Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials

Translator Natalia Lilienthal

© Natalie Yacobson, 2022

© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2022

ISBN 978-5-0056-9499-7 (т. 4)

ISBN 978-5-0056-8618-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Flower and Weapon

Raising the purple curtain, Rhianon watched the battle from his marching tent. Madael had positioned it on a steep cliff so that she could see everything. Rhianon had wanted it that way herself. She’d developed a keen sense of sight. His abilities were partially transferred to hers, as if they had truly become one being. They were a princess and an angel. She wondered who was bossing who. Rhianon saw the carnage and the power of her chosen one. His hand in the gleaming gauntlet that artfully clutched his sword was feared by all. The unknown warrior’s power in battle knew no equal, and she could control him. She was the fragile golden-haired girl. She could give him orders. Love is a powerful weapon. He would obey her. Rhianon felt herself an evil genius. It turns out that she is the demon, not him. She shook her curls stubbornly. She loves him, not uses him. And how could anyone not love him.

“But you play him, as God played him before you; he too thought himself a benefactor, and his favorite, but made only a toy,” whispered someone’s poisonous voice in her ear. “Kill yourself and then you would set him free. He would have cast off his chains if it were not for you. You are his last chain and his strongest. If you are gone, he will be free.”

Black claws playfully touched the earring in her ear, rocking the sapphire pendant in a way that made Rhianon feel pain. She did not know who was speaking to her, but she heard a low hiss and smelled burning. Her nostrils flared. She was familiar with that stench of fire and ashes.

“Why did you come? He’ll chase you away again,” she said without turning around. She was afraid, on the one hand, that the black claws would snap her neck, and on the other she was disgusted to look at him.

“No, don’t tell him I was here,” the voice warned. “I was on my way out. I only wanted to advise you what’s best for the one we both love.”

“Oh, yes, he told me of the manifestations of your love.”

“So he did,” the claws that caressed her earlobe broke off for a moment. “And he didn’t mention that I was considered his best friend up there in Heaven, his comrade-in-arms…”

Rhianon was wary, what a greedy voice. He would have eaten her and him alive if he could. But he did not have the strength.

“Apparently he doesn’t value friendship as much as many to mention it.”

“So he didn’t say. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“What’s in the past is in the past.”

“Like that boy Ron you’ve already forgotten,” his voice became husky. “Do you think the others have the same short memory?”

“Don’t you dare touch Ron,” she tried to sound stern, but her tone was frightened.

“Maybe I wouldn’t. He’s already dead.”

“Why is it?” She was really scared now.

“You’re like a chain, a golden chain.” He wrapped his claws around her strands and tugged lightly, obviously enjoying the effect he was having. “You’re a handicap to women and men alike when you’re in their lives. It makes you like us, the way we used to be. It captivates Madael. You know him by that name, don’t you?”

Perhaps he implied that she was not as close to him as he was to know all his names, including the secret ones. Rhianon was not taken aback by this.

“Passion is a nice chain. But you kill everyone you feel it for because you are afraid they will become your fetters.”

“I don’t have to worry about me anymore. All I care about is him.”

“Since when did you become so protective?”

“I’ve always protected him. I’m his chief warrior and bodyguard, you sissy. Do you understand?”

He tugged her strands tighter, but Rhianon didn’t cry out as he’d hoped. Proximity to Madael had softened all her sensations, and the pain was an almost forgotten feeling.

“That’s why he was ignoring it. You protected him so well that you let him lose and fall.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” He could have taken umbrage, but he knew that she would turn on him before he could turn on her.

Rhianon felt the hoop press against her forehead, and her curls felt as if they were moving on their own and becoming golden snakes. No, it was all an illusion. She pulled herself together.

“You’re being kind. Since when were you being kind?”

“Ever since I saw that my idol and leader, once he was free of some bonds, was already climbing into other ones. I am only guarding the honor of my leader, belle. I want to serve a god, not a prisoner.”

“He would be a god if he didn’t take you into his ranks.”

“All right, that’s enough. You know you’ve become a burden to him. God sent you to him as punishment, he couldn’t get it or get it back himself, so he chained you, little fire witch. You are his new chain.”

