Stolen Faces, Stolen Names

Начало книги

Nomun woke just before sundown on a beach of shattered diamonds, the glitter cold against his back. He rolled to his knees and found himself in a crowd. They all wore Nomun’s face.

Seven Nomuns stared, hot-eyed.

One Nomun lay at the edge of the water, a smear of blood at his mouth. His dead eyes gazed up at the sky.

The last Nomun reached out a hand to help Nomun to his feet.

Nomun took the hand and stood, though the world still wavered.

He concentrated on the helpful one and saw his own face as it might have looked a thousand years before. Ten thousand years? «Thank you,» Nomun said.

A smile lit Young Nomun’s dark features. «Yes. And you are?»

«Nomun,» Nomun said, and as he spoke, he realized he remembered nothing but his name and his face. For some reason he felt no great surprise; it was almost as if he had made the same discovery many times before.

«Of course,» Young Nomun said, his smile growing wider. The others made a collective sound of disgust, a sort of growling hiss, full of contempt. Nomun jerked and released Young Nomun’s hand.

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