Revive a crumbling empire? Easily! Find a common language with the gods? As easy as pie. Bring back the lost dragons? It's even easier ... Unless you have to pay a hefty price for it. Valentin Golovlev, a typical "hit" and cheerful "adventurer", pays without hesitation. For people to have the right to decide their own destiny. For the clouds to dissipate and the sun to shine over the world of Eternal Rain. For bringing together your once broken life.

A series: Draconic Catharsis

* * *

company liters.

Part two

Evil Trimurra Colors

Family is sacred

Many days later

Now I know how spring comes to my new world. It is indescribably beautiful, fast and colorful, even in spite of the boring incessant rain, under the supervision of which Gorotur and I, two weeks after parting with my elves, got out of the ridiculous pine-horsetail forest into the expanses of the steppe. True, he did not dare to call the swampy space that had opened a steppe, but it was a side to the harves - the dogs cheerfully chomped their clawed paws through the mud. These scaly do not care about the weather. The smart dogs found their own food at night, and during the day they carried us on their backs farther south.

The flowering season found us just three days' journey to the Forest Sea, according to the tour. Huge flowers with gentle stars began to swing open under streams of rain, washing themselves with moisture and filling the world with intoxicating aromas. They came in all sorts of shapes and colors - from turquoise to pale pink. Observing all this, I was amazed at how spring transformed the grayness of endless expanses. It was as if we were floating in a violent kaleidoscope of colors under a gray sky.

At the end of the third week of the journey, when there was nothing left to the border of the jungle, Gorotur, at a halt, habitually drained all my strength out of me, trying to teach me how to hold a sword. But all his noble impulses to teach the morkot to kill in time were lost in vain. Tour roared with frustration, shrugged his shoulders, and we climbed under a small leather awning stretched in the depths of a ravine. The stunted fire was barely able to warm up the pot of water. We pouted in fragrant herbal tea and fell asleep, not giving a damn about what they might find us - we were still in the territory of the elven kingdom, and Tris's credential did not even get wet during the journey. How many times have we already had to poke it under the noses of vigilant patrols, guards of gates of small settlements, guards on the roads. And all these days I thanked Providence for the fact that I decided to take the tour with me, and not anyone else. If it were not for him, I suspect that I would not even have left the domain of Chantal: lovers hungry for my flesh and lovers of free energy would have come running. A dozen especially zealous Goroturu even had to hide in ditches and roadside thickets until the best times of awakening after meeting his monstrous fists.

During the journey, I learned a lot about my companion. Every evening the horned warrior entertained not so much me as himself with tales from his own long life as a mercenary. Some I even believed a little. Then he painted his service with the nagas, when he had to thoroughly work with axes in the Armagelo arena. Then he secretly talked about how he had visited the orcs, almost in the palace of the king. Then he poured about trips to Yggdraheim, to the lands of the northern giants, for frosty gold, so valued by magicians of the entire continent for its energy intensity. In general, Gorotur's life turned out to be rich and eventful. And the most amazing thing is that, according to the tour, his family lived in Sanaan, the capital of Lamar, that is, parents, several brothers and sisters, a wife and three children with their families.

He told me about the strange traditions of the middle and southern peoples of Kavan. The horned furiously dismissed the presence of anything of the kind among the Jotuns, Orcs and Turs. According to him, the institution of marriage among the elves is a real disaster, among the nagas it is a nightmare, and among the inhabitants of the Forest Sea it is the most terrible horror. Listening to these stories along the way, I noticed to myself that the horror story is gaining momentum with the increasing distance from Gorotura's homeland - this was worth taking into account. But even if we discard half of what was told as a fiction, the remaining was enough for me to think hard about my place in this two-moon world.

Among the elves, as many as four enter into one marriage - two husbands and two wives. It is believed that then all four Powers are represented in the house. The head, she is the eldest wife, personifies Chthon, she is the lord of life, the mother of offspring. The younger wife, sometimes the first younger husband, embodies Livitz - the source of magic, thanks to her the family is strong and close-knit, she is their favorite and their darling. The inner, or elder, husband is generally a song! The owner, the image of Medos, the ruler of the hearth, he decides when and how many children there will be, through his efforts the house is kept from the inside. And the external, or younger, husband, and sometimes the wife, is essentially a powerless being. He is the incarnate Khtolim, the spender, the money vacuum cleaner in the family, the brilliant thing that gives everyone a headache in the house. But he is also his face. And to drop your face at home is like death. Imagining how many problems elves have when it comes time to start a family, I felt that I already felt sick. The Horned One just laughed at me and explained that the elves would instantly recognize when someone from their future Family was nearby. Each of them is like a light for the rest of the moths. They won't pass by.

It was in this conversation that I learned that the local elves do not live so long, by the standards of Kavan. They are even called short-lived. Of course, in terms of tours that can last a couple of thousand years, some seven or nine hundred years - so, ugh ... Orcs, on the other hand, live up to about one and a half thousand years. And jotuns can creak up to five thousand - probably natural cryogenics, there are all kinds of ice, frosts and snowstorms affect. Nagas - they live a little less than elves: only a couple of hundred years. To my question, how, then, there was no global overpopulation with such a life span, the warrior and scoffer Gorotur struck me with a powerful maxim - that is why peoples have so many conventions with families. The same elves can collect their family for more than one hundred years. And they can have children only in a complete family, and nothing else.

For nagas with wives and children, everything is simpler, but also much more cruel. This race is so militant and aggressive in its isolation that in constant skirmishes and fights, the vast majority of young nagas do not even live up to two hundred years. Only a strong, intelligent and dexterous nude can survive adolescence. When a naga turns four hundred years old, he becomes capable of making children, not before. This is their coming of age, after which the naga captures as many wives into their harem as they can afford to feed. Prior to that, these loving half-snakes lead a very unbridled life, having everything that moves, including other males of their people, and neighbors too. And there the kids are already spawning. The race, according to the tour, is very fertile, while the nagas also lead a cruel selective selection of offspring. "Aphid, Sparta" - only I could deduce from all that was said.

The easiest thing is with jotuns - they are monogamous to the point of indecency. The giant, having met a couple, will never look to the side again. And life is harsh - they often die ... In short, they have a hard time with children, and they cherish the offspring more than all the treasures of the world. Do you want to start a global carnage on the continent? Go to Yggdraheim and cut a couple of two-meter deadly lyaleks ... Kavan will drown in blood when the giants take the path of revenge.

Gorotur was reluctant to talk about the orcs. Pulling the details out of it, I understood why. These aesthetes generally do not recognize carnal contacts as such. And they are the only race on the continent that has managed to fulfill the dream of all adherents of one-sided relations. They create children in something that is essentially a cloning machine. The biomaterial of the parents is taken, something like a cocoon is created, and then the parents fill this vessel with energy at the very least and wait for the child to hatch. No matter how hard other peoples try to steal the secret of this procreation, no one has succeeded for many hundreds of years.

The immense darkness around me was not going to give way to my vision, and I continued to recall the details of our journey, whiling away the time until the term named by the guards.

With vampires, too, not thank the gods, as it turned out. Although I really hoped for them very strongly in terms of the tradition of family and marriage. In fangs, as many as three degrees of kinship in generations are observed. First of all, these are converts - those who are abandoned by vampires without having finished, so to speak (they, however, rarely do this, very thrifty and solid creatures in food). Once a vampire has a convert, he becomes a full member of the family, well, almost ... Until the vampire couple makes their own child, so to speak. Moreover, the blood heir or heiress with age corny destroys the converts. But even those are not bastards - they sense the imminent coming of the blood and try to dump as far as possible by that moment or even beat the mother along with her offspring in her charmingly pale belly. That's really a viper so a kobryatnik. This is not potatoes, to fry firewood ... With the third degree of kinship of generations, vampires are generally all vague. According to Gorotur, they are called emanates. And these very emanates are those who are usually called the highest vampires, or nosferatu. Where they come from - hell knows (quote from the tour), but they are the founders of the new vampire Houses. Or the real heirs of the existing ones. And the nastiest thing about them is that it's almost impossible to kill.

To my timid question about whether there are gekhai everywhere, mindful of the naga and his toy, the tour sadly replied that the eared scoundrels also sell them! So on Cavan, there are already dozens, if not hundreds, of those seized in all corners.

All this talk about this and that continued all the way. From day to day, bit by bit, information settled in my head. The turn came to questioning about the inhabitants of the Forest Sea, which the tour called more than once the Abyss of the World. I could not get an explanation from him, but I found out something about the races that inhabit this southern jungle. In my head it was deposited: "Morkots are the children of the peaks, the harrami are the warriors of the trunks, the pranshasas are the owners of the juices, and the forests are the shadows of the foliage." To all my attempts to get the tour to talk harder, he just laughed and replied that the time would come and I would see everything myself.

Your hole in the hollow and on the stump with your palm ... I saw so I saw! Now, in the dark, the picture that had opened to my eyes that day came to mind with particular vividness.

The steppe was cut off by a sheer wall, smooth and endless. As if some giant with a knife cut off a chunk from the continent. Somewhere below, a dense fog hung, to which, if you really fall, you simply cannot reach - you will grow old earlier. And from this fog trees grew to the sky ... No, not like that. They were TREES !!! Huge in girth so much that terrestrial sequoias and baobabs would seem like reeds next to them. And the branches of these giants created their own real multi-tiered world, in which it is difficult to find order or something similar to it. Some branches reached the edge of the steppe, gnawing into the ground, and were wide roads leading into a wet impenetrable chaos of vines, aerial roots and leaves of all sizes and shapes. Gorotur laughed at me with satisfaction and said then that now I understand why it was the Abyss. One look down was enough for me to realize that the impossible is possible.

Our formidable scaly dogs flatly refused to go forward, to which Gorotur simply set the harves free. I watched the winged dogs run away cheerfully from the Abyss, and longingly wanted to follow their example. But time was running out, and with a tour we moved into the intricacies of the Forest Sea, where I hoped to find my relatives.

And I found it on my own head ... I chuckled to myself in the dark and heard Gorotur grunt next to me. It means that the thug was somewhere in the same place, in the darkness.

On the third day of the hardest journey through the jungle hanging over the Abyss, we were caught. Yes, how hurtful it was done, I didn't want to swear - I felt such an idiot. Those who caught us in tight webs of material suspiciously like spider webs looked almost like me. Unless the patla are red, the claws are scarlet and will be shorter. Carrots in person. The red branch of Trimurra, as the serene stag explained. I already felt better, you will not believe ... After I tried to punch in the insolent face of the minotaur. So he drove on to himself, entangled in a net and with pulsating broken fingers of his right hand.

Now, remembering the strange string bag, I imagined those spiders that squeezed out of themselves such thick threads. Suddenly I felt sick, and cold sweat broke out on my back. In the humid heat of the dungeon, even this nervous coolness caused an attack of pleasure. Here it is - the power of contrasts. I remembered a conversation with the prince of red morkots, in front of whose bright eyes we were brought in a couple of hours after the capture. The conversation was informative and very short ...

- I wonder if they are herbivores or predators?

Good question ... The main thing is on time. And then my thoughts crept in an unnecessary direction. I have never considered myself a Puritan, and I never was. For some reason, again, for the umpteenth time in three weeks, I remembered the soft fluffy hair of a gorgeous purple color and evil blue eyes. A wave of stringy irritation rose in his chest, forcing him to grit his teeth. It's how she pissed me off, petite countess, that doesn't go out of my head! Somewhere in the darkness, angry voices were heard. A tree creaked, the darkness trembled, and the gray light of a rainy day struck in the eyes, blinding no worse than the desert sun.

Gods don't give easy ways

The prince of red morkots looked shriveled and very ancient. His white shoulders, peeking out from under a green tunic, were covered with an intricate tattoo, reaching almost to the wrists. Watery eyes with dim eyes, once gray in color, looked with interest at us, once again presented to the dugout throne, made of some kind of gnarled stump, older than mammoths, if any had ever lived here. The sinewy warriors in the number of five, who took us out of the dungeon, were sternly silent behind our backs with a round (which is a shame: four grazed the back of the horned one, and mine - only one). On a very large area among the lianas and branches, carved out on a huge branch of a tree giant, dozens of red-haired people gathered, tuned up quite aggressively, but at the same time did not make a sound.

The old man abruptly got up from the throne, and someone close to the person handed him a thing that looked very much like a boomerang. True, the edges of the contraption were suspiciously moving with a multitude of short, thin tentacles. And something told me that it was not worth touching the projectile. The prince, still quite lively in comparison with his own appearance, came up to me and said:

- Yesterday you told me that you were looking for relatives, strange morkot. But in the possession of our people there are no people like you.

