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A deity sits on the stone bank of the Pamaunka River, and the wind plays in the mane, and the sky in its inevitable sunrise explosion will burn with a newborn-sun fire ...
The descendant of the leaders of the tribesmen was called Uncas, and every muscle moved in it in a bestial way, and in the smell of the body - the sun, grass and musk, such an aromatic pagan pungent taste. He is proud and tall, like rocks tearing the sea, without trembling, his hand lifted the scalps with a trophy and was equal in strength to the power of a bear's paw, and with a cougar he bore him a grin. He read with a flair of the hungry-wolf-hungry wolf traces of the chain-fan, and he cut wings to the wind to shreds, and with the spirits of his ancestors went hunting in the night.
Near the leader’s home there was a shaman’s wigwam, who healed wounds by warriors with spells, knew how to turn a werewolf into a sea otter, and he turned down to win the war over fire. He wrapped himself in a brown-shaggy skin of a grizzly bear, whose heart was slowed down by the power of deadly thought, as a bear was known as a cannibal during his lifetime and three people in bloody torn dirt. That old shaman weaved the whole world into mandalas during sacred-unknown rituals, and then a fire ignited on the cheeks of a mercilessly hard-sunken - so fierce and al. But the gods cut human happiness in their own way, sometimes bleeding like a blade on the wrist, not hearing prayers and not participating, and only arrogantly demanding a part of the heart.
The severe sorcerer seemed almost omnipotent, and only at night bitterly howled in impotence, trying to save his daughter, which was more beautiful than the distant stars and luminous planets. But with every dawn she lost weight, dried up, looking like dirty black-thawed snow on her face, and darted about in a fatal circle of penumbraes, as if a beast tortured by pain in snares.
And father’s heart seemed to be tormented by a cougar ...
Once he sat, desperate, silently reading with his dry fingers the thread of the vampum, just at the junction of the Bloody and Black Moons. And a flickering vision was sent to him by a test-indulgence, or, perhaps, by a game-illusion of vision or a mockery of one who leads to the Shadow. “It is dangerous to upset the balance of living and nonliving, therefore a ransom is needed for the Upper World, a sacrifice-substitution and a“ soul-for-soul ”payment, and Evil Manita will lick it from the bloody pools. But the sacrifice is more desirable, and the blood is hotter and weaker when it is driven by the heart in a thirst for love, and beats in the chest so passionately purple and damp, thrusting purple gouache into the veins. ”
And the mark fell ...
The Englishman's name was John. He was pale-faced and, therefore, deprived of the Power of the Great Serpent. And the outcome was a foregone conclusion. None of the wives of a worthy tribe of John noticed, looked away and was silent, but the river waves at a muddy wharper whispered about where John wanders at night. It was revealed to the shaman that that pale-faced demon merged with a glossy, copper Indian body as soon as the day faded away, and it was getting dark around, and the forest was surrounded by black coniferous-pawed walls.
For three nights, the shaman conjured over his weapon, hiding in a wigwam and not going outside, because the one who serves the Upper World is no longer aware of hunger, heat and dry land. And finally, inaudibly, like a shadow, like a vengeful spirit of unrequited dreams, desperate malice and thirst for murder, a captive, the sorcerer hurried to the smell of entwined bodies. He ordered the pale Moon to crawl behind the clouds, cutting off every whitish ray with a knife, and as if a forest were parted before him by a dense one, afraid to disturb the bottom of ugly feelings. Then he saw what was forbidden-hidden: those two in each other bathe insatiably, and the white wounded wail, pierced by an arrow, casting away his Puritan shame.
And with a howl heard somewhere in the edge of Wendigo, like a ghost intangible and faceless, the shaman waved his sword and reflected in flare, but the copper-skinned leader was faster for a moment. And Unkas took the blade of death under his heart, and the ribs opened with an inner wet crunch, the bay all around was smoky-crimson-dense, and sadness was reflected on the face of the moon. But when the Indian's body was silent, languid, unstressed, quiet in the arms of John, he remained silent, not moving, bewitched, forever immersed in his madness.
Gusts of a cold evil wind took off - for such a sacrifice was not pleasing to the spirits: the descendants of the Great Leaders are forever immortal, and that punishment will not blow, who violated the ban.
... A deity sits on the stone bank of the Pamunka River, and the wind plays in the mane, and light hands stroke it playfully, and the sky is red with hundreds of invisible razors.
Na kamennom beregu Pamaunki-river sidit bozhestvo, i veter igrayet v grive, i nebo v svoyom neizbezhno-voskhodnom vzryve ognom novorozhdenno-solntsevym obgorit…
Potomka vozhdey soplemenniki zvali Unkas, i v nom po-zverinomu dvigalsya kazhdyy muskul, a v zapakhe tela – solntse, trava i muskus, takoy aromatno-yazycheskiy rezkiy vkus. On gord i vysok, budto rvushchiye more skaly, bez drozhi ruka snimala trofeyem skal'py i siloy ravnyalas' moshchi medvezh'yey lapy, a s kuguarom yego porodnil oskal. Chital on chut'yom nenasytno-golodno-volch'im ostyvshikh sledov veyera-tsepochki, i kryl'ya on vetru izrezal v kloch'ya, a s dukhami predkov shol na okhotu v noch'.
