Chapter 3

There were no more surprises that day. Except, perhaps, for one – he had to look for a cow hiding behind some blackthorn bushes near a crevice leading somewhere up the mountain. This creature had decided to lie down and chew its cud in quiet solitude – as it usually did. This cow had already gotten on Ned's nerves, and he dreamed that it would soon end up in the soup. Alas – it was beyond his power to decide this issue. However… no – he did not dare. And he felt sorry for the stupid creature. It hadn't done anything bad to him, unlike people. And as for the fact that it had gotten into the wilds – that's what a shepherd is for, so as not to gape.

In the evening, in the village, he was met by news of an unusual incident - three guys and a girl suddenly lost their memory and came home drooling like idiots. They ran for a doctor, but he threw up his hands - it was beyond his powers! They needed a top-class doctor, but he couldn't handle it. Now they were wondering - what to do? Where to take the unfortunate idiots? According to the villagers, these young people had climbed under the mountain, into caves where it was absolutely forbidden to climb. Because underground inhabitants live there, depriving careless people of their memory and taking their souls.

Ned carefully inquired of the cook who had told him the village news - where was this entrance to the dungeon, and received a vague answer - somewhere THERE, in the hills. There - judging by the wave of the cook's hand, it occupied a space half the world.

After supper, Ned went to his room, having begged the cook for some honey and marmot fat. Having mixed them, he got something like an ointment, which he rubbed into Narda's scratch. She squealed softly when her hands touched the painful deep furrow, and then fervently licked this ointment, and at the end of the action cheerfully poked her cold nose into Ned's cheek and joyfully thought:

- The owner is good! Love! Delicious! Delicious! Kind!

Ned laughed, grabbed the dog in his arms, and they rolled around on the straw for a while, tugging at each other and pretending to growl, as if they were going to tear each other's throats out. Narda was still very young, so she loved games.

After playing, they stretched out next to each other, Narda fell asleep right away - in the evening she had a good, filling dinner, and she had run around a lot during the day. Ned began to think about his future life. And the more he thought, the more he came to the idea that he needed to talk to the doctor. About what? Of course - about how he should live on.

Ned rose carefully from his bunk, pulled on his boots, and crept out of the barn, looking to see if anyone had seen him leave the house. Night had come, and it was as dark as a cellar, the red moon hidden by thick clouds, and a light rain was beginning to fall, still lightly, but by mid-night it would be clearing up, Ned reckoned. But that was good, for the young folk were in their houses, and the elders were long asleep, so no one would see him wandering about the village.

And so it happened - there was not a single person in the village or on the bridge. The lanterns that lit the insides of the houses were also extinguished - it felt as if the rainy winter had come again, when everyone huddled indoors and sat listening to the rain. Only occasionally did the dogs bark when Ned crept silently along the fences, and even then sluggishly, more out of duty than desire. After all, one had to somehow work off the piece that the master gave him?

The doctor was also asleep - his house stood quiet and lifeless, as if no one lived there. The garden near the house was neglected and squalid - it was not looked after, the doctor did not care whether there were weeds or flowers growing there, worthy of being given to a beautiful girl.

After knocking on the window, after a while, Senerad's hoarse, dissatisfied voice was heard, and then the owner of the voice himself appeared, having managed to throw a sheepskin coat over his shoulders. The healer was not surprised to see Ned, and immediately, smiling to himself, thought:

- Looks like he cursed someone again. Come on, come on, my boy, try! Just not like with those punks - take it easy! Uncle Senerad needs a job, and a lot of it. Or rather, not even a job - money!

"Why did you come?" he said out loud. "Is someone sick?"

- No. Yes. Maybe I got sick, Ned was confused, but no one sent me. I came myself.

- By yourself? - the doctor was surprised. - Why?

- We need to talk.

- Are you crazy? What kind of conversations can I have with you, a lowly slave, especially at night? Get out of here. Come back during the day and we'll talk. That's it, that's it, get going!

"What if I curse you now?" Ned asked with a calm grin.

- What? - the doctor was taken aback and thought:

- What kind of demon is this? How does he know?! He knows?! Oh gods! Well, well, I need to talk to him...

