Lords of Rainbow

by Vera Nazarian

  He then appeared to toss it forward like a feather, and the black sphere floated into the air and converged suddenly upon Elasand’s own palm.

  A hiss, and violet beauty was extinguished. However, the sphere of darkness was gone also, for the two opposites apparently canceled each other out.

  The room was back to normal night twilight, and Elasand heard Feale’s deep soft dead laughter.

  “A pretty demonstration,” said the dark one. “Now, Vaeste, that we know a bit more about one another, I suggest you think well what you are about to do. I can destroy you and your puny Light Guild with one breath of my being. Instead, I simply ask you to reveal your knowledge to me without a struggle. I will come to it eventually. But if you try to fight me, you will only postpone the inevitable and destroy yourself and all that is yours.”

  “What are you?” said Elasand. “What are you really, that calls itself Feale?”

  But there was no answer from the dark form. Instead, the Twilight One slowly reached out to Elasand, and started to place his slender beautiful black hand upon his forehead.

  In an instant flash of awareness, Elasand knew as surely as anything that if the hand touched him, he would not be able to fight any longer, and it would be his end.

  And so, with a burst of adrenaline, he did the only thing he could under the circumstances.

  He ran.

  The two black guards did not know what hit them, as he spun around suddenly, slamming one of them hard in the abdomen, and knocking the other back with a wicked jab of the fist. Then in the span of a second, as one guard doubled over with pain and the other staggered backward, Elasand thrust himself past them, kicked out the door, and was out in the corridor.

  This was mindless, ridiculous reflex. He knew it was such, but it was too late, and so he had to go on. And so he ran through the stillness of the corridor, his boots clattering against fine marble, hearing yells begin to build on all sides. Up ahead, there were approaching Qurthe soldiers. Up ahead, and behind him. . . .

  He slammed forward, turned a corner, turned another. Lucky for him, no one had expected him to attempt this escape, not here, not in the very heart of the Palace, and this section was relatively unguarded.

  Damn! His memory did not serve him well, where the hell was he? This place was like a maze, and he had never been through all the Palace, never knew all the ins and outs, all the secret turns of this structure like his demon half-brother knew it. Damn! For once, he wished Elasirr was here at his side.

  He needed a sword. Another corridor, and he would face the black guards. A sword would at least give him a last fighting chance. For, he was a cornered beast, and he knew it.

  Up ahead, a narrow passage loomed, without any visible outlets, illuminated with wall torches. On one side, the Palace inner wall, embellished with delicate mosaic and tapestries. On the other, an exquisite colonnade balcony, a place he could possibly use to climb outside, to jump—anything!

  Up ahead, voices, running footsteps. The same from behind. They were coming from both directions, and he had nowhere to go but out on that narrow balcony, and to jump down, who knew how far down, very likely to his death—

  A squeak in the wall, just behind him. Elasand whirled around just as a small door opened, a door that had not been there before. A hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around with unexpected force, throwing him off balance. As he sank backward, nearly tumbling into the secret dark recess of the wall, a familiar female voice hissed violently, “Shut up, and don’t even breathe, my lord!”

  Ranhé pulled him tight into a small crevice-like space, with hardly any room to breathe, and closed the tiny door behind them unto utter dark. His temples were still beating madly, but he was smart enough not to make a sound, while a ridiculous joy surged forth in him. Somehow, impossibly, Ranhé was here, his loyal disobedient Ranhé!

  There were shouts in the passage outside as Qurthe soldiers arrived. They spoke a strange barely understandable dialect of the Tongue; several harsh commands were given to search the corridor, for he couldn’t have gone far.

  “Check the balcony!” someone said. And then another deeper voice of authority cried out for them to search the walls.

  Elasand and Ranhé, breath held in their throats, heard with a sinking feeling how there were loud taps on the walls, only inches away, and tapestries that would possibly conceal a passage were being lifted and ripped off their hangers.

  Luckily, the tiny cubicle in which they were concealed appeared seamless, and opened only from within.

