Rhianon-6: Mistress of Magical Creatures
Natalie Yacobson
Translator Natalia Lilienthal
© Natalie Yacobson, 2022
© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2022
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Shine and Shadow
His tower was like a piece of hell. It bore almost no trace of Rhianons presence. And yet he hoped that somewhere in the gloomy corridors her azure train was about to flicker. He could almost see it. He wanted to see it. God and defeat had given him the gift of creating those illusions that colored his bleak world in bright but terrifying hues.
And now he imagined a hem woven with gold thread stretching over a cluster of black creatures crawling in disarray on the marble floor. Rhianon was above this chaos. A jumble of ghastly burned bodies, and bones must have been beneath her feet. And so was he. If she is even better than him, he belongs beneath her feet. He had forgotten his place. And now he was paying the price.
Madael violently knocked the gold cups filled with blood off the table. They rattled across the floor, scaring the infernal creatures away. The infected blood, and the blood that had been collected on the battlefield, stained the marble. Soon his servants would begin to lick it off, but for now they howled in agony, burned and hungry. Their hunger would not be satiated by a whole hackneyed army for lunch. In the winter, all his demons roamed the forests, tearing apart packs of wolves for meat. Hungrier than wolves they had fed on animals; now, with the blossoming of spring, they would need human flesh. Well, forward to the battlefield, he was ready. How many battles were not in the recent past, and he wanted more. His hunger for battle and death was now nothing to satisfy either. He wanted blood. Not to drink it, but at least to spill it, to see its color and destroy the pain inside him. He and God had once had an argument, violent and bloody, that continued to this day. Even defeated, he felt victorious in the contest. He was sure that since he was the most beautiful creature in the world, he had the upper hand. With the appearance of Rhianon, everything changed. As soon as he saw her, he knew he had to give up his pedestal. She was created as if in mockery of him. Yes, a more perfect creature than Dennitsa could illuminate even the human world with her presence. He is no longer the first. Praise the new dawn. It pained him at the sight of his own sunset. Even the angels in the heavens did not suffer for him as much as mortals rushed to die for the beautiful Rhianon. Truly she was a new lightning bolt, brighter than the former favorite of the god in the heavens. But she was created after him and in mockery of him. The god decided to replace him with someone else. Madael stubbornly refused to acknowledge the primacy of his own copy. She was only a reflection of him. She was a female parody of him, since on earth the most beautiful should be women, not men. There was no such distribution in heaven. There, everyone was equally as sexless. And no one fought for supremacy but him. The fairest among all, he found his followers. They, with the appearance of Rhianon, got the chance to see that their head was not and would not be the best and the only one. It was quite a tangible blow. Madael never suffered it. He followed the impostor everywhere, trying to find a single flaw in her, but he was only more convinced that she was better than him. Those who had thought him great could now die of fervor. His fallen angels had chosen him as their warlord, dazzled by his unique beauty and strength. They thought there was no one equal to him, and if so, they were not afraid to die for him. There was no one to replace him and he was the best. If he were gone, there would be nothing left to exist for. Where would there be another dawn? Theres a new dawn. It is a worthy substitute for him. With a heavy heart, Madael had to admit it. His subjects began to look at her with interest, even to adore her from afar.
Naturally, Madaels dream was to get rid of the cause of his pain, but as soon as he got close to her
He gripped the golden goblet so tightly that it nearly cracked in his fingers. The warmth of the blood, laced with poison, stung his throat so that he could have screamed. But he was used to physical burns. Something else was more tangible.
A rose has thorns, said a bard he had met on the road. In spite of his dark cloak and hidden wings, he recognized Madael, perhaps because he was a Fallen One himself, seeking the way to the Cathedral of Thunder. That is not important. The fact is that his phrase still rang in Madaels ears, more poignantly than Arnauds perpetually whining flute.
The rose has thorns
Or else he hadnt guessed it himself. He kept repeating the phrase to himself hundreds and hundreds of times now. If he had said it out loud, his tongue would have broken.