- Come in... - Senerad answered calmly, and dove back behind the door - just close it tighter, the door is jammed. Lock it with the hook. It's completely dried out, you can't close it, and the wind blows it open. It needs repairs, but there's no money. The villagers are stingy to the point of impossibility... well, sit here. What were you talking about curses? Tell me.

- Let's agree right away - I will speak frankly, and you speak frankly, without lies. I will feel when you are lying, do not doubt it. Well, shall we agree?

- A promising start to the conversation - Senerad chuckled in surprise - I heard that you are something of a village idiot, unresponsive and harmless, and rather stupid, and now you started talking like that? Okay, let's be honest. Only you came to me, and not I to you, so let's start first. What brought you to me?

"I want you to teach me how to use my magic!" Ned breathed. "I want to be able to control my magic and be able to call it up when I want, not when I'm angry or in a rage. That's the main thing."

- What does he know?! Wow! What a request! What a fool! I wonder how he will sense that I'm lying? An empath? Let me try...

- Why did you come to me? I am a humble backwater healer, and you came to me with some strange questions. How can I teach you something if I don't know how to do it myself? And anyway, what kind of magic do you have? So far I haven't heard anything useful from you.

- And I from you. You are all lying. You know that I am a black magician, you know that I cast curses, you know that it was I who bewitched Antura. And I know about you - that you were a court physician, that you poisoned someone there and they were looking for you to punish you, that is why you are sitting here, in the boondocks. I know that you see when my curse falls on people and you can remove it. Maybe you should stop lying?

- Gods! What else does he know?! Where from? Who said? Damn it!

- Don't worry, I won't harm you. I haven't told anyone anything about you. And what I know, I saw in a dream.

- A seer?! A black magician – a seer?! How can that be? Gods, how you joke about a tired man! And your jokes are becoming more and more sophisticated!

"So what do you want from me?" Senerad continued in a hoarse voice, clearing his throat. "If you already know everything?"

- Now stop it! - Ned said irritably. - If you make me angry, I won't be able to resist and I'll curse you! And you might not be able to lift the curse from yourself!

- And you won't cast it on me - the healer said automatically - I have protected myself with protective spells. Your level is too low for me. I am not some oaf from the village of Black Ravine. I hope your own spell doesn't hit you - I'll cast a reflection spell on myself, then you'll learn how to offend a peaceful healer!

- First of all, don't lie - you're not that peaceful. Secondly, I'm not going to harm you, so all your complicated spells are useless. And thirdly, are you sure you can hide from me with spells? Not sure? Aha. Then stop talking nonsense, and let's talk like two reasonable people?

"Let's talk like two reasonable people!" the doctor repeated slowly, echoing, and thought:

- What the hell is going on! If a cow talks to me tomorrow and says she has fire magic, I won't be surprised. After this meeting, it looks like I won't be surprised by anything in my life.

- I want to control my magic, and I want you to help me with it. Can you?

- No, I can't. Don't look at me like that - it's not about me. The thing is that you have to learn, and not from me, but from those teachers who know how to teach. As sad as it is for me to admit, I'm not as strong a magician as I would like to be. Yes, I'm a good healer, but nothing more. To get a job at the palace as one of the court doctors, I had to bribe the majordomo. Five hundred gold pieces. And this despite the fact that we are distant relatives - his grandmother is my grandmother's cousin. And this guy ripped me off so that I would become one of the five doctors serving the court servants. Well, yes, I also practiced secretly, made love potions and some other things, which is where I got burned. But this is not about me, this is about you. If you want to master magic, you must study in the magic agar. Moreover, in the one that deals with combat, black magicians. And I am a white magician. I am a healer. Everything I can do is aimed at removing the effects of spells cast by people like you. Do you understand? Am I explaining things clearly? You understand – I am not against teaching you anything, but how can I teach you anything if I don't know how to do it myself?

- You are not entirely honest. The training of magicians at first should be similar. Right?

- So... but... okay - how do you imagine this? Well, I came to your master and said - give me your slave - or son, as he presents it - I will teach him magic! And then everyone will immediately connect your training with cases of unexplained illnesses in the village. They will especially remember these four! By the way - what did you do with them?