  Eventually, the sounds of searching moved farther away. Ranhé and Elasand remained quiet. Both knew that someone on the outside could very well be secretly waiting, to hear their lightest noise.

  And then as their beating pulses stilled they felt a light draft coming from one of the walls. Elasand pressed inward, and silently the wall receded before him, and they were now within a pitch-black inner passage. So, these were those secret catacombs within the Palace, thought Elasand, the ones Elasirr was so familiar with!

  Elasand felt in the dark for Ranhé’s hand, and fumbling slightly, they moved noiselessly into the corridor, feeling the floor with their feet, following the draft, the flow of damp air. The passage started to slope downward, and eventually the sounds of the Palace had grown remote enough for it to be safe to speak.

  Elasand removed a flame-stone from a pocket and struck a small fire, which illuminated the passage before them, and nearby, a dead torch in a wall sconce. Lighting the torch, they proceeded again, deeper down.

  “Why did you come for me?” said Elasand gruffly, pretending outer displeasure, while on the inside hope danced within him, and ridiculously, he wanted to reach forward and hug her.

  “Don’t tell me you are displeased, my lord!” Ranhé grinned, her eyes reflecting the torchlight.

  “How did you know?” he continued. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Believe it or not,” said Ranhé, “there I was, crawling along the outside of the Palace, hanging on for dear life and cursing you very loudly in my mind, yes indeed, cursing you for making me do this thing, my lord. When suddenly, what do I see, but a flash of very bright definite violet in one of the windows! Yes, the only instance of color light anywhere in the City! Who else could it be but you?”

  “He can put out color light . . .” whispered Elasand suddenly, remembering, and with the memory came a surge of debilitating doubt. “Our Enemy is stronger that any one of us.”

  “Well then, damn him,” said Ranhé fiercely. “We must do something about it!” And she continued to walk forward, undaunted. Seeing her confidence, Elasand could not help but continue forward also.

  They had no idea where they were, where they were going. This was the system connected to the sewers, Ranhé knew, remembering Elasirr’s words. They must keep going, and eventually, somewhere, the passages would again lead to the surface.

  At some point indeed, about an hour later, the ground began to incline upwards. They had come to a dead end, and with it, a door. The old lock was rusty, indicating that it had probably not been used in quite some time. Not a good sign. Who knows where we are?

  Elasand applied force, and eventually the lock gave with a jolt. They opened the door upon fresh air, and monochrome night.

  They were within an overhang of another balcony, while a section of paler darkness, the sky, glowed overhead to the right.

  “Where in Rainbow’s name are we?” whispered Elasand, quickly putting out the torch, so that they were in natural darkness, and looking at the ebony shapes of buildings around them.

  Ranhé said: “I think, sir, we’re southeast of Dirvan, in the Academic Quarter. That building with the angled roof is the Lyceum.”

  “Quite correct, Ranhé. You do know this City well.”

  The voice had come from some ways away, and a tall cloaked man stood before them, disengaging from the walls, from night itself.

  “Elasirr!” exclaimed Lord Vaeste.

  �
�It took you long enough,” said the Guildmaster, nearing them, so that Ranhé saw a pale serious face illuminated by the dim moon. He was not smiling.

  “How did you know we would be here? How—” began Vaeste.

  “I knew where the passage surfaces,” replied the cloaked man. “Since my men had been following you all day, they’ve notified me as soon as it was obvious you had escaped in the Palace. I have eyes everywhere, Elas, especially among the servants in the Palace. And I am particularly glad that your bodyguard had enough brains to follow you and to find the hidden door in the wall.”

  “Actually,” said Ranhé, “I have no idea how I came upon it. I’d just climbed upon that same balcony from the outer ledge, and saw the little door ajar in the wall. Hearing voices, I hid there.”

  “That door had been left open for you,” replied Elasirr. “For, my Palace eyes had also seen the flash of violet very nearby. Good work, Elas—though a little too dramatic.”

