Dark Spit. Is that the name of those mountains? Rhianon squinted, staring at the massifs drowning in darkness. She couldnt see much in the dense darkness until gold sparkles flickered before her pupils.
They curved in the shape of a braid, you see?
Now she could really see. A slight glow began to illuminate the darkness in front of her. In spite of the sparks, everything around her remained gloomy, but at the same time it was clearly visible. Was this really how Madael saw the night, dark but full of clear outlines and stars?
It is very much like the scythe of death, he grinned. If you like, I can take you above them and let you see for yourself.
Better not, she thought of the altitude theyd have to fly to get around the mountain tops and felt sick with fear. Or rather, it was not the murderous fear of heights that she had felt before, but only a slight tremor. Even that, however, was rather unpleasant.
Id rather walk on the ground.
Even if its contaminated, she added to herself. As Madael had put it, death was dancing in every nook and cranny, but Rhianon didnt see it, and she wasnt afraid of it. She peered through the windows, noticed the sick, and then moved on to the next house. Everywhere the same thing, only once she dared to go inside. The door was ajar, and the candles light attracted her. It smoldered faintly, like a life already departing.
Madael followed her in, wings almost touching the doorjamb. It looked as if it should have left a fiery imprint, but there was none. Rhianon saw another angel-like creature sitting by the dying girls bedside. She suddenly wanted to hold a mirror up to it, as she had done the first time, and see how it was reflected in it, but there was no need. The tattered wings and bruised face were still beautiful. The bright white wasnt black even on the feathers, but it wasnt ghostly either. More like the color of chalk or paper than a ghostly sheen. Rhianon stopped. The bruises under her eyelids gave the impression that the angel was crying blood. Or maybe he really was crying. The sores-covered girl in the narrow bunk did not wake up. She could not see that a strange guest was sitting by the barely lit candle, as if to catch her last breath.
Sethius! Madael froze on the threshold and looked sternly at the man sitting by the candle.
Rhianon was about to ask him why this angel still kept an attractive appearance, but then the head with ruffled curls lifted and the bruises on his face suddenly became sharper, along with them came the burns and bruises. A moment more and he lost much of his attractiveness. The light arcs of his eyebrows turned black, something disgusting that resembled bugs crawled across his skin. Sethius could have been mistaken for a work of marble, so white he was, were it not for these glaring imperfections.
I dont He could barely move his split tongue, a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth. I dont do anything you cant do.
Then keep doing it, Madael gestured to Rhianon toward the door. He was going to leave and leave the creature here. At the threshold, Rhianon turned around. She saw Sethius lean over the dying woman. He was not frightened by the sores or the supernatural contagion. He almost pressed his lips to her throat, as if he were really going to catch her last breath and the life that was flying away.
He thinks hell regain his former appearance, at the expense of the others beauty, Madael whispered as they left.
The candle, meanwhile, was almost out. There was only a tiny spark in the wick, but it too was about to go out. Rhianon could hear the faint whisper of an angel behind her, and she heard the rustle of wings. This time it seemed ominous to her. The black wings of death must have rustled just the same: wild and dreary. Not even the sound of a requiem would have upset her so.
Walking out of the house, she still felt like she was at a funeral.
Sethius dreams of having his own crypt, and so do his friends, Madael grinned for some reason. It would be hard enough for them to have one, with all their pretensions.
I dont understand.
You cant. People survive on their own terms, and the damned have their own ways. Six of my best warlords have chosen to live on their own. Let them. I dont need them anymore. Let them survive as they please. Now they have a burden on their shoulders.
What do you mean?
They were followed by the seventh angel, the one who didnt fight on my side, but against me. It is wretched little soul. He couldnt even hold his sword in his hands during the battle. The sight of his friends spilled blood made him sick. Lovers what could you take them for? They are incapable of fighting against each other. And now he was freezing, starving, and losing his former attractiveness along with them in this contaminated land. He followed them himself. I used to laugh at him. Now I understand him.
What will happen to them?
I told you before, they want their own palace or crypt, a place where they can exist apart, feed off the energy of those mortals who fall under their spell. They want to be separate from my world, from earth and from heaven, but sometimes they need living souls. Who doesnt want to have mortals as playthings and restore their beauty by taking other peoples lives?
