Rhianon-9. The Birth of the Dragon
Natalie Yacobson
Translator Natalia Lilienthal
© Natalie Yacobson, 2022
© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2022
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Immortal lovers
He gave the statue his beauty as well as his youth, his strength He was no longer the first toy in Madaels collection. It seems that recently, when the angel had first picked him up on the field, it had been a handsome blond young man; now a miserable decaying creature crawled with difficulty across the mosaic floor. It wasnt as black and charred as its fallen brethren, but it was sickening to look at, too.
Madael turned away. It had been a long time since hed allowed himself that. Not since hed mutilated Yve, he supposed, but now his anger was festering, and he wanted to take it out on other living things. The pain and dissatisfaction hed accumulated over the past few days had to find an outlet. He was tired of turning his divine body into a bastion of hellish pain. And so he had endured it for too long. Now let others suffer. Now it was their turn.
The merciless angel tormented and destroyed not only the rare gifted, but everyone. At first they bowed at his feet out of admiration, then out of fear. He became a bloody deity. He didnt need a sword to crush peoples lives. He broke people as if they were toys.
Thats what power means. Even his demons, huddled in their darkest holes, grew frightened of him after they watched him crush the insects that we humans call people. Once they saw him, they lost their will. One look at Dennitsa and people completely lose their pride and dignity. They crawl under the footsteps of their infernal deity and dont even notice how quickly their flesh decays.
Madael even felt content to see how painfully they died. Perhaps some of them had been her supporters, her associates, her lovers during their lifetime His head ached at the thought of Rhianon, as if a wreath of thorns was already becoming. If consciousness could bleed, he would bleed forever.
Rhianon Not only had the girl betrayed him, she had lured his faithful servants to her side. She had not only betrayed him, she had won his loyal servants over to her side. He involuntarily remembered Gods purpose for her to take his place. He is flawed, she is innocent, he is fallen, she only blossoms, he is all burnt, and she generates fire herself. He should have hated her, and he loved her. All the jealousy he should have had for the new favorite of the god arose only toward Rhianon herself. It hurt to imagine her in the arms of another.
He was determined to prove to the traitors that humans could serve him just as well as they did. And now, instead of a supernatural sculptor, he had a decaying boy crawling at his feet, a plowman whose coarse hands, however, were no less capable than those of the greatest of masters. Madael could bestow his talents on anyone, even the most foolish one. He could make anyone great, but the human age is short. Men wore out even faster than supernatural beings could change them. So it was that in a matter of days, instead of a healthy young man, there were living relics crawling at his feet. Madael despised humans for their weakness. The short-sighted human head could not bear the insights and talents he could bestow upon it.
It was different with Rhianon. She easily took all the best qualities from him, and it was as if she herself had become a better person. She was not damaged by his dangerous knowledge. He could gift her again and again. And there was always room for something new. He missed her.
He could have defeated Rhianon, swept her head from her shoulders and carried it away with him as his greatest treasure. In his power, in his hands, her severed head would become imperishable. She would live on. Kisses alone would have been enough for him, if he could not tear out her body as well.
Behead her for what she had done. A tempting thought! Instead, however, he put his gold crown on one of her marble busts. The ruby stones, in a gleaming setting, immediately flashed, shading the whiteness of the marble. They were rubies and pearls, flame and innocence. He ran his hand through the marble curls, and his wings fluttered nervously behind his back. The quiet rustling sounded like mournful sighs.
Rhianon! Now he really wanted to cry. He wondered if his tears would be fiery or bloody. He didnt know that yet. He could only catch the occasional reflection in the mirrors that the wings behind his back had become almost black. They contrasted unusually with the light wheat curls. The reflections in the mirrors lived. Before, only they had become separate from him. Now there was a new living thing inside him an intense pain. There was no stopping it. It was like the experience of the lost angels in the Cathedral of Thunder. It was like being torn apart by claws of steel from the inside, but the fire was still burning you from above, and there was no way out of the dead end where the infernal pain had driven your mind. He was stronger than they were, he could resist it, but the pain was overpowering. Even when he was falling from heaven, it didnt hurt this much.
The sculptor crawled and worked, creating the last statue with wings, So far only one wing was complete. He was giving it his beauty, youth, and vitality, but he himself was deformed. His wings sagged, his fingers twisted, he could no longer walk, only crawl and sculpt. He worked tirelessly, diligently, and still perfectly. It was even more perfectly than before. Now that the pieces of Madael lived in his fingers, the labor was becoming costly to himself, but genius to the world.