Vblizi ot zhilishcha vozhdya byl vigvam shamana, kotoryy lechil zaklinan'yami voinam rany, umel prevrashchat'sya oborotnem v kalana i dlya pobedy v voyne nad ognom kamlal. On kutalsya v buro-kosmatuyu shkuru grizli, ch'yo serdtse zamedlil siloy smertel'noy mysli, poskol'ku medved' lyudoyedom proslyl pri zhizni i trokh chelovek v krovavoy porval gryazi. Tot staryy shaman zapletal tselyy mir v mandaly vo vremya sakral'no-nevedomykh ritualov, i na shchekakh bezzhalostno-zhestko-vpalykh togda zagoralsya pozhar – tak svirep i al. No bogi po-svoyemu rezhut lyudskoye schast'ye, poroy – obeskroviv, kak lezviyem po zapyast'yu, ne slysha molitv i ne proyavlyaya uchastiya, i tol'ko nadmenno trebuya serdtsa chast'.
Surovyy koldun kazalsya pochti vsesil'nym, i tol'ko nochami gor'kimi vyl v bessil'i, pytayas' spasti svoyu doch', chto byla krasivey nebesno-dalekikh zvozd i planet-svetil. No s kazhdym rassvetom khudela ona, issyakala, litsom pokhodya na sneg gryazno-chorno-talyy, i v gibel'nom kruge poluteney metalas', kak budto izmuchennyy bol'yu zverok v silkakh.
A serdtse ottsa kak budto terzala puma…
Odnazhdy sidel on, otchayavshiysya, – besshumno chitaya sukhimi pal'tsami nit' vampuma, kak raz na styke Krovavoy i Chornoy Lun. I bylo yemu mertsayushcheye viden'ye nisposlano ispytaniyem-sniskhozhdeniyem, a, mozhet, igroy-illyuziyey zreniya ili nasmeshkoy togo, kto uvodit v Ten'. «Opasno balans zhivykh-nezhivykh narushit', poetomu vykup dlya Verkhnego Mira nuzhen, zhertva-podmena i plata «dusha – za dushu», a Zloy Manitu yeyo slizhet s krovavykh luzh. No zhertva zhelanney, a krov' – goryachey i slazhe, kogda yeyo gonit serdtse v lyubovnoy zhazhde, i b'yetsya v grudi tak strastno-bagrovo-vlazhno, tolchkami brosaya v veny purpur-guash'».
I metka legla…
Anglichanina zvali Dzhon. On byl blednolitsym i, potomu, – lishon Sily Velikogo Zmeya. I predreshon tak okazalsya iskhod. Ni odna iz zhon dostoynogo plemeni Dzhona ne zamechala, glaza otvodila v storonu i molchala, no volny rechnyye u ilistogo prichala sheptali o tom, gde brodit Dzhon po nocham. Otkrylos' shamanu, chto tot blednolitsyy demon slivalsya s losnyashchimsya, mednym indeyskim telom kak tol'ko den' ugasal, i vokrug temnelo, i les obstupal chernotoy khvoyno-lapykh sten.
Tri nochi shaman koldoval nad svoim oruzhiyem, ukryvshis' v vigvame i ne vykhodya naruzhu, poskol'ku tomu, kto Verkhnemu Miru sluzhit, bol'she ne vedomy golod, zhara i sush'. I vot, nakonets, neslyshno, podobno teni, kak mstitel'nyy dukh nepoymannykh snovideniy, otchayannoy zloby i zhazhdy ubiystva plennik, koldun pospeshil na zapakh spletonnykh tel. On blednoy Lune prikazal upolzti za tuchi, obrezav nozhom yeyo kazhdyy belosyy luchik, i budto by les rasstupalsya pred nim dremuchiy, boyas' potrevozhit' dno bezobraznykh chuvstv. Togda on uvidel to, chto zapretno-skryto: te dvoye drug v druge kupayutsya nenasytno, i belyy podrankom stonet, streloy probityy, zabrosiv podal'she svoy puritanskiy styd.
I s voyem, uslyshannym gde-to v krayu Vendigo, kak prizrak neosyazayemyy i bezlikiy, shaman zamakhnulsya, i nozh otrazilsya blikom, no mednokozhiy vozhd' byl bystrey na mig. I prinyal pod serdtse lezviye smerti Unkas, i robra raskrylis' s vnutrennim mokrym khrustom, zaliv vso vokrug dymyashche-bagryano-gusto, a na litse Luny otrazilas' grust'. Kogda zhe beskostno, vyalo, nenapryazhenno telo indeytsa zatikhlo v ob"yat'yakh Dzhona, tot vso molchal, ne dvigayas', zavorozhonnyy, navechno v svoyo bezumiye pogruzhon.
Vzmetnulis' poryvy kholodnogo zlogo vetra – ved' dukham byla ne ugodna takaya zhertva: potomki Velikikh Vozhdey navsegda bessmertny, i kara togo ne minot, kto popral zapret.
… Na kamennom beregu Pamaunki-river sidit bozhestvo, i veter igrayet v grive, i svetlyye ruki gladyat yego igrivo, a nebo aleyet ot sotni nezrimykh britv.
31 èþëÿ 2012 â 00:31
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