Do they believe they can do it?
So far, only they believe. They dont have much success. Perhaps they havent found a soul vicious enough to surrender its domain to them. In time, however, someone may seem so greedy for the cursed gold that they will worship the fallen angels and build for them their coveted crypt. It is a crypt for the seven angels. Here will be their fun, someones tears and lots of blood.
I saw him crying blood.
He drinks too much of it, Madael whistled softly, the whistle like the echo of a string through the sleeping village, awakening a long echo. And theres plenty left, but its infected. Who knows what leprosy he will bear with it?
Hes gone right before his eyes, she still couldnt imagine how such a beautiful creature could change so drastically.
It happens, Madael grimaced. And more than once. It is sometimes in front of mortals. Some are beautiful, or at least pleasant-looking, for a long time, and then they go bad. People see and are frightened. I make it look like theyre crazy. You never know what a madman will see. I have to put the madman on a chain so that the demons wont bother him anymore. And those same demons will laugh later. We must not reveal our existence to anyone. Thats the law.
And youre okay with that?
The question sounded like a punch. Madael looked away sharply.
And the helmet that you cant take off doesnt bother you, does it? Even a sword you cant draw whenever you want?
Even if you read my soul as an open book, stop, Rhianon. Someday things will be different.
Is it soon? She picked up her skirts and staggered away, not knowing where she was going. Above her head something flew noisily, almost clawing at her gold crown. It seemed to be an ifrit, flying down from a distant mountain range, or maybe from the roof of one of the houses behind her. She didnt get a good look.
Madael stared tensely into the darkness.
His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. Ill deal with him later.
Later? She frowned. Is there anything else you want to show me? Or was this village the only thing you wanted to show me?
And youre okay with that?
The question sounded like a punch. Madael looked away sharply.
And the helmet that you cant take off doesnt bother you, does it? Even a sword you cant draw whenever you want?
Even if you read my soul as an open book, stop, Rhianon. Someday things will be different.
Is it soon? She picked up her skirts and staggered away, not knowing where she was going. Above her head something flew noisily, almost clawing at her gold crown. It seemed to be an ifrit, flying down from a distant mountain range, or maybe from the roof of one of the houses behind her. She didnt get a good look.
Madael stared tensely into the darkness.
His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. Ill deal with him later.
Later? She frowned. Is there anything else you want to show me? Or was this village the only thing you wanted to show me?
I didnt want to bring you here in the first place. You asked for it, he said, furious. And theres a sickness here.
So what if Im with you?
Dont be silly, even I cant protect you from absolutely everything.
I dont believe it, she thought he couldnt believe what he was saying either, but he looked worriedly up at the sky once more. No one else had flown across the gloomy sky, but there was an unpleasant, dark residue, like a comets mark, in the darkness. Evil has been here Rhianon tucked the edges of her cloak tightly around her. She felt cold, though she felt hot inside.
What were you going to show me? She thought that an innocent question would lighten the mood, but the darkness echoed ominously.
Theres a town
Is there a plague thats killing people there, too?
Not at all, he smiled mischievously, a boyish grin. There arent any people there. From afar, the city can be mistaken for a sprawling island of moss, but come closer and you can see the outlines of the ruins.
Do spirits live there? Rhiannon wondered.
Spirits like Orpheus, he confirmed.
But then it is interesting.
Just stay close to me when we go there. I dont want you to get lost in the labyrinths of the city. There are a lot of precipices and cracks in the walls and dried-up wells. Its easy to get lost there and never find your way out.
I am not afraid, she followed him eagerly.
A net for the stars
Manfred would have done anything to gain the support of this invincible warrior. He would set snares for him if only to catch him and force him to fight on his side. The war halted, but the kings passion for the unknown knight only grew stronger. Manfred was almost mad. He was certain that had the faceless fighter been with them now, Loretta would have been celebrating victory. It was useless to remind him that it was not the lack of a warrior that was preventing them from fighting further, but the cold, the hunger, and the epidemic. The winter had been mild in Loretta, but near Menuel they were so cold that weapons froze in the hands of the fighting men, and all manner of provisions were crusted over before they could be cooked. There was no way to build a fire in this cold. Any flame was extinguished by the immediate wind. On top of that an epidemic broke out. The first to fall ill and die was a regimental healer. The cities locked their doors, not wanting to let the lepers in. Moren tried his best, but he could barely keep order, even in his garrison. The people were afraid.
