Chilled exorcist - стр. 24

The young man glanced back without anyone noticing, not even the boys standing next to him. There was a sloping path down to the lower gate. Not so long ago an Order novice had used it to bring them to this inhospitable place, and now stood to the right, smiling. He himself would be leaving soon enough, when the initiation into the guardians of the foothills was complete.

Mute cliffs towered around them, and the ground drew heat rather than warmth. Snow swirled near his feet, blown in from all directions. It was so cold around that I could even feel the wind blowing the warmed air from the other men in the formation toward me.

I stood straight. And in front of me was the passage to the inner rooms, here ahead of me lit a torch. Too late to think of escape. The torch illuminated the darkening vault of the passage in front of me. One of the boys on the right exhaled, as if he thought it would be over now. Maybe it would be, because not everyone comes to their senses after merging with a fortress keeper. The thoughts began their dance around the circle again, they were in a round dance, constantly reminding him of this. Now the old man would come. Or, right now, his gaunt figure would appear behind this or that novice of the Order.

The bitter cold seemed to intensify. I couldn't feel my feet and I couldn't look at them. They must be all blue by now. I have to stay focused. I must stand straight. Those are the orders of the order's novice.

There was a procession coming out ahead. It went on and on. Ministers in long robes with candles. The novices with vessels and scented oils. Men with blessed weapons. Order adherents with clean new robes.... They were all coming out, and there was absolutely no expression on their faces.

Suddenly, a gaunt old man suddenly appeared from behind.

"Well, weren't you expecting it?" he asked. One of the novices wet himself on the spot, right under himself, like a horse in a stall. The other ran. Silently. Because Order novices don't yell. But I heard his body fall, pierced by bolts. I glanced up, the guards on the wall were reloading their weapons. I thought to myself, "He was the third one who couldn't get away. Couldn't escape."

The old man laughed. He walked between us and spoke, "Should I choose you? Or you?"

The Ancient Guardian did not point his finger, as he should have, but amused himself with us. He bent down and hovered in front of each one's face. Suddenly the fear was gone, replaced by anger. My knuckles crunched from that unpleasant memory, so hard I clenched my spear.

"Don't move," I told myself.

There had been two yesterday, but the order's novice had let it slip that they hadn't run far.

The old man's long beard flashed in front of my face. The old man froze in front of me and, leaning toward me, asked almost in a whisper:

"Should I choose you?"

I did not express any emotion. He stopped smiling and hesitated, "Aren't you afraid of me?"

He looked puzzled. He straightened up and looked behind me.

"Really, you're not afraid of me?"

I didn't move, "You can't."

"Then I'll show myself to you." His figure melted away. It was an obsession. And, oh, the horror of what I saw! At that very moment four novices carried out the withered mummy of an old man with his unnatural body parts bandaged around the poles. Huge wooden poles, smaller and smaller sticks. Like a rack, an endless torture. "Relentless guard," a mysterious whisper suggested, its voice seeming to echo from everywhere. Bandaged in the most ghastly of forms were hands to a tree. One finger to one side, the other to the other. One of his hands was free, but he didn't need to lift it – I met his gaze. His clouded faded eyes opened. "Is he really still alive!" An unexpected conjecture struck me. "Withered, but still alive," the space around me said benevolently.....