“No. I am his flower. I am the first beautiful and desirable thing he saw on this earth.”

The battle went on, and they continued to bicker. Now the battle would come to a close and Madael would burst into the tent. What would happen if he saw them together? Would he bring the fire to the writhing black puddle of slime again? Or would he do something more terrifying? Rhianon felt the satisfaction of such a beastly thought. It turns out she really is getting bad. Perhaps she should. Only the bad can defend themselves against demons, and the innocent will believe their evil speeches and lay hands on themselves. He wanted to lead her to do just that. He was offering her a stiletto or a dart.

“You need to disappear, and not just run away, but die. Then he will free himself and fight without fear of anything happening to his ward. All lovers are weak. They have something to lose. You don’t want to make him that weak.”

“No,” she answered with a quiet, fiery gasp. A trickle of fire shot upward, and the tent canopy nearly burst into flames. But the black creature backed away from it. I could see it was afraid of fire, too.

“There just lies a knife, take it, bring it to your beautiful chest or wrist. It’s cruel, I know, especially for someone as beautiful as you, but at least you’ll never know old age or a slow, painful death from disease. If you think fire will keep you from wrinkles, you doubt very much. Let him remember you more as young and beautiful than as old and sick. You will be gone from his eternal life, but you will remain a flower in his memory. Believe me, he will have no other lover but you, dead you will take his loyalty to the grave, but his hands will be untied and he will fight like a lion…” the vile laughter was already drowning in the darkness of the tent behind her. “Die and you will set him free. Hurry, he’ll be back soon. The knife is on the table.”

Rhianon turned around. Behind her, only the darkness was dissipating. Clouds of blue-black smoke floated toward the ceiling, giving off a hint of ash and an odor of burning. She was frightened. The knife on the table was really there, calling to her. It made her want to hide it somewhere. It was a singing steel. Madael had told her about dwarves forging such. Only this time it wasn’t the blade that sang, but something malevolent enveloped it. The sharpness frightened now more than the steepest mountain peak. No height could compare to that fear. Rhianon looked at the battle unfolding below. Not even the swords and spears and darts hurling there made such a frightening impression on her.

Why was that damned man coming? Why was he talking about the knife? Why was the cold song of steel beginning to seem so appealing to her?

Rhianon thought she should hide the weapon somewhere far away. It tempted her. But they say that steel forged by the Zwergs can do far worse than dream. There are swords that spit their own blood, and in battle to stop them already impossible, taken from sheaths they cut and stabbed all in a row with an unquenchable thirst. They might even turn against their master if there were no one else left to kill. And now it seemed to her that to reach for the knife and spill her own blood would be unbelievable bliss.

Rhianon was afraid to touch the blade or even the opal-encrusted handle. She took a velvet shawl and threw it over the tabletop. Now she couldn’t see the knife covered by the cloth, and the call of the steel would no longer be so appealing. She’d rather listen to the sounds of battle from outside than this insidious temptation. And they were intensifying. The jubilation before victory was so great that it drowned out even the roar of war. Rhianon didn’t want to cover her ears at all. She could hear swords crossing with swords, steel jingling against steel, arrows being fired whistling. These sounds reminded her of how she herself had once stepped onto the battlefield. She wouldn’t mind doing it again. Instead of a shield she would use Orpheus, who would remain invisible to repel the blows aimed at her. And she wanted, of course, a sword like Madeel’s. His sword would strike without mercy and demand blood itself. With a sword like that it would be hard not to win. The only thing was whether she would be able to convince the dwarves to make such a thing for her. Orpheus seemed to say that it is forbidden. But Orpheus is such a liar. She does not even miss him, though she has not seen him for a long time. He has no right to approach her while she is near the lord of all the damned? So be it. There must be some way to punish him for his willfulness.

