Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior. Natalie Yacobson
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one,» was the serious reply, «a dead one can be the mentor of a living one. You could choose him.»
«I don’t need tutors. I like to learn everything myself, that’s why I came here. Those who are really good at something don’t need a mentor.»
«It seems that way.»
The lilliput was staring somewhere beneath her feet, and Rhianon glanced there, too, and noticed the scarlet drops on the floor. She’d squeezed the star too hard in her palm, and it had sharp ends. They were too sharp. Droplets of blood rolled to her feet, a few of them staining the hem of her dress. Others touched the floor and began to faintly ignite on it. But there was no smell of burning, as there usually was, and no shower of sparks or scorching flames. Rhianon saw the scarlet drops fade, and black flowers sprout from them.
«No more frogs and toads that would emerge from the drops of my blood,» she whispered, looking at the tiny black magnolias or orange blossoms. She didn’t even know what they might be called. They don’t look like clover either, but they’re exactly the size of clover heads.
«It is like a drop of your blood,» someone remarked.
Rhianon glanced at the doorway, but there was no sign of the little man.
«Don’t talk to them,» Orpheus warned her. «You see, they’re all over everyone, trying to lead you astray. They are empty-headed insects. They’ll do as much harm to you as locusts do to a field.»
«But they’re funny,» Rhianon stared into the empty space, trying to see what else was there. But all the tiny creatures seemed to hide after Orpheus’ reproof. It was so easy for them to hide. After all, there are so many cracks and burrows and just dark corners around. They could fit everywhere.
«What did he say about me?» she frowned and looked questioningly at Orpheus. «What do drops of blood mean?»
«Well, if your blood is spilled, but fell on no treaty, then your soul is of no use to anyone here.»
«Is it my soul?» She didn’t understand him.
«There is a price to pay for learning, my princess. And what did you expect?»
There is a golden crown, a triumphal procession, and a fanfare,» she joked, but then she realized this was no place for humor. Her laughter seemed to sink into the endless darkness, leaving only a crushing sense of emptiness. It was as if her soul had been drained out of her.
«Don’t be afraid, they don’t want to take your soul for some reason, it must belong to someone else,» his own voice cut off and fell silent. Orpheus obviously did not want to finish something.
«Is it my soul,» Rhianon repeated involuntarily, and this word sounded like a sigh and somehow frightened her.
«Yes,» Orpheus confirmed nonchalantly. «There are general rules for everyone, both for the marginally gifted and the super-talented. But they don’t seem to apply to you.»
«Do you know those rules?»
«Of course, and I wonder why no one has introduced you to them yet.»
«Then you name them.»
«Well, okay,» he shrugged. «First, anyone lucky enough to come here has to sign the contract with his own blood. It doesn’t matter if you stab your toe with a thorn, a pin, a needle, or just happen to cut yourself on a clump stuck in the doorpost, but the fact is, not a single drop of blood spilled here will be wasted. Barely a drop of it will get on the treaty, and you’ll see it. By the way, it’s already strange to me that you didn’t hurt yourself on the way in, no sharp teeth on the doorknob, no sharpened end of the pin you found. They don’t seem to want your blood too much. Otherwise you’d have found a sharp object, or stumbled across one. This is a school of the arcane arts.»
«Now,» she interrupted him abruptly. «What other rules are there? Or is there just one? And that’s my signature on the document, which, by the way, I haven’t even seen yet. And I probably won’t see it again, or else a drop of my blood will burn through it. Maybe that’s the only reason it wasn’t offered to me to sign.»
«I don’t think so,» Orpheus began to curl his fingers, clearly recalling the other terms, and Rhianon involuntarily noticed that there were more than five fingers on his hand. «One, you must sign with your own blood before you can begin training, two, no payment will be accepted – no payment in gold, because you must make your own gold,» he gestured briskly, and the doubloon glinted in his palm. «You see,» he showed the full coin triumphantly, «the third rule is, if you can’t do it, you have no business here.»
«Is it creating gold out of nothing?» She frowned.
«And what do you want, my dear, it is sorcery?» He tossed the coin, and it disappeared into thin air, just vanished into thin air. Rhianon would rather have thought he’d managed to hide it in his sleeve, but she didn’t see anything like that. The glittering gold really did seem to just emerge from the gloom and drown in it.
«You make your own gold, that’s the immutable rule of this place, which is why students would flock here in droves if it were open to all, but the trick is that only the chosen can come here. Everyone would like to be able to do something like this, but only the lucky few or the unfortunate can do it, they somehow consider themselves to be the latter, though if I were them…»
«You’re not,» she interrupted him, «and yet you can do it, too.»
«But not quite like them,» he corrected her reasonably. «Even you could do more if you wanted to.»
«I will someday, you bet I will,» she thought of her desperate longing to regain her lost kingdom, and the pain stirred in her soul again. She wanted power, and if only she had power, she would have no doubt in which direction to direct it and how to destroy her enemies. «Are you saying that those who come here are unhappy, despite their great gift?»
She arched her eyebrows skeptically.
«Well, personally I think it’s just bliss, but unlike me they have living hearts, they beat and hurt, they have human feelings, and they are not at odds with the burden of black talent that has fallen on them. You, for example, are not at all happy that fire lives inside you.»
She gave a silent gasp, though she should have realized long ago that he had guessed it. He could see inside her.
«And all because you’re used to living among people and thinking you’re a simple human,» he said, «you know you’re surrounded by simple vulnerable people, you’re used to feeling like them, you’re vulnerable like a fragile girl, and inside you lives such power. Too powerful even for a magical being, it burns through your graceful body. Never mind the broken feelings.»
«I wasn’t asking you about myself,» she reminded him.
«Oh, of course, there are the rules,» he continued to curl his fingers, more and more of them on his hand, as if new ones could grow at his will. «Create your own gold, and then you can create everything else, too,» he proclaimed, «No unelected tutors. No food but sorcery. No gratitude, nobody needs it here. No „thank you,“ no „goodbye,“ you just never leave here, because your soul will stay here, no matter where you go. The term of your training will expire, but the term of dependence on the magical forces you control will never, and believe me, one day you will stumble so that your own magic will destroy you itself. That’s when every student of the School of Witchcraft realizes that there was no one to thank and nothing to thank. He wove his own net and got tangled in it himself. And the victims that any disciple of this place can drag down, I don’t count anymore; there are always countless of them. You destroy yourself when you sign the contract with your blood, but you have no choice. The fragile human body, by a whim of fate, which holds a non-human talent, leaves the newcomer no choice. All the chosen ones come here, and here the same thing always awaits them. I think it’s very tragic to be born human and have non-human qualities. You’re like a moth