Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials

“And then the line breaks off,” said Conrad judiciously. His eyes were suddenly unfamiliarly focused.

“Yes,” said Douglas. “That’s because she did not go further. She has a friend and she has nothing to run away for. She relies on his protection, and rightly so. She doesn’t even have to walk the earth anymore, because he carries her in his arms. You know, all lovers feel like they live in heaven.”

“I get it,” Conrad stepped away from the map and headed for the door without even saying goodbye. Obviously, he thought they were unnecessary.

“Where are you going?” Douglas guessed, but decided it was not unreasonable to ask the question.

“Where do you think?” Conrad turned around, showing a frantic look. Now there was no doubt that he had a demon inside him.

“You’re tired,” Douglas reminded me condescendingly, “you’re hungry and insomniac. You’d be better off taking care of yourself than running around the woods after some couple. I could give you an elixir to restore vigor and sound sleep.”

“You think I can’t kill in this condition?” The prince grumbled so angrily that there was no doubt of his certainty.

Douglas immediately gave up and took a step back. This was not the time to dictate terms yet.

“I think, Your Highness, that you can make that decision yourself without me,” he said, bowing in a courteous bow. Only the departing Conrad did not see his eyes flash insidiously. All he heard was the click of the lock opening unassisted. But the whirr of an owl, more like a chuckle, did not reach his ears.

Immediately after the battle, Madael took her to his tower. He said he had urgent work to do here. It seemed strange to Rhianon, but she was no longer afraid of being alone in his tower with the ifrites and crawling creatures. Maybe she was just used to the strange surroundings. She settled down on a gilded chair, more like a throne, and waited. The fire in the great yawning fireplace danced in tongues of black and orange. She had never seen flames like that before. It seemed to form into bizarre shapes, frightening facial expressions and even grimaces. Inside the fireplace, as if some sort of spectacle was unfolding, depicting a tournament or a battle, she could see everything in the glimpses of the scenes: fights, quarrels, crossed swords, rage, anger, and oddly enough, even an embrace. Passion and strife, it was as if they were one inseparable unit.

“First the embrace, then the battle, that’s how love always ends.”

Rhianon turned sharply away from the fire. She never understood who had said it, but she expected to see an evil charred creature crawling toward her on the marble slabs, but there was none.

She watched the flames again and listened to the echo of ghostly voices. With such interest she would not even look at the scene. The flames did not give clear visions or outlines, but the blurry scenes were suggestive of certain thoughts. The flames whispered and showed her something. And surprisingly, the heat from this fire did not awaken the flames in hers. Could it be that the fire here was unusual? In Madael’s tower, anything could happen. She no longer felt in danger here. Even the flames only showed her fascinating pictures and whispered something in a multitude of voices, but did not arouse unpleasant feelings.

She listened to the chorus, so quiet not even a whisper, but she could hear the screams, the threats, the clang of swords and groans of pain, and the terrifying cries of those who were struck.

“It is the echoes of war in the skies,” someone said above her ear.

Rhianon looked up and saw an ifrit in the high wall archway. She nodded at him, not knowing why.

“I see.”

“Yes?” the monster’s claws clawed at the archway, its leathery wings fluttering gently, fluttering against the flames of the candle in the nearest lamp.

“I can see them, bodies pierced by swords but still alive, wriggling on stakes or spears,” she frowned, the images fuzzy. “They were beating in agony, and their wings were blackening. Even blacker skin, burning angelic curls, eyes blazing from within, like shards of heaven, from now on they will be black as coals, and full of such hatred. I even understand the source of their anger. To endure such pain is no joke. Anyone gets angry. You live and feel like you’re burning alive.”

“Like you?”

“Yes,” she thought and nodded. He was right. That was how she often felt because of the fire living inside.

“What else do you see?” The ifrit flew a little lower and sat on the carved decoration of the fireplace, like a bird on a perch. His sharp claws circled the carved panel above the mantelpiece. It was so huge, but it hung on the thin rung with ease.

Rhianon stared at him and didn’t answer at once.