- Wow! And I thought YOU would tell me what I did to them! Stop! And how do you know that I did this to them? Ah! I'm talking nonsense - by the traces of the aura, right? And why didn't you cure them?

- Yes. By the traces of the aura. And what you did is inaccessible to me. I can't understand what you did. There was an impact. There are traces of your magic. But the disease itself is incomprehensible to me. I can't remove it. Outwardly, they are completely healthy, only... idiots. They will be told, they do, nothing more. I need to read literature on black magicians, and I have very little of it. To be honest, during my studies at the faculty of healing agara, I was not particularly interested in black magicians. However - unless the black magician was a pretty girl. Although this did not really serve as a reason for getting to know each other - when you are with her, the thought constantly sits in your head that - if she doesn't like the way I behaved in bed, she - bam! - will cast a curse. And then you will become useless in the male department. Or completely useless. Or you will shit yourself right in bed. To be honest, this is not conducive to wild love games. Something is spinning in my head - as if I heard somewhere, or read about such a curse that you cast, but nothing comes to mind. Oh well - maybe I'll remember later. So - what is your suggestion about how I can study the basics of magic with you? And one more thing - can you at least read and write? No? I knew it... It was stupid to even ask.

- Yes, I have a suggestion on how to arrange all this. Listen...

The presentation of the idea did not take long. Senerad listened incredulously, raising his eyebrows, then, curling his lips, said:

- It's kind of stupid. But it might work. But how are you going to go out on the street? Once you go out, does that mean you're cured? Cured, that means go back to work. You know what, maybe I shouldn't come up with anything new, but just report you to the authorities, and go study at Agar? I'll get my money, and you... you'll get out of your slavery. By the way, maybe we should just break out for the capital? A lot of time has passed, my sins might have already been forgotten... of course, I'm banned from the palace, but who's stopping me from opening my own business somewhere in the merchant quarter?

- And who will let you take me? Why did you decide that Brank would take me so easily and give me to you - take me, he says, and go with him wherever you want?

- That's also true... - the doctor was slightly confused - so, so... I need to think... that's what! I've got an idea. Do you know how we'll do it? Tomorrow the pearl buyer arrives on his ship. I'll wait until he goes back. Today is the second day of the week, right? He arrives on the third day - so I'll go to the city with him. There I'll find the mayor and demand that I be allowed to see him on an important state matter. He'll be obliged to receive me. And I'll tell him that I know the whereabouts of the black magician, I'll take a paper stating that I'll deliver you to him. I'll take two city guards and a ship from him, take you away from Brank, and bring you to the city.

- And then? What happens to me next?

- Here's how it will be - you will be examined by a special magician, the head of the local zarat of magicians, he will give a conclusion that you are indeed a magician, and a black one at that. I will be given a reward. And you... you will be obliged to go to an agara for training. The closest one is in the capital. I will volunteer to take you there, accordingly - I will save on transport. They must pay for travel to the capital - either by ship or by mail vans. Most likely, they will send you on some passing ship. They will be glad to accept passengers - why not? There is never too much money. Anyway, like this: your task is to hold out until I return from the city with a paper to escort you to the mayor, and try not to kill anyone during this time. Even if you really want to. By the way - describe what you feel? Has your character changed a lot since you began to notice magical abilities in yourself? What do you think happened to you? And when?

"I don't know what happened," Ned lied, "I suddenly became like this. Yes, my character changed. I stopped calmly accepting what seemed normal to me yesterday and the day before. I became irritable and easily enraged. Well, what else…"

- And you've suddenly become smarter, haven't you? - the doctor chuckled.

- How can I know if I've gotten smarter or not? - Ned answered, puzzled. - Can you tell me if you've gotten smarter or stupider in a few days? What can I compare it to?

- Hmm... you've definitely gotten smarter, - the healer said thoughtfully, - but where have I seen such a thing, where have I read about it? I can't remember... have you ever encountered any magical objects? Have you ever picked one up? Have you ever touched one? However, where would magical objects come from, in this hole... But why guess? Tomorrow I'll go to the library to read up on your problem. It will be quicker that way.