Madael watched his work coldly and carefully.
The human sculptor was doing exactly the same thing, but he could die before his work was finished. Arnaud, sitting in the alcove and fiddling with his harp, pretended not to notice it. He tried not to watch his master breathing life into the dead bodies only to watch them writhing in agony.
He had to get used to his new life in the midst of nightmares, though his lot before had not been an enviable one either. The existence of a wanderer rejected by both the mortal and spirit worlds would have enticed few. But Arnaud was resilient. His new master appreciated it. Day after day he guided his servant through a new hell, but Arnaud was still unperturbed. Perhaps it was only because he was originally insane. In any case, he now contemplated the world as only madmen could imagine it. He saw a beautiful devil. This devil was the de facto lord of the universe, he took lives, he dispensed talents, he made marble move and fire burst forth, or, conversely, he froze the world into ice.
What he observed was already insane in itself. He was not, however, on a chain, as a madman should be. Ever since he had been in the Cathedral of Thunder, he had not been out of his wondrous state of contemplation. Everything seemed magical to him, his own hands touching the strings of the harp and the wheat-golden curls of the fallen archangel. Arnaud admired him, himself, and even the eerie burnt creatures lurking in the shadows. Everything had its own amazingly unique shapes. Everything was astonishing in its own way. Perhaps only an artist could see the world this way, but Arnaud was not one. His soul belonged to the harp. His body, inextricably linked to the instrument, enjoyed its sounds. Sometimes Arnaud listened to the music and felt fine, but the wounds in his belly would not heal. The ritual went a little differently than the others and had slightly different consequences. For now, Arnaud was not going to puzzle over what it would bring him. There would still be time for that all eternity but for now he was a servant of Madael. He could look at him, be near him. Anyone else would have traded his most beautiful dreams for that, but Arno couldnt help but think of Rhianon as well.
The princess who knows him as a minstrel would never consider him a fallen angel. Arnaud looked at the bust in the real crown and couldnt take his eyes off either. What would prevent his master from breathing life into one of these marble replicas of Rhianon? Then all problems would be solved at once. She would be marble and malleable here, and the rebellious unruly body would remain far away.
Madael could only touch the marble lips once, breathe into them, and revive. Once he tried to do so, but he never could. Perhaps he didnt feel comfortable kissing the marble after a living body. Or maybe he considered it sacrilegious. If you know Rhianon herself, her imitation can no longer be complete.
Madael pulled away from the bust, slowly and reluctantly. If he could he would fly for Rhianon now. Only it was unlikely she would want to see him. He was alone again. Even surrounded by those creatures, he was always alone.
With Rhianon, it was different. When she appeared for a while, she changed everything about him. Feelings that had been forbidden had become familiar. He had enjoyed them for a while, but they were gone with her. Perhaps even fighting with her would be better than not seeing her at all.
He found himself on the battlefield faster than the wind. Her husbands troops were no longer here. There was nothing but bones and bloody bits and pieces of corpses. His demons had feasted. He would have drunk blood with them, too, if it had given him satisfaction.
A grim, hunched silhouette in the distance was doing just that. He was leaning over the remains and cradling the wounds. He also kidnapped children from the village and drank their blood, here on the battlefield. Asmodeus! Madael grinned at the sight of him here. Like a shadow, he always loomed over the empty space. Once he thought of something bad, he was there.
And now, just as his master leaned on his sword, he left his victim and began pestering him with exhortations. They came like echoes. Madael could have simply flown away from them, but he was unwilling to leave the battlefield. He wanted war, and there was none. So it would have to start somewhere else in the morning. He grinned wryly again. Yes, thats where hed like to fight this time.
It was as if the grim creature had caught his thoughts. Asmodeus suddenly expressed concern. Strangely, he was beginning to get nervous. Not only his hoarse voice, but his entire mutilated body spoke volumes.
«Do you think about what you have to lose?»
«I have nothing to lose. Ive already lost the most precious thing,» Madael jammed his sword into the ground and stared up at the darkening skies. The wind parted his strands, almost burning his face, pulling at his skin like golden wire, so soft to the touch, but he wouldnt have been surprised if one day they had turned into writhing worms. He didnt care anymore. As he had said, he had lost the only thing he wanted to have. There was nothing more to lose.