I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing how to answer this. The old man continued:

“This was one of the reasons that you two ended up in our prison. Troubled times have come in the Forest Sea of ​​Kavanagh. From his heart stretch the tentacles of the old world, sung by dragons. And we, the leaders of Trimurra, do not like his song, flowing through the weaving of the forest. Yesterday, when I saw you, I decided that the sky had collapsed to the ground, and the dragon's bones were overgrown with flesh that poisoned the heavenly world with its poison. People like you have nowhere to come under the moons. And do you know why?

“I don’t know, ankh,” I said.

The prince frowned and said:

“Don't you dare call me that ancient word, alien from the plain above the wall. Our people had only one ankh - the king of black morkots, which you are somewhat similar to. But already seven hundred years have passed since the days when the passion of the Dragon Catharsis devoured this tribe of madmen and murderers. Today you saw the last morning in your life, unless Askalai, parent of fathers, speaks his protective word. We sent for it yesterday, and it arrived at sunrise, covered with a weeping blanket of sky.

I moved my hands, tied behind my back with the same cobweb. The cutting threads dug even deeper into the skin, almost making me bite my lips. Gorotur, who stood beside an imperturbable idol, snorted and grumbled:

- You have lost the last mind in these centuries, red. We are simple travelers who came to find the relatives of this dark-haired man.

The prince grimaced and said, addressing the crowd around us:

- It's time for Askalay to have his say. And may the Abyss be merciful to you, strangers, may it condescend death to you before you fall to the very bottom of the Forest Sea.

A wave of movement swept through the boats, they parted, and something horrible slowly crept into the place of execution. The creature had, in addition to decrepit gnarled legs, four gnarled arms. The head resembled an inverted tree stump with three eyes burning with rotten greenery. The creature's skin was definitely wrinkled, off-yellow bark. A real hollow gaped in the creature's torso, from which there was a deep hum, which could be emitted by a swarm of wild bees. The creature stopped five paces from me, and a buzzing voice sounded around the square:

- I feel ... I feel the constrained strength that breaks free in the thirst for flight ...

- It says ... - echoed through the crowd of morkots.

“Trimurra will soon see the light,” the creature hummed through the rising hubbub. - And the red light will spread over the branches of our house. And the blue breath will bring the forest together. And white blood will nourish old wounds.

Askalai fell silent for a minute, which the prince immediately took advantage of. Depicting servility, the red-haired old man almost spread over a hewn tree in front of a living snag and said:

- Please, parent of fathers! Decide the fate of these two Forest Sea trespassers. And may your will help your people to gain knowledge.

The arm-branch of the asexual creature swiftly fell on the back of the old man, which made him howl in a bad voice, jumped to his feet and hissed, not daring to express himself in any more concrete way. The morkots around were silent in amazement, and Askalai hummed:

- Peace is only a mortal dream, from which it is time to awaken. The three clans will wake up, and the black veil of fullness will rise. Let go, son, of this black morkot. Let him return to the bosom of the family. Do not bother him, otherwise sleep will become death.

I listened to all this with growing interest. It was very much like some kind of prophecy, into which we with the tour managed to plunge into a measured step. The prince bowed his head respectfully and froze with a tense idol. Askalai stepped in my direction and poked the unfortunate me with a knot-finger with the words:

- Satisfy the red thirst, direct the blue passion, subdue the white love. Connect the Trimurra into one, black, and she will show you the way to home.

I noticed how the ruler of the red morkots straightened up and stared at the forest scarecrow, which fell silent, continuing to quietly buzz with its belly. After a couple of seconds of silence and immobility, the prince said in a deaf voice:

- So, so be it, parent of fathers. Your will is sacred.

The driftwood's eyes went out, and the creature blurted out onto the hewn tree of the square, spreading out its roots-legs. A real swarm of strange golden insects burst out of the hollow like a sparkling cloud. They circled over the frozen body of Askalai, and then calmly rushed into the green heights, filled with mosses and fog. The prince waved his hand, and several warriors casually kicked a lifeless snag somewhere behind the crowded morkots. The ruler returned to his throne and said, looking thoughtfully at Gorotur and me:

- The will of the parent of fathers is clear and simple. Free them.

The jailers quickly removed the cobwebs from our hands and took their places at the throne, not even thinking of leaving our grandfather without moral support, and if necessary, even physical. The prince chuckled, waited until we rub our hands with a tour, dispersing the blood, and then said:

“My tribe calls me Erkirro. You call that too.

- And it's all? - I asked, looking around.

“Of course not,” the governor replied. - Askalai gave you a chance, black. A chance to prove that you are the one in whose veins the true blood of the royal tribe of the Morkoths flows. Collect Trimurra, alien, and then you will find your way to your relatives, the black morkotts. If you are really one of them, then Trimurra will obey you and open the way to the Heart of the Abyss, to the ancient capital of the Forest Sea, where you will find the answers you need to all your questions. But remember, Dreamwalkers, guardians of the fragments of Trimurr, in our three tribes do not exist to simply give the Trimurr to the first person they meet.

- That is? - I was puzzled. - I need to somehow scratch out pieces of something from some Walkers, connect them - and I will be happy, or what?

“You’re speaking strangely, black. But the truth speaks through your lips, - the old prince narrowed his eyes. - If you do this, you will achieve the goal.

Listening to the ruler, I watched the morkots disappear among the thickets - the entertainment was over, there would be no execution, what else to do? That's right, to return to pressing matters - to plant a mother-in-law there, build a wife, give birth to a son. Soon only the prince and his guards remained on the square. Still, here, inside the delicate weaving of branches and other greenery, there was an obvious advantage over open space - the raindrops simply did not reach us through the countless tiers of woven tree crowns. I have even managed to get out of the habit of feeling more or less dry skin. And the clothes in the prison had time to dry. The ruler of the red branch of the morkots gave a command, and we, accompanied by guards, moved along the giant branch somewhere in the direction of the trunk of a huge tree.

After three hours of endless tiring paths along an amazing road among a foggy forest, we came to a real city built on many sites built around an impenetrable trunk. Earth experience gave me an analogy - in an old film about wars among the stars and laser swords, hairy heroic bears lived in about the same village. Only the scale did not grow together in any way. The city of Morkots has planted a sensation of amazing delight in the soul with its delicate bridges, wooden houses in the form of towers and huts, balls of different colors glowing, illuminating the space with enchanting glare on rags of fog. And all this spread over many levels, on which the red-haired people were bustling about their business. We were led over an avenue wide suspension bridge that led to a huge house adhered to the trunk itself. Obviously, this was the local analogue of the palace. Halfway there, Erkirro stopped, smiled mockingly in my face and said:

“Today you will be guests of the red branch, aliens. My Dreamwalker has already prepared a proper meeting for you.

His look became meaningful, as if something unpleasant and responsible awaited me. It seems that now there will be the first test to prove that I have the right to walk here alive and vigorous, and not fly somewhere into the depths of the Abyss, in which the trees of this Forest were born. Well, my dear and distant shitsu, maybe soon you will be free. I again imagined the entire depth of a possible fall, and a literal one, swallowed, received an encouraging jab from the tour (almost flying off the bridge) and followed the prince into the luminous rectangle of the large gate of the building. Mom, give birth to me back!

Forest's red thirst

The table in the house of Prince Erkirro was like a song. A ballad in honor of an empty stomach. On this wonderful day, the local gods sent us a lot of mind-blowing food of an insanely varied shape and color, fried, boiled and grated, spicy and sour, salty and bitter ... But, rain take me, there was not a single gram of meat on the table! Gorotur's worst guess came true - morkots turned out to be herbivores. My unfortunate relatives were horrified at the mere hint of a piece of meat. Their gazes threw lightning bolts of indignation and horror. Only one of those who, apart from us with the tour, sat at the table, remained unperturbed and benevolent. Well, the profession helped him to cope with the shock.

The dreamwalker of the Red Morkot tribe looked like a real dandy against the rest. And only business - he wore red trousers and a shirt. Civilized, however, the subject. For a minute, after listening to the growing murmur at the table of those angry with my innocent question about the daily flesh, the Walker gave a signal to the scowling prince, to which he barked loudly, attracting the attention of his household:

- Silence!

The relatives and those invited to the table instantly swallowed their tongues, and the Walker smiled benevolently at me, straightened a lock of red hair that had strayed over his nose, and said:

“Our long-lost relatives, the black branch of the Trimurra, were very fond of meat. And they never disdained the bloody hunt on the branches of canyans, children of the Abyss. Please calm down, and let's pay tribute to the gifts of the Forest.

Silence at the table was replaced by champing and crackling of fruits, at first sluggish, but after a couple of minutes vigorous and savory. Still, life in nature does not give a chance to experience that satiety, from which the saying about two dumplings in my home world was born. Nibbling on a delicious likeness of corn, a wonderful cyanotic color and sweet to sugar on the lips, I got a good look at the type who was ready to test me for lice. Nothing like that, sophisticated and calm, tattoos on the shoulders, however, not as large as those of the prince, but also quite noticeable. Probably, these are some kind of status signs, you will need to ask someone on occasion.

The walker noticed my interest and with a smile pointed to one of the wooden dishes on the table, in which some fluffy orange-colored fruits lay in a heap. Without thinking twice, I snatched one, sniffed and with surprise caught the familiar smell. So in my homeland smelled raisins, a taiga liana fruit, a distant relative of the tropical kiwi. With anticipation of pleasure, my mouth filled with saliva, and I greedily devoured the orange delicacy, then another and another. The tongue tingled familiarly, but in my head it was even strangely clouded, a little like that. I looked at the Walker in surprise and asked:

- Ut ahoysa whimsical?

What kind of heresy? The tongue refused to obey. Definitely a drug! The banquet hall floated around somewhere, covered with a reddish fog. Gorotur's huge eyes stared at me in amazement, filled with cold anger, and the world collapsed into nothingness.

Okay, just for a little while. After a moment, it was as if the lights were on. I found myself in a strange room with wooden walls and other things, which suggested a huge hollow with no exit. The yellow light was given by numerous rotten spots on the walls. Apart from me, there were three more. In one of them, I was shocked to recognize the young vampire with whom fate brought me a month ago. What was his name there? Tenzio ... He stood motionless, only his chest heaved as if each breath was difficult for the fangstick. I wonder what the hell is he without his black shirt? And no pants? And in general, what was happening instantly brushed off my usual sarcastic attitude to life. My gaze shifted to other neighbors in the hollow. An old human woman was firmly chained to the pillars like torture Indian totems, and the old human woman was tightly chained with chains of white metal ...

- You?! What are you doing here? You must be in Sanaan!

The fully naked elf slowly raised her head and stared at me with blue eyes full of pain and hope. Roderia made no sound in response, only drooped again. I swallowed and stared at the woman with a sinking heart. She was wearing an old, worn robe, painted with oriental dragons, and in general there was something painfully familiar about her. My heart beat once, twice, three times, and it was beaten. It just couldn't be! I ran up to her and shouted in horror:

- Mama! What's the matter?!

My own aged mother looked at me with a look full of warm love, barely perceptibly smiled with cracked lips, but she also said nothing. The cold void in his chest stirred like a smooth, deadly snake. I turned to the vampire and asked:

- What does it mean?

Tenzio curled his thin lips in an icy grin and said:

- Take your pick, kid.

- Which of them die? Who is more dear to you, firefly?

Tenzio threw up his head and froze, while I trembled with fear. Not for myself, but for those two. So that some blood-sucking scum would dare to touch my mother ?! And to the strange purple-haired piglet that has become something like an obsession in recent weeks? The vampire smiled mockingly and said:

- Who will satisfy my red thirst, hehay? You decided?

The bloodsucker, dazzlingly white in his nakedness, lazily ran his hand through the black hair that cascaded down his body, pushing it behind his back, after which the fingers on his hands burst with bloody wounds, releasing long pearl claws into the light. Tenzio smiled even wider, showing two pairs of sharp fangs. I thought feverishly. So red thirst ... Is that what the snag creature was talking about? By my choice, should I satisfy the need of this scum? Come on! Anger in a boiling wave swept from heels to crown, splashing predatory joy into his head. The fingers on my hands instantly became longer by ten centimeter black stings, shimmering in the yellow light with the flashes of the dark sun. And the mind turned off, shifted to the margins by rapidly growing back fangs.

Does food dare to set conditions? My whole being was filled with the joyful surprise of the ruler, who found an unknown animal at his side. Has this food completely lost its instinct for self-preservation? So we need to punish her. In the head, the polyphony of the ancestors rumbled with the old truth:

- Morkot-ankh surmar kelenazash sorramar asku!

The king is the shield of his kingdom. And those two were my kingdom here and now. An old female of an unknown people and a young sharp-eared, impudent and angry, but also mine. Mine to the very last thoughts and desires - so the marks on her neck said. The vampire shifted, intent on bypassing me and reaching the objects of his lust. He moved infinitely slowly, and I considered it possible to block his way with the words:

- I chose.

Tenzio stopped and stared at me with interest, asking with a glance: who? I spread my hands in a picturesque way:

- I chose you, dear. And the thirst is only mine.