“I see you as you were before, translucent and delicate and so vulnerable. One call from your master made you follow him. You didn’t know you would lose your golden curls, blue eyes, and ethereal body. It was a loss of innocence. Innocence is what I call beauty, inner and outer, not something else,” she hesitated. “I look at ugly bodies, and I imagine you as you were before.”

He looked at her skeptically.

“What do you imagine me to be like?”

She squinted as if she was looking at the sun and it might burn her eyes. She struggled to see his essence beneath the standing blackness and ash and burns.

“The blond strands below his shoulders, that rare golden hue that no mortal had, the eyes slightly less bright than those of your brethren, and the lack of that angelic austerity on his face that was common to the others. It was not even innocence, but naivety. You followed the others, even though you didn’t always understand what they wanted. You were always a little simpler than the others, so you were cuter. You didn’t care why you were there or who was going to be the master. Thus others drew you into their circle. And now that circle has become black. When I see you in a pack of others, I may not even recognize you, but now, since I have managed to snatch your former appearance from the past, I can see that I like it.”

That’s all. She couldn’t detect any other noteworthy features. The acolyte, who had listened to her, was dejectedly silent. She seemed to have hit the nail on the head. She didn’t know how. She’d just spoken her impressions out loud, and they seemed to be the right ones.

“I didn’t want to wake up the pain.”

He nodded his ugly and perhaps too big for his thin, long neck deformed head. Even noticing the rows of black teeth and bifurcated sting in its mouth didn’t make Rhianon shudder. It could hiss and spit venom or fire, and she was not afraid, for she saw the world as in an upside-down mirror. In his reflection, the monster was still an angel, and Rhianon smiled condescendingly at him, as if she were a queen in a tournament, encouraging the competitors.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she remarked, smoothing the brocade folds of her robes. “It wasn’t your fault for the war, nor is it your fault that you want to do something to hurt me now. Anger and resentment and anger at anyone who possesses all that is taken from you are but a consequence of being burned. I have no grudge against you. Even if you say something disgusting now, you still won’t hurt me as much as you went through yourself. And so it turns out that your revenge is meaningless.”

She herself didn’t understand why she was so selfless. Actually, she was not prone to pity or philosophical reflection. It was her own trials that robbed her of sympathy for others. It used to be that way. When you suffered too much yourself, you didn’t believe anyone else could be worse off. Now she was convinced of the opposite. These creatures had suffered far worse than she had.

“Do you always pity the disease that comes to torment you?” He asked arrogantly. “If plague or death touched you and tortured you, would you treat them with royal indulgence?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered honestly. “Self-sacrifice is not my virtue. I’m like you, and I don’t usually feel pity for anyone. But now the circumstances are extraordinary.”

He snorted, but kept silent. There were many unpleasant things that could be said, and there was much more to bicker and argue about, but both the ifrit and the princess remained silent. Perhaps they both should have realized long ago that the majesty of the heavenly war and the horror of its consequences here on earth brought them both closer together. They are both like two parts of the same grand fresco, he a former warrior, she an observer who has come too close, so that the fiery wind from heaven is already blowing over her face. Having known one hell, they have become too close.

“You have no idea how close,” he responded.

Oh, he must have read her mind. Rhianon whistled softly. If his voice echoed dryly, like ashes, hers was a musical whistle. She wondered if there was ever music within these walls. Perhaps if ghostly musicians dropped by, though their efforts here were of no use to anyone. Here, silence was more welcome, the echoes of hell and the cries of those unfortunates being mowed down beyond the infected valley by a terrible epidemic. Rhianon was somehow certain that if you listened hard enough, you would realize that the cries and moans and pleas of all the unfortunates suffering all over the world reached out to the power. In part they caress the ears of the local inhabitants, in part they only make them laugh and feed the black sorrow. For the inhabitants of this place are convinced that no one will be stronger than they are.

“Everything is proportionate to guilt, isn’t it?”

She perked up again when she heard his dry but heartfelt voice.

“I don’t think you’re to blame? Isn’t it a crime to stand up for your own independence?”

“We did it for him.”