  Ranhé’s brow arose, but she said nothing to that.

  “Now then,” said Elasirr. “We must hurry. Come along with me, for obviously the two of you have nowhere to go now. Your Villa, Elasand-re, has been surrounded and thoroughly searched. It remains occupied.”

  “Gods!” exclaimed Elasand. “What of the Beis Villa—”

  “Your aunt the Dame Beis is safely within the Inner City,” replied Elasirr with a brief smile. “And I’ve spent the day talking convincingly with a number of other Guildmasters that are still at large. Aren’t you going to ask me how that went? But—let’s start moving, we can talk on the way.”

  With that, he motioned for them to follow, and started out walking in the small pitch-black street, to cross a square to the building that Ranhé had recognized correctly to be the Lyceum.

  No one was out and about at this time, especially in the Academic Quarter, where most business closed before sundown.

  At the walls of the Lyceum structure, Elasirr disappeared around a corner, and when they followed, he stood before another secret open doorway. They dove inside, and were once again swallowed by pitch black. Elasirr shut the door tight behind them, and suddenly there was a bright flash, and a ball of blue fire appeared, floating steadily in midair, and effectively illuminating the dim corridor for many feet all around.

  “Ah, what a relief to be able to do that freely when one needs light,” said Elasirr almost cheerfully, glancing sideways at Ranhé, while the ball of light floated ahead of them, illuminating their way. “You wouldn’t believe how much I’d wanted to do that when we were out there in the forest. But then, you didn’t know any of this. And neither did I know if you were to be trusted.”

  “Oh,” said Ranhé, walking alongside the two of them. “And am I to be trusted now, Lord Guildmaster?”

  He only glanced at her in answer, then continued walking ahead through the catacombs. At his side, Elasand strode with a deathly tired expression. He was truly on his last reserves.

  Aware of Vaeste’s condition, Elasirr attempted to lighten the mood a little. “To your left,” he said casually, as they rounded a corner, “behind this very wall, is the City Treasury. Yes, that mysterious elusive place where all the valuables of this government are effectively stored.”

  “Ah, at this point I’d rather it were a bathroom,” said Ranhé through her teeth. “I’d give all treasures for that. I’m dying, my lords.”

  At which Elasirr chuckled, and the echoes took up his deep voice and carried it far in the darkness ahead.

  In the Inner City, which they had once again reached through the underground, they were taken to some living quarters and given a good meal.

  “Go to sleep, Elas!” Elasirr said to the Lord Vaeste, and for once the other did not argue, took to bed, and was asleep within minutes.

  It turned out that the large chamber was Elasirr’s own personal sleeping quarters, and Elasand now occupied his own bed.

  “And you, freewoman,” said Elasirr. “I would let you rest also, but first there are some people you must meet.”

  “Must I?” said Ranhé. “And do you yourself ever sleep, my lord—Elasirr?”

  He looked at her closely, than seeing that she was only half-jesting, he told her to follow him into a room next door.

  It was a smaller chamber, but it also was comfortably furnished and contained a bed and several couches.

  “Here,” said he, pointing to the bed. “You sleep here. And I will rest also, so that all meetings will be postponed till the new day. Tomorrow you’ll meet them, the Masters who work with color light and who will work with you.”

  “We have taken up all your beds . . .” she said, somewhat embarrassed. “Where will you sleep?”

  “This couch is as good as any,” replied Elasirr. “I will move it into the other room, if my being here makes you uncomfortable—freewoman.”

  There was a pale green orb lit in the corner. Bathed in its vivid light, Ranhé stared back at him undaunted, saying, “Look, you don’t bother me. Haven’t we shared enough nights in the forest, lord?”

  “Ah, but this is not the forest,” he replied, while a sudden deviously charming smile illuminated his face, a different kind of smile, quite unlike his usual. His sun-hair, clean and brushed back, streamed radiant about his shoulders. And for a moment, just for a moment, she did feel a surge of something uncomfortable, an odd sense pass through her.