The vampire lunged forward, attacking with all speed. The feeling of superiority filled me with burning poison. Slipping towards the vampire, I stepped slightly to the right, dodging the greedy claws of the bloodsucker, and without any unnecessary gestures, thrust the claws of my left hand into his stomach. With a twist, as someone taught me in the strange dream world, where this strange old female came from. With a full twist in the liver region. Tenzio seemed to hit the wall, trying to make at least one sound with his mouth wide open, but he failed. Crimson blood gushed onto my hand and onto the floor, filling the air with the sour-tart scent of iron. I pulled the unfortunate vampire to me and was about to touch his neck with my fangs when two voices rang out in space:

- No, hey!

- Stop, son!

Gehay? Who dared to call me a slave? Mama? I don’t know this ... I don’t know. His gaze darted to the chained. The elf looked at me with a mixture of anger and pain in her blue eyes, leaning forward until she cracked in her twisted hands. The old female did not twitch anywhere. She just looked at me with kind eyes, in which there was not an ounce of reproach. These eyes ... I knew these eyes once, in another life. Mom ... My left hand slowly left the ghastly wound in the vampire's body, pulling the viscous crimson threads in its wake. Tenzio groaned dully, as if something dear and important had been taken away from him, after which he disintegrated into a cloud of yellow sparks. I went up to the old woman, stroked her cheek and whispered:

- Mom, go home. I'm fine, honest.

The woman smiled again and disappeared in a splash of the same lights. And then it was Roderia's turn. The old-fashioned metropolitan beauty hung relaxed on a chain. There was no more anger in the blue eyes. She was replaced by a strange shyness and fear, as if she was afraid that I was about to come up and do something wrong. I was only enough for one question:

- Why are you stalking me, shitsu?

The world around has turned black again. And then he threw him back on the hard floor. The steady white light from the magic balls under the ceiling of the familiar banquet hall struck my eyes. I was lying on the floor, and curious carrots crowded around. Seeing that I had come to my senses, they quickly dispersed, revealing a curious picture to my gaze. Mighty Tour gently hugged the limp Dreamwalker, saying something like:

- Now you will come to your senses, and we will continue our conversation. Why did you turn out to be so slender? Yes, wake up.

In the next five minutes, two things happened that gave me new food for thought. As soon as I realized that I was just having a strange dream, and got to my feet, a calm prince caught my eye, and I took such anger that in my hearts I mentally wished him five women at once, so that everyone had a character - oh-oh th ... Erkirro at the same second flushed and sweated, as if his temperature had jumped. The prince's eyes lost meaningfulness, he began to twitch and fidget in his chair, moaning in a drawn-out manner. The roar of the tour was the answer to what was happening. The dream-walker, having materialized in my line of sight, slapped a resounding slap in the face with a furious pull, which echoed with a wild ringing in his head. Erkirro, frightened by the wild goat, disappeared from the hall, while I stared at the Walker in complete bewilderment. He said with a constant smile:

“Now you have to be careful, Morkot Ankh. Your strength is awakening.

- From now on, watch your desires, black. Fantasies have a habit of waking dreams, you know.

I swallowed and asked:

- What happened to me?

“You just satisfied the red thirst, morkot-ankh. Look at your left hand.

The round ligature of strange signs adorned my palm with a scarlet spot - the look could not deceive, because the mark slightly itched and beckoned to scratch her on something hard. The walker nodded contentedly and said:

“The red branch of Trimurra recognized you, black. Yes, and Marrash affected you in such a way that I no longer have any doubts - you are really who you say you are. These fruits only intoxicate your tribe.

I opened my mouth, intending to dump my sleep on him, but this morkot unexpectedly coldly shut up my fountain of eloquence:

“These are your visions. Your dream. Do not tell anyone about what you experienced in the red house.

Does he read thoughts? The walker laughed and said:

- You're just a child. Every thought is read on the face. By the will of Askalai, your path now lies in the house of blue morkots. And now I suggest you rest and start your journey tomorrow. Until the blue three days to walk along the heavenly roads. It's dangerous, you need to gain strength.

Somehow there was no desire to be sneering. What was happening around me more and more reminded me of a bad dream about a stormy mountain stream, where I was just a sliver, carried forward and had no strength to resist. Not yet. And how long is the chip?

I looked again at the red mark on my palm. A new firm thought emerged in my head - the time will come and I will free myself from this stream, and it will already become an obedient toy in my hands. And then my red thirst will really be completely satisfied. The memory filled my mind with the ringing ice of hatred.

"Know your place, hey!"

The unfortunate teenage girl stumbled awkwardly, squeaked something, and collapsed right onto the naga's tail. He silently waved his hand with flashing long claws, causing the small one to crash into the wall of the carriage, filling with blood.

The time will come and everything will fall into place. So it should be, and so it will be.

Blue passion of rain

The next three days were spent in the monotonous overcoming of vines, branches and other obstacles on the road to the settlement of my blue relatives. These days and nights were filled with terrible cries of invisible creatures, stuffiness and smells of flowers. A couple of times we were reminded that somewhere higher, above the forest's crown, the endless rain continues to fall. One day, a hefty, invisible in the dense thickets, a predator swept over us, driving somewhere a flock of noisy monkeys or bats. And this beast did not fit into the turn, kissing a thick branch. Even we, who were well below the chase, felt the tremor from the blow. And then a waterfall collapsed from above. Water fell from the leaves, accumulating in peace for many days. Our companions with the tour, a dozen red morkots, immediately became like a flock of wet cats, hissing and cursing no worse than the market traders. The second reminder was the river. Hearing the sound of the water, I could not believe my ears. And when he saw the source of the noise after a couple of minutes, he froze in place with his mouth open. In one place, the vines intertwined so tightly that they created a real channel for the water flowing down from above. Even an hour after crossing the thin wicker bridge, I looked around, trying to realize all the greatness of the strange world into which fate had thrown me.

When on the fourth day of the journey we entered the possession of the blue tribe, our guides breathed a sigh of relief in chorus. One of the warriors explained with a smile that it was only thanks to the gods that our path to the blue passed calmly and without attacks from the inhabitants of the jungle. As expected, the new congeners differed from the others in their hair and nail color. Two dozen guards of the border of the inhabited territory cheerfully escorted us to the woody town, like two drops of water similar to the settlement of the Reds.

Then there were meetings, conversations, the solemn transmission of the message of the prince of the red to the leader of the blue. After the inevitable feast and a lot of new acquaintances, we were escorted to a very distant house of the local Dream Walker, where we were safely left in the care of a servant, either a shaman or a healer.

I recalled all this, sitting on a hard pillow in the middle of a wicker carpet spread in the main hall of Asmirea's hut, as the Walker was called, showing much more politeness than her fellow craft from the city of red morkots. While my thoughts wandered languidly in the area of ​​the completed journey, I looked at the hostess of the house and the situation. Blue carrots with hairstyles reminded me of punks. The one sitting in front of me did not differ from her fellow tribesmen - her long blue hair was shaved off at her temples, the rest resembled a mohawk that had not been cut for a long time. Blue shorts and a flimsy tank top accentuated the contours of a lithe, slender body, dried by wild life in the jungle. The blue eyes of the Walker with contented sparks in the depths of the pupils looked at me from a thin face. The priestess of Trimurra, the keeper of laws and foundations, was also the owner of a sickly tattoo on her shoulders, like the leaders and the red Walker met before.

Asmireya averted her gaze, glancing casually at Gorotur, who was nibbling on a local resemblance of seeds - round red pieces with the scent of herring. Tour ignored what was happening in the house. I even felt jealous for a couple of moments - that's who had no problems at all. The walker sighed and said in a honeyed voice:

- What a pity that you do not want to get to know each other better. The strength that you are able to give blows from you.

Our dialogue-dispute lasted for a couple of hours. The walker declared at first sight that she wanted to surrender herself to me right here and right away. This straightforwardness was somewhat unsettled, but I did not blunder, pacified the surging hormones and answered with a categorical refusal. After that, the Walker began to persuade. It was something with something! So I was never bred anywhere ... And it really became really unexpected. I managed to get used to the idea that in this world I was doomed to be an object of desire, and not a lust. From the emerging prospect of being alone with the little blue savage in my stomach, the thoughts of a real enthusiast of field tests were spinning. But at the same time, part of me firmly knew that in no case should this be allowed, that then it would be very bad for me. At least for the time being. And with such a cocktail of desires and fears, I never gave up. The walker was disappointed, but not much. She sighed and said, getting up from the mat:

- Okay, your will, guest. Come on, I'll show you my family.

But this was already something new. The Red Walker did not give a single word to her that he had relatives. I got up after the blue one, pulled on the cherished shorts, which the servant had slipped in the house of the local prince yesterday instead of old, frayed clothes, and we went on an excursion, although I was tempted to ask when there would be a conversation about the case - about the trial of the Blue Branch. The tour purposefully followed us, causing the blue-haired punk beauty to grumble. However, the horned one did not pay any attention to this.

Soon, behind another wicker door, a picture opened to my eyes, making me sweat and tense. Several young, even young, Morkots of both sexes shamelessly indulged in measured debauchery on bright mats, from the sight of which my insides shrank into a ball of insistent desire to join. One couple immediately caught my attention. Flexible bodies glistening with sweat intertwined right on the floor, making languid sounds. The air of the room was filled with the sweet smells of oils, mixed with the tart aromas of hot bodies and long sex ...

My roof, yearning for all these sensations and emotions for many weeks, was led to the side. The walker with a quiet laugh pressed herself to me and whispered:

- Did you really think to remain stone, black? After all, you yourself do not notice how you are driving those who are close to you crazy ... This must be corrected.

Her hands slid over the skin, leaving a trail of burning touches, as if I had fallen into the interweaving of the delicate tentacles of a sea flower - anemone anemone. The air thickened to the density of water, became viscous and hot. As if in a fog, I found myself on the floor, pressed against the burning body of the priestess. Blue slid her lips over my chest, running her fingers through my hair, saturating my head with the electricity of passion. The greedy touch of dry lips made the body flutter and contract, arching towards the caress. And then the madness began ... Not a blue pleasure, but some other, indescribable one. The world spun in overwhelming ecstasy, closed in dense fire on every part of the body. A strange glowing energy began to gather into a bright supernova somewhere down there, where all the streams of feelings and desires converged. And then a voice whispered from afar:

- Black bastard ... Why are you doing me bad? For what?

It was so different from what was happening that I came to my senses for a moment and removed the blue-haired one from me. The priestess lifted her head and stared at me with strangely expectant eyes. As if the Walker was preparing for something. I turned my head, dumbfounded, in search of the one who intervened in the process. The energy flew away from me in an explosion of thin beams that rushed in search. And then I saw the whole world at a glance. He floated in the glow of white space, strewn with black stars and galaxies. Three continents, but only one was fogged with a transparent rainbow ... The rainbow pulled towards itself faster and faster. A violet blade of light passed through me in a searing wave. One time, two, three. And each time the continent got closer. My gaze rested on a huge forest that had cut through the southern mainland with a scimitar. On the one hand, the bottomless jungle was kept by the steppe, and on the other, an incredibly high mountain range separating the Forest from the bubbling black ocean. The dark blue glimmer of the call pulled me away, to the north, to the two inland seas, on the shore of one of which stood a fabulously beautiful city, dim and gray in the veil of the suffocating eternal downpour. And from there blue eyes looked into my soul, big, full of lively anger. As if frightened by a passionate gaze, with the movement of invisible hands, I cut off the rays of my power, which had time to merge with the violet streams of light. And a painful blow to the head threw him back into the room, where my gaze again met with warm expectation in Asmirea's gaze. The walker smiled, and her mesmerizing voice broke through the ringing in her ears:

- Think, guest. I'm ready to go on, are you ready?

All the fears hovering in my head before, like a cow licked her tongue! I was about to stretch out my hands to the priestess in order to continue close communication, but then I realized: the aromas of the room no longer excite me for a moment. Rather the opposite is true. The excitement subsided without a trace. For some reason, the walker with a very pleased pug nodded and said:

- But you are already attached, kid. You managed to regain one of your wings of loneliness without even noticing it. Congratulations.

The priestess rose to her feet and clapped her hands decisively, interrupting the voluptuous sighs around her, then said in the silence that followed:

“Trimurra greets you, morkot-ankh. From now on, you and only you decide who is worthy of your attention in the streams of merging of bodies and souls. May Askalai bless you with a quick meeting with the second wing. I hope I can see you flying in the clear sky of Kavanagh.