“Everyone wants to be independent.”

“Would we have been like that for him?”

“What do you think? After all, it was you who followed him, not me. Only you can tell how and why you did it.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I don’t count. I was unhappy, deprived, pursued by enemies. It’s impossible not to follow someone who promises you deliverance and at the same time captivates you just by looking at him. To love such a creature is freedom. Chains are its absence.”

“Do you think we have not felt the same?”

“I…” Rhiannon looked away. She couldn’t understand why they felt so unhappy and deprived, but perhaps there was a reason. She was also surprised that there were those who had managed not to succumb to Madael’s seduction. After all, there were those who had become his adversaries. Could it be jealousy or envy? It could have been anything.

“When someone who looks like the golden dawn calls you, you can’t help but follow him,” she said out loud the phrase the ifrit would probably have wanted to say to her as well.

He was still perched proudly on the mantel, looking at her with a stern, impenetrable gaze. So handsome before, and so ugly now. Rhianon sighed as she looked at him.

“Don’t be sorry, Princess.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be sorry about us. We chose our own way.”

“And me? Am I being tempted? Did fate leave me a choice?”

“You want to be burned, too.”

“My burn is inside me,” Rhianon answered angrily, referring to the fire in her blood. It could make her feel like she was on fire. Just a moment and something could flare up, but not just next to you, but in your body and then it would hurt.”

“You have no idea how right you are,” the ifrit said thoughtfully.

Rhianon said nothing. She was tired of idle speculation. She was just trying to pass the time while she waited for Madael, so she got into a dialogue with the infernal creature. She should have gone and searched the tower for some magical wonders instead of talking to demons. No good would come of it. He had already managed to upset her, and he wasn’t going to stop. Rhianon never thought she would ever stoop to talking to such a creature. However, everything in her life changed abruptly and the most unexpected things happened. Now she was beginning to feel sympathy for all the creepy creatures that were nesting here. And it was only because they were the black army of her golden choice. Dawn is followed by darkness, and so a dark army crowded behind the shoulders of the radiant warrior. Rhianon could almost see such unimaginative creatures swooping on the bodies of fallen knights, tearing at the dead flesh and preparing to engage themselves on occasion. The mere sight of such creatures would frighten legions away, and yet Madael took his time leading them into the fray. He simply didn’t need to. He alone was stronger than them all, and he alone remained light. Maybe there was an injustice here, but this construction of things involuntarily fascinated Rhianon. She imagined the scorching burning sun and the immense darkness behind it. Oh, yes, that was exactly what a coherently plausible picture was. A scorching sun capable of burning everything around it and the surrounding clots of darkness. Rhianon had chosen the sun, but in the obligatory addition of it, she had also received the twilight. And now the beings who appeared from the darkness warned her that she could burn in the arms of her chosen one just as they had burned. Rhianon even thought of encouraging him, of asking some provocative question so that he would finally speak up about why he had turned to her.

The minutes passed, and she still pondered. Before she could make up her mind, the ifrit spoke suddenly, flatteringly and ingratiatingly.

“He’s like us,” he said, his voice sounding convincing for the first time. No name was needed to be given. Rhianon knew who he was talking about.

“No,” she said sharply. “You are not as beautiful as he is.”

“But inside…” Her interlocutor said thoughtfully. “Why should he be beautiful if he’s like us?”

“Perhaps he is more worthy,” Rhianon said, bravely defending her lover even though he did not need it. If he had heard that from any of his subjects he would have been a handful of ashes, but no one would have dared say that to his face. She is another matter, she can be tempted and tried to deceive, but Rhianon has tried to show that she does not succumb to lies.

“Is he?” the ifrit flicked his claws over the carving of the mantelpiece. He could have damaged it, but somehow there were no scratches, as if all the things here were enchanted, or if these dark claws could do no real harm, only frighten.

“And more honestly, at least he’d said from the beginning that staying with him would ruin us both,” Rhianon blurted out, only to remember moments later that Madael had never said such words. He had never threatened or implied tragedy, but there was a sudden sense of unseen, crushing doom. Rhianon looked around anxiously. She heard the words as clearly and distinctly as if they had really been spoken by her lover.