- And when will you arrive? When will you get the paper?

- Well, when... look how it will be - tomorrow the buyer arrives, usually he arrives by midday. He will buy until the evening, rest at night, and in the morning he will go to the city. In the city by midday, then I will start going to the authorities. I will definitely not manage in one day, which means I will have to stay another day. And after that day, in the morning - I will sail here, and here by lunchtime. So - in three days, on the fourth. Will you hold out?

"I lasted seventeen years, I can somehow endure four days," Ned grinned wryly.

Ned flew back as if on wings. His head was pounding – here it is! Finally! Really?! It was as if he was freeing himself from the heavy stupor in which his soul had been for seventeen long, difficult, terrible years. And Ned was very afraid that everything would fall apart. What if the healer was struck by a stroke and died on the way? What if the robbers killed him and the healer did not reach the city? What if… yes, many things – what if! Who would have thought that his life would depend on an evil, unfriendly old man living on the edge of the village…

Ned crawled into his little cell, lay down on the straw-stuffed mattress, and closed his eyes, calming his breathing. Before his mind's eye floated images of a future he had never seen before - great ships with white sails, smart women (they were dressed as peasant women, only in bright, very bright red and gold), crowds of people - a thousand or two thousand at once!

Ned couldn't imagine a population larger than a thousand or two. There were two thousand people in the entire village of Black Ravine, and he had never been to any other village. Silan's stories about crowds of tens of thousands made no sense to him. Silan had once told of twenty or thirty thousand people gathering at the market in the capital of Zamara! He had been there himself when he was sold by slavers. So he knew what he was talking about.

Narda poked her in the side and her thoughts began to drum like little drums:

- Master! Warmth! Love. Master is good! Love!

Ned winced slightly – no, he loved his dog, of course, but this incessant mumbling… he had to get some sleep sometime, didn't he? And then there were the cows mumbling… it felt like you were standing in a crowd of noisy people, and they were going – boo-boo-boo, boo-boo-boo!

Ned wondered - how to fence himself off from other people's thoughts? How to plug invisible ears? He lay awake for a long time, trying to somehow drown out the hum. Then suddenly a thought surfaced:

- Imagine that I'm plugging my ears with plugs! Here! I take a plug, one! In one ear. The other plug - whoop! In the other ear. Eee...there! There! It worked!

The murmuring around Ned died away, and there was a silence that made his ears ring. It seemed incredibly quiet, even though the cows were sighing, shifting their weight, and farting.

He became worried – maybe he had lost the magical ability to hear thoughts? That would be bad. He had already gotten used to knowing the secrets of those around him. A person quickly gets used to everything, especially if it is something good.

Ned imagined that he had raised his hands to invisible ears that heard thoughts, bang! The corks were out. And then, with relief, he heard the cows murmuring, and saw the picture that Narda had seen - a fleeing rabbit, tall grass rushing towards it.

Narda squealed in her sleep and moved her paws. Ned grinned and stroked the dog's large head, she immediately woke up and looked at her friend with a questioning look - what's up, master?

- Sleep. And I will sleep - Ned grinned, and with relief, he put the "plugs" in his "ears", closed his eyes, falling asleep.

The morning was no different from any other ordinary day. People driving cows to the outskirts, cows thoughtfully and stupidly looking at their owners and glancing sideways at the shepherd. Only the four young men were missing, instead the workers drove the cattle.

By the way, Ned always wondered why his tormentors drove the cows into the herd themselves, why the workers didn't do it? And only later, listening to their thoughts, he learned that they were trying to escape from the house to freedom – to hunt, swim in the sea, laze around under a plausible pretext. Whether the parents of the boys and the girl knew about it or not – Ned didn't care. Maybe they knew. Most likely, they knew.

The herd moved out of the village, rattling their bells, and Ned looked at the backs of the cows with the air of a warlord. Sometimes he imagined that he was leading not a herd, but a warrior band to conquer foreign lands, and there he was, the leader, standing behind everyone and waving his hand, directing his warriors forward to conquer foreigners.