All the morkots in the room, with wild expressions on their dumbfounded faces, bowed deeply. Those who did not have time to get up or even unclenched, just snorted in all directions. And they calmly continued their fascinating lesson. I was still in complete bewilderment somewhere far away. I remembered little Roderia ... A strange sensation appeared in my chest, half-forgotten, warm, tickling the skin from within. Tears in angry blue eyes echoed with a chill - why? What did I want to prove when I punished the freaky girl raised in the high society of the elven court? Why did he subdue the sharp-eared, completely not understanding the reasons for what was happening? Has anyone ever told her that she was doing wrong? Something akin to a feeling of guilt stirred in me. But then he hid behind the thought that this is not a reason to leave dozens, if not hundreds of unfortunate people withdrawn in their sweet illusions. Maybe I was wrong when I tore the energy body of an aristocratic rapist. But in this world there are many more like that tailed bastard. And just for the sake of this it was worth continuing.

I raised my hands up and stared at the palms. The left one pulsed with a red glowing round burn. The right one seemed to be covered with frost, in which the woven triangles turned blue, creating a picture that looked like an hourglass. The Walker's voice tore apart the hanging muslin of nirvana:

“The blue branch of Trimurra has recognized you, black. Tomorrow you will go to the city of the white tribe. If you pass the test there, too, the most difficult of the three, you will learn everything there is to know. And you will find a path to your truth and a path to achieving it.

I heard a drawn-out gasp from a large creature and turned my head towards the source of the sound. Gorotur looked at me with endless relief in his eyes. As if something powerful had ceased to oppress him. As if he no longer has to carry an overwhelming burden. So my seductiveness still got him, or what? The guess hit the head with a soft hammer. What is this? Does it affect the peasants too? And he was just released now ?! And all this time I was close to the potential problem of enormous strength and exorbitant stupidity ?! Oh, your cavalry! And I whispered to the horned one with endless gratitude:

- Thanks.

Tour only grinned in response and yawned demonstratively, arousing a burning interest in the blue morkots, not engaged in a sweet occupation, in their huge fangs.

White love of death

On the third day of the new journey along the tree paths to the possessions of the White Morkot tribe, I was overcome. Indicate the state - no words were found. I just suddenly realized that I was completely lost in what was happening, like a little boy in a huge supermarket in my homeland. All the time something was happening, pushing, dragging, plunging into shock, incomprehension, touchingly colored schizophrenia. It was as if I was suspended in the middle of a strange sky painted by an insane artist who used pieces of gray fog, green grass and light spots of unconsciousness instead of paints. Some kind of trials, long transitions, from which numb legs give way, back stiffens, arms hang with whips, and the mind rushes alongside with just a crazy spark, trying not to fly away under a gust of new overwhelming melancholy. To the pain in the eyes, to the dull leaden heaviness in the bones of the skull, I wanted to wake up right now and exhale with relief, not trying to hold onto the scraps of the dissolving nightmare ...

But in front of me there were still wide thick branches of monstrous trees, kilometers of lianas, tons of intoxicating flowers ... And water, damn endless water, squelching under my feet, dripping from above, rustling somewhere nearby in large streams. The world has turned into a slideshow. Step - frame, motion - frame, word - byte of the audio track. And the blood in my ears pounded like a savage tam-tam of inexorable threat. There is a crash. There is death. It’s not me there. I’m there after all. On the fifth day of the journey, who appeared in front of us on the fifth day, meeting in the amount of only three morkots with white braids and green eyes, they talked about something with the leader of a detachment of blue tribesmen, then exchanged a couple of remarks with something seriously concerned about Gorotur. All this time I was observing the entertaining mechanics of nature - drops of water flowed down one after another along a cascade of leaves and branches, gathering in the white-blue inflorescence of a huge orchid, or an overgrown flycatcher. And these drops had different colors. The red glow was replaced by green, yellow - lilac, blue - violet, and the latter greatly disturbed my sleeping soul. Fatigue did not want to retreat, and I asked one of those who came out to meet us:

- How long before your city?

- Very close, black, very close, - the morkot answered gloomily, stroking the white braid. His emerald eyes darkened with every moment. Paranoia stirred in me, but then again it happily snuffed out. Come what may, I have done what is right.

And then I was thrown into a fever, from which everything around me turned white. Morkot looked at my trembling hands and mumbled something to his companions. They hurriedly rushed into the thicket with huge knives at the ready.

The fog crept out onto the path, filling the space in which almost nothing could be discerned. Then for some reason I found myself lying on some sort of drag, and Gorotur, a horned creature, concentratedly poured water on my face. The white mist hid reality for a moment and retreated again. Now, for some reason, a pretty woman's face loomed over me. The representative lady, who possessed the article and the posture of an Athenian matron, had on her shoulders all the same tattoos of local leaders and charlatans from a staff. She whispered something in a chant and blew into her palm, which was brought up to my very face. The sparkling silvery pollen burned into my eyes, tore my nose and throat, and then I stopped breathing. That's completely, as if he never knew how. Feel like a hedgehog ... Now I would like to remember how this is done. But something seemed to have picked out from the very foundations of memory the ability to taste this moist cool air.

Another clearing in the white fog puzzled me with orange flashes of warmth on the walls of the narrowed world. Some shadows tried unsuccessfully to climb the wicker ends of the world ... It seems that it was just a dance. And the warm flame behind me casually played with the dancers, squeezing out of them the black silhouettes of a bad beginning, inherent in every living creature in the universe. I was lying on my left side, bound by the proverbial spider web, which my people used as ropes. A young Morra was kneeling before me ... Yes, Morra, a woman of my people, the Morrots. She is Morra, I am Morkot. And behind her there appeared a four-armed shaggy shadow, looking out of the rolling transparent fog with watchful eyes, which I had already seen somewhere. So are they going to finish me off? The kitty, the kitty, got there. Harrami, trunk warrior, cousin to all morkots, murderer of our children, kidnapper of our wives. You don't belong here. I think I tried to say it out loud. The cat grinned, grunted something at the concentrated morra and disappeared into the thickening fog. And I never learned to breathe. How annoying. The universe spun, curling up into an unbearably heavy stone that rested on his chest. Morra's cool hand rested on my forehead, claws gleaming of purest whiteness. Is it death? With this thought, I closed my eyes in order to open my eyes in a moment.

Consciousness became crystal clear and clear. I was lying on a pile of mats in a small room with no windows or doors. Judging by the condition of the walls - inside a giant trunk. This means that the epic continues. There was no reason to wallow any longer. And then she entered the room right through the tree barrier. It was so unexpected that I even shuddered. The walking white branch, and this morra could not be anyone else, smiled warmly and asked:

- How do you feel, Valentine?

It was as if the hairs on my head began to move, so strange and frightening my own name sounded out of someone else's lips for the first time in seven weeks of being in this strange world. I jumped up, not giving a damn that I had never been dressed under a weightless blanket, and asked:

- What did you say?!

- Calm down, Valentine. The priestess sat down gracefully on the mats and looked up at me. - Your illness allowed me to look into the very depths of my consciousness. I know that you came to us from another world, from where the magicians of the elves take the confiscated. Sit down, there is no truth in your feet.

I collapsed back onto the bed, staring at Morra. She laughed softly and said:

- Don't worry like that. However, I want to upset you right away, a man in the body of a morkot. There is no way back for you. Elves, in their immense self-confidence, may think differently. But this is not the case. I see you haven't seriously thought about coming back these days?

“I thought,” I replied. - Stealthily.

"Not allowing myself to hope," Morra nodded. - Your subconscious mind knows the truth and did not allow you to fall into empty hopes. Elves may try to throw you out of our world. And you will be able to painlessly cross the line between the worlds, but you will not go to your homeland at all, Valentine. The worlds are strung on the universal axis, like selected pearls in a necklace. And in this series of worlds, movement is possible only in one direction. If you came from Earth to Lachlan, then from Lachlan you will not go to Earth at all.

When I first heard the name of my new world, I just shrugged. But the news of the displacement was not at all pleasing. Of course, I still hoped deep down in my soul to find a way home, even if I did not voice this desire even to myself. And this white priestess calmly slammed the illusory door in front of my nose. The feeling of a bad dream reappeared. I was startled - creatures of flesh and blood cannot walk through walls! So, after all, a dream ... I even laughed with relief. The walker allowed me to rejoice for five whole seconds, and then put out her hand and closed my laughing mouth, saying:

- And what is not an illusion in this universe, a man in the body of a morkot? Isn't it a dream that a person is aware of himself in the body of a morkot? This blissful split is as maddening as any drug. The walls of this room are also a dream, Valentine. And now I'm just a part of your dream that I had to enter in order to cope with your shattered illusions that almost killed you with disunity. It’s time for you to decide who you are. It's time to pacify the death that is sitting in you.

The white priestess smiled again and removed her hand. I whispered hoarsely, looking at the magic ball hanging from the ceiling, giving off a lot of yellow light:

- Once in my life everything is illusory, so I can go home right now.

“You can,” Morra agreed. “And you’ll even believe it.” You will believe in your return. And you will live that life of yours to its logical end. But how do you know that all that life will not be just a moment between a step from this world and death? An instant, during which only the quivering wind of the stars will touch the eyelashes of the dormant Power? In your world there is an endless expression that begins like this ... "And God dreams of a sleeping man who dreams of a sleeping god, who dreams of a sleeping person who dreams ..."

“The sleeping god,” I interrupted the woman. A frost ran over my skin with thousands of prickly paws.

“You understand me,” the priestess smiled. - What do you want, Valentine? Stay part of the dream? Come up with a new dream? Wake up? Or create your own illusory world, in which there will be the same sleeping person who dreams of the sleeping god? Are you ready to decide for yourself? Otherwise, your inner dream will never become unified and harmonious. It's time to choose between sleep and sleep. Three times I will ask you a question. And here he is, for the first time ... Who are you, a man or a carrot?

Black world, white sky.

How delicious apples smell! The bright colors of the summer bazaar brought down a heap of sensations on me, which made my head spin. It’s good just to live like this - home, work, market, home, work… And Marinka is at the door with a happy face on her face. And everything went to hell ...

White world, black sky.

The naga's hand brushed against the teenage elf's chest, spraying ruby ​​splashes from it. The unhappy girl slid down the wall of the carriage onto the wet grass and fell silent. I shook off the frightened Tristania's hand, took a deep breath and rushed forward. Fuck it all!

- Who are you, son or father? Here is my second question, - came the voice of the priestess.

Warm world, cold sky.

The fever of a serious illness completely melted the brains. But even through delirium, I heard the words: "Well, sonny ... I have already injected you with the medicine, so it will feel better in a few minutes." An endlessly dear dry hand passed over my forehead. Mom ... If she lets go a little, I will get up, come to your kitchen and snuggle up to my dear back, breathe in the homely smell of pies, Krasnaya Moskva perfume and train vestibules. And you will allow me not to drag myself to this damn job for several days.

Cold world, warm sky.

I stand on the sublime plexus of branches of the veche square and look at them. Hundreds of fellow tribesmen are looking at me with hope. And in the sky the white flame of our death flares up. We were wrong, very cruelly and irrevocably. And now we will be punished. All of them will be punished for the oversight of both mine and my first assistants. And in their eyes they have a childlike faith in a strong elder. This is how children look at their fathers. And from this the soul cries. Once again I look into the sky, where the black shadows of dragons circle among the white radiance. The punishers came to take their virus. But I will not give up any of my children without a fight. And the Power boils in my hands, which is given only once in a lifetime ... The power that is capable of opening the doors of hell not only for my people, but also for the damned heavenly murderers.

- And I ask you for the third time. Who are you? Slave or Master? - a strange morra intertwined into the silence.

The gray world ...

- Well, Valka-ah-ah-ah! - Marina's voice became like the grinding of a hacksaw cutting plywood. This is always the case, as soon as I disagree with something, the concert begins without applications. She fancies herself the mistress in our relationship, and I do not argue. What for?

The blue islands are empty and covered with ash. She looks into nowhere, obediently fulfilling my will, taken in full of animal passion, shaking a young body, incinerating feelings and soul. I find her under a cover of sweat-damp purple hair. Yes, my slave, like this, more, more ... It's great when there is a feeling of complete power - I can take every drop, but I can leave it so that it does not bend completely. I'll probably leave you, little piglet. Bye.

…Grey sky.

Sometimes something wayward came over me, left over from my distant youth, when any attempt of another person to set me on the right path was met with hostility. And then I put Marina in her place. As well as the last time I could not resist, blurted out. My words hit almost tangibly. She turned pale, was blown off the couch and flew into the hallway ... And no stress ... Hmm.

Islands of blue rage in a purple ocean of sweet quivering tremors. I left you life, you scoundrel, and you made me a slave in revenge. Now I understand why your image haunts me all these days, more and more often. I want to caress your heels, touch your skin, kiss soft warm lips that smell of grass, just feel that you are in the world, so angry, furious and cherishing thoughts of revenge. When did it happen? Probably, it was at that moment of the blossoming of the signs on your neck. And then again and again I saw your eyes - and hastily turned away so as not to drown in them. We'll meet again, my shitsugehai. And through my obedience you will accept yourself, elf. Take your rage and your tears as a sign that I am your master.

