The изумруд Atlas
By John Stephens
P R O L O G U E
The girl was shaken awake. Her mother was leaning over her.
“Kate”—her voice was low and urgent—“listen very closely. I need Ты to do something for me. I need Ты to keep your brother and sister safe. Do Ты understand? I need Ты to keep Michael and Emma safe.”
“What . . .”
“There isn’t time to explain. Promise me you’ll look after them.”
“But—”
“Oh, Kate, please! Just promise me!“
“I . . . I promise.”
It was Рождество Eve. Snow had been falling all day. As the oldest, Kate had been allowed to stay up later than her brother and sister. That meant that long after the voices of the carolers had faded away, she’d sat with her parents beside the fire, sipping hot Шоколад as they exchanged presents—the children would receive theirs in the morning—and feeling very adult for her four years. Her mother gave her father a small, thick book, very worn and old, that seemed to please him greatly, and he in turn gave her a locket on a Золото chain. Inside the locket was a tiny picture of the children—Kate, two-year-old Michael, and baby Emma. Then, finally, it was up to bed, and Kate lay there in the darkness, warm and happy under her blankets, wondering how she would ever fall asleep, and it seemed the very Далее moment she was being shaken awake.
The door to her room was open and, in the light from the hall, she watched as her mother reached back and unclasped the locket and chain. She bent вперед and slid her hands underneath Kate, fastening it around her neck. The girl felt the soft brush of her mother’s hair, smelled the gingerbread she’d been cooking that afternoon, and then something wet struck her cheek and she realized her mother was crying.
“Remember your father and I Любовь Ты very much. And we will all be together again. I promise.”
The girl’s сердце was hammering in her chest, and she had opened her mouth to ask what was happening when a man appeared in the doorway. The light was behind him so Kate couldn’t see his face, but he was tall and thin and wearing a long overcoat and what looked like a very rumpled hat.
“It’s time,” he said.
His voice and that image—the tall man silhouetted in the doorway—would haunt Kate for years, as it was the last time she saw her mother, the last time her family was together. Then the man сказал(-а) something Kate couldn’t hear, and it was as if a heavy curtain was drawn around her mind, obliterating the man in the doorway, the light, her mother, everything.
The woman gathered up the sleeping child, wrapping the blankets around her, and followed the man down the stairs, past the living room where the огонь still burned, and out into the cold and darkness.
Had she been awake, the girl would’ve seen her father standing in the snow beside an old black car, her brother and infant sister swaddled in blankets and asleep in his arms. The tall man opened the back door, and the children’s father laid his charges on the seat; then he turned, took Kate from the woman, and laid her beside her brother and sister. The tall man closed the door with a soft thunk.
“You’re sure?” the woman said. “You’re sure this is the only way?”
The tall man had moved into the glow of a streetlamp and was clearly visible for the first time. To a casual passerby, his appearance would not have inspired much confidence. His overcoat was patched in spots and frayed at the cuffs, he wore an old tweed suit that was missing a button, his white рубашка was stained with ink and tobacco, and his tie&mdashthis was perhaps the strangest of all— was knotted not once but twice, as if her’d forgotten whether he’d tied it and, rather than glancing down to check, had simply tied it again for good measure. His white hair poked out from beneath his hat, and his eyebrows rose from his forehead like great snowy horns, curling over a pair of bent and patched tortoiseshell glasses.
All in all, he looked like someone who had gotten dressed in the midst of a whirlwind and, thinking he still looked too presentable, had thrown himself down a flight of stairs.
It was when Ты looked in his eyes that everything changed.
Reflecting no light save their own, they shone brightly in the snow-muffled night, and there was in them a look of such uncommon energy and kindness and understanding that Ты forgot entirely about the tobacco and ink stains on his рубашка and the patches on his glasses and that his tie was knotted twice over. Ты looked in them and knew that Ты were in the presence of true wisdom.
“My friends, we have always known this день would come.”
“But what changed?” the children’s father
demanded.
“There’s been nothing since Cambridge Falls! That was five years ago! Something must’ve happened!”
The old man sighed. “Earlier this evening, I went to see Devon McClay.”
“He’s not . . . he can’t be . . .”
