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?