Lords of Rainbow

by Vera Nazarian

  “I am saying, my Lord Elasand-re, that this association of ours has gone too far. The initial curiosity has burned out.”

  “I don’t believe you for a moment,” he said.

  “Then believe this. From the first instant, it had been unbearable for me. I’m bound and stifled, and I want to be rid of you now, if you would forgive my saying so. To be rid of you, for I am a madwoman, and you affect me in a strange way. Enough! I would not continue to be employed if you drowned me in dahr.”

  He was the one to look away now, thoughtful. “Do you know,” he said, “it’s remarkable you tell me all this. Maybe you are mad. And maybe, that’s what’s so curious about your manner, what in turn interests me. You are unclaimable, yet so capable of loyalty.”

  “I am simply perverse.” She never let him meet her eyes.

  “Whatever you are,” Elas pursued, “I also feel bound to you. There is something about the way we are with one another, a strange sense of connection.”

  Her eyes were blank.

  “For example,” he said. “The way we talk even now, despite the fact that we’re in the middle of the street, my kinswomen are anxiously waiting within the carriage, thinking me mad, and the sun is making beads of sweat glitter on your brow.”

  Unconsciously she wiped her forehead.

  “And,” he continued, “I seem to be speaking to you, a stranger, a commoner, as if you were a confidante of a lifetime. And—you saved me.”

  “I saved you. Because I felt like doing it. I am changeable, Elasand-re. I would be bored tomorrow. Bored with you and your cause. And will leave you, just like that. Because I’d no longer care, in my own sick, subtle, perverse manner.”

  “Well, why don’t you then?” His voice had grown soft, persuasive, quiet. “Leave me when it bores you. I will not grudge you. In the meantime, simply work for me indefinitely. I ask you again. I want to have you with me, your abilities, your originality. You said I stifle you—well then, learn to overcome your inner self in this. For your own good. Or you’ll never be so elegant again. And if I throw you off balance, do not fear, I will never ask you why.”

  “You are so clever, lord . . .” she whispered. “And you are undeniably right. Yet again, why the hell do you bother? You do not have my perverse sense of play.”

  “Do I not? Ranhéas, I think it’s time for me also to engage in a moment of truth. We are two creatures of the same mind. It draws us together. I glimpse something in you, woman. Do not fear me. Stay. I will give you work that you’ve never had the equal of, to satiate, to quench your—addiction. Always changing, surprising work.”

  “You choose such precise words.”

  “Words that might touch you.”

  Lixa Beis, listening within the carriage, absolutely enthralled, turned to her mother, saying, “What exactly have they been talking about, these last ten minutes?”

  She said this in a careless petulant voice, in order that Dame Beis might think she was more innocent about the nature of the conversation than in fact. Truly, Lixa was sensitive to fine undercurrents that her mother could not even imagine.

  Molhveth Beis, lying back on fine pillows, sincerely thought herself in a half-faint still. First, to be riding, confined, for hours. And then seeing her nephew nearly killed, for the second time in less than two days—this was unbearable. She was high-strung, and her faint had been quite real. All that had happened afterwards was but anticlimax. She didn’t care, or bother, to overhear anything.

  Seeing that her mother did not react, Lixa was satisfied, her own secretive nature pacified. She was overhearing others in an odd private conversation—no matter if it was but her cousin Elas and that woman guard—and she was feeling fascinated guilt. Guilt for somehow hearing things. Guilt for—

  But then, whoever said this conversation was private? They weren’t exactly being secretive about their words, standing in the crowded sunlit square.

  Yet, something made her uncomfortable. It seemed to Lixa that she was observing them through a psychic veil, an intangible layer of difference that placed them into a common reality apart from the rest of the world.

  And hardly daring to breathe, Lixa continued listening.

  “What else must I tell you to convince you?” spoke Elas, his expression having become gentle, and not exactly how an employer and a lord might deal with a hired commoner.

  There was a strained expression on Ranhé’s face, however. “I don’t know,” she was saying.

  “Why, for gods’ sake?” he asked, yet again.