*Because of COPYRIGHT i cannot produce anymore of the first chapter, but want to read more? Go to the offical website*-
link
By John Stephens
P R O L O G U E
The girl was shaken awake. Her mother was leaning over her.
“Kate”—her voice was low and urgent—“listen very closely. I need Ты to do something for me. I need Ты to keep your brother and sister safe. Do Ты understand? I need Ты to keep Michael and Emma safe.”
“What . . .”
“There isn’t time to explain. Promise me you’ll look after them.”
“But—”
“Oh, Kate, please! Just promise me!“
“I . . . I promise.”
It was Рождество Eve. Snow had been falling all day. As the oldest, Kate had been allowed to stay up later than her brother and sister. That meant that long after the voices of the carolers had faded away, she’d sat with her parents beside the fire, sipping hot Шоколад as they exchanged presents—the children would receive theirs in the morning—and feeling very adult for her four years. Her mother gave her father a small, thick book, very worn and old, that seemed to please him greatly, and he in turn gave her a locket on a Золото chain. Inside the locket was a tiny picture of the children—Kate, two-year-old Michael, and baby Emma. Then, finally, it was up to bed, and Kate lay there in the darkness, warm and happy under her blankets, wondering how she would ever fall asleep, and it seemed the very Далее moment she was being shaken awake.
The door to her room was open and, in the light from the hall, she watched as her mother reached back and unclasped the locket and chain. She bent вперед and slid her hands underneath Kate, fastening it around her neck. The girl felt the soft brush of her mother’s hair, smelled the gingerbread she’d been cooking that afternoon, and then something wet struck her cheek and she realized her mother was crying.
“Remember your father and I Любовь Ты very much. And we will all be together again. I promise.”
The girl’s сердце was hammering in her chest, and she had opened her mouth to ask what was happening when a man appeared in the doorway. The light was behind him so Kate couldn’t see his face, but he was tall and thin and wearing a long overcoat and what looked like a very rumpled hat.
“It’s time,” he said.
His voice and that image—the tall man silhouetted in the doorway—would haunt Kate for years, as it was the last time she saw her mother, the last time her family was together. Then the man сказал(-а) something Kate couldn’t hear, and it was as if a heavy curtain was drawn around her mind, obliterating the man in the doorway, the light, her mother, everything.
The woman gathered up the sleeping child, wrapping the blankets around her, and followed the man down the stairs, past the living room where the огонь still burned, and out into the cold and darkness.
Had she been awake, the girl would’ve seen her father standing in the snow beside an old black car, her brother and infant sister swaddled in blankets and asleep in his arms. The tall man opened the back door, and the children’s father laid his charges on the seat; then he turned, took Kate from the woman, and laid her beside her brother and sister. The tall man closed the door with a soft thunk.
“You’re sure?” the woman said. “You’re sure this is the only way?”
The tall man had moved into the glow of a streetlamp and was clearly visible for the first time. To a casual passerby, his appearance would not have inspired much confidence. His overcoat was patched in spots and frayed at the cuffs, he wore an old tweed suit that was missing a button, his white рубашка was stained with ink and tobacco, and his tie&mdashthis was perhaps the strangest of all— was knotted not once but twice, as if her’d forgotten whether he’d tied it and, rather than glancing down to check, had simply tied it again for good measure. His white hair poked out from beneath his hat, and his eyebrows rose from his forehead like great snowy horns, curling over a pair of bent and patched tortoiseshell glasses.
All in all, he looked like someone who had gotten dressed in the midst of a whirlwind and, thinking he still looked too presentable, had thrown himself down a flight of stairs.
It was when Ты looked in his eyes that everything changed.
Reflecting no light save their own, they shone brightly in the snow-muffled night, and there was in them a look of such uncommon energy and kindness and understanding that Ты forgot entirely about the tobacco and ink stains on his рубашка and the patches on his glasses and that his tie was knotted twice over. Ты looked in them and knew that Ты were in the presence of true wisdom.
“My friends, we have always known this день would come.”
“But what changed?” the children’s father
demanded.
“There’s been nothing since Cambridge Falls! That was five years ago! Something must’ve happened!”
The old man sighed. “Earlier this evening, I went to see Devon McClay.”
“He’s not . . . he can’t be . . .”
*Because of COPYRIGHT i cannot produce anymore of the first chapter, but want to read more? Go to the offical website*-
link