Untimely departed Friend Giedrius Желleneuskas dedicated to

Eli stopped the horse and looked around, but nothing pleased his eyes. Around as far as the eye could see, sun-faded meadows covered with sparse yellow grass stretched. Once upon a time luxurious gardens bloomed here, giving rest and coolness to tired travelers, but now only rare, twisted from the heat of the trees could remind of the former splendor of these places. Even the stream, which had earlier merrily murmured under a log bridge, had long ago become a dirtier gutter. Eli sadly smiled when he recalled how many years ago he, along with soldiers like him, rushed along the same road towards the "Holy City". Years passed and he goes back to where his home was once, to where he left his old father and the beautiful Magda. Now, instead of shiny armor, he wore a battered woolen cloak that the nomads used, and his horse did not at all resemble that handsome one on which he had once gone to foreign lands. Nevertheless, this horse served Eli great service. Although he was not as fast as a warhorse, he could walk many kilometers only with scarce food and a sip of muddy water.

Despite the fact that the sun was rising higher and Eli hurried towards the city. He relied on getting to darkness, for a rare traveler could venture to continue his journey under the cover of night, where he could become the desired prey of predators of both four-footed and bipedal, which in these places were not uncommon. Recently, even beggars have traveled far away from these places. Only sometimes along the dusty road gulping drunken songs swept the troops of the rebellious Count Ey. But they did not add life to this landscape, on the contrary, after themselves they left only looted and burnt houses, and pools of blood with which this earth drank more often than rainwater.

After several grueling hours of the journey, Eli finally saw in the distance, almost near the very horizon, a dark patch of the city walls. From a distance, the city seemed to be one huge fragment of the hell out of which came from the rock that stood in the middle of the dull-yellow plain. And if earlier he would surely have heard the many-voiced hum of a living settlement, now he could only hear the whistle of the wind, throwing sand on the centuries-old granite walls. Despite the fact that for many years he had lived under the open sky in the desert, Eli's ears had already been polished in the same way as the sea wave was polished off by coastal stones, however, he could not catch a single living sound that would break this dead silence. Only once, a small stone torn by a gust of wind from the very top of the city gates with a thud fell down.

After some time, Eli was already standing in front of the wide-open gate, one half of which hung on a rust-covered loop. Eli was almost home, but whether it was a house, because after 18 years of wandering in a foreign land, it’s hard to say if you have a house. How many times he called home a cave in a rock, a nomad's tent, or simply sheep skin, spread on the bare ground. But still it was a house. The house, whose image floated in memory even in those days, when Eli rushed in choking cholera.

Eli was already preparing to enter the city, but suddenly a thin ringing of the descending bowstring broke the silence and the next moment he felt that something cold and bloodthirsty dug into his neck. And the world has faded. The immutable, it seemed, walls suddenly began to spread like wax and dissolve in a midday haze. The high blue sky suddenly became scarlet and then fell apart in pieces. For a minute more, he felt himself lying on the ground and coarse hands of someone eagerly and hurriedly tore off his sword from his belt.

Eli opened his eyes. Through a small window under the ceiling, a light streamed into the room on which he lay.It was real, living sunshine, not at all like the one that even a moment ago pulled him along the endless dark corridor. Eli had forgotten God long ago, because many times he saw his comrades falling in battle, and the survivors were driven like cattle to the market, and then they died in the plague cellars, he powerlessly threatened the sky with fists and sent curses that seemed to bring down the stars from the sky, but now he has gathered his last strength and whispered "Praise to the Most High I Am Alive." For more forces did not have enough, and he again plunged into darkness. And again the dark wars in the turbans were pursuing him, and again the Master Hodge, amusing himself, chopped off the heads of the guilty slaves, and again he endured all 18 years of bondage. But now the chimeras of the past retreated and another picture opened before Eli’s mind. A girl sat on the edge of a small stream. “Hello Eli. You do not truly remember me. I am Magdalena. I was waiting for you, but you did not come. And when he returned, we again can not be together. I need you, but not near me. You will return to me soon when you finish the job you started. ”

Eli felt something cold touch his forehead. It was a rag of pure white matter dipped in water that someone had placed on his forehead. With incredible effort, he opened his eyes and then it seemed to him that an angel had descended in front of him. Next to his head on his knees was a girl. She now and then dipped the cloth into a large earthenware jug with water and again laid Eli on her head. Her fingers were so thin that the light seemed to pass through them, and how much lightness and grace there was in her simple movements. She was wearing a simple woolen dress to the heels on which Eli did not notice the slightest trace of embroidery, and there were no ornaments on her. Her long soft hair flowed over her thin shoulders. Sometimes she threw them behind her back and then Eli could see the whiteness of her long neck.

It seemed that at the slightest puff of the wind, it would rise into the air and dissolve among the fluffy clouds.

- Where I am? - Eli's voice was weak

- Praise to the Almighty you are awake. - The girl piously crossed herself, in my house. You brought the old Mark-shoemaker. He said he found you in a ditch in front of the city gates. And yet it is a miracle that you are alive. - The girl crossed herself again. -

A wave washed over Eli. He remembered how, in early childhood, they ran to the workshop of crank Mark, and how Mark sewed Eli a pair of good boots later and how then jokingly shouted after the departing squad. "Eli die himself, but do not give such good boots to the enemy."

- Where is Mark now? -

“I don’t know ...” She changed her face and it was obvious that the girl was telling a lie.

- Will he come back? - Eli hoped to hear at least some answer that would allow him to continue the conversation and carefully find out from the girl about the fate of his relatives, but the girl abruptly rose and left the room.

And stretched monotonous days. Sometimes Eli felt quite well, but sometimes the grim horsemen of the disease again caught up with him, and then the whole world plunged into darkness and only someone's shadows rushed in the hot twilight of delirium. All this time, Eliza (this is how it was called the savior Eli) did not depart from his bed. Only sometimes she would leave for a few hours, usually at night, and then Eli would listen for a long time to the silence of the night, waiting for that moment when he would hear her soft steps again. It was clear that Eliza was very tired. It seemed that she had become even more light and airy, and her eyes glittered even brighter on her pale face.

One night, Eliza arrived much earlier than usual. Eli had one look enough to understand that something bad had happened. Her hair was disheveled from running fast, and her face was covered with sweat.

- Eliza, what happened? - Eli raised himself on his elbows

“I saw soldiers enter the city.” The very ones that ... that killed Mark-On the face of the girl reflected a genuine fear.

- killed? “Now, Eli realized that Eliza did not want to worry him, and so she didn’t beat Eli in due time.

Eli saw a lot of deaths, he himself often looked into the eyes of the guardians of hell, but now this news has shocked him. Mark was ...