upset.
When the game tailed off – of its own accord, somehow – I
went into the nearest shop, bought some mineral water and beer
and – for the very youngest footballers – Baikal fizzy drink. Of
course, they would have preferred Coca-Cola, but it's time we
stopped drinking that foreign poison
The only thing bothering me was the realisation that excessive
generosity would arouse all kinds of suspicions. So I had to be
moderate in my good deeds.
After saying goodbye to the players, I walked as far as the river
beach and enjoyed a swim in the water that was dirty, but cool.
The pompous palace spires of the Assol complex towered up into
the sky on one side.
Well, let them . . . I didn't care.
The funniest thing of all, I realised, was that in my place any
Dark Magician could have done exactly the same thing. Maybe
not one of the really young ones still into pleasures previously out
of reach, like fresh oysters and expensive prostitutes. But a Dark
One who had already lived a bit and come to understand that
everything in the world was nothing but vanity, the vanity of vanities,
in fact.
And he would have scampered round that pitch, yelling and
kicking the ball, and hissing at the teenagers' clumsy attempts to
swear: 'Hey, watch your lip, kid!' And afterwards he would have
gone to the beach, and splashed about in the muddy water, and
laid on the grass, looking up at the sky . . .
Where was it, that dividing line? Okay, with the lower Dark
Ones, everything was clear. They were non-life. They had to kill
in order to survive. And there was nothing any verbal gymnastics
could do about that. They were Evil.
But where was the real boundary?
And why did it sometimes seem on the part of dissolving? Like
now, at a time when the only problem was one single human
being who wanted to become an Other? Just one, that was all!
But just look at the resources that had been thrown into the search.
Dark Ones, Light Ones, the Inquisition . . . And I wasn't the only
one working on this business, I was just a pawn who had been
advanced, carrying out local reconnaissance work. Gesar was wrinkling
his brow, Zabulon knitting his eyebrows, Witiezslav scowling
and baring those teeth. A human wanted to become an Other –
hunt him down, get him!
But who wouldn't want it?
Not the eternal hunger of the vampires, not the insane fits of
the werewolves, but the full, complete life of a magician. With
everything that ordinary people had.
Only better.
You're not afraid anyone will steal the expensive stereo from
your car when you leave it unwatched.
You don't get sick with flu, and if you come down with some
vile incurable disease, the Dark Sorcerers or the Light Healers are
at your service.
You don't wonder how you're going to survive until pay day.
You don't feel afraid of dark streets at night or drunken bums.
You're not even afraid of the militia.
You're certain your child will get home safely from school and
not run into some crazy maniac in the front hallway . . .
Yes, of course, that was where the real problem lay. Your nearest
and dearest were safe, they were even excluded from the vampire
lottery. Only you couldn't save them from old age and death.
But after all, that was still a long way off. Somewhere in the
future, far ahead.
On the whole it was far better to be an Other.
What's more, you wouldn't gain anything if you refused initiation,
even your human relatives would be right to call you a fool. After
all, if you became an Other, you'd be able to help them out. Like
that story of Semyon's . . . someone put a hex on a peasant's cows,
and his Other son had an investigator sent in to help him. Blood
is thicker than water, after all, your own flesh and blood is dearest.
Nothing to be done about that . . .
I jerked upright as if I'd been electrocuted. I jumped to my feet
and stared up at the buildings of the Assol complex.
What reason could a Light Magician have for making a rash
promise to do absolutely anything?
There was
When the game tailed off – of its own accord, somehow – I
went into the nearest shop, bought some mineral water and beer
and – for the very youngest footballers – Baikal fizzy drink. Of
course, they would have preferred Coca-Cola, but it's time we
stopped drinking that foreign poison
The only thing bothering me was the realisation that excessive
generosity would arouse all kinds of suspicions. So I had to be
moderate in my good deeds.
After saying goodbye to the players, I walked as far as the river
beach and enjoyed a swim in the water that was dirty, but cool.
The pompous palace spires of the Assol complex towered up into
the sky on one side.
Well, let them . . . I didn't care.
The funniest thing of all, I realised, was that in my place any
Dark Magician could have done exactly the same thing. Maybe
not one of the really young ones still into pleasures previously out
of reach, like fresh oysters and expensive prostitutes. But a Dark
One who had already lived a bit and come to understand that
everything in the world was nothing but vanity, the vanity of vanities,
in fact.
And he would have scampered round that pitch, yelling and
kicking the ball, and hissing at the teenagers' clumsy attempts to
swear: 'Hey, watch your lip, kid!' And afterwards he would have
gone to the beach, and splashed about in the muddy water, and
laid on the grass, looking up at the sky . . .
Where was it, that dividing line? Okay, with the lower Dark
Ones, everything was clear. They were non-life. They had to kill
in order to survive. And there was nothing any verbal gymnastics
could do about that. They were Evil.
But where was the real boundary?
And why did it sometimes seem on the part of dissolving? Like
now, at a time when the only problem was one single human
being who wanted to become an Other? Just one, that was all!
But just look at the resources that had been thrown into the search.
Dark Ones, Light Ones, the Inquisition . . . And I wasn't the only
one working on this business, I was just a pawn who had been
advanced, carrying out local reconnaissance work. Gesar was wrinkling
his brow, Zabulon knitting his eyebrows, Witiezslav scowling
and baring those teeth. A human wanted to become an Other –
hunt him down, get him!
But who wouldn't want it?
Not the eternal hunger of the vampires, not the insane fits of
the werewolves, but the full, complete life of a magician. With
everything that ordinary people had.
Only better.
You're not afraid anyone will steal the expensive stereo from
your car when you leave it unwatched.
You don't get sick with flu, and if you come down with some
vile incurable disease, the Dark Sorcerers or the Light Healers are
at your service.
You don't wonder how you're going to survive until pay day.
You don't feel afraid of dark streets at night or drunken bums.
You're not even afraid of the militia.
You're certain your child will get home safely from school and
not run into some crazy maniac in the front hallway . . .
Yes, of course, that was where the real problem lay. Your nearest
and dearest were safe, they were even excluded from the vampire
lottery. Only you couldn't save them from old age and death.
But after all, that was still a long way off. Somewhere in the
future, far ahead.
On the whole it was far better to be an Other.
What's more, you wouldn't gain anything if you refused initiation,
even your human relatives would be right to call you a fool. After
all, if you became an Other, you'd be able to help them out. Like
that story of Semyon's . . . someone put a hex on a peasant's cows,
and his Other son had an investigator sent in to help him. Blood
is thicker than water, after all, your own flesh and blood is dearest.
Nothing to be done about that . . .
I jerked upright as if I'd been electrocuted. I jumped to my feet
and stared up at the buildings of the Assol complex.
What reason could a Light Magician have for making a rash
promise to do absolutely anything?
There was
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