Rhianon-3. Palace in Heaven
Natalie Yacobson
Translator Natalia Lilienthal
© Natalie Yacobson, 2022
© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2022
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Lucifers Host
Dark Spit is a fitting name for a mountain range that stands out as a black stripe against a plague-stricken land. In fact, it wasnt even a plague, but a disease spread by the fallen. They themselves only suffered from their own festering burns, and the suffering lasted as long as the world stood, but for those who caught the epidemic, it was death. It was horribly painful death. He had nothing to fear, neither disease nor death, and, of course, having wings, he should not have set foot on contaminated soil at all, but he was not worried about himself. A mortal girl came to mind
Would he be able to pick her up and carry her to his tower without the risk of her becoming infected and dying? What if the miasmas of an unnatural witchs disease caught up with her even in the heights? How strong could the fumes emanate from the ground, on which his living festering brethren crawled in immense agony?
Madael easily reached the top of his tower. From the outside it looked as if it were going to the very heavens. But once upon a time his path had been higher. Now a black cloud always hid the embossed parapet of the roof. Why, though? People cant see this tower anyway. The way here is through the Black Spit on one side and through Dead Valley on the other. No mortal could survive to set foot on this land. And he was in no hurry to show everyone his place of seclusion. Still, disguise became an obligation to him. He did not encourage the game of hide-and-seek, unlike his former comrades-in-arms. He needed no hiding places or disguises. But duty is duty. After a defeat, it must be done.
The first defeat was his only defeat, but it had taken almost everything. Or so it seemed. Madael remembered the golden creature sleeping in his tent. To think he might never have seen it. Even that thought alone was somehow excruciating. He imagined that this girl would be gone, that he would take a handful of golden hair in his hand and with one swift stroke of his sword cut off her head from her body. That was what he was supposed to do, but even thinking about it was unbearable. He had experienced something similar only when the heavenly fire touched his body, or rather the ethereal substance that had once been his body and soul at the same time. All that had changed now, but the fire that had once burned him continued to corrode his body with poison to this day. Of course, the visible burns were gone, but the memory of them lived on. Many thought it irregular. The commander of the terrifying army retained his pristine angelic countenance. But the price for that was also high.
Leave me a sword so that I may punish sinners, and leave me my face so that all may know from whom the punishment comes, was his only plea, but even that was not completely fulfilled. The favor of the Almighty is mere words, he may have removed the wormy scars from his beloveds face, but he has not cleansed the wounds from his soul. From the wounds he himself told him to inflict. Now Madael felt a black abyss opening up inside him, even more scorched and pus-ridden than the bodies of his brothers in arms. Outwardly he remained bright, inwardly he was rotting alive. And the sense of a sucking black emptiness inside him only increased from age to age.
Leave me a sword to punish sinners
This request the god fulfilled to the fullest. Now every battlefield awaited him. No battle was ever fought without his participation and his judgment. And not just any battle. He executed his judgment on behalf of the god not only on the battlefield, and he himself did not know why he was doing so. It was like a dream. He performed his duty with obedience, though the old fear of being burned again in case of disobedience had long since passed. The sounds of battle reached his ears wherever he was, and he immediately rushed to where the fighting was taking place. The clang of swords became a call to him. In battle he would enter into the excitement. Did he enjoy killing? Perhaps he couldnt say exactly why he thrust his sword over the heads of his opponents again and again when victory was already decided. Maybe it was only on the battlefield that he felt confident, because it was as if the echo of that first heavenly battle was all around him again. Sometimes he would close his eyes and see it all again, and then his sword would become truly merciless. It was strange, throwing him into battle all over again, to feel again the echo of that first war and first defeat. He never tired of feeling it and reliving it over and over again. Each battle was a reflection of that one. The only difference was that beneath his feet was now solid ground, not the fragile edge of the clouds. He could not fall any lower than he already was. Perhaps that was why he was always the victor here. First among the fallen
Madael circled around his tower before crouching on the edge of the parapet. The building had no entrances or exits, no doors, casements, or embrasures, just a single arched window at an inaccessible height for stairs. Thats all he needed. This location was convenient for those who possessed wings.
