Bloody Revenge

by Darrell Guidry

  only with its length... well, generally... Well, he did not order to heat the dead

  in tears. I heard, those, on a lump cry much, cannot rise: it seems

  drag with yourself on the sky a wash-tub with tears! Give me it here,

  five-string, choke with it with Hegg, to remember so to remember!

  Aptakhar sang much worse than the son who remained in Galirada and on a harp

  did not play, and jingled rather, loudly, but without special to a harmony. And song,

  in which it burst, forced to jump up others scaredly. To execute

  it at a knesinka was really possible only at the end of a long journey,

  when the dangers and works experienced together turn owners and servants in

  the closest friends.

  The Solvennsky maid kissed me,

  And everything it was, to the prankish, it is not enough...

  The envoy Dungorm in horror was lop-sided on a knesinka, but the monarchess not

  stopped the singer. Aptakhar with relish listed tribes and the people,

  cheerfully comparing maiden advantages and singing of a variety

  joys:

  And with a monomatanska the maid swarty

  As though you lay down on hot coals...

  To the middle of a song around a fire began to giggle furtively.

  - About you, men, such to put, - Ertan muttered. Wound not

  allowed it to laugh properly.

  - And you be engaged! - Aptakhar advised. - Only at first... everyone it

  most to compare. Giggling was replaced by a frank laughter. Mangul

  together with the boy modestly settled down behind backs of soldiers, on most

  to border of the lit circle. The little woman took on knees galiradsky

  psaltery: on them the string, and at the angry igreets as tore

  is found, it was not found necessary on change. Mangul carefully tried to

  to the unfamiliar tool, ironed a finger of a string and brought to an ear -

  listened as sings. It did not pass unnoticed.

  - And you, seemingly, sense understand! - told sitting nearby

  dlinnousy вельх. And triumphantly shouted: - Lekarka wants to sing!

  Spells are magical!. Children, escape, now prisushit-will charm!.

  The woman scaredly started back, and the fellow rose on legs, squeezing

  fists. Knesinka sent Likhobor:

  - Bring her here.

  The young bodyguard approached Mangul, stepping through legs

  soldiers.

  - Let's go, the monarchess calls. Be not afraid. And you, small to be at war wait a moment.

  - You the truth want to sing for us, the kind healer? - asked

  knesinka of Elen when Mangul appeared before it, pressing a psaltery to a breast

  with the dangling string. - You are able?

  The boy answered:

  - Earlier my foster mother sang for people, crowned шаддаат. Us

  for it fed.

  - Here even as? - the knesinka was surprised. - Means, we were lucky. Sing

  something that was not heard in our corner of the world.

  - Only do not take in head to bewitch, - hemmed It is small - Ghosn. - All the same not

  it will turn out.

  The wolfhound shook out the birch bark book from a shabby box, turned it

  to light, opened on the fourth page and ceased to listen.

  Mangul hung the head and for several moments thought of something.

  Then sat down on heels as it was accepted at them in Sakkarem. Psaltery

  sat at it on the left knee. Settled so naturally as if all

  the life did not descend from there.

  - On my homeland, - Mangul told, - the singer's pupil, passing

  Dedication, has to put and sing four songs. Grief song, that

  nobody managed to keep from tears. The Joy song to dry up these

  tears. The Vanity song that everyone felt as a powerless grain of sand on

  to the ocean coast also understood that all efforts are useless. And Awakening Song,

  which forces to straighten a back and inspires on feats and

  fulfillments. It seems to me, you would not find in them what your spirit is eager for,

  crowned шаддаат. Allow, I will sing to you absolutely other song. It is the Song

  Hopes. I heard it from one person from the western Sakkarem. It

  claimed as if it was put by slaves to the terrible mountain mine, from which

  there is no way back...

  - My madam, - carefully, in a low voice, Dungorm noticed. - Song

  mercenaries, and now still song of slaves! Should you profane the hearing

  the songs composed on penal servitude?

  Mangul again scaredly contracted, and the knesinka lovely smiled

  to the envoy.

  - Houses I liked to look after a small garden, noble Dungorm.

  Yes you and saw it. Also I will tell you, on bushes which I fed up

  manure, quite good flowers blossomed. People of a low rank at all not

  surely compose low songs. Besides I can always order it

  to stop. Sing, the healer.

  The woman was inclined over the tool, and strings were exorcized. Moaned.

  Began to cry by a human voice. It was impossible to believe that Mangul

  only today for the first time saw a psaltery. Ratniki, still discussing

  rollicking song of Aptakhar, stopped, as if on command. Even that

  embraced quietly cheeping little girls, pricked up ears and stood.

  At the first chords the Wolfhound nearly dropped the book. On

  to backbone from where from a stomach the frost ran up. Similar with it not

  happened already long ago. He became rooted to the spot and understood that actually

  penal servitude came to an end yesterday. Today. Just. Or perhaps at all not

  came to an end. What happiness that nobody looked at it.