You have to be strong. One must rush into battle. It reminded his conscience, if only he had one. He knew that the rules of his long game on earth were subject only to force and sword. He and God played with human lives and felt quite comfortable. What are humans? God and his punished lover can spin them as they please. They are as soft as clay and pliable and trusting. You dont need a sword with them if you whisper something in their ear. But Madael liked the sword better. He was meant to be a warrior. The game went on, the men were pawns, he was a force among them, and surely the Almighty was the moving hand that decided everything. He did not agree with that. Hed rather have him and God as equals. Some played white, but he always played black. He had yet to assert his rights.
You are a rose! He whispered, leaning over the empty, clawed table, where bloody wine dripped and bones piled after feast. The rings on someones nibbled finger bones still glittered, just like the ones she liked to wear. And why was he the only one who found it so difficult to say her name. Why is it a rose and not Rhianon? A rose has thorns. He touched his hand to his heated forehead, brushing the disheveled hair from his temples. It was like scarlet gold, still pure with just a touch of something dark. His wings were already almost entirely black, but the bouncy strands of hair still twisted like gold worms. His eyes were still blue and his skin lily-white, too, except that the mirror was a burnt monster instead. There, beyond the mirrors edge, a charred, incredibly evil and terrifyingly ugly creature lived and moved on its own. What if, shattering the amalgam but one day, it would burst into the outside world and swallow it whole. Absorb even the beautiful golden image of the still-existing Madael. He did not want to become that charred creature. But had his hour already come? What taboo had he broken to become this scarecrow? He wanted to be himself, but there was nothing he could do.
Only not to break his taboo, his conscience told him, and the sword clutched in his hand said otherwise. He may be a devil, but he has honor, and his own desires and desire for freedom, even if the shackles never fall, he must be free in his choice.
If he becomes as burnt and embittered as Asmodeus, the fragile line will be broken, the balance between sun and darkness will disappear. The world will cease to be a field of ruthless play between the god and his first warrior. Everything around it would become irrelevant.
He pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to hold back his tearing consciousness. So this is how people go mad, long and painfully losing their own sanity. He had helped them so far, his subjects whispering to them to speed up the process. He himself made sure that the pain inflicted on people was as full as possible. He watched the pains of others and still he himself was in more pain.
Is it funny? People did not lose what he had lost. By falling, he had lost himself. Or on the contrary finally gained independence? Or maybe he was just taking the first step. As Rhianon would have decided? But here was Rhianon again. Could he not live and think without proclaiming her his chief advisor? Without her there was nothing to live for. If only the misery he was leading here could be called a life. He was the lord of worm gold, black creatures, and spilled blood. Alone in his tower, or rather surrounded by an evil entity, among whom he was alone all the same. And always will be.
Once he lost his loneliness, and his virginity, and his impregnability. It was all for a mortal girl. He dug his claws deeper into the marble tabletop.
Damn you, Rhianon and bless you. It was as if there was nothing but you
He didnt say the words out loud, but they burned with fire in his mind. Like the fiery symbols scorched on his body and soul. They didnt go away, the pain didnt subside. The suffering didnt stop for a moment. There was only one drug to take away the agony the body of an earthly princess. He would do and give anything to have that body back in his bed. Let her only pretend she still needed him, and then she would get everything she wanted from him. He can give her anything, after all. He has enough power to do that. But what does she want? Why did she leave? No matter how hard he tried, he could not get through to her mind.
Black creatures crawled beneath his feet, and he didnt care. He didnt even rush to disperse them. The ashy traces of their touch remained on his golden sandals and immediately disappeared. Madael stared into the void.
Well, do you like being betrayed? Asmodeus flattering, luscious, and invariably insidious voice was like a serpent crawling in ashes.
Madael did not react at all to the mockery. His handsome face furrowed slightly, but he remained arrogant, even as he habitually crossed his arms across his chest and stepped forward, watching with pleasure as the servant staggered away from him.
There is merit in this, the desire for revenge is an interesting feeling, and it will be even more interesting to get satisfaction from it, one fling of his hand and his golden nails clenched forcefully on the black dried throat. His servant wailed. His burnt skin hurt as it was, and this touch stung even worse.
He gripped the writhing thing for a moment, then tossed it away from him.
Me first, not you, he reminded her, then looked away. Let the wretch crawl back into its hole. The creature crawled back down its hole. The black bodies began to coil themselves in a tangle of writhing black bodies, snaking across the floor, but not under his feet any longer, beyond the empty space that had cleared. The emperor needs honors. He is their king still. This thought gave him pep. He even tasted the bloody wine left in one of the goblets. It tasted disgusting and at the same time somehow appealing.