The tent he had spread out each time near the battlefield was comfortable, but again and again it was here that he flew in. This place beckoned to him like home. In fact, it was to be his home now. The interior of the tower conveyed all that was in his heart. It was purple and black. Only at first the place might seem luxurious, but a closer look would reveal charred bodies crawling over polished parquet, sharp claws clinging to the golden railings of endless dark staircases, and black silhouettes hiding behind purple draperies. There were the pitiful remnants of his cohort commanders. Now they brightened their time by waiting here for him. Sometimes hed come to interrupt their terrible feast of corpses and golden utensils, and sometimes hed just watch them and try to remember how beautiful and dignified theyd once been. Now it was hard even to imagine their former faces against the surrounding blackness. All of them, molecules of his host, had become as black as his soul. He was the only one who remained light, and so he seemed some kind of alien particle among them. The black things flinched when he approached them and crawled back into the shadows. They were afraid of him, even though he was the only one here with the outward appearance of innocence and vulnerability. Well, appearances can be deceiving, and the wisp of slimy bodies beneath his feet now only disgusted Madael. He stepped over the slimy bodies and walked on. He could barely tell them apart now. His favorites, his associates, those he respected and counted on, all merged into one horrifying and stinking black lump, barely outlined by the movements of the disfigured bodies. They were so beautiful once, so seductive, though they had no bodies then. Not only did the fire burn them, it continued to hurt them to this day. Its former chosen ones wriggled and squirmed in agony on the mucus-filled marble floor. Their very bodies were now secreting this disgusting stinking liquid. Burned to ashes, they continued to ooze pus. Beneath the black crust there were no more faces, only ghastly glistening eyes. And these were his former angels, the most beautiful in heaven Madael caught himself that now he was no longer trying to imagine their former faces, for he had recently seen something that was far more beautiful.
You found her, didnt you? And you took her? The black creature that crawled out from behind the drapery always remained lonely. That angel had long since ceased to be himself. And Madael had already ceased to feel disgust at the slippery trail on the floor that left the oblong torso, elongated like the ridge of the Dark Spit itself. Violet eyes gleamed at him from the dark mess that had once been his face. Sometimes their former color returned to them. Madael stepped aside a little, he could see that the others were studiously avoiding his former confidant and seemed ready to follow suit himself.
Yes, I have, he answered. I no longer require your services. You no longer have to kidnap blond girls to find one chosen one. Ill cut her throat myself if I have to. It is my privilege to judge mortals.
But The creature under his feet lunged backward, arching as if to take the form of a black dragon again. Madael forestalled his attempt with a forbidding gesture with his hands.
No disobedience, he hissed, his tone calm but firm, even more affecting than his anger. I am still your master. And no one dares disobey me He hissed calmly but firmly.
He deliberately didnt finish it; he hissed softly, and the creature at his feet instantly darted backward, quick as black lightning.
Run my errands, he said softly. Crawl, eat the bodies of fallen warriors, and make sure the next battle doesnt start before Menuel has amassed enough strength.
Do you need a breather?
Even if there were cunning overtones in his subordinates ingratiating voice, Madael condescendingly ignored them.
I need a night to think, he said as he left.
She was awakened by the sound of a harp. Strangely, the wistful sound filtered through the purple curtains of the tent. They were supposed to isolate the sound, but now they let it through easily. Or maybe it was the music in the tent itself. Rhianon reluctantly opened her eyes. She wanted to sleep and dream of his snow-white wings, but the sound was tearing her from her blissful rest. It was such a clear reminder of what was left behind. Her lost kingdom, the cruelty of the Regent, the unwanted marriage, and unhappy minstrel under the window. The remnants of sleep immediately slipped from her. Rhianon rose and sat down on the bed. The sound seemed to come from everywhere, seeping through every curtain of the tent and was so dreary, as if it were not a harp at all but a lament.
Who is there? She asked, but there was no answer. Then Rhianon looked around carefully. She did not sense the presence of invisible servants or anyone else. But someone must be here, or music could be coming from the heavenly realm itself. She was curious and uncomfortable at the same time. The sound sent shivers down her spine.
Rhianon suddenly remembered the minstrel Arno. It seemed that at that reception where the faeries had come to avenge themselves, his harp had made the same strained, pitiful sounds. Now they had become almost pangs. She suddenly envisioned a very different picture, a boulder by the sea, a lady, redheaded as autumn, sitting and waiting for someone, while something dark crept up on her.