  What an odd level of intimacy.

  “I suppose that the monetary aspect hardly interests you,” he said. “However”—and a curve came to his lips—“I’ll bring it up. I will pay you three hundred and fifty dahr of gold for every month that you choose to stay in my employ.”

  Ranhé’s look widened. “So much! You overestimate me extremely. And again, I haven’t yet agreed to anything. . . .”

  But I will, she thought. He draws me like a moth to a flame.

  “Agree, then. Now. I am wearied of arguing and trying to convince you.” He threw the words like a challenge. His tone had become curt suddenly. And he wanted to add but didn’t, I am trying, it seems, in this one thing, harder than I’ve ever tried in anything. . . .

  Ranhé breathed the air of the City, deeply, as if it were her last gasp of freedom. “I’ve never,” she said, “never committed myself to this extent. You’ll not say anything if all of a sudden I want to leave? I warn you. I’ll ultimately do it. Maybe exactly at the least opportune moment for you, when you might need my service most of all.”

  “I know. I agree to these terms.” You do not realize how much more firmly I am binding you thus, to me, he thought. Loose bonds are the hardest to sever. You will never leave until I let you, or until I dispose of you myself.

  The gray sun blanched her face. And she looked up into that brilliant gray, squinting, as though to ask advice from the sky.

  “What exactly would be the nature of my employment with you this time?”

  “A good question. More than a guard,” said Elas, “I need a right-hand man—or woman. In truth, the very fact that you are female will help considerably, to make your position oblique. You’ll accompany me everywhere I go, except under rare circumstances. You will be armed, appropriately. And upon occasion, you’ll appear to be unarmed to others. And upon yet other occasions, you’ll pretend to be someone not yourself. . . .”

  “This conjures fascinating possibilities, I must confess.”

  He smiled. “A job suited perfectly to you, as you’ll see.”

  “I see already.”

  “But now,” he said, “will you, freewoman, swear fealty to my cause, so that we can proceed inside from this heat? For I refuse to take this conversation inside.”

  “I don’t swear,” she said with a glint in her eyes. “You must simply take my word. Or else, I’ll turn around and leave.”

  He watched her intensely, evaluating her, it seemed. “Give me but your word, then.”

  “You have it. I give you my word to serve you honestly until the culmination of my employment.” And suddenly she grinned. It seemed, at last no longer capable of controlling it, she was laughing at him. Yet he knew that was but her mutable way, her odd set of reactions, even now. He knew it, just as he was sure completely that she’d meant what she said.

  “Excellent!” He smiled back at her, trying to match her volatile manner. “Now—”

  “Another thing, my lord.”

  “Well?”

  “I’d prefer you call me simply by my name, Ranhé.”

  “Fine. From now on, Ranhé, you’ll be on my lips, unless the New Rainbow dawns.” A smile quivered about his mouth.

  “And yet another thing. You think I’m a saint, not caring to be paid? Wrong. I would like the seventy-five dahr now, the ones you owe me.” And then she added. “Really, it’s but my purse crying out for them.”

  He laughed softly. “That, as soon as we’re
inside. But first, escort my kinswomen within.”

  Ranhé inclined her head, turned to obey, then again paused. “Is it wise, m’lord, that I leave you alone? What if there’s someone else out here who wants you dead?”

  “No doubt there might be. However, I am sufficiently alert now, so that I can defend myself. I can defend myself. Really. Despite what you might think at this point.”

  “Of course,” she hurried to say. “Only, wouldn’t it make sense that you yourself escort your kinswomen? They are surely tired of being ignored.”

  “Yes, Elas,” suddenly came from the carriage. “Won’t you help us out of here now? Really, cousin, Mother is quite ill, no thanks to you, and I am ill with impatience. What is with you?”

  Curtain aside, Lixa’s pretty oval face watched her cousin with odd intensity. She turned to glance at Ranhé then, with a curious look. “Woman,” she said, “I barely know you, but I love when people tell Elas what to do. He deserves it.” And she threw him a coquette glance.

