapons will only fight in the hands of their choosing, so other things will listen to reason.
I pressed the blood against the door, reached for that pulse of almost life, and spoke. "By the blood of my kinswoman, by the death of the only mother I ever truly had, I call kin slayer on Cair. We are the wild hunt. Taste the blood of my loss, and let us pass."
The doors made a sound, almost a sigh, if wood and metal could make such a sound. Then the double doors began to open, revealing a slice of the glittering room beyond.
Chapter Eight
There was a confusion of colors: yellows, reds, and oranges, and over it all was gold.