They heard screams at night, saw creepy creatures flying in from the mountains and devouring carrion. Of course, all these visions could only be attributed to hallucinations caused by illness, but those who were not yet sick also saw these things. Riots were brewing, and people were going mad. Moren tried his best, but sometimes he felt himself losing his sanity. Someone kept killing the blond girls. Their corpses were thrown off the walls of the fortresses for fear of contagion. Sometimes as he drove in front of the gates of another closed city he would see bodies in the snow, covered with a hideous plaque of festering wounds and covered with some hideous insects. More often than not these scavenger bugs seemed to him to have human faces and thin black wings, eating flesh from the wounds directly with the pus and buzzing disgustingly. Hunger must have driven him to such visions. He ordered his subordinates to burn such corpses if they saw them, but he could not destroy the contagion. The scarlet pestilence was spreading all the same and the signs of the epidemic were becoming more and more ominous. Moren moved out of camp more and more often to avoid hearing the screams. A few more of these losses and they would no longer be able to fight. If the ice crust on the battlefields melted and the enemy attacked them right now, they would not be able to fight back worthily. Moren did not dare storm one of Lorettas own fortress cities. First, he did not have the authority to do so. Second, it was unlikely that several regiments could be quartered there at once. The rebellious soldiers could start rioting. There would not be enough room for everyone inside the fortress. Besides, they might have brought a contagion with them. It would have sufficed if the men of the fortress had let some of them in to warm themselves and share provisions, but he could not begin negotiations. No one would open the door for him, and no one would answer his summons. It seemed as if everything around him was dead. The ground before him was as desolate as the battlefield, and the carrion on it was being torn apart not by crows but by ghastly beings like devils. No crust of ice would hinder their fangs from devouring the dead. They would have attacked the living, too, if they had not had the strength to defend themselves with their weapons. Once Morin had driven into an empty battlefield and had to defend himself against a swarm of black creepers that swooped down. He had no idea what to call them. Do the faces of hell have names? They werent wounded by the sword or frightened by fire. And the harder the cold became, the more ferocious they became. If this continued, one night they would attack the camp. Moren was lost and did not know what to do.
Early on he rejoiced at the appearance of the irresistible knight. He flashed into the midst of battle, brought a moments victory, and disappeared, leaving behind a trail of misery and death. Thats how the devil comes, beckoning gold but causing only pain. But that knight was to Moren almost a god. He prayed for his new appearance. He dreamed of talking to him, of simply removing his helmet and looking into his eyes, of shaking his gauntlet-shrouded hand in a friendly way, without even fearing that one. Incredibly strong and hard, it would just crush his bones. Somehow he was sure that in the eyes of this ghost or demigod, whom he did not even know, he would be able to find all the wisdom of the world and understanding. The nameless warrior would give him answers to all his questions and become an associate. They will fight shoulder to shoulder. And God knows, it is not Manfred but this knight that Moren would have wished to see as his king.
Yes, whats the matter with him. He is almost in love. How silly and frightening at the same time. Moren felt as if he had touched something forbidden, removed his helmet and armor from a body that must not be exposed. And there beneath the armor instead of flesh was a red-hot piece of steel, an imitation of the sun, scorching hot and ready to envelop you in a deadly embrace.
Moren awoke from his visions. All around him was the winter cold, the wind, the frost, the snow-covered forest, and the uncultivated virgin snow. No cottage nearby, no hut, no village, the nearest town many miles away, the country road long since marked by snowdrifts. He could freeze to death here. And he thinks of the sun, the glowing rays and the hot iron. In his tired, depressed mind the hammers of the Zwergs forge the armor of the deity and it glitters like the dawn. In his dreams this same deity, shining like the sun, comes to his bed, holds out his hand in his gauntlet, and bids Moren become his associate.