Suddenly Rhianon was angry with the ifrit. It was as if he had spoken to her deliberately and as if he meant to do her harm. She wanted no more quarrels with him. Let him fly out of the tower and have his philosophical debates with one of the victims of the witch plague. If he was so eager to bicker, he might as well do it with the people who would soon take his secrets with them to the grave. Perhaps, as an ex-angel, he is more attracted to the princess than to the commoners, but she no longer cares. Rhianon deliberately pretended to focus on something else. She noticed a small harp with shiny strings behind the mantelpiece and reached for it.

“Now go away,” she said to the ifrit. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

He understood her at once, but he was too sensible to express his anger and resentment in any way. One second his claws were nervously tearing at the decorations on the mantelpiece, and the next it was empty. Something huge and unwieldy rushed upward under the gaze of the dark dome above the hall. Rhianon knew that even if she raised her eyes high she could not see the inaccessible ceiling. It went so far up that a whole flock of such creatures could still nest beneath it. She didn’t care anymore, even if their glittering yellow eyes were watching her from the celestial darkness. She decided to do something to distract her from the unearthly philosophy of these creatures and their creeping temptations. The graceful harp beckoned her to play, and Rhianon touched the strings. Instantly the sweet sounds of music flowed through the silence. She did not think of notes or melody, but it came out by itself. Never before had she been able to play so well. Her fingers used to be awkward and sometimes she even hurt them on the strings. If strict adherence to etiquette had been observed, the court music teacher would have been happy to scold her. But she was the daughter of a monarch, and he had to keep quiet. Rhianon smiled wistfully. Such beautiful harmonies she had never heard before. She could hardly believe it was her own hands plucking something like this from the strings. The music flowed like a silvery stream and enveloped everything. The gloomy tower, which must have never listened to such sounds, was transformed. The moans and sobs that sounded like living walls dissolved into it. Strange, in the earthly kingdom where Rhianon lived, at court they used to say that all walls have ears, that was a hackneyed expression, though it meant that behind the walls there are spies, while the monolith of the fortress itself does not breathe or live. But here in the tower of Madael, each wall seemed to live on its own and, at the same time, to be an organ of a single, independent entity: this fortress. The gloomy tower seemed a sleeping giant, as lost and parched as Madael’s army. And now in the very womb of this creature, magical music sounded. Rhianon opened her lips and sang in time to it, softly but expressively. Nor could she remember any song by heart. The words flowed by themselves.

In a moment she wouldn’t even be able to remember what she was singing about, but of course the song was about the same motif as everyone else, there was passion and love and death, and of course the power of doom and betrayal.

She stopped suddenly, sensing someone nearby. The song broke off halfway through. Rhianon quickly put the harp aside and turned around at the doorway. She feared that Madael was already standing there watching her. It was as if he had caught her at something forbidden. It seemed to her that she should not have played in that tower and now she should be silenced for doing so.

Rhianon waited for some accusing words or a commanding shout, but the dark figure, frozen in the doorway, remained motionless. No wings could be seen behind its lean back. So it was not Madael or one of his subjects. Rhianon looked closely, but could make out nothing in the darkness.

“Please continue, Your Highness,” the soft voice came from the darkness and sounded apologetic. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“Arnaud,” Rhianon guessed rather than saw. He was still in the shadows. She could see the outline of his shoulders and his voice was familiar. And of course he was the only one who could address her as “Your Highness. Others in the magical world would more readily mistake her for a queen, for she was the companion of their lord. None of them would repeat to her the words she heard in Loretta. Only Arnaud did.

With a nod of her head she invited him to cross the threshold of the hall. He complied, but treaded softly, as if there were traps he knew would be set in the floor.

“I didn’t want to disturb you…”

“What are you doing here?”