  “All right,” said Ranhé. “Just tell me where the bathroom is.”

  When she had come back from the lavatory, he had lain down already, on the couch farthest to the wall, on his back, hands tucked under his head, and the green monochrome was burning low, just enough to illuminate her way.

  Except for her boots, Ranhé did not bother undressing, and lay down on the bed stiffly, turning her back to him, and drawing a light blanket about herself.

  A minute of silence, while she tried to calm her somehow loudly beating temples, and to slow her breathing.

  And then, “Good night, Ranhé,” came his soft voice, while at the same time the green orb was extinguished into utter darkness.

  “Good night,” she replied.

  And then, in the velvet soft darkness, she remained as damnedly awake as she could be. From afar, she could hear remote living sounds of the Guild at work. She could hear her own temples pound softly. The creaking of the bed. The rustling of her pillow. All, microscopic unreal irrelevant sounds.

  From across the room, she could hear his steady even breathing.

  She lay, still as death, forcing this stillness upon herself, afraid to turn, to stretch, to make the least sound. At some point her thigh itched, but she was afraid to move and scratch the place. She heard his own couch creak several times as he moved. And once there was a sigh, a yawn, as he breathed deeply, tiredly.

  Then, as the minutes passed, the night deepened, and she remained obsessed with her own breathing, his breathing, she noticed a difference in him. The sound of his breath had slowed, grown light and regular, and she knew that he slept at last.

  For some reason that awareness also served to relax her, to ease her tensed muscles, so that she too could start breathing lightly, and eventually let go, no longer concerned that he would hear her.

  She lay, her eyelids pressed shut lightly, and soon, as soothing groggy warmth began to gather, she thought she saw pricklings of tiny dots of pure sweet yellow, while the insides of her eyelids were illuminated with a familiar soothing sky.

  Images tumbled then, in succession, and she knew she was dreaming then, for she thought she lay beneath a great open dandelion sky, she was the very grass growing in a golden field. There was a moon glowing bright overhead, and then—no, it was the middle of day, or rather, a bright dawn, and the sun floated high overhead, a yellow sun with two intimate eyes.

  The man-in-the-sun turned to look down upon her with an exuberant smile, while his hair streamed forth to inflame the whole sky with burning tongues of fire.

  And then, glorious, he began to fall, sweeping down upon her l
ike a bird whose wings spanned the universe. And as the god fell, the sky rushed down with him, thousands of pulses of yellow brightness.

  Dersenne! she cried, drawing her arms open wide to receive him, and then, as mad joy came to overflow in her, to hold him tight with her own strong arms, to hold the fire, the very sun in her embrace, to look upon his face only inches away from her own.

  The world turned upside down, and it was he, the god, that now lay upon the golden grass, gazing enraptured up at her, while she leaned over him, her hair loosened from its braid falling down in darker richness to mingle with his scalding honey fire, his river of yellow hair, her face pressing down upon his sweet cheek, touching his lips, then drawing her lips down lower to caress his strong pale warm throat with its rising pulse-beat. Her fingers danced upon his living flesh, and rose higher again to sweep his face, to touch the strong darkness of his brows, so perfectly straight, the somehow imperfect line of his slightly upturned nose, the soft fine lips, while he moaned—

  The dream rushed away from her, as Ranhé found herself awake, and overwhelmingly within her own body, in a dark room. But somehow, unbelievably, there was something different, wrong.

  There was another body beneath her, strong, male, warm. For, she was no longer in her own bed but had somehow sleepwalked across the room, and was lying on top of him, embracing the man with the sun-hair—not Dersenne, but the other one, the one who she’d never thought she’d touch again, the one who’d called her “ugly” and who’d deceived her once with his erotene touch—

  Horror, embarrassment filled her, but somehow, she was beyond that. She was burning, could not stop, was already too far gone from the sensuous madness of the dream. And so she pinned him down madly, no longer caring, digging her strong hands into his long silken locks of sun-hair—