Читать книгу Sinbad: Rogue of Mars - John Garavaglia - Страница 31

member of your family. For that I am eternally grateful. I fear, however, I am merely a sailor, not a savior. I am not of whom your prophecy speaks.”

The Azurian priest shivered, it was very windy and cold. He pulled his robe’s collar tighter around his neck and scanned his environment. There was a temple far off in the distance, and the holy blue man set off in its direction. He walked for a very long time, and eventually he found himself in the foothills of the mountains, a hazy mist filled the atmosphere. He trudged to the foot of the nearest slope and began the hike upward.

The moon was almost directly above, and the wind had increased in pitch by the time he found a steep, twisting trail and saw a cluster of huts a few hundred yards away. The clouds had completely covered the luminous moon and the mountainside was colder and windier. The priest was panting as he climbed to the top of a stone ridge. The rest of the mountain was covered in clouds and mist. The priest clamped his teeth together to stop their chattering, but he could not control the shivers that racked his body. Wind howled down the slope, driving gusts of dirt into his face and eyes. He blinked, wiped his face on his sleeve, and struggled on.

At the next level clearing, the priest stopped and rested for a moment. The sky grew darker and the wind felt like a razor slicing his face but he did nothing to shield himself. He was completely exhausted.

The priest glanced at the stark outlines of the mountains all about them and shuddered. His soul shrank from their gaunt brutality. This was a grim, naked land where anything might happen.

A remote mountain village was in front of him. It was cut off from the world by sky-high peaks. There was a temple that overlooked a small enclave of thatch-roofed huts. Wooly yaks were tethered outside the dwellings.

JOHN GARAVAGLIA

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