If he had been a mere mortal servant, Rhianon would have had him flogged. It was a pity that he was only a disembodied spirit, not in pain or remorse. She chose not to think of him, and concentrated on the battle. It was nearing its end. Her lover was winning again. She had no doubts about the outcome of the battle. She only wondered if any of his victories would be laid at her feet. He could give her the world. But would he fight only for her, and not at God’s behest? A knight must win for his lady, and only for her. Rhianon gripped tighter into the tent canopy, her knuckles turning white.

“You must fight only for my sake!” She whispered insistently, as if he could hear her from so far away. Somewhere out there in the thick of the battle his golden helmet was gleaming. Somehow she was sure he could hear her.

“Well, what did you manage to find out?”

Douglas regarded the prince’s angry tone with icy indifference. Conrad grumbled uncertainly on the threshold of his tower and hesitated to move. He was startled and frightened by everything in the place, from the retorts, where multicolored liquids were swirling, to the white owl perched proudly on a stack of books that almost reached the ceiling. It hardly bothered the prince that the sloppily stacked volumes would fall right on top of him, and the fact that the bird was not in a cage was also quite usual for a wizard’s chambers. And Douglas could have sworn that the pyramids of folio books, stacked so casually, would not crumble as long as he supported them with his charms, just as the dogs that went wild today in the kennel would not bite anyone, because next to a fireplace with sparks dancing in it, animals felt a little sleepy. Douglas gathered all the dangerous creatures around him, and not only of animal origin. Had anyone known of the tower’s other inhabitants, they would never have come. One nosy servant who peeked through a keyhole to see what the wizard was doing had already was blind. His friends who had bet with him fell ill with a strange illness, but no one but them. Douglas had repeatedly hinted to the young heir to the throne that he kept his charms under control and that it was not his habit to torment royalty. Yet the door, which had slammed shut behind him as he crossed the threshold, and the black toad which crawled out from under him, made him incredibly wary. Now he squeamishly looked down at his boots, where a sticky stain was spreading from contact with the toad’s skin, and kept his hands folded across his chest to avoid accidentally touching anything. Douglas didn’t accuse him of cowardice at all. The boy had already proved his courage by finding the strength to cross the threshold. He’d been warned more than once that it was a dangerous place, the lair of a court wizard. And, of course, he had watched the torment of those to whom the same sorcerer had repeatedly cast spells at his father’s behest. It seems that in order to win Rhianon back, he is ready even to step on the threshold of hell.

Was it courage? Douglas snorted dismissively. Since when are such effeminate boys called men? Conrad looked more like a pretty girl. And a thoughtful father had seen to it that his child was dressed by the finest dressmakers in Loretta. Merchants with the finest fabrics came here from distant lands. The camisole and shirt with ruffles worn by the prince could well be called a model of tailor’s art. Here and there in the intricate patterns of fabric glittered small rubies and topaz. The lace jabot around the neck was slightly loose, as if Conrad had wanted to take it off, and the buttons were unbuttoned. The prince’s chamberlain had, after all, overlooked something. Also Conrad should have combed his hair. His dark hair was tangled in strands over his unbuttoned collar. He hadn’t thought of washing it or taping it up at the back of his head. Douglas almost asked venomously if this was a way to keep the prince from grooming himself, or the memory of his runaway queen. But he had enough sense to restrain himself. Though he hated such lanky, pampered sons, to whom his father’s efforts could get everything. But after all, Conrad might one day be king. True, the stars told him somewhat different plans for the future, but there is always an alternative. And one day Conrad may become an important pawn in his game.

Douglas reached forward and held Rianon’s scarf, which was already quite frayed and stained with blood droplets.

“I had to work with it to get the results I wanted, but you can still have it, if it’s of any value to you.”

He pretended to throw the lump of cloth into the flames of the fireplace.

“No, don’t!” Conrad sprang forward at once and snatched the scarf from him.

Douglas almost laughed. So the right bait will make a coward a daredevil too.

“So you’re ready to step into hell itself,” he answered his own thoughts aloud.

“What do you mean?” Conrad clearly didn’t understand him, but he got worried. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” the wizard shook his head. “I have much to do besides seek out your betrothed, but it so happens that all the paths in my complex magical map of the world are woven together in the end. Knowing where to look for one thing leads me to another. Have you heard anything about setting nets on stars?”