Thank the gods – the mumbling he had removed during the night never appeared. The "plugs" held tight and now he could stop listening to this demonic herd pestering him with their thoughts. However – just like the human herd, with their dirty little secrets and vile thoughts. By the way, after several days and nights of listening, he was absolutely sure – animals are much more decent and honest than people. Although, to tell the truth – he had always been sure of this.

- Wait... what's your name? Ned! Wait! - hearing a voice behind him, Ned looked around and immediately recognized a man of about forty-five, with a thick blond beard, styled like a "shovel" for solidity. The headman. Sally's father.

"I'm listening to you, Mr. Headman," Ned answered gloomily, watching the cows leaving out of the corner of his eye, "but I need to go after the cows, otherwise they'll ruin my skin if even one disappears."

- You'll have time - the headman said harshly, staring at the boy - tell me what happened with Sally? I mean - what did you talk about with her? And with the boys? Everyone showed that they all hated you and always beat you when the opportunity presented itself. So tell me - when did you see them last? What do you know about their strange behavior? Why did they get sick? The healer couldn't cure them.

"You're laughing at a pathetic shepherd," Ned grinned wryly, "you're such educated, important people, and you couldn't understand what happened to the sick? Then why are you asking me, a wretched man?"

- I don't like the way you answer me - the elder twisted his lips - for a slave-shepherd you are too impudent! And your speech is too correct... who taught you to speak?

- Slave Silan. But I'm not a slave, if you haven't forgotten. I'm Brank's adopted son. And I've never been a slave. As for your daughter and the boys, I don't know anything about them, and I don't want to know. Sorry, I have to work.

Ned bowed to the headman and walked quickly after the cows, accompanied by the headman's thoughts:

- He's lying, the bitch! The guys were always bullying him, all the guys in the village showed it! They all hated him! And I hate you too, you bastard! The Ardov bastard! The damned nation of bandits! He's hiding something, that's for sure. We need to keep an eye on him - where he goes, what he does, have there been any strange events around him. Maybe we should take him right away, torture him thoroughly - will he tell us something? We can... but I don't want to ruin our relationship with Brank - he gets good money for being a shepherd, the greedy bastard. His brother works in the city, in the land relations department, he can screw me over when I'm applying for land for fields at the magistracy. We need precise evidence that the Ardov bastard is involved in the troubles with the guys. Maybe he slipped them something? Poison, or some other nasty stuff? But how did he do it? We need to think it all over...

* * *

The day dragged on and on. The cows chewed their cud, rested in the shade of the trees, and Ned watched them and wondered - where will this road lead him? What will happen to him? Before, he knew exactly what to do and what not to do, but what now? The stupid, animal life definitely does not suit him now. Stop! And why does it not suit him? It suited him before, but now? What happened? Did he really become smarter? Hmmm ... probably, after all - yes. He began to formulate his thoughts more clearly, began to understand things that he had not even thought about before. For example - why on earth was he in such a humiliating position in relation to other people? Why on earth? How did he deserve it? By his birth? Before, he was supported by the thought that in the next reincarnation, perhaps, he would become a rich and respected man, having atoned for his guilt in this incarnation. But who said that this incarnation would happen? Who saw those who were reincarnated? If they don't remember their previous life, who said they were reincarnated? Maybe there is nothing like that - he died, and that's it, turned to dust? Maybe reincarnation is a fairy tale for people like Ned, so that they don't rebel, working diligently for those who were lucky in life? It is unknown. But the new Ned, smarter, was leaning towards this version of events.

His thoughts were interrupted by voices, Ned started, awakening from the half-slumber of the midday heat and jumped to his feet, finding himself in front of several strong men with clubs and lassos in their hands. He immediately recognized them as the headman's workers - pearl divers, fishermen, carpenters. The men stood silently behind their master, waiting for the command, and it immediately followed:

- Take him! Grab him!

The men moved forward, surrounding Ned on all sides. He jerked one way, then the other - ten men were surrounding him in a ring, and there was no escape.

Ned thought with annoyance that if he hadn't plugged his mental "ears," he would have heard the guys approaching in advance and would have had time to prepare, but he didn't have any more time to think.