Rhianon caught herself repeating the names of the sentinel gnomes in her sleep. Clo, Melor, Seth, Hugh, Horace, Ivan, Pip, Byrne, Soiro, Fodel They sounded like the ticking of hands. Saying them, the tongue seemed to merge with the one single mechanism of the devils clock. Rhianon awoke in a cold sweat. It seemed to her that even after she awoke, she could clearly hear the clanging of the dwarves hammers, the movement of the counterweights and the hands, all in one single hymn of hell. She caught her breath when she thought the clock was moving very close by, right in her room and yet somewhere outside. They were measuring her deadline
Was it deadline for what? Only the Cathedral of Thunder and the blood sacrifice came to mind. The vision of wings growing out of her back gave way to a very different picture. A golden-haired angel girl was trampling a dragon, golden limbs slithering, coiling around her ankle. The picture looks both triumphant and erotic. It is not clear whether the victorious girl agrees to make love to him or decapitate him. There was a beauty and the serpent. The mural was as clear as if imprinted on the retina of her eyes.
She had remembered the face of Yve, only his features were already blurred, merging with the endless dusk.
«Give me a chance! Just give me a chance!» whispered from the darkness his already powerless and distant voice. «Give me a chance to be born in his place in the body of a supernatural being.»
Maybe his taken life was worth it. Just a frail human, Yves died, and he could no longer be born as a supernatural being. Or could he? Would his giftedness have allowed him to do so? Sometimes Rhianon felt as if her bloody baby fingers were sliding across her still flat belly. Yve was so attracted to the supernatural life inside her. How he wished he could be part of that life. But she knew in advance that she would never let him. And the ghost disappeared back into the darkness with a stifled groan.
When Rhianon awoke, she found the room rattling. She didnt remember taking any tame animals with her, but that was what was fussing over the bed. Here was her harpy, already stealing a cage of canaries from somewhere. With its sharp claws it had snatched the birds from behind the bars and torn their throats out. Rhianon cringed in disgust. But the tiny gold dragon was pleasing to the eye. It dragged unsteadily on a cord to which a box full of jewels was attached. None of the baubles were hers, and the ebony box was not hers either. But now it belonged to her precious Ingot, as shed called the creature. The dragons paws were occupied, but in its mouth it was carrying a red rose for its mistress, or perhaps for itself. Rhianon never understood. But the thorns on the stem didnt hurt him at all.
«It was I who took care of getting them here,» Orpheus voiced from the darkness. The invisible Orpheus slowly detached himself from the gloom and hid in it again, like an actor lurking behind a curtain. «Are you at least grateful to me? After all, youll have a lot more fun with them in this black hole.»
«Loretta is not a black hole,» she sternly reminded him, though she doubted it herself. Take this castle, gorgeous though it is, and its so bleak. Was this pile of stones worth fighting over?
Orpheus grunted disapprovingly. He did not find this kingdom magnificent himself, as he had said many times before. In his opinion there was not enough treasure in the treasury, too many people to be sent immediately to the executioners axe, and, in general, Loretta, he said, was squalid, no better than the Duchy of Rothbert. Rhianon was not even angry with him for that. She knew for herself that he had a point. Since she had fled, the treasury had indeed been depleted of money. Manfred had been too exhausted for the wars, the upkeep of soothsayers and wizards, and the entertainment of his own son. In retaliation for that, she let Drusil win a week, but only a week. For seven days he would feel like the richest and luckiest man in the world, and then his luck would change. He will begin to lose with such frightening regularity that he will be left without the last shirt, but even then his excitement will not be able to stop. He will go mad. Rhianon had already sentenced him.
Things were much more difficult with the other courtiers and members of the council, whom Orpheus said should have been sent to the scaffold immediately. Rhianon would have gladly done so. If it were up to her will, Angus and Hermione and Roderick and Darius and Clotter would lay down their heads right now. Even Hildegard, who hypocritically greeted the new queen as if she were her own sister, gave Rhianon a pang of dislike. The snake was up to something. Her affectionate kiss made Rhianon feel disgusted, as if a toad had licked her cheek, and the words «my dear sister» sounded like an insult. Although the maidens and courtiers who had previously surrounded Hildegard were all gone, Rhianon still felt that she was in a hornets nest.