“And I don’t want to hear,” as Conrad was not stupid, but he realized that he was being bullshitted and became embittered. “Where is Rhianon? Did you promise to find out?”

“Isn’t Rhianon a star you could set your net on?”

Conrad did not understand that. For all his smarminess, he was clearly a stranger to poetry, but no stranger to the pains of love. If only his current state could be called infatuation rather than madness. Douglas was pleased to note that his cheeks looked sunken after long sleepless nights, and that a kind of feverish glint had settled in his tired eyes. A little more worry like that and he would no longer be so handsome.

Douglas tried not to remember the days of his own splendor and the loss of his blond hair. He didn’t regret having to change his own appearance for the worse, nor did he regret opening his heart to blackness. You could even tell that he felt a sense of satisfaction. Beauty and brilliance was not the most important thing in his life. He realized that what mattered most was strength. It was a sorcery power, not physical power. With it, one could control warriors and even representatives of earthly power. That was exactly the trick he was going to do, first with Manfred and then with Conrad. He was already beginning to succeed. Rianon has been a wonderful gift. As long as he is the only one who can find her, the heir is in his power.

“First you should have asked me, is she even alive?”

“What do you mean by that?” Conrad drew his fist sharply toward him. Douglas easily intercepted his arm and held it, even though their physical strength was not equal. The well-developed and muscular Conrad might well have defeated him in a fair fight. Even now, after many nights without sleep and days of starvation, the boy was quite strong, while Douglas had traded his physical strength for witchcraft talent, but as soon as he looked into the prince’s eyes he managed to compel him that he could crush all his bones if only he wanted to.

“She’s alive, don’t worry,” he released Conrad’s hand and he stepped back, rubbing his wrist nervously. “It’s not her health, welfare, or safety you should be worried about, though that’s what lovers should be most worried about.”

“Yes, what do you know about love?” Conrad twisted in disgust, revealing in an instant all his hitherto carefully concealed feelings for the wizard.

Well, Douglas was used to being treated that way. His powers are feared. It was the squeamishness of the weak. That’s what he called it. They would dream of acquiring what he alone possesses, but they do not have it and pretend to despise the other’s skill.

“My love is a charm, not a woman’s slender body. It’s more likely to grow old and you’ll never drag her down the aisle.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Conrad threatened.

“What’s wrong with that?” Douglas’s eyes sparkled slyly. “Young maidens are like flowers, beautiful one day and withering the next. And one day, when you wake up in bed with an old witch, you won’t know what you fought for.”

“One more word…” Conrad grabbed the hilt of his sword impetuously.

“Are you trying to kill me with this toy?” In a moment, the space where the wizard stood was empty. Conrad looked around until he saw his skinny body sitting on the rung of the ceiling, another moment and it had already moved into the opening of the arched window above the second floor of the tower. Douglas sat on the window sill, lazily looking down.

“Chill out, or I’ll have to pour a bucket of cold water over you,” he remarked, leaving no room for doubt that both bucket and water were to be found in that tower, appearing directly from the void at his command. “You hesitate,” Douglas cocked his head slightly to the side as he watched the prince’s reaction, “and every time you see Rhianon, don’t you ever think that she might scorch you, on or before your wedding bed, with her flame?”

“You speak as if you envy me because she will be with me and not with you.”

“That is a moot point,” Douglas, not at all frightened by the height that separated him from the floor, jumped down and stood before the bewildered prince. “All I can say is that I’ve never seen her before, and I have no idea if I’ll like her.”

“I can’t help liking her,” Conrad protested confidently. He was stupid, like all lovers. Douglas gave a contemptuous chuckle.

“She is not a book of witches. I only get passion from books.”

“You can have as many as you like if you help me.”