It was coitus with the fallen. Rhianon shuddered. It didnt seem so beautiful to her. She imagined a womans body writhing on the ground, covered in a hideous rotting mass with wings blackened with burns. And the woman screamed. No, that is not what she wanted. Rhianon turned around in horror. She was horrified and turned back, as if she could not bear to think of Arno, as if he were somehow part of the nightmare, as a leper carried a contagion with him.
Get out! She whispered to the invisible musician, and surprisingly, he obeyed her.
When she awoke the next time, Madael was leaning over her, winged, amazingly beautiful, his skin glowing under his unbuttoned collar. At the sight of such beauty, all fears receded at once. There was nothing black and nothing frightening about him. It was only light and emptiness. Could it be that the celestial fire had scorched all the senses from his gut, leaving only an outer glowing shell? Rhianon felt deeply hurt. Why could he not simply fall in love with her, as any man would if he were in his place now? Everyone who saw her fell madly in love with her. That was her peculiarity. She was used to it by now, but it might not have affected him. She suddenly felt like hitting him, hurting him, saying something insulting. But Madael spoke first. He spoke a few phrases in a hissing language she did not understand, and Rhianon frowned.
Do you understand anything? The next remark was already spoken as usual.
She only shook her head.
What did you say?
Oh, it is nothing. He shrugged, and his wings fluttered in time with them. It was as if the wings were alive behind his back, and yet they felt the vibrations of the body to which they were attached.
I had an unwanted guest I thought so, she remembered the music coming through the tent. The sounds poured like a torrent of water, enticing and merciless. They made her fear and weep.
He wont come again, Madael lowered himself quietly onto the bed, and the tone of his voice made it clear that this was a promise. Rhianon felt a pleasant shiver as long fingers ran over her shoulder. In her sleep, her shirt slid down and it was exposed. Rhianon looked almost bewildered at the unbuttoned lace collar and the transparent batiste. It hid almost nothing, but she suddenly wanted to take it off as well. It was as if Madaels tempting gesture told her that a beautiful body didnt need garments. She obeyed and took off her shirt. She expected him to be embarrassed, but his transparent gaze remained calm. His hands rested on her skinny shoulders. She did not have to bandage her breasts; they were so small that they could not be seen under the camisole. And Rhianon was easily mistaken for a boy. Of course, since she didnt have to undress in front of the others. Even now the warrior who had captivated her demanded nothing of her, but she wanted to do it herself. She gently touched his hands guiding them down. A moment more, and cold, velvety hands rested on her breasts. Rhianon shuddered. The desire became unbearable. He was still looking into her eyes, but he didnt dare kiss her, and then she reached for his lips herself.
Tell me about you, she asked, already catching his breath. How is it that you are made so beautiful that no one can resist you?
It was almost an encouragement. She was seducing the devil. But he obviously wasnt used to flirting.
I didnt choose how to be, he answered in sudden seriousness. I just got it, and with it the pain of knowing I was alone because there was no worthy match for me. Now there are you. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot be your friend, because you see me as a supreme being.
Then be my god, and she nestled herself against his lips. The time for talking was over, at least for an hour or so. She kissed him gently at first, then harder. How many moments passed before he realized he had to respond? Her lips, soft as rose petals, were suddenly unexpectedly commanding. This is what its like to make love to an angel, hands that kill mortals, light as if they were mowing rye, gently caressing you, lips that can breathe out flame, breathing into your mouth the scent of lilies. Rhianon had never imagined anything more beautiful. It was worth living and dying for. Even the feeling of being made not of flesh but of marble only excited her. Her hands slid over the smooth, cold skin. She still couldnt feel her nipples on the smooth chest. She had hoped there would be at least some smooth, golden bumps, but she found none. However, when her hand slid lower, Rhianon was not disappointed. Only a slight startle struck her, something hard and aroused beneath his belly that bore little resemblance to what humans had. It was more like a piece of marble, cold and sharp, the kind of male organ only a statue could have, not a man. She was afraid it would hurt, but Madael whispered something soothing in her ear. As before, the words sounded in his heavenly accent, but Rhianon guessed they meant something affectionate. He quickly tucked strands of unruly hair behind her ears, threw off the rest of her clothing, and wrapped his arms around her tightly.