Wandering Spark - Part 61
Burning eyes glimmered now above their heads. Apparently, the lute, who it was easily moved along steep rocks.
"He won’t attack at us from above?"
"No, never."
"Can you make him go away?"
Clover has snapped his fingers. Eyes have disappeared.
"You must be very powerful," Varan said after a pause.
Clover said nothing.
"I heard," Varan began cautiously, "that mages are born. That is, I wanted to say that from birth... ugh..."
"Once upon a time," said Clover wearily, "I told you a story... I tried to tell you. About Spark - master of hearths. A wanderer who never sleeps twice under one roof."
"Yes," Varan said uncertainly. And he thought: if on the mainland roads are as long as veins on tree trunks... you can afford the luxury of being a wanderer.
"He does not have a name. Neither home. Nothing. He goes from house to house, from village to village... In a house where he will spread fire in the hearth, always - as long as there are some walls, there will be peace and harmony. For two hundred years... I have seen such houses. They are old and barely standing... but yet they are tinted, patched up, people make props, although they could have built a new house a long time ago."
"And they really have peace and harmony?" Varan asked skeptically.
"Yes, imagine this…"
"And what does he have to do - put fire in all the houses one by one?"
The magician chuckled softly.
"He never listens to anyone's advice. Nobody knows how he is looking for a place to sleep... If he chose houses where decent, hard-working people, and so on... Or, on the contrary, unfortunate people needing consolation... But no. He can knock in any door, completely in any door..."
"And if they send him away?" Asked Varan eagerly. "He will punish them, probably, the lightning or something else..."
"What a lightning, come to your senses," the magician laughed. "Those who chase him will not have anything. Neither good nor bad. Nothing ... By the way, he is often sent away. Because at one time, when rumors about him were especially loud ... there were Shuu knows how many vagabonds, asking for the night and with a mysterious kind. Pretends. Everyone was tired and they began to drive the travelers away from their doors...
Clover paused.
"Why doesn’t he have a sign," Varan said. "There is some sign on which he could be distinguished..."
"Yeah, yeah," Clover snorted. "Stars in the forehead, right?"
"Maybe stars," muttered Varan. And he suddenly remembered: "Is this a legend, or is it true? If you've seen those happy houses..."
"I've seen a lot of things." Clover sighed. "Maybe those people got their luck somehow differently. Or maybe there was no happiness. Maybe they wanted to surprise the neighbors... And invented a fairy tale ... What else do we have sour?"
"Kislak from milk."
"I haven’t tried it... What filthy food you eat in your bottomland... All right. Again vinegar. Vinegar, right?
A long minute passed before a dim, barely noticeable light flew down.
"That's all," said Clover. "I think we should get some sleep."
"Yeah," muttered Varan. "And wake up halfway to the bottomland."
The magician laughed:
"Well, let's get stuck to the rock, there's a way ..."
"I don’t want to sleep," Varan confessed. "I'm thirsty."
"Me too," the magician said seriously.
"Could you create some water?"
"Now? No."
They became silent again.
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