There was so much the boy didn’t understand. Besides, he was entirely in his hands. They must have looked strange, the overdressed but so tired prince and the ever-young sorcerer with the dyed-black hair. Two young men with different destinies and Douglas sensed someone else standing beside them, remaining invisible and impossible to drive him away because his name was Fate. The wizard could only hope that this fate was following the young prince and not himself. If they were bound together by a common cause, it did not mean that their fates would soon be intertwined so closely that the black menace that loomed over one would shadow the other. In addition, Douglas did not consider a small sorcerer’s favor to be a big deal. He often did petty favors, casting spells, casting spells, depriving people of their minds, making them sick, punishing those who did not please him, or fulfilling the orders of others. It was all nonsense. He could do so much more. Each service had its own price. What would he charge Conrad? Douglas smirked carnivorously as he pondered this.

“Well, you’ve ruined her scarf,” Conrad said as if he’d just now noticed the bloodstains, and he looked discouraged. “How could you.”

Douglas exhaled sharply. The stars say this whole kingdom could soon go to hell, and this clumpy boy is bemoaning the fact that some rag is ruined.

“You know, sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get what you want,” he hinted cautiously.

“But not like this…”

“What do you want to have, the girl or a ribbon of her hair? If only the latter, I can get it for you now without difficulty.”

“Indeed you can?” Conrad looked up at him with interest.

What a fool. Douglas almost cursed. Even the spirits circling the distant ceiling seemed to be laughing at his stupid client. Good thing they weren’t throwing scraps of books at him. They like to make fun of those whom they themselves have almost driven mad. With some experience in casting spells, Douglas had no doubt that something supernatural could be the cause of such love. He could have offered his help and slightly cooled the hot blood of the lover, but it would not have been to his advantage. Sick of his dream, Conrad was willing to do anything. If he were cured of it, he would be harder to control.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to meet this Rhianon, if she’s capable of depriving others of their willpower,” he muttered to himself. He wondered if she was a fairy. They were the only ones who could make mortal young men go mad, but he shrugged the thought off instantly. There was something even more dangerous here than an encounter with fairies. The stars revealed little to him, but everything. Yet even that was enough to make Douglas wary.

“You won’t want her ribbon or herself when you find out what she’s done?”

“Oh, come on…”

“I mean it,” Douglas gave the prince a long look. “The scarf you’re clutching in your hands now has the blood of several birds and other creatures that had to be slaughtered to attack the trail. You know spells require a relationship. But that’s not what I mean… The price of those tiny lives is nothing compared to what your princess can bring to Loretta.”

Conrad could barely restrain himself from speaking angrily.

“I told you I don’t care what it costs,” he grumbled.

“I remember. I have a good memory. I don’t forget anything that’s happened in the past, but I can also tell the future.”

“Then predict that I will succeed. And if you can’t predict it, then conjure it up.”

“I wish it were that easy.”

“It’s complicated for you,” Conrad said angrily. “Have you even found out where she is? You still haven’t told me where she is.”

“It would have been better if you hadn’t known,” Douglas shrank back, and the stiff dark strands fell to his forehead and covered his eyes. And well, his interlocutor wouldn’t see the golden spark that flashed through his pupils.

“Where is she?” Conrad darted forward, catching the wizard by the shoulder before he could even look away from the multicolored, magnetic eyes, one dark and the other blue.

Douglas grinned faintly at the corners of his lips.

“She’s with someone else. Do you understand?”

The news struck like a sword. Only Conrad recovered quickly. Passion gave way to rage. He squeezed the wizard’s shoulder as if the man were his rival. He could kill now.

“I don’t believe that.”

“You just don’t want to believe it.”

For a moment Conrad looked away. He tried to calm himself, and he couldn’t. His fingers clutched frantically at the hilt of his sword trembled a few times.

“Very well,” the prince said, as he struggled to contain his outburst. “Now I have two questions for you: where is she, and who is he?”

“Well, he has blond hair and blue eyes…” Douglas didn’t know how to lay the whole truth beside him. “It began here.”

He led the prince to a map spread out on the table and pointed to the right place.

“You see this path, highlighted in red. I underlined it for you. This is the path she took, even though your warriors didn’t find anyone there, but she passed through here. At this point, right in the deep woods, she managed to find friends. I drew a campfire at the place where they first met, because they met at the campfire. And this dot, in the shape of a drop of blood, marks the spot where Rhianon met him.