Nation - Пратчетт Терри Дэвид Джон (читать книги бесплатно полностью TXT) 📗

Daphne ran to stop Ataba from seeing her face. Her father, well, he was a decent man but, well, this century was a game of empires, apparently, and no little island was allowed to belong to itself. What would Mau do if someone stuck a flag on his beach?

There he was now, looking green, and pointing to the line of Grandfathers.

As she got closer, she saw the white stone on the edge of the passage. There was a Grandfather sitting on it like a chieftain, but with his hands clasped around his knees like the rest. And he was facing down the corridor, away from the cave mouth, toward the unknown.

In front of him the line of dead warriors continued, all now turned to face… what? The light of day was behind them now.

Mau was waiting, a glint in his eye, when Ataba hobbled up. “Do you know why they are facing the wrong way, Ataba?” he asked.

“They look as though they are protecting us from something,” said the priest.

“Down here? From what? There’s nothing down here but darkness.”

“And something best forgotten, perhaps? Do you think the wave never happened before? And the last time it never went away. It was a wave that never ebbed. It ended the world.”

“That’s just a story. I remember my mother telling it to me,” said Mau. “Everyone knows it: ‘In the Time When Things Were Otherwise and the Moon Was Different… Men were becoming troublesome, and so Imo swept them away with a great wave.’”

“Was there an ark? I mean, er, some sort of big boat?” asked Daphne. “I mean, how did anyone survive?”

“There were people on the sea and high ground,” said Mau. “That’s the story, isn’t it, Ataba?”

“What had they done that was so bad?” Daphne asked.

Ataba cleared his throat. “It is said they tried to make themselves into gods,” he said.

“That’s right.” Mau went on: “I wonder if you can tell me what we did wrong this time?”

Ataba hesitated.

Mau did not, and he spoke sharp and fast, like a spring unwinding: “I am talking about my father, my mother, my whole family, my whole Nation! They all died! I had a sister who was seven years old. Just give me the reason. There must have been a reason! Why did the gods let them die? I found a little baby stuck in a tree. How had it offended the gods?”

“We are small. We cannot understand the nature of the gods,” said Ataba.

“No! You don’t believe that — I can hear it in your voice! I don’t understand the nature of a bird, but I can watch it and listen to it and learn about it. Don’t you do this with the gods? Where are the rules? What did we do wrong? Tell me!”

“I don’t know! Don’t you think I haven’t asked them?” Tears started to roll down Ataba’s cheeks. “You think I am a man alone? I haven’t seen my daughter or her children since the wave. Do you hear what I say? It is not all about you! I envy your rage, demon boy. It fills you up! It feeds you, gives you strength. But the rest of us listen for the certainty, and there is nothing. Yet in our heads we know there must be… something, some reason, some pattern, some order, so we call upon the silent gods, because they are better than the darkness. That is it, boy. I have no answers for you.”

“Then I’ll look for them in the darkness,” said Mau, holding up the lantern. “Come farther with us,” he said in a quieter voice.

The light glistened off the tears streaming down the priest’s face. “No,” he said hoarsely.

“We’ll have to leave you here,” said Mau. “Among the dead men, which I think is no place for you. Or you can come with us. At least you’ll have a demon and a ghost on your side. We may need your wisdom, too.”

To Daphne’s surprise, the old man smiled. “You think I have some left?”

“Certainly. Shall we continue? What can you find that is worse than me?”

“I’d like to ask a question,” said Daphne quickly. “How often is a new Grandfather put in here, please?”

“Once or twice in fifty years,” said Ataba.

“There are thousands here. Are you sure?”

“This place has been here since the world was made, and so have we,” said Mau.

“On that, at least, we are in full agreement,” said Ataba stoutly.

“But that’s a very long time ago!”

“And that is why there are so many Grandfathers!” said Mau. “It’s very simple.”

“Yes,” said Daphne, “when you put it like that, I suppose it is.” They set off, and then she said: “What was that noise?”

They stopped, and this time they all heard the faint crackling and rustling from behind them.

“Are the dead rising?” asked Ataba.

“You know, I really hoped nobody was going to suggest that,” said Daphne.

Mau walked a few steps back along the cave, which was full of tiny crackling sounds. The dead don’t walk, he thought. That’s one of the ways you know they are dead. So what I’m doing is standing here, a long way from the sky, and I have to work out what they are doing. So what is the reason? And where have I heard this noise before?

He walked a little way farther up the tunnel, where there was no noise at all, and waited. After a while, the crackling started again, and he thought of sunshine on hot days. It was crackling where he had left the others, too. “Let’s keep going,” he said, “and it will stop, provided we keep moving.”

“They won’t wake up?” said Ataba.

“It’s the papervine bindings on the Grandfathers,” Mau said. “Even when it’s bone-dry, it crackles and pops when it’s warmed up. The heat of the lamps and our bodies sets it off if we stay in one place too long. That’s all it is.”

“Well, it was frightening me,” said Daphne. “Well done. Deductive reasoning based on observation and experiment.”

Mau ignored that, because he didn’t have the faintest idea what it meant. But he felt pleased. The Grandfathers didn’t wake up. The noise he had heard as a boy was just papervine getting hotter or colder. That was true, and he could prove it. It wasn’t hard to work out, so why is it all I can do not to wet myself? Because papervine moving doesn’t sound interesting and walking skeletons does, that’s why. Somehow they make us feel more important. Even our fears make us feel important, because we fear that we might not be.

He watched Ataba move close to a Grandfather, then step back hurriedly when it began to creak.

My body is a coward but I am not fearful. I will fear nothing, ever, he thought. Not now.

There was a glow ahead. It appeared suddenly as they walked around a long curve — red, yellow, and green, flickering as they got closer. Ataba groaned and stopped walking, and because he did that, Mau knew he couldn’t. He looked down the slope ahead.

“Stay and look after the old man,” he said to the ghost girl. “I don’t want him to run away.”

I will not fear my bladder that wants to explode, he told himself as he sped down past the silent sentries, or my feet that want to turn and flee, and I will not fear the pictures that are running, screaming, through my head. He ran on, the light racing ahead of him, repeating the vow until, like Captain Roberts, he found it necessary to change the words in a hurry. I will not fear the shadow that is walking out of the pretty light, because I have found my fear down here in the dark, and I shall reach out and touch him as he reaches out to touch me….

His fingers met his reflection and touched smooth golden metal, in a slab about the size of a man.

Mau put his ear to it, but there was no sound. When he pushed it, it didn’t move.

“I want you to stay where you are,” he told the others when they caught up to him. “Both of you. We’ve come down a long way. There may be water on the other side of this.”

He prodded at the metal with his crowbar. It was very soft and also very thick, but the stone around it was the ordinary island stone, and that seemed a better bet. It soon started to flake away under blows from the pointed end of the bar, and after some work there was a hiss and the smell of wet salt. So the sea was somewhere near, but at least they were above it.