  He knew this song. It seems, only, for certain been born in

  Bright mountains. If there sang, then tore heart something the,

  brought from the house. This was one, and in it there was everything. Generations of slaves

  ground it, vyshelushivat from unnecessary words as a precious crystal from

  dead rock. Only then it was called the Song of Despair. Why it

  became the Song of Hope?...

  Mangul threw up the head, being going to start singing, and veins strained all over,

  having a presentiment of torture.

  The woman started singing. During the first instant he understood only one: words were others.

  About what to us, prophetic strings, you will sing?

  About the nice hero that to the sky went.

  It was, as well as we, the person from flesh

  And is hotter than blood. He felt pain.

  As we, he for years did not see dawn,

  Did not see camomiles on a mountain meadow,

  That blood watered could semi-precious stones

  The owner is more expensive to sell at the bargaining...

  Here in a trice went hot the Wolfhound from cold and so that on a forehead

  sweat acted. That the ancient Song of Despair became suddenly the Song

  Hopes, the shock was required. Miracle. And, apparently, he even guessed,

  what.

  In darkness he dreamed of freedom and the sun,

  As all of us, as all. But listen to the singer:

  Heart of other temper knocked in it -

  And death will not bend it up to the end.

  We will tell about it to all those who do not trust,

  What valor will help to avoid fetters.

  Killed to a biped animal,

  We nicknamed him the Thunder-storm Volkov...

  Mangul sang on-sakkaremski: here many understood this language. In

  To Sakkarema hunted wolves with golden eagles. Special do
gs were not held, not

  there were also names. The woman used the word designating a bird. Venn

  was born anew: in its party any head did not turn.

  He knew that freedom only blood undertakes,

  Also took it blood. But nevertheless then

  We saw how he was met by the sun,

  Flaring in the sky over the ridge.

  We saw how it left higher and higher

  On white snow, on crystal ice,

  And the human voice was not heard,

  But wind informed us: "I will come again".

  To us in faces breathed frosty dust,

  And wind cold was more sweet than some wine.

  We saw mighty wings in the sky,

  And darkness of vaults was not terrible...

  Actually mighty wings belonged not to a "thunder-storm of wolves", and two

  to the simurana which carried away into the sky and the horsewomen country houses, and almost lifeless

  young vein. And with it little Mysh.

  Mouse came off a shoulder of the Wolfhound on a wrist and anxiously stared to it

  in a face.

  Bloody to a stitch filled up with snow,

  But memory as the sun, burns over a snowstorm:

  One person managed what,

  Will be able sometime to master another.

  Sacred dawn over mountains ascends,

  For ever his executioners will not extinguish!

  From now on we know the road to freedom,

  And the Song of Hope in a gloom sounds!

  Any motive, as we know, can be executed differently. It is possible so that

  only at the last log tears from eyes will not begin to flow. It is possible so that

  hunting to dance will attack. And it is possible so that the hand itself will stretch to a sheath.

  Listening Mangul, even the Wolfhound, did not notice when sad crying of strings

  was replaced by proud and terrible call to a victory. To freedom, for which and life,

  if to think, - not such a great payment.

  Psaltery ceased. Became it is heard, as in night darkness cold wind

  moved the leaves which were not in time to fly yet on trees.

  - Yes, - the knesinka of Elen said in low tones. - It was composed by slaves,

  noble Dungorm. Approach me, a pesennitsa.

  Mangul got up from knees and shy came nearer. Knesinka pulled together from left

  wrists the fine silver bracelet covered with green stones and

  put on it a hand to the healer. That was going to thank, but Elen

  Gluzdov-na gesture stopped it. Rose and, without having added more

  words, disappeared in a tent.

  There was no wish to sing after Mangul any more to anybody. People began to disperse,

  become silent, confused. Opened in themselves something, what never before

  noticed. Why? None of them, gratitude to Gods, had a concern

  to terrible Bright mountains. And never heard about the slave on

  to the nickname Golden eagle, managed to escape from penal servitude. Just imagine.

  Also Mangul - to great simplification of the Wolfhound left. It seemed to Venn,

  she precisely saw him through and now will tell about it. Thanks

  Illadu, took away both, it and the adopted child. There were with a fire one bodyguards,

  the benefit it was the place here. The wolfhound chilly moved shoulders in

  to the shirt which got wet from sweat. Also unclenched fingers, tightly broken

  birch bark page.

  Night, and till the morning as in any other night, followed was coming

  to expect any muck from destiny. Because when the Eye of Gods hides, it is strong in

  world lie.

  The wolfhound usually bore guards in the second half of night when kind

  people of everything want to sleep more, and crafty villains, knowing about it,

  get out to trade. Now, against usage, veins sent at once

  brothers Dashing on side and, generally, was not going to awake them till the dawn.

  The benefit itself all the same did not hope to fall asleep.

  It silently went there and here, habitually listening to night. Also thought of that,

  that in vain lived life. Nearly twenty four years will be made even at the beginning

  winters. Still this afternoon he was sure that he made everything. Or almost everything.