- I am a man and a morkot, a son and a father, a slave and a master, - the answer broke from my lips. - I am everything - and nothing, I am here - and nowhere ...

The priestess's eyes widened, blazing with wild emerald fire. I ended the answer with three words that shattered me, The walking and strange room in which our conversation took place:

- I am me.

And like wings have grown behind my back.

Black dream of rebirth

Life turned out to be wonderful and amazing, you will not believe it. Opening my eyes, I didn’t immediately realize where I was, who and in what way a rather nice Morra, who was clearly waiting for my awakening, had to do with me. But almost immediately everything that was seen in the memory was highlighted. Meeting my eyes, Walker smiled and said:

“Welcome to a new dream, Morkot-Ankh Terror Black.

I swallowed and hastily pulled the coverlet up to my chin, looking around for something stronger, just in case. The priestess laughed, but immediately turned serious.

- Your nightmare is over. Now terrible dreams await our world Lachlan. And how terrifying they will be depends only on you. On how much you intend to carry out your plans.

- And if you are ready to the end? I asked, feeling a chill in my chest.

- We will only have to reconcile. She bowed her head, sprinkling her loose white hair over her shoulders. - And may the Five Forces have mercy on us.

- Not four? - I doubted, remembering the stories of Tristania and Valaria.

“There are five of them, morkot-ankh. Chthon, living in the living, Livits, feeding magic, Medos, keeping the inanimate, Khtolim, the devourer of forces ... - The priestess lowered her head even lower. - And the fifth power of the world is Lachlan.

She fell silent, but I tried to finally wake up. Rubbing his face, he looked around carefully. We were in a gloomy room, hollowed out in the trunk of a canyon — that was the name of these giant trees of the Forest Sea. The half-darkness of a gray day splashed behind the cut-through window, and the rain, as before, somewhere far away rustled through the leaves. Three magic balls hung from the ceiling in the room, giving off a dim yellow light. My scanty clothes lay on the floor, covered with bright mats, while I myself was sitting on a real mattress, sewn from pieces of soft cloth and stuffed with something rustling and fragrant. When it dawned on me that the priestess was still silent, I insisted:

- The fifth force, Walking. Said "a" - say "b". I'm waiting.

- We say: stepping on the tail of a harram, then tear the mustache. - The walker straightened up.

- And so I say, - the newly-born violator of traditions in my face frowned in annoyance. - Empty ... I'm waiting.

“You know the fifth power of Lachlan, morkot-ankh. It was she who destroyed your people in due time, Terror. Suinaska, mother of Catharsis, sister of wrath, daughter of revenge, wife of Chtolim, the eater of forces. Suinaska once created the winged masters of the sky and has not forgiven you, morkot-ankh, for a broken song.

“If so, then it serves her children rightly,” I said, going over strange memories of others in my head. “The song of despair and death cannot be heard under this sky, Halaira.

The name of the Walker itself slipped off the tongue. So that's her name? How old is this priestess? I frowned. The new memory helpfully suggested that the White Bough Walker of Trimurra cheerfully did the affairs of the tribe even at the time of the one whose memories began to awaken in me. But the last king of the black tribe of the Morkots died along with his people just seven hundred years ago, in the fire of the Dragon Catharsis. What did he do that made the dragons so enraged that they simply staged a fiery "f gazenvagen" for the rather big people of the Forest Sea? The answer to this question did not appear in my head, which is a pity. Okay, maybe someday ... I threw back the covers and stood, stretching lazily. The walker watched my actions with a satisfied smile. Pulling on the notorious shorts on my (no doubt about it) butt point, I suddenly felt a strange inconvenience - something alive and fluffy actively prevented me from pulling on my pants as it should. And then a real tail stuck out between my legs, a black shaggy tail that could compete with a fox. The sleek fur shimmered blue like magpies. I swiftly grabbed this tail and pulled with all my might, intending to pull its owner out from under me. With a sharp pain something jerked me by the strikingly long tailbone, causing the fifth point to bryak on the mats ... I thought for a long time, sulking more at the obscene rzhach of Walking. But the Morkoth mind more than once or twice emerged victorious from strange situations. It was a tail, of course! And, damn it, not someone else's, but quite even mine.

- Knock your cavalry with a piece of wood before the outpost! - Nothing smarter to give out, but it was enough for Halaira to stop laughing, taken aback by the abundance of strange words.

One indisputable plus in the situation was still present. All the pathos has disappeared somewhere, leaving behind only a bad smell of stale prophecies and moldy horror stories. The walker exhaled, got up from her knees on which she had been until now, straightened her long, impeccably white chiton and bowed restrainedly:

“The White Bough of Trimurra has recognized you, Terror Black, Morkot-ankh Parmales.

Deprived of a tribe ... I shuddered at such a name. But it’s true. If dragons destroyed my people half a millennium ago, and I was suddenly reborn, then I have no people. The priestess continued solemnly:

- And let your prayer be full of light and tranquility.

As if invisible strong palms grabbed my hands at the wrists and folded my palms, in which fire and ice flared painfully, which did not tolerate such sacrilege: these elements were very rare in life, and for good reason. A second later, with horror, I felt a growing pain in my hands - a fierce force was trying to throw my palms away from each other. And a strange force did not allow this to happen, which is why the skin on his hands began to crack with bloody cracks. I shouted something, but the fanaticism did not stop. Prayerfully folded palms, living by their own will, shot up to the ceiling, offering an unknown prayer to the invisible sky, and then gently lowered, and the tips of his fingers touched his forehead, wet with cold sweat. A white flash flooded reality with a blinding stream, in which black dots suddenly appeared. They, like tree buds, swelled and began to open, filling the burning light with salutary chrysanthemums of iridescent darkness. Seconds passed, and I found myself in complete darkness, saturated with coolness and gentle bliss.

It all ended as suddenly as it began. I stood in the middle of the room, staggering like a drunk, and looked at my hands with an incredulous look - they were safe and sound. Only the scarlet and blue colors of the drawings on the palms were replaced by deep blackness. Yes, something ached on my forehead, as if a cigarette had been extinguished in the Gestapo way. The priestess who had been watching me all this time nervously licked her lips and quickly fell down on her face, touching my feet with her fingers. She almost sang:

- Morkot-ankh Terror Black Parmales, by the will of the black branch of Trimurra, who recognized you after three initiations, I conjure! I ask you for mercy for the people of Morkots for the glory of the Forest Sea!

I looked coldly at the Walker and said:

“So you haven't forgotten, Halaira. That's good, priestess.

The walker recoiled from me in horror and cowered, trying to cover herself with her thin hands. I bent down to her and gently ran my fingers through her white hair.

“It was you who pointed out to the dragons the location of our capital, the Dreamwalker of the white branch of Halaira Haran. And they fell upon my children like death from heaven. Hasn't the sky of Kavanagh been crying for my children ever since? Isn't the sky crying for your fate? Hasn't the light of day turned gray from your betrayal?

“Have mercy, morkot-ankh,” the priestess whispered, closing her eyes tightly.

I lightly ran my claws over the white skin of her cheek, leaving in the purity the scarlet streaks of my awakened anger. Halaira sighed convulsively, but I had already retreated.

- Not now, little sister. I understand everything, you could not have done otherwise.

The priestess's emerald eyes widened in surprise.

- But I can’t do otherwise. There will be what will be. Do you understand me, Halley?

“Yes, lord,” the woman replied quietly.

“The memory of your nephews and nieces requires you to come to it, so that you also remain only in memory,” I smiled calmly. - But now I will not do it, sister. I hope you understand that trying to resist me is to go into the clutches of Khtolim? And don't think of plotting behind my back. I am no longer that naive fool-ruler who wants justice. What I didn’t find was justice. But I lost everything. And now I will do justice myself.

- What are you going to do now, brother? - asked the calmed Morrah.

“Of course, I’ll go to my throne,” I replied, folding my arms across my chest. - Only there I can find final integrity.

A strange thought arose like a buzzing fly in my head: “Wake up! Wake up, firefly! " For some reason, it was painted in blue-violet paints. “Wake up, you brute! Do not dare! I have to kill you myself! " A funny mentalist, this young elf ... I snorted with strange pleasure and lazily brushed aside the annoying voice. But in the end I heard a much stranger and more alarming phrase: "So, so be it ... Let her do her job." There was no time to figure out the meaning of the time. It's time to get ready for the road. The path to the House of the Black Tribe was long and difficult. And yet you must not frighten off the horned one. There, on the spot, he will perfectly replace a dozen weak victims for me.

And a blade sticks out in my forehead ...

The prince of the white branch sat near the throne, still not believing what had happened. Every now and then he threw sidelong glances in my direction, in which a dumb question to fate splashed: "For what ?!" Nothing, let him get used to obey. Morkot-Ankh is back, and the tribes will once again become one. I'll try. In the throne room of the princely house, the shadows of frightened servants and cautious sycophants flickered from time to time, until they had decided for themselves the main question: so who now rules? They will be trampled, sick. I'm not going to make it easy for them. I won't be here in a few hours. We will go on a tour to the southwest along the Forest Sea, to the Green Peak, to the very Heart of the Abyss, where my capital remained in timelessness. And my throne, which certainly has something to say to its master.

Memory leafs through the past in whole layers. I realized my mistake in the story with dragons only on the day when they came to take revenge. There was no need to touch their shrine. However, they are no longer there, and I am. And I will not commit such fatal mistakes again. Justice will prevail in Cavan, albeit seven hundred years later. But you still need to beware. Although the winged ones are no longer in this sky, their Lady of the Void, Suinaska, remained, at the thought of which I felt a tremor all over my body. It was not fear, but rather a premonition of an imminent hunt. Now, having the strength of my second "I", who pulled me out of oblivion, there is no need to be afraid of the four gods. Hyvers doesn't give a damn about them from a tall canyana. In the search for a way out of death, I was lucky to become this person who fell into Lachlan, although the merger did not go completely. Now I understand this with all crystal clearness.

In a past life, I, Morkot-Ankh Parmales the Black, the lord of the Forest Sea, was a Hanhai, a creature of rare energetic abilities, whose birth in the family was perceived by everyone as a gift from heaven. Hanhai is a magician who does not need an intermediary to draw energy from the Ocean of Power in any quantity. I didn’t need gehai, and it was worth a lot at the time. And now, I suspect, it costs no less. A magician who is capable of pumping energy from the depths of the world himself is invincible - it is banal, but you cannot go against the truth. Such a magician does not expect exhaustion at the most crucial moment. It cannot be neutralized by sending a rengekhi. The vile leech will die before it can even drink a little from such a source. Only one thing did not suit me then - I could not energize any of my loyal companions-in-arms. This is the curse of the Hanhai. He is not able to give energy to anyone in any form and in any way. I winced at the forgotten feeling of powerlessness. And then he smiled to himself. This problem does not threaten me anymore.

Hyvers ... How lucky to be reborn as such a unique creature. Probably, something inherent in this strange creature, Valentine, with whom we became one whole, had an effect here. And he chose a good name for himself while he was waiting for the merger of our souls. Terror ... Our world knew what it was. And if he forgot, then with my help he will remember. Soon. The forces of the hyvers will help create a truly invincible army of the greatest magicians. I am no longer subject to the powers of the four gods of Lachlan. Hyvers is in itself a piece of the Ocean of Forces in the depths of the world. He does not pump energy, he is this energy, its prominence, its integral part. He is capable of both endowing anyone with any amount of power, and taking away energy so much that the magician from whom it is taken will simply die, crumble into dust.

And now, despite a certain duality of consciousness, I have passed all the tests of Trimurra. I, Parmales-Valentine, have overcome the difficult initiation of the Hyvers. And now he is able to decide for himself who and how much energy to allocate, from whom and how much to take away. To accomplish this, it is enough to make physical contact with the one you want to reward or punish. My thoughts leapt from emotion to the cruel disappointment I experienced a couple of hours ago, before I entered the white tribe's throne room. I am now more hyvers than hanhai. And he was deprived of his freedom to operate with the Force. Hyvers is not a magician. He's just not a magician. There is a huge disadvantage here - I can no longer create even a primitive light. And there is an even more significant plus. The energy directed to me will be reflected in the one who directed it. I am protected from the powers of the four gods. Fiery Chthon, ice Medos, bright Livits, dark Khtolim ... All your lightning, fire strikes, obsidian peaks, bad illusions and deceptions inspired will return back to those who try to hit me with your power. And this is good. It will help to do what was conceived with the least loss.

Distracted from my thoughts for a moment, I looked around the throne room. The prince managed to disappear somewhere. Rain with him, with this miserable. It will be necessary to replace with someone more capable of ruling. From the side of the tribal warehouses, located in the canan's trunk behind the prince's house, a huge horned tour passed, carrying on his shoulders several bales of trophies from past wars: chain mail, shells, battle amulets and all kinds of weapons. This is also a problem. As long as he is busy and we are not talking, changes in my character will remain a secret. Still, Val is a weakling who reacts too violently to someone else's pain. With such a flaw, I will not survive in my newfound world. So I have to be careful not to show that I have turned from a weak-willed slobber into a real morkot with a steel character. A little time will pass, and our memory will merge completely, as well as consciousness, soul and energy. Then everything will fall into its rightful place. And it will be possible to tackle the Fifth Force. By that time, she will no longer be able to cause significant harm. Until then ...