Asmodeus crawled to the side, scrambling over the tangle of strangers bodies, even uglier than he was.
And what if she were to be the first, he remarked venomously.
Well, then thered be nothing left of you, Madael grinned. If the servant had meant to hurt him, he had done so wrong. My copy could be fierce. Her cruelty need only awaken.
Asmodeus hissed in annoyance as he crept away. Good riddance. Let him sit in his hole, climbing the world, whispering and doing evil, or raping golden-haired girls and boys again. Madael didnt care about the mischief of his subjects, but he himself had no idea how symbolic the last words would be. His smooth forehead furrowed for the first time in thousands of years. What if, without giving much thought to the meaning of what he said, he happened to be right?
Rhianon looked at the sleeping children. Were there any marks on them? The dragon could have burned the symbols into their smooth skin, just as hed burned them into the walls of houses, fields, even the ground. There was nothing to destroy them afterward. Grass could not sprout again where the ground had been touched by dragon fire. It was alarming and frightening. People tried to avoid places where such symbols remained. The poisonous vapors emanating from the burnt areas could affect many. Rhianon herself was more sober about it all, but she couldnt deny the existence of magic. She remembered how the creature conjured at the hearth and how the flaming symbols hung in the air. What did they mean? After all this time, she should know by now. Having lived with Madael long enough, shed learned to understand the hisses of the angelic language, but what about the signs they left behind. They should have made sense to her, too.
Two dark-haired baby heads and one redhead rested on the grass. Rhianon already knew the childrens names: Marla, Shon and Quentin. They only remembered their names. They could have spent hours in vain asking what the dragon had done to them, or to their playmates. Marla only remembered that someone had approached them while they were playing in the yard. His shadow blocked the sunlight and that was it, not another word could be got out of her. Her freckled face wrinkled, tears welled up in her eyes at every question. Did she remember nothing, or did she not want to remember? The boys didnt answer questions at all, just huddled together fearfully. The dragon was gone, but his shadow still hung over them as if he would not let them speak. Its presence was still felt close by. There may have been some magical power nearby, visible only to the bewitched children, but it still restrained them better than any chains.
There was still something left of the chains, by the way. No matter how hard Ferdinands knights tried, they couldnt free them completely. They had yielded somewhat since the dragons disappearance, but Rhianon could still see the thin, thick ring of iron jammed into the girls wrist.
Marla was asleep and as if she felt no pain. Or maybe she was just used to the iron hoop. Rhianon decided that her powers were enough to undo the iron with her bare fingers. Her new powers, springing up as if from nowhere, allowed her to do things shed never thought possible before. She guessed at the source of these powers, but she preferred not to speculate about procreation just yet. The supernatural fruit fed her from within. Perhaps by carrying the supernatural seed within her, she herself ceased to be human.
With just one light squeeze of her hand, Rhianon effortlessly unfolded the steel ring without even waking the girl. Marla only moved slightly in her sleep. A scratched part of her neck flashed under her reddish curls. Rhianon noticed that the arm where the hoop had been worn was very red. She didnt need to light the lamp to see the scarlet rash on the babys delicate skin and anything else that looked like a burn.
Carefully, with her fingertips, she touched the scorched mark. It was a symbol. It was a familiar symbol. Already familiar images flashed through her mind, so distant and yet vaguely recognizable. Fighting among the clouds, swords striking like lightning, carnage, screams, broken wings, severed arteries and fire reflected in the azure-blue, ethereal pupils. Hell and heaven became one in that instant, equally engulfed in flames. Only there was no hell at that moment; only after the battle would it begin to unfold below. Perhaps further away, perhaps, where the earth would emerge later. Rhianon didnt know the exact location, and she didnt want to know.
And you should, because thats where you might have to look for your lover, came a nasal voice from behind her, with a slight hint of hoarseness. Without even turning around, Rhianon already knew who she was going to see. Of course Fate had come out of the ground again. He seemed to be hiding in every bush, in every bush, in every hill, in every subterranean inch of the road she walked, and only came to the surface when he wanted to tease her.