  Repaid all debts. And as followed. Bypassed how many and that the cities and

  rural lands, found families of many of those with whom fraternized on penal servitude. Then

  went to kill the Cannibal, perfectly knowing what will kill for certain: now

  its and whole team of komes will not stop. Still he knew that he will die. And

  not especially regretted for that. Why to waste the life to a poskrebysh of stopped

  sorts?. Who also could not be remembered, except the old priestess of alien

  tribe?. An did not die. Even got a family. Also floated on a current,

  having put to live himself the rest of days for those who will need in it.

  Also began to dream, a bare dog. Accepted a bead at unreasonable

  Olenyushki...

  The wolfhound not knowingly squinted eyes on a crystal pea which with

  such pride carried on a thong in hair. Whether God told it about that

  Thunder-storms, clearly answered a prayer: Go And ПРИДпШЬ? Somewhere there, in the south

  still there were Bright mountains. And near what it there

  saw enough, its insignificant распря with the Cannibal it was as small as

  woody hills of its homeland - before huge ranges in smoked

  snow raincoats.

  Thought that there is a Debt above a debt to a sort, for the first time

  the vein visited. Also did not seem seditious. Perhaps in the morning will also seem, on

  that it and sober morning. But not now.

  And in a subsoil of ridges human lives died away every day. Rod Serogo

  Dog without trace would get lost in crowd of dead persons. And it, Wolfhound, already

  heard command of God Grozy: Go And ПРИДпШЬ. It was required to send it

  towards this healer that at last the shame that understood burned an interior,

  feeble-minded, WHERE.

  The day after tomorrow, hardly later, jumping will kick up dust on the road

  towards velimorsky group. Bystra, oh bystra sho-sitaynsky stallions.

  Blue eyes?. What color of an eye were at the Cannibal? He did not remember. In total

  remembered the rest. And eyes - for the life of me.

  The wolfhound looked back to unexpected rustle, saw the old woman the nurse, on

  all fours creeping out of a tent, and at once pricked up the ears. It it is quite good

  felt time. Oka's chariot of Gods flying over fruitless

  World Underwear heathlands, gradually already went to dawn edge

  heaven. Haygal beckoned a finger, and the Wolfhound approached.

  - The girl calls you, - the old woman hissed. - Go!

  Look at it it is unknown why was gloomy and solemn. To give

  to take "girl" lay at deaths door and already said goodbye to her, and

  now was going to say goodbye to the faithful bodyguard. Wolfhound involuntarily

  thought of the last way to avoid not lovely marriage and on everyone

  the case asked;

  - Whether in kind health madam?

  - In kind, in kind! - the old woman assured. And stuck the evil into a back: -

  Go!

  The wolfhound approached at first Likhobor. The brought guy felt

  inaudible approach of the mentor also sat down, opening eyes. Will be to whom

  to oboronit a knesinka and without...

  - Awake the brother, - the Wolfhound told. - Madam for some reason calls me.

  The tent which repl
aced a color spacious tent was very small.

  Hardly the knesinka had enough place and still to the nurse. The wolfhound raised

  entrance curtain and, bending down, stepped a knee into a leather floor, near

  untouched starukhiny bed. Embroidered, klyuchinsky work, internal

  the curtain was lowered, but by the unbent corner light ray got.

  - Called, madam? - he called quietly. Knesinka hesitated with

  answer...

  - Go here, - was heard at last.

  On a master's half during a lodging for the night of veins was only once. When

  it was necessary to pull out a knesinka from under predatory arrows. Wolfhound

  frowned, pulled together boots from legs and dived under a dense curtain.

  Knesinka Elen sat on felts, having drawn in legs and to a chin

  having muffled in a raincoat. A flame of the small svetilnichk burning before it

  it was swept up from the movement of air. To become straight under a holstinny ceiling was

  it is impossible, and the Wolfhound kneeled against a knesinka. Spark

  threw strange patches of light on her face, lighting it from below. The wolfhound lowered

  look. Impolitely long to look fool in the face to the one to whom you serve.

  Knesinka all was silent, and was felt that to her the farther, the more difficultly

  to start talking. Then she made over herself visible effort and whispered,

  as if plunged from break into the deep dark water:

  - I know everything about you. Gray Dog. The wolfhound shuddered, threw up eyes,

  again hung the head and answered nothing.

  - There will arrive my groom soon, - it continued still very quietly,

  that even brothers Dashing did not hear. - I know who is he to you, the Wolfhound...

  Veins already managed to collect the thoughts. And deafly answered:

  - It does not matter, madam. Knesinka threw back the head, but

  tears after all were shed from eyes.

  - For me - has, - it is squeezed she whispered. - I want that you

  left. Right now. So far people did not get up... - Tears smothered her,

  rolled down cheeks, leaving wide wet strips, but it is them

  for some reason did not wipe. - I with the letter will send you... to the father... Serka

  you will take and still a horse on change... I love you, the Wolfhound...