Suinaska, the Lady of the Void, has always been above all other powers. She can really harm me, and even what. As soon as she finds out that the sworn Parmales returned to Lachlan, who ruined her children’s hope of procreation, and then themselves, she would turn the world inside out, but find me and try to avenge the dragons. A mocking laugh escaped my lips. Who knew that joining the Dragon Well with the Filigree created by my hands would lead to such an effect. All the men of the winged people simply went crazy under the influence of the mad source of their life force. They began to pounce on each other and die, unable to stop the all-devouring craving for the taste of the flesh of fellow tribesmen and tribesmen. After all, those elves who helped me in the creation of the Filigree realized their plan. After that, I realized that they deliberately changed the structure of the artifact in order to destroy the dangerous people for them. Still, dragons considered it an honor to exterminate the best knights, warriors and scientists of the elven tribe, believing that by taking the life of such an outstanding creature, they themselves would become better, smarter, more enduring ... Savages with wings, in a word.

The nastiest thing in all this is that they seem to have remained on the sidelines, these cunning eared ears. I slipped the filigree to the dragons, morkot. And the last dragons in the end were punished for what they had done. It is typical for elves to drag chestnuts out of the fire with someone else's hands. The Black Branch of the Forest People was completely destroyed thanks to the timely betrayal of my sister. She saved the others, I understand that. The winged ones could destroy all the morkots in general, but in the end they were satisfied with the black branch. Distraught dragons, falling into a real Catharsis of sensations, frolicked in Lachlan notably. Especially hit the lands of the tours, which in the end were forced to simply leave their scorched lands. The dragons began to die of exhaustion quickly enough. They forgot about everything, constantly indulging in a thirst for blood and lust: about food, about drinking, about sleep. And they died. When the last male dragon died, the few surviving women of the winged tribe figured out exactly what had happened and who was to blame. And that terrible day of retribution came. They did not feel sorry for themselves, these formidable creatures. They ripped apart the bodies to get to the morkots in the wilds of the canyans. They died in hundreds, but continued to destroy us. And destroyed, we must pay tribute to them. I died at the end, when only my sister and I were left of the tribe. It seems that I then went crazy - to see the death of my own people until the last child ... Reason definitely fell asleep that day. Otherwise, why would I rush to the last winged assassin, still able to melt the sky with its breath. And burned out, of course. I wonder what happened to her, I think her name was Trenyane? Not the point is important. Meeting - I will kill, and all the demand.

A strange question entered his head, buzzing with memories. If the Hyvers is subject to the power of Suinaska, then is the power of the Lady of the Void not subject to the Hyvers himself? Puzzled by an interesting new question, I decided that I would give it more time soon enough. You just need to first get to the Heart of the Abyss and hide in your hometown. For the umpteenth time in a day I have reached out to the energies of the world. They did not want to answer, as before. But the gray thread still trembled ... From the presence of Valentine on the border of merging souls ?! I cautiously removed this part of our consciousness, and the thread calmed down, stopped vibrating. Once again he opened the essence of man - the thread wavered again. But I didn’t like it very much. If you leave us with something of Val, Suinaska can seriously harm. So, the guy must be completely suppressed. You cannot allow it to BE, even on the verge of existence. It's a pity, of course, but there is no other choice.

At that moment, behind the open gates of the princely house, a stream of water collapsed onto the surface of a broad canyan branch, cleaned of bark, - apparently, somewhere above, they again disturbed the harmony of rain and greenery. Where did the eternal rain come from? I did not know the answer to this question. Nor did I have it, Valentine. The tour approached the throne on which I crawled so freely and asked in a loud bass:

- Do you want to talk to Walking about the withdrawn? Maybe she knows how to help them?

- What do I care about them? - I shrugged my shoulders, frowning at the bustling servants. - Everyone is happy, what else is needed?

What I could not have imagined was that the elves would come up with the idea of ​​dragging gehais from Valentine's homeland. And here, by the way, the question ... Who pulled him-me from the Earth here? Or did he - I broke into Lachlan myself? Is it really that important? Out of the corner of my eye, I spent the outgoing tour, indulging in numerous thoughts, urgent and not so ... Stop, why did this tour look at me so strangely after hearing a completely normal answer? The rain, how does it interfere that our - my consciousness with Valentine has not yet merged, then his - my memory would be at full disposal. We still need to rummage through his, my memories. Something seems to have gone wrong. Where are my first images in this world?

I was distracted from unsuccessful digging in the past by a four-armed silhouette that appeared on the threshold. Harrami, our cousin, in person. Yes, today is the day of surprises! I coldly glared at the insolent cat who dared to appear in the heart of one of the Morkoth tribes. The shaggy one insolently slipped into the throne room, came up to me and insinuatingly asked:

“Do you remember me, firefly?

- And should? - I slightly stirred.

The ash-black-and-black harrami's blue eyes blinked, and then the thin ugly creature said sweetly:

"What if I let you feel my fangs?" And even try to vomit, as you were going to in our first meeting?

I was petrified by this familiarity. First meeting? So I-Valentine crossed paths with this impudent guy? And more than once, apparently? I answered the cat at the limit of polite patience:

“Keep your fangs for yourself, maybe you’ll bite your tongue.”

- As you wish. Harrami bowed lazily and walked away into the shadows.

I sighed, weighing the accumulated irritation. Not enough yet. The real ruler must explode so that everyone scatters in search of shelter, and for such a performance there was not enough mood yet. It seems that I am Valentine is full of surprises. I hate it when something happens that I have no idea about. I returned to my own memories, sorting through the images in the half-sleeping consciousness of Valentine-me. Hmm, how interesting ... So, they tried to register him immediately upon arrival? What else to expect from bastard elves with their unbridled power of women.

A morkot guard ran into the hall with loud shouts, one of those who guarded the bridge on the border of the white and blue tribes. He collapsed in front of the throne and blurted out:

- Terror-ankh, a guest has arrived! She says that you will accept her.

But I didn’t like it at all. The slave called me by this stupid name, and even someone appeared there, who knows that I am here ... Which should not be in principle. Stop. This someone came to me, Valentine, to Terror, of course. The coldness in my chest released a little. I am still too vulnerable to allow events to be carried anywhere. I ordered discreetly:

The warrior quickly jumped off, and after a couple of minutes entered the throne room ... who would have thought? Staring at the insect, I grimaced. The elf who dared to take possession of me, Valentine ... The tour, looming here, in the hall, bowed respectfully and hummed:

- Lenderra Tristania.

- How can you even live among these unbearable insects ?! - The elf was seriously outraged. - Yes, even at such a height that you are afraid to even breathe.

End of introductory snippet.

* * *

The given introductory fragment of the book Draconic Catharsis. Withdrawn (Vasily Tarasenko, 2016) provided by our book partner -

Chapter 1
A tale of how brakes break

My old under-jeep SUV did not survive that meeting under the moonlit summer sky. However, the tree with which he met, too, got noticeably, to a crackle, and split from roots to crown. I managed to remember this.

And what? Flying through the windshield, and you will not notice that. Mom told me that I had to buckle up, but I didn’t obey. So I learned to fly, albeit not for long and painful. And the pain was hellish: my neck was twisted like a corkscrew, a starlight flashed in my eyes, a prickly knot was tied in my stomach, and the world burst into a red stub of unconsciousness. The last three hours of the ill-fated evening flew in the memory of a patter of shots ...

I just chuckled with a grin - there would be something to sulk. Didn't come, you see, to the nightclub on time, didn’t take the sacred carcass of the party girl, who got drunk again and probably cheated on me with some macho-hairacho. What am I to blame, or what, if I do not have a natural sweater? If everything was so urgent, there was nothing to come. And then how to throw money or a ticket to a party more abruptly - so Valya is the best, but as to bed - so "wow, I want magnetism" ... Enrages!

Apparently, something like this appeared on my face - Marinka cautiously fell silent, pondering: to continue the hysteria or, well, her out of harm's way. Knowing my explosive nature, my mistress chose the second option, that is, she fell silent. But I managed to start, which resulted in a hissing phrase:

- Goat, then? What else do you say, the star of the entrances and gateways?

The blonde, colored in red, snuffled indignantly, fell off the couch, pulled up the youth jeans that were hanging on the verge of a foul, and disappeared into the hallway of our odnushka. Soon the door slammed, reporting that the faithful again pulled on leave for a couple of days. Nothing, then it will appear, it will ask back. Do I need it? The thought rang out at the right time. Breathing tightly clenched in my chest, palms clenched into fists. It was only by the ringing of the cracked glass tabletop that I realized that I had finished off the modern coffee table, which Marina and I bought a couple of months ago, when we moved to this monastery. I stared blankly at the shards and closed my eyes.

Each of us cherishes a dream at heart. That very cherished one - about the soul mate, with whom it is so good to sit in front of the TV set, laugh at bearded jokes, slowly grow old, knowing that happiness will be with you until the end ... Six months ago, I thought that I was included in the number of the chosen few who could this secret tale. I thought for a month, honestly. And then the castle in the air turned into a cabaret, as if in a heavenly kaleidoscope someone's hand turned the ring and the picture changed from heavenly purity to the pretentious red of a brothel. One kind soul enlightened what Marinochka does at night, when she leaves to "hang out a little". She once told me that it was not a dog - to sit on a leash, and I went to meet her.

Like an idiot - on the railroad towards the high-speed train.

Anger gritted my teeth and let go a little. Valentin Svet Andreevich was a fool from the Golovlev family, and he remained so - life teaches nothing. Today I just didn’t go after Marina, although she called me for about forty minutes. Probably tired of being a taxi driver with a “challenge prize”. Tired of listening to malevolent whispers behind my back.

I got up from the same sofa, stretched myself to a crunch in my back and shoulders. It looks like it's time to quit karate and move smoothly to wushu. Still, the fourth decade is coming to the finish line. Doubtfully looking around the mess in the apartment, I decided to follow my friend's example and air myself. Not on foot, like some, what else. In the hallway he fumbled in the pocket of his windbreaker for the keys to the BMW and as he was - in suit trousers and a "wet" steel-colored shirt - left the "cozy" cave. A couple of minutes later, the interior of the car took the owner's mortal body into its leather penates. The motor rumbled like a devoted dog, waiting for the order to go. Fingers automatically started the "sidishnik". The hoarse words of a fluffy song about the bright side of advertising, freshness and the movement of progress poured from the speakers.

The palm smoothly shifted the gear, the foot pressed down on the pedal, and the car slowly moved from its place, like a shark smelling its prey. Goat, then ... Painted creature, that's who you are, Marina! My chest felt unwell and painful. The face seemed to be tightened with dried glue.

I am calm, completely calm. Why is that so? Well, the little woman has gone to the side a couple of dozen times ... It's a matter of everyday life. Street lights are shining behind the glass. The moon, pale with anger, shines plump in the sky.

What I can? Just scream with Pooh 1
It means that the song of A. Pushny is playing in the salon. - Hereinafter, note. ed.

On the verge of hysteria. Eh, Marinka, you should have seen how I howl here in the car. But you, it seems, are not at all interested in what is like yours Valka. If only he gave the loot and gave him a lift on the whistle ... Ssu-oo-oo ... permodel. The highway blurred before my eyes, not keeping up with the speedometer.

At the last second before the brake pedal escaped too easily from under my feet, I noticed a red shadow in the headlights on the road. "Fox? In the town?" - flew a thought, and then I flew through the glass. The last thought after hitting the tree was a ridiculous assumption. As if now Marinochka did not decide that it was because of her that I took my own life. Will be proud of the same, painted, as there is self-esteem will scratch. And the world went out, shrinking to a red point.

Chapter 2
And he was pure and beautiful

The rain made me open my eyes. Drops rolled down his thrown back face and terribly unnerved. Yes, and somehow it became cool. Water peas drummed merrily all over his body, indicating that something was clearly missing. Realizing what it was, I quickly blew up and sat down, staring at the white light. So it is - naked like a falcon ... What is it ... uh-uh ... dared to undress me and leave me in the rain in a forest glade? What the hell is the marinade ?!

But the clearing turned out to be nothing - even in the gray light of bad weather inspired Greenpeace ecstasy. There are all sorts of unpretentious flowers, there are fern trees around ... I swallowed, staring at the wild indecency. Because not far from me I realized the presence of a mighty tree, really like a fern with its dimensionless burdocks. Under one of these feathery blankets, there was either a pine or a spruce - in short, something spreading and needle-like. The whole forest around was such a strange mixture of jungle and taiga. And behind the gray clouds, from which it rained, for some reason, three whole sources of light were dimly guessed.