  “Thank you, my lady.” Ranhé inclined her head slightly, more to cover an amusement in her eyes. “I admit to not knowing you at all, yet I am at your service.”

  She is right, Elas thought, I’ve been inexcusably absentminded for these last two days. For the past couple of months in fact, ever since—

  He opened the door of the carriage, and saw at once, from the wan looks of Molhveth Beis, how careless he’d been indeed.

  “Madam. . . .”

  “Oh, my boy,” began the dame. “It has been a nightmare, this trip of ours. I am so frightened for you! Knowing now in what constant danger you live! I never knew—”

  You don’t suspect even half of it, he thought. And neither does my new right hand. For now. . . .

  “Let me help you inside, so the two of you can rest,” said Elas gently. “This City House is not half bad. I’ll find a professional driver in no time, while you will have a chance to stretch, before we continue to Dirvan. We are almost there, Aunt.”

  “Oh-h-h,” the elderly one moaned in response, as she was helped, amid the swish of her skirts, to step out of the carriage.

  “I suppose,” said Ranhé, “I should stand out here and guard this vehicle against thieves.”

  And then she was unable to hold her tongue any longer. “My lord, really, how can someone of your station travel in this way, without extra servants or guards, or anything? Forgive me, but now that I really work for you, I have to say it! You’re acting like one living in a dream, oblivious of the surroundings! No wonder you were almost killed! A holy miracle that you’re still unharmed!”

  “Yes, Elas, I’ve noticed that also . . .” muttered Molhveth Beis, nodding (without it occurring to her that maybe for once this guardswoman spoke beyond her limits). “Truly unlike you . . . Why didn’t you agree to those three servants I wanted to take along? Or the extra carriage for some of Lixa’s belongings? Whatever the bridal custom might be, she must have them. Do you realize that now I’ll just have to send for them, to have my men make an extra trip—Really! Why didn’t I insist?!” she ended in a rising voice.

  “Come inside now,” spoke Elasand, his tone revealing nothing, his eyes away from them, glancing at the busy traffic all about, the mist-gray sunlit place. The wind—smelling faintly of cooking smoke and the perfume of backyard roses—touched tendrils of his black hair and seemed to sweep him away also, into a different place.

  Ranhé watched him.

  I am in a dream, and they don’t even know it, he thought, suddenly from far away. I’ve been this way for so long now. So long. . . . I’ve forgotten peace, I have not been myself. Ever since, all these months ago, I have seen, for the first time, violet.

  Ranhéas. There’s something about her that’s of the same quality, vaguely familiar, as that which obsesses me. Maybe it is why I’d insisted upon her remaining with me. Because she exudes this sense . . . Her eccentricity is stained with an otherworldliness, and we share something in common. What is it?

  He never allowed himself to finish the thought, but followed Lixa and Dame Beis through the simple great wooden door of the City House, to a cool interior and the business at hand.

  Ranhé, alone at last, allowed herself a tiny brief smile, the kind no one ever saw but herself. She then closed and locked securely the doors of the empty carriage, took the reins in her hands, while making soothing sounds to the horses, and then deftly scrambled up to the driver’s seat.

  She thought she had done, as usual, well, engaging her imperceptible and always impeccable mix of real honesty and masterful guile. For the last half-hour, only she herself knew how much of what she had “confessed” to her prospective employer was truth.

  Elasand-re, she thought, only one thing I regret. That you must now waste more of your time and generous money by hiring some driver when—if you’d but asked—I could’ve performed this job equally well, if not better than a professional.

  But you didn’t ask. That’s the point. And anyway it’s best that you know less about me, if possible. About what I can do.

  And thinking, she watched Tronaelend-Lis, metallic-bright under the sun, swarming wonderfully all around her. And she waited.

  CHAPTER 8

  Dirvan is a golden whore.

  I say this as I help you rip the veils, like spider silk, from the spectral obstacle before you, flimsy endless veils of deception.

  Look closely, and trust nothing, not even me, as for the first time you clearly behold Dirvan.