A lasso flew through the air and almost caught his neck. Ned ducked, grabbed the rope and yanked it hard. The man flew toward the guy, losing his balance, and the guy punched the guy in the Adam's apple with a short jab. The man grunted and sank down as if he had been cut down.

The blow from the stick burned the shoulder and it went numb. The next enemy received a blow to the groin so hard that he lost consciousness.

The events that followed were not imprinted in Ned's head - he beat, tore, gouged out eyes, tore mouths - blood spurted, bones crunched, people groaned. The dog squealed - Narda burst into the center of the fight to help her friend, slashing enemies with sharp teeth, and someone stabbed her with a knife. The dog fell, twitching and bleeding through teeth clicking in agony.

And then Ned, whose body no longer acted on his own, went wild. Before, he had struck like a mechanical doll, dodging, parrying, and striking as if he were striking soulless dolls, wishing only for them to leave him alone. Now, he killed. Each blow maimed, and the next was the finishing blow. He reveled in the blood of battle, and deep inside, there was pain: Narda! Poor dog! She died loving him. The last creature in this world who loved him, who cared about him. So what should these creatures live for? Why should they live when the one they cared about died?

The last to die was the headman. Ned had broken his neck, having previously broken his spine with a blow to the back when he tried to escape.

When it was all over, Ned stood silently over the mutilated corpses for several minutes. He didn't remember how long he stood there. And in general, everything seemed so distant, so strange and unreal, as if it were a dream. Then he woke up - Narda!

Ned rushed to the dog, pressed his ear to its side - no use. It was dead. Ned knelt before it, closed his eyes and stood there, as he had once stood before Silanus' grave. Then he rose and looked at where the corpses of his enemies lay. He only had to watch for a second - after he realized what he had done - he vomited in a violent fountain, knocking out of his stomach the simple food he had thrown in an hour ago. The urge to vomit did not stop for a long time - maybe it was nervous overload, or maybe physical... it is not every day that you kill ten people with your bare hands.

Ned, as if not believing his eyes, raised his bony hands and began to examine them as if for the first time. Hands, like hands. Knuckles bruised, bruised - here hit the club of one of the attackers. Here a small cut - knocked the knife out of the hand of a huge carpenter. Blood, abrasions. Nothing else. How had he managed to defeat an entire crowd of people, and with his bare hands? He, a simple boy, a shepherd? And what struck him most of all - when he killed, he experienced a sharp pleasure. Such as ... as if ... he was with a woman. Yes! As if he was with a woman. And only when the obsession passed, the mind refused to perceive what had happened. Refused to believe his eyes.

Ned sat down on a stone and stared blankly at the corpses. What to do? What to do? He wanted to cry - after all, he was essentially a simple boy, offended by fate. What could he oppose to the circumstances, except reason? And reason told him: run. Run from here, and as fast as you can! This is death! What else could there be, what is the punishment for killing the village headman? For killing ten people? Especially if you are a rootless outcast!

Turning, Ned went to the dog's body. He picked up Narda, carried her to the hollow and began to dig a grave for her - with his hands, helping himself with a piece of dry branch picked up under a large tree. It was easy to dig - the earth in the hollow was loose and slightly damp, smelled sweetly of mustiness and mushrooms.

Having dug a hole knee-deep, Ned stroked the dog's large, broad-browed head for the last time and carefully, as if afraid of hurting him, laid Nardu at the bottom of the grave. Biting his lip until it hurt, he looked down and, turning away, decisively moved the pile of excavated earth with his strong hands. A few minutes later, a small mound stood on the site of the grave, which would be leveled with the ground after the first rain. Ned could do nothing more for his friend.

The boy looked at the sun – it was already high. Noon. He had a few hours before sunset to get as far away from here as possible. By the time they realized that Ned and the herd had not arrived at the appointed time, by the time they set out to search – and then he would have gone so far away that it would be difficult to find. Unless with dogs… But that would most likely be in the morning. So he had a long way to go. Where to? To the city, of course, where else?

After thinking for about three minutes, Ned resolutely approached the corpses and began to search their pockets and belts. The haul was not very rich - who in the village carries a lot of money? Just enough for a mug of beer ... and even then rarely. Only idlers drink during the day. There are evenings and holidays for drinking.