Somewhere behind, almost nearby, something roaring roared with the lazy hoarseness of an omnipotent gopnik who saw a new carcass on his territory. I blew myself off the wet grass, finally making sure that I had only skin from my clothes, in several jumps I ran to a pine tree and climbed to about the middle of the trunk, almost in reality feeling the hot breath of trouble in the lower hemisphere of my brain. And indeed - beneath me, this very thing exploded resentfully, forcing me to squeeze into the resinous trunk of a tree. I cautiously looked down and swore from my entire Slavic soul. The unknown animal and I looked at each other for about five minutes. The creature turned out to be impressive, something like an elongated cat, covered with scales and mutated into an extra pair of clawed paws. And at the withers of the beast was quite half my height. The black armor of the beast gleamed wetly in the rain, slightly reddened. The bowls' eyes blinked coquettishly with yellowness, split by vertical pupils, after which the beast calmly lay down under a pine tree, demonstrating the lazy self-confidence of an aboriginal with experience. Like, where will you go from the submarine, the victim of a future tasting. This attitude seriously offended me. Ah well? Well hold on, walking rug!

I examined my perch and smiled contentedly. There are no trees and pines in the world without cones. And there are no buds without resin. Reaching out with my slender hands to a whole bunch of these gifts of nature, I ... became dull. Thin hands? The beast immediately flew out of his head. The time has come for a hasty review of yourself, your beloved. And the first thought was the opinion that I was replaced, impudently and shamelessly. Where is the strong, pumped body? Where are the abs, where are the biceps-triceps and other peasant "dogs"? And where is the head of hair that should be on the head? It seems that now I was some kind of slender creature, quite dexterous and dietary sustained. Well, at least the ribs do not stick out through the skin. I would have seen such a guy from the outside - I decided that he was about sixteen or seventeen years old, minus the gym and with one meal a day, in the sense - once a week a couple of crumbs. The palms once again walked over the crown of the head, which was crystal clear of hair, and then I cursed when I realized that resin instead of hair was not good. Least of all I liked the fact that even in the dim gray light of an overcast day (or night?), The skin of my new body seemed very pale, almost glowing.

The animal below is clearly tired of my fussing. Monstryatina got up on her paws, shook herself and lazily stood on her hind legs, laying the front ones on a tree trunk at a height of a couple of meters from the ground. The cat's look did not bode well. My palms themselves groped for the projectile and launched it into the scaly muzzle. The creature muttered in bewilderment, getting a bump in its nose, snorted and, with the most natural offended look, pushed it out from under the pine tree. Somehow the cat gave up very easily. Within a minute I realized that I could not flatter myself: through the sound of the rain came some voices and the clink of iron. After another minute, I could even discern the meaning of the words. Two women chatted.

“Arrach was just here, my landerra. You have to be careful.

“Don't bore me with whining, Valaria. These creatures don't even like the smell of our horses, so don't puff. Arrach will not poke his nose at us at a crossbow shot either.

- He was guarding someone. Looks like he drove his dinner up the tree. Let me see?

- Come on, just quickly.

At first I wanted to briskly slide down and rush to my aunts in the hope that they will lead me out of the forest and hand me over to the caring hands of the police. The second impulse was to merge with the pine tree, so as not to be detected. Because the situation is strange and required a thorough investigation. Someone did such a transformation with me, and the overgrown horsetails taller than the oil suggested bad thoughts. My long-standing passion for science fiction left no room for imagination. There was a classic fantasy transfer, and here I am in the role of that same "hitman", not otherwise. A mocking voice distracted me from my gloomy thoughts:

- This is the catch! Get on down, kid. Also, what good, Arrach will return.

I dubiously glanced at the author of the replica, who was standing near the trunk of a pine tree, her head lifted up. The type is remarkable - medium build, thin-faced, sharp-eared and insanely hairy. I mean, the girl's black hair was braided into a thick braid and almost touched the ground. How long are they when they are loose? I silently climbed down from the tree and stared up at the elf with a mute question. She turned out to be two heads taller than me and at the shoulders, too, twice as wide. The elf was dressed in a dark jacket and the same pants made of a material very similar to a rubberized raincoat. High boots glistened with moisture on my feet. Anyway, she was all wet, as if a walk in the rain was a trifling matter.

The expression on the face of the sharp-eared person changed before our eyes - from mocking to bewildered, and then to nervously interested. Her gaze took on a strangely familiar gleam. The elf swallowed and asked:

- Where are you from, kid?

I finally cut through the entire depth of my fall when the forest bodybuilder licked her lips. It seems that we have here a lover of "hot" drew closer to the evening ... Our gaze was interrupted by a disgruntled voice from the side:

- For a long time you will be here ... Get away from him, insignificant, if you want to live.

I looked perplexedly, wondering to whom these words were addressed. And he stumbled upon the cold gaze of amber eyes, the owner of which looked at the dark one and, as before, coldly added:

- This hehay is mine.

I had a persistent feeling that someone was in big trouble. And this someone ... Let's not point a finger.

Chapter 3
Never a pistil

Valaria hastily jumped away from me, glancing sideways at her boss, the boss ... Mistress? What did she say there? Lenderra? Like "landowner", or what? The amber-eyed beauty stepped up to me and impudently grabbed across the carcass, then threw it over her shoulder and walked out from under the spruce-pine paws into the rain. I already wanted to express my whole attitude to this type of transportation when I saw what these ladies were riding in the forest. They were dogs. Yes, what! To match the old cat, hefty, scaly, and even with membranous wings. How can such a thing be in the world? Yes, and wander through the woods? Do the wings get in the way among the trees? I was already fidgeting with surprise. For which he immediately loudly got on a soft spot.

- What are you, absolutely goofed, big-eared ?! - I could not stand such familiarity, I twisted and elbowed the elf in the ear. Why be ashamed? Yes, each of them is twice the size of unfortunate me. She gasped in surprise, dropped my carcass into the grass and hissed, pressing her hand to the injured organ. I continued belligerently, jumping to my feet: - What did you call me there? Shove ?! I'll shove those right now!

Karate is our everything. Legs in a standing position, hands in a position, do not approach us, "otherwise I will bring it in" ... When the "elfa", who was freaked out by my spontaneity, stretched out the rake to grab it again, I performed a classic chudante ... And howled from pain in my hand. A wall - and even softer than this forest mumzel with sharpened ears! But the blow worked. The elf was carried a few steps away. With a grimace on her face, she held on to her stomach, and then, with the roar of an offended gorilla, rushed to me, clearly intending to "punish and not let go." I had to meet her with no less standard mawashi. Let's just say try to meet. It turns out that it is only in the books that a martial artist is playing everyone right and left. In reality, the new body was in no way able to carry out all sorts of tricks. And I broke off in full. My new carcass obviously did not know and did not know what stretching was. In pain, I hissed and crashed into the grass, wailing something like a curse to the authors of the literature of the hit. The Lenderra's strong hands were as gripped as a steel trap. The elf stared into my eyes with an evil look, and then hissed somewhere into space:

- Valaria, a blanket under a tree!

“Yes, my landerra,” a black hair echoed from somewhere on the side, and I squeaked, losing my last breath. Realizing that there were a couple of moments left for bad, the elf loosened her grip and hissed coldly:

- You are mine, hey! And I will prove it here and now. I will bind you to me forever, slave. And you will obey my slightest desire.

Something frankly disgusting spread in the amber eyes, which did not become a discovery for me. She also gazed under the pine tree of Valaria. But the fact itself! I have never been a supporter of tough relationships! Save-help, your motherfucker! I spun around in an attempt to somehow free myself, but this eared extreme lover stopped all attempts to push some yellow-eyed elves ...

When the sharp-eared woman grabbed my hands to immobilize, hot anger swept through my body in a shaft, and then red flashes engulfed both of us. As if blood covered my eyes. So that some boorish, pumped woman would calmly break up and do whatever her heart desires ?! It never happened! And it won't! I'll beat the creature! A moment later, the rage was replaced by an icy calm. From my wrists, gripped tenaciously by the strange woman's strong fingers, broken phosphor-blue patterns, like a tattoo, trickled down her skin. As if her limb was entangled in icy barbed wire. Lenderra froze with the statue heaped on me. And finally my head started working. What is going on? Some kind of game! Strong women, obviously not uncommon men, suffocated ... What kind of world is this? Matriarchy, or what? This is what I got. And it would be fine in your body - but no, some kind of pale spirochete! I tried to throw off the elf's body, but it didn't work. She pressed me to the blanket with a lifeless rag, so heavy and cold. Valaria's voice asked warily over the sound of the incessant rain:

- My lady? Are you okay?

I, taking advantage of the immobility of the involuntary "statue", groaned out from under the sharp-eared and fell into the cool grass, feeling in every muscle the consequences of the show process "who is the boss". Here is the eared one ... Never mind, the cat's tears will flow from the mouse!

The bustling fuss next to me attracted my attention. Valaria, with horror on her beautiful, sophisticated face, tried to stir up her lander, apparently to no avail. But everything quickly returned to normal for me, I didn't even believe it at first. But after a couple of minutes the pain was gone - as if there were no such monstrous "hugs". A flash of red on both of my hands made me and the dark one stare at our wrists. It was as if red veins were showing through the pale skin, forming a pattern similar to the herbal Celtic pattern of the homeworld. Valaria looked me in the eye suspiciously and returned to her mistress. Almost at the same time, she let out a choked cry. I leaned in to look and was dumbfounded - on the neck of the pale, failed rapist was the same red pattern as on my hands. Black with a wild expression on her face, she looked at me and staggered back. After which her face expressed a completely incomprehensible range of horror, fear, admiration and lust, and unexpectedly for me she folded into a low bow, muttering under her breath:

- Have mercy on your humble servant, rengehai ...

I gently poked the side of the unconscious sharp-eared, clad in some patterned armor, with my bare heel, and hissed:

- I'm not your pestle! I'm not a pestle! Understood?!

Evil rage began to snowball again. The second jab of my bare foot hit the Lenderra already in the face, but they immediately grabbed me softly by the shoulders and dragged me away from the carcass that had time to "freeze up". Valaria looked imploringly into my eyes and said:

- Don't, Rengehai! Do not! The mistress has already been punished!

- These pictures, or what? - I asked, not thinking to calm down.

“With these fetters, Rengehai,” the dark-haired elf answered quite quietly.

Chapter 4
High - he is in another world high

The black-haired elf, even in armor, managing to remain graceful, knelt down beside the still ballasting commander and began to sway back and forth in silence. It was only at that moment that I noticed that, for some reason, a shell-shocked, completely blonde person. I've already met such people. Where to go - "I came, bow down, worms." It is about such people that they say: "Blow out, dirt - it floats." Now the blond was absent from this world. But her partner knew why, but she was in no hurry to tell. And in general, she behaved somehow strangely, this Valaria - as if she was hurt with an empty sack because of the crooked corner and obliquely.

As soon as I moved, shaking off the drops of water from the bald crown, the elf glanced frightened in my direction and became silent. It’s somehow uncomfortable to feel like a monster, especially in the eyes of such a beauty. I said as strictly as possible:

- Tell me!

I didn’t hope, of course, for a normal reaction after everything, but why the devil doesn’t take a witch's heart ... Valaria threw another glance at the sleeping Lenderra, sighed and replied:

- It's already quite night, rengehai. Wouldn't it be better to go to your darakal? There we will hide from the Eternal Rain, and I can tell everything in a calm atmosphere.

She will also set conditions for me! I became completely insolent when I caught the word "your" and ordered:

“On the way, you’ll tell me that you’ll be in time.” How long does it take?

“Less than an hour, Rengehai,” the elf cheered up, sparkling with black eyes.

She rose from the grass and gave a loud barking command. The two winged dogs immediately stopped depicting statues and ran up. At the same time, they clearly shunned my person, but Valaria only shouted at the dog, forcing one of them to accept me as a rider, in addition to the carcass of her beloved mistress. And then there was a long way under streams of rain, a canopy of a forest and three pale luminaries behind a gray veil in the sky. Valaria told many interesting things during the journey.

The local society turned out to be a strict caste social system. At the very bottom are the lo - peasants, vagabonds, singers and all sorts of lower slaves. Kanlo, for example, means a wandering farm laborer hiring a day job wherever he finds it. Varlo is a peasant, cattle are a rogue ... I laughed at the latter. Words walk the worlds in strange ways. And after all, the correct meaning, must be. The middle caste, the mid, are artisans, slaves over slaves, merchants of low guilds, mercenaries, students and adherents of local schools of magical powers. A lot of people. And the highest caste is high. These polls are endowed with magical powers and knowledge. Aristocrats, high magicians, scientists of all stripes, in a word - masters. But it is in this caste that there are internal gradations. Hearing what the elite warriors, the lower upper caste, are called, I almost collapsed from the garv (that was the name of the notorious dogs we were riding). I just couldn't believe my ears. Urukhai! Elite warrior of Lamar, one of the largest countries on the Kavan continent. Slightly higher Urukhaev go, sorry, hailo. You can't put it otherwise! These are servants in the homes of the nobility, simple scientists, administrators. They seem to be owners too, but small, like intermediaries between non-owners and highs.