  It is the bright center of the busily dreaming City, wherein blossoms that which is called luxury, or as others know it, excess. Here, all is pleasing to the aesthetic sense. Here, beauty, elegance, light, all things sensual, and the spiritually sublime, had once intermixed, and their final product is the aristocracy, the elite, heir to the wonder that exists here. As always, things are circular; one is wrought by the other, which in turn gives birth to the first. Such is the nature of the place.

  Dirvan was an island. It was surrounded by the Arata, and yet again surrounded by the rest of the City, and hence, the world. Dirvan was thus said to be at the core of all things.

  The City was built on flat land, and Dirvan never towered over its surroundings, as did some other great city acropoli. The large circular island was a flat place, with cultivated lawns of sweet aromatic grass, shaded alleys and groves, summerhouses of pale gleaming marble amid gardens, everywhere growing things lush and dark, creepers and vines scaling elegant walls of occasional great Villas, all growth straining toward the light.

  Here, all the Great Families held Villas, their necessary places of residence at the Court. These were in addition to the real great holdings of land elsewhere in the West Lands that all aristocrats owned. Some of them chose to live at Dirvan permanently, while others—like Beis and Vaeste—disdained the life of the Court, and resided in the country, heedless of any Regental displeasure.

  The Villas, lawns, and groves, constituted the Outer Gardens, all accessible to the public (except for the mysteriously luxurious private gardens and insides of the residences). Such had been the law of Kings, since ages past, that the ordinary folk could always have a chance to see the better life, even if they could never attain it.

  A generously cruel law. Yet it inspired some to strive for improvement in their lot, by way of example. They who had succeeded in such striving, were the ones who had later founded Guilds, the enterprises of the ordinary, with their own claim to elitist power, if not to fine blood.

  And thus they came, people of the West Lands, to gawk in wonder at the gleaming elegance, the refinement, at the finely polished surfaces of marble and metal catching the light, the contrasts of darkness and pallor that ingenious architectural contrivances exhibited, stressing deep relief and carvings. They observed the pale buildings against ebony vegetation, and the beating fountains of structured water ranging from fine mist-like spray and tiny dew drops, to powerful waterfall-streams glittering like liquid metal in the sun—fountains miraculously built to de
fy with seeming effortlessness the flatness of the land and the pull of gravity, with their distant source water towers hidden cleverly out of sight amid thick foliage.

  All these forms and others hypnotized with their constant fluidity of real and abstract motion, the stationary objects with their surfaces which were made to specially play with light—finely grained, minutely striped, looping, spherical carvings, exquisite statuary everywhere. Solid form ruled the Outer Dirvan.

  The Outer Gardens were maintained and lightly policed by servants native to Dirvan. They were also the ones who cared for the contrasting black and pale swans in the pools, all varieties of garden and exotic birds, and beasts that were tame and were kept as pets of the Regents.

  Fearlessly the creatures came to walk the Gardens, came into the alleys where humans walked, allowed themselves to be touched. They also were under the protection of the old Kings’ law, so that none could harm them here.

  Many came to Dirvan to see the wonder upon wonder. There was no toll to cross the Arata along one of its numerous bridges, from the Markets of one of the Quarters. Visitors crossed the Canal, wondering even at that premature point, at the elegance of the bridge they trod, light and well-paved, and the relative narrowness of the rapid Arata, spanning no more than a hundred feet in width, its waters fed by a complex subterranean system of pipes. They came to the grassy bank of Dirvan, where the pale marble and cultured gardens met their eyes, and took one of the many gravel paths to penetrate farther into the haven of the Regents. Their passage was ultimately blocked, however, deep within the island, by tall ornate walls of pale stone, forming—as expected—a perfect circle around the very center of Dirvan. These were the Palace Walls, elegant and forbidden, for beyond them none but the nobles could set foot.

  And so, the disappointed visitors to Dirvan, originally expecting to be allowed everywhere, would pause maybe, in consternation, look the walls up and down, noticing the relentless Regents’ Guards posted at both of the only two Gates that led inside this core within a core, and would finally turn around in disappointment to look at other things on this island.