In total, Ned fished out ten coppers, five silver pools, and…that's it. No rings, no chains, nothing valuable. "Villages!" the grumpy doctor would say.

Two good knives, as long as Ned's forearm, so sharp you could shave with them. With these Ned would occasionally, cutting himself and cursing, scrape off his youthful growth, not yet fully grown, but thick as marsh reeds.

Having estimated it on his hand, Ned chose one that looked more expensive and lay more comfortably in his hand. It was obvious that it was not an ordinary blade. Pearl divers usually carried such ones - suddenly it would get tangled in old nets, and it could also fight off a sea monster. Sharks rarely, but they swam to these shores.

Having chosen one fellow, similar in height to himself, he undressed him, taking off his good, solid clothes and strong, almost unworn soft boots. The clothes were slightly stained with blood, but Ned carried them to the stream and carefully washed out these brown stains.

He looked and clicked his tongue in satisfaction – it had washed off well. He took off his clothes and left them on the spot, without hiding them. What was the point of hiding them? Any hunter who knew about tracks, having examined the scene of the crime, would easily determine what had happened here. Why waste time then?

He put the coins in a purse taken from the elder's belt. By the way, the silver pools were from there, from that purse.

He thought with annoyance that he had no time to go back for the cauldron and the pile of pearls hidden near it - there were about fifteen of them - smooth, pink, each the size of a fingernail. Silanus said that each one could fetch at least ten gold pieces, or even more.

In the Black Ravine, everyone knew about pearls, even the last of the last slaves, or the rootless foundling. Pearls were the main bread of the villagers. Everything else - fishing, fields sown with rye and oats, cows with their milk - all this was secondary, to keep the pants up, as the old slave said. The main thing was the pearl plantations, which the villagers had been plundering for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years.

From the point of view of the shells, they were robbing. But from the point of view of the people, it was quite a decent thing to do. With luck, a pearl diver could earn enough for his house right away, having raised several large pearls from a depth of fifteen centimeters. However, such luck had not been heard of here for a long time, and in general, there were fewer and fewer shells. The divers mercilessly destroyed the pearl oyster plantations, without thinking about the consequences.

According to the stories of the old people - as Silan said - in the old days it was possible to get shells with pearls literally from the depths of the santa. But for some time now everything has begun to change - the shells went deeper and deeper, and now only strong, trained men and women could reach the bottom with the coveted shells. Divers after several years of such work became unfit for use - they became deaf, fell ill with a disease from which their legs and arms were twisted. They said that the infection was transmitted from the shells, taking revenge on the divers for their death. But as Silan said - he does not believe in this mysticism. Everything is simpler - the disease was caused by daily presence in cold water, at great depths. He explained the reason for the disappearance of the shells by the fact that, firstly, the water really had become colder than before – and no one knew why – and secondly, people had so barbarously knocked out the pearl plantations that the shells simply did not have time to reproduce. Only those that lived at great depths survived. But they did not want to reproduce normally in the cold depths. It was already being said that if this continued, the village would soon come to an end – people would scatter to other villages and go to the city.

Regretfully abandoning the idea of ​​returning for his treasures, Ned pulled on his last boot, stood up, stamped his feet on the ground and noted with satisfaction that the boots fit his feet just as they were made for him. He felt the fabric of the shirt and light jacket - excellent quality! Inconspicuous, but strong and not easily soiled. Just right for him. Ned had never had such quality things, and he felt with pleasure that for the first time in his life he was dressed decently and even well. So what if they were from corpses? They didn't care, but he needed to live! A bit big, of course, but just right in the shoulders. But at least it didn't pinch.

He gathered his old kitbag - flint, tinder, dry moss wrapped in an impenetrable, oiled piece of leather, threw the bag over his back and, looking back at Narda's grave, walked along the path up the hill. He didn't look back at the people he had killed. Why? Let them lie there. He hadn't asked them to come and pounce on him with clubs and ropes. Had they come to torture him? Well, let them rot now. He had no remorse or concern about killing people.