Vasily Tarasenko

DRAGON CATARSIS. WITHDRAWAL

Part one

NEW LIFE SCALE

THE TALE OF BREAKING THE BRAKES

My old under-jeep SUV did not survive that meeting under the moonlit summer sky. However, the tree with which he met, too, got noticeably, to a crackle, and split from roots to crown. I managed to remember this.

And what? Flying through the windshield, and you will not notice that. Mom told me that I had to buckle up, but I didn’t obey. So I learned to fly, albeit not for long and painful. And the pain was hellish: my neck was twisted like a corkscrew, a starlight flashed in my eyes, a prickly knot was tied in my stomach, and the world burst into a red stub of unconsciousness. The last three hours of the ill-fated evening flew in the memory of a patter of shots ...

I just chuckled with a grin - there would be something to sulk. Didn't come, you see, to the nightclub on time, didn’t take the sacred carcass of the party girl, who got drunk again and probably cheated on me with some macho-hairacho. What am I to blame, or what, if I do not have a natural sweater? If everything was so urgent, there was nothing to come. And then how to throw money or a ticket to a party more abruptly - so Valya is the best, but as to bed - so "wow, I want magnetism" ... Enrages!

Apparently, something like this appeared on my face - Marinka cautiously fell silent, pondering: to continue the hysteria or, well, her out of harm's way. Knowing my explosive nature, my mistress chose the second option, that is, she fell silent. But I managed to start, which resulted in a hissing phrase:

Goat, then? What else do you say, the star of the entrances and gateways?

The blonde, colored in red, snuffled indignantly, fell off the couch, pulled up the youth jeans that were hanging on the verge of a foul, and disappeared into the hallway of our odnushka. Soon the door slammed, reporting that the faithful again pulled on leave for a couple of days. Nothing, then it will appear, it will ask back. Do I need it? The thought rang out at the right time. Breathing tightly clenched in my chest, palms clenched into fists. It was only by the ringing of the cracked glass tabletop that I realized that I had finished off the modern coffee table, which Marina and I bought a couple of months ago, when we moved to this monastery. I stared blankly at the shards and closed my eyes.

Each of us cherishes a dream at heart. That very cherished one - about the soul mate, with whom it is so good to sit in front of the TV set, laugh at bearded jokes, slowly grow old, knowing that happiness will be with you until the end ... Six months ago, I thought that I was included in the number of the chosen few who could this secret tale. I thought for a month, honestly. And then the castle in the air turned into a cabaret, as if in a heavenly kaleidoscope someone's hand turned the ring and the picture changed from heavenly purity to the pretentious red of a brothel. One kind soul enlightened what Marinochka does at night, when she leaves to "hang out a little". She once told me that it was not a dog - to sit on a leash, and I went to meet her. Like an idiot - on the railroad towards the high-speed train.

Anger gritted my teeth and let go a little. Valentin Svet Andreevich was a fool from the Golovlev family, and he remained so - life teaches nothing. Today I just didn’t go after Marina, although she called me for about forty minutes. Probably tired of being a taxi driver with a “challenge prize”. Tired of listening to malevolent whispers behind my back.

I got up from the same sofa, stretched myself to a crunch in my back and shoulders. It looks like it's time to quit karate and move smoothly to wushu. Still, the fourth decade is coming to the finish line. Doubtfully looking around the mess in the apartment, I decided to follow my friend's example and air myself. Not on foot, like some, what else. In the hallway he fumbled in the pocket of his windbreaker for the keys to the BMW and as he was - in suit trousers and a "wet" steel-colored shirt - left the "cozy" cave. A couple of minutes later, the interior of the car took the owner's mortal body into its leather penates. The motor rumbled like a devoted dog, waiting for the order to go. Fingers automatically started the "sidishnik". The hoarse words of a fluffy song about the bright side of advertising, freshness and the movement of progress poured from the speakers.

The palm smoothly shifted the gear, the foot pressed down on the pedal, and the car slowly moved from its place, like a shark smelling its prey. Goat, then ... Painted creature, that's who you are, Marina! My chest felt unwell and painful. The face seemed to be tightened with dried glue.

I am calm, completely calm. Why is that so? Well, the little woman has gone to the side a couple of dozen times ... It's a matter of everyday life. Street lights are shining behind the glass. The moon, pale with anger, shines plump in the sky.

What I can? Just scream with Pooh on the verge of hysteria. Eh, Marinka, you should have seen how I howl here in the car. But you, it seems, are not at all interested in what is like yours Valka. If only he gave the loot and gave him a lift on the whistle ... Ssu-oo-oo ... permodel. The highway blurred before my eyes, not keeping up with the speedometer.

At the last second before the brake pedal escaped too easily from under my feet, I noticed a red shadow in the headlights on the road. "Fox? In the town?" - flew a thought, and then I flew through the glass. The last thought after hitting the tree was a ridiculous assumption. As if now Marinochka did not decide that it was because of her that I took my own life. Will be proud of the same, painted, as there is self-esteem will scratch. And the world went out, shrinking to a red point.

AND HE WAS CLEAN AND BEAUTIFUL

The rain made me open my eyes. Drops rolled down his thrown back face and terribly unnerved. Yes, and somehow it became cool. Water peas drummed merrily all over his body, indicating that something was clearly missing. Realizing what it was, I quickly blew up and sat down, staring at the white light. So it is - naked like a falcon ... What is it ... uh-uh ... dared to undress me and leave me in the rain in a forest glade? What the hell is the marinade ?!

But the clearing turned out to be nothing - even in the gray light of the bad weather inspired Griniis's ecstasy. There are all sorts of unpretentious flowers, there are fern trees around ... I swallowed, staring at the wild indecency. Because not far from me I realized the presence of a mighty tree, really like a fern with its dimensionless burdocks. Under one of these feathery blankets, there was either a pine or a spruce - in short, something spreading and needle-like. The whole forest around was such a strange mixture of jungle and taiga. And behind the gray clouds, from which it rained, for some reason, three whole sources of light were dimly guessed.

Vasily Tarasenko

DRAGON CATARSIS. WITHDRAWAL

Part one

NEW LIFE SCALE

THE TALE OF BREAKING THE BRAKES

My old under-jeep SUV did not survive that meeting under the moonlit summer sky. However, the tree with which he met, too, got noticeably, to a crackle, and split from roots to crown. I managed to remember this.

And what? Flying through the windshield, and you will not notice that. Mom told me that I had to buckle up, but I didn’t obey. So I learned to fly, albeit not for long and painful. And the pain was hellish: my neck was twisted like a corkscrew, a starlight flashed in my eyes, a prickly knot was tied in my stomach, and the world burst into a red stub of unconsciousness. The last three hours of the ill-fated evening flew in the memory of a patter of shots ...

I just chuckled with a grin - there would be something to sulk. Didn't come, you see, to the nightclub on time, didn’t take the sacred carcass of the party girl, who got drunk again and probably cheated on me with some macho-hairacho. What am I to blame, or what, if I do not have a natural sweater? If everything was so urgent, there was nothing to come. And then how to throw money or a ticket to a party more abruptly - so Valya is the best, but as to bed - so "wow, I want magnetism" ... Enrages!

Apparently, something like this appeared on my face - Marinka cautiously fell silent, pondering: to continue the hysteria or, well, her out of harm's way. Knowing my explosive nature, my mistress chose the second option, that is, she fell silent. But I managed to start, which resulted in a hissing phrase:

Goat, then? What else do you say, the star of the entrances and gateways?

The blonde, colored in red, snuffled indignantly, fell off the couch, pulled up the youth jeans that were hanging on the verge of a foul, and disappeared into the hallway of our odnushka. Soon the door slammed, reporting that the faithful again pulled on leave for a couple of days. Nothing, then it will appear, it will ask back. Do I need it? The thought rang out at the right time. Breathing tightly clenched in my chest, palms clenched into fists. It was only by the ringing of the cracked glass tabletop that I realized that I had finished off the modern coffee table, which Marina and I bought a couple of months ago, when we moved to this monastery. I stared blankly at the shards and closed my eyes.

Each of us cherishes a dream at heart. That very cherished one - about the soul mate, with whom it is so good to sit in front of the TV set, laugh at bearded jokes, slowly grow old, knowing that happiness will be with you until the end ... Six months ago, I thought that I was included in the number of the chosen few who could this secret tale. I thought for a month, honestly. And then the castle in the air turned into a cabaret, as if in a heavenly kaleidoscope someone's hand turned the ring and the picture changed from heavenly purity to the pretentious red of a brothel. One kind soul enlightened what Marinochka does at night, when she leaves to "hang out a little". She once told me that it was not a dog - to sit on a leash, and I went to meet her. Like an idiot - on the railroad towards the high-speed train.

Anger gritted my teeth and let go a little. Valentin Svet Andreevich was a fool from the Golovlev family, and he remained so - life teaches nothing. Today I just didn’t go after Marina, although she called me for about forty minutes. Probably tired of being a taxi driver with a “challenge prize”. Tired of listening to malevolent whispers behind my back.

I got up from the same sofa, stretched myself to a crunch in my back and shoulders. It looks like it's time to quit karate and move smoothly to wushu. Still, the fourth decade is coming to the finish line. Doubtfully looking around the mess in the apartment, I decided to follow my friend's example and air myself. Not on foot, like some, what else. In the hallway he fumbled in the pocket of his windbreaker for the keys to the BMW and as he was - in suit trousers and a "wet" steel-colored shirt - left the "cozy" cave. A couple of minutes later, the interior of the car took the owner's mortal body into its leather penates. The motor rumbled like a devoted dog, waiting for the order to go. Fingers automatically started the "sidishnik". The hoarse words of a fluffy song about the bright side of advertising, freshness and the movement of progress poured from the speakers.

Vasily Tarasenko

DRAGON CATARSIS. WITHDRAWAL

Part one

NEW LIFE SCALE

THE TALE OF BREAKING THE BRAKES

My old under-jeep SUV did not survive that meeting under the moonlit summer sky. However, the tree with which he met, too, got noticeably, to a crackle, and split from roots to crown. I managed to remember this.

And what? Flying through the windshield, and you will not notice that. Mom told me that I had to buckle up, but I didn’t obey. So I learned to fly, albeit not for long and painful. And the pain was hellish: my neck was twisted like a corkscrew, a starlight flashed in my eyes, a prickly knot was tied in my stomach, and the world burst into a red stub of unconsciousness. The last three hours of the ill-fated evening flew in the memory of a patter of shots ...

I just chuckled with a grin - there would be something to sulk. Didn't come, you see, to the nightclub on time, didn’t take the sacred carcass of the party girl, who got drunk again and probably cheated on me with some macho-hairacho. What am I to blame, or what, if I do not have a natural sweater? If everything was so urgent, there was nothing to come. And then how to throw money or a ticket to a party more abruptly - so Valya is the best, but as to bed - so "wow, I want magnetism" ... Enrages!

Apparently, something like this appeared on my face - Marinka cautiously fell silent, pondering: to continue the hysteria or, well, her out of harm's way. Knowing my explosive nature, my mistress chose the second option, that is, she fell silent. But I managed to start, which resulted in a hissing phrase:

Goat, then? What else do you say, the star of the entrances and gateways?

The blonde, colored in red, snuffled indignantly, fell off the couch, pulled up the youth jeans that were hanging on the verge of a foul, and disappeared into the hallway of our odnushka. Soon the door slammed, reporting that the faithful again pulled on leave for a couple of days. Nothing, then it will appear, it will ask back. Do I need it? The thought rang out at the right time. Breathing tightly clenched in my chest, palms clenched into fists. It was only by the ringing of the cracked glass tabletop that I realized that I had finished off the modern coffee table, which Marina and I bought a couple of months ago, when we moved to this monastery. I stared blankly at the shards and closed my eyes.

Each of us cherishes a dream at heart. That very cherished one - about the soul mate, with whom it is so good to sit in front of the TV set, laugh at bearded jokes, slowly grow old, knowing that happiness will be with you until the end ... Six months ago, I thought that I was included in the number of the chosen few who could this secret tale. I thought for a month, honestly. And then the castle in the air turned into a cabaret, as if in a heavenly kaleidoscope someone's hand turned the ring and the picture changed from heavenly purity to the pretentious red of a brothel. One kind soul enlightened what Marinochka does at night, when she leaves to "hang out a little". She once told me that it was not a dog - to sit on a leash, and I went to meet her. Like an idiot - on the railroad towards the high-speed train.

Anger gritted my teeth and let go a little. Was a fool Valentin light Andreevich from the Golovlev family and remained