He was clearly embarrassed. Rhianon couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to get into a tower where only winged creatures, and not even birds, but those capable of flying much higher than them, could enter. One of Madael’s subjects could have brought Arnaud here, of course. Rhianon shuddered involuntarily. The young man was very handsome. Even the shabby garments he wore did not mar his handsome good looks, but she was sickened by the sight of him. She could only think of how he had come into the world. It wasn’t his fault, of course. It was silly and unfair to condemn him for someone else’s faults. Rhianon suddenly understood what Madael meant when he explained that fallen angels were not supposed to love humans, much less associate with them. Yet he himself had broken that rule. What might have been the consequences in their case? Rhianon swallowed hard and put her fingers to her thin waist. She didn’t want to think about something like that.

“I go everywhere, even to the most inaccessible places sometimes,” Arnaud smiled guiltily. “Some people say that there are no doors that can be locked from me, because I can even go through the keyhole.”

“This tower has no doors,” she reminded him reasonably.

“But there are gaps between the stones and windows.”

She didn’t quite see where he was going with that. To squeeze through a crevice is certainly impressive, but it’s hardly dexterity enough to do something like that. She could tell from Arnaud’s shabby appearance, however, that he had to use both dexterity and ingenuity to get his crust of bread. Thin and unkempt, he was, however, surprisingly handsome. She smiled at him.

“You wanted to play instead of me? Don’t worry, despite my skills I am in no hurry to take work away from the minstrels. At any court you will be welcome, even if they hear my music before you.”

“They don’t like music here,” he interrupted her. “They prefer shouting.”

Rhianon knew who he meant and nodded slowly. Heavy strands of thick hair fell to her forehead, as if they were the shadow of a crown. Only Arnaud did not notice the dainty hoop of sapphires on her head; he reached out to touch the strands. Amazingly, standing far away from her, he was immediately beside her. His hand, as if reaching across the room, easily fumbled with the curls.

“They’re like golden rays,” he whispered with a quiet, enthusiastic gasp. “I wonder if he’ll have the same…”

“Who is it?” Rhiannon looked at him worriedly. Somehow she didn’t like the suggestion. At that moment footsteps sounded in the distance. A piercing echo echoed through the darkened enfilade of the hall. Madael was hurrying this way.

Arnaud could not utter another word as he sensed his approach. He quickly put his fingers to his lips to indicate silence, and then darted behind the drapery. He had already disappeared, and his pleading gaze still haunted Rhianon. Arnaud asked her not to tell anyone about him or what he’d said.

“I hope I do not have to stay here tonight?” Rhianon tried to draw Madael’s attention away from the moving drapery before he crossed the threshold.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he tossed aside his helmet, scrolls of some sort, and began to remove the steel wires around his wrists as if they were fetters or chains. He had never attempted to remove them before. Rhianon was surprised. She had thought the bracelets, so intricately wrought, had become inseparable from his flesh. But it turned out that he could just as easily have thrown them off. The skin beneath the removed hoops was not scarred. He looked at his wrists as if he’d never seen them before.

“You know, in heaven, I wished I’d worn some kind of jewelry, but everyone was equal there. Our only difference from the clouds and the ether was our beauty, not tiaras or crowns. Jewelry was forbidden.”

“And then you wove a bracelet out of the sun’s rays,” she didn’t remember how she knew that. It wasn’t like he’d ever told her about such things.

“Yes,” Madael turned to her and stared at her for a long moment, as if he thought she was someone he’d lost and known, but couldn’t.

“And it was nice to have the distinction that no one else had. It was as if you made yourself the boss, and you were allowed to?”

“I was the favorite,” Madael shrugged lightly. “Everyone’s favorite. But in the end, my jewelry became my shackles.”

“I know that,” she traced the coils of gold patterns that wrapped around his skin like a net. Until now they might have looked like tattoos or gold snakes parasitizing on a living body, but now it turned out that they were all part of a body that would have been perfect without them. He didn’t need jewelry, either. He decorated the dark hall around them with his very presence. It was enough to look at him and all fears were dispelled. Rhianon shrank back; he belonged to her, and yet he seemed so unreachable at the same time.

“What’s in the scrolls?” She asked as if casually.

“So, ancient truths,” he said. “I wonder how to break them…”