on the ashes, a weeping Laira pondered over lofty matters… For the first time in her life! She had done this before, but usually in jest, to keep her entertained. Now her thoughts were burning her from within. “Why do people fight? Why do they kill each other? My father used to tell me as if it were very beautiful and heroic and interesting. And where is he now? But… Isn’t it Destiny? Father! Eh, Father… You wanted me to grow up to be a warrior. I will. But I will fight for one purpose, to end the wars once and for all. I will seize power in the Capital, unify the Empire, and personally kill all the troublemakers who call for civil strife. And I will build a great wall along the borders so that foreigners cannot attack. No, I would rather conquer the whole world and annihilate the borders! There will only be one Cusuni Empire. The peoples cannot live in peace, for they are ruled by men. It’s time to put an end to that! After me, my direct descendants in the female line – daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters – will rule, and people will forget what war is. There will be eternal peace. I will be recognized by all as Great! In this way, I will fulfill my father’s will. And I will avenge you, my village and my clan. I will be the warrior who puts an end to war… But… Oh, Gods! How will all this come to pass!?” Her eyes were red with tears, but she could already see the determination in them.
Later, Lyra realized the naivety of her dream. After all, people had been at war at all times, and no amount of power, even the fairest, could end it. The propensity to kill is inherent in human nature itself. All living creatures that dwell and suffer in the celestial world live by similar laws… But it was then, sitting on the ashes, that Lyra chose her path.
She got it into her head that she had nothing to lose. “Of course! – said to herself – All her kin are dead, including even her third cousins. The village burned down, with only four more or less intact structures left, and a hundred ragamuffins… The almshouses have been looted and most of the dervishes are taking bribes. I have no one to support me, and there are only holes in my pockets. It is unlikely I will find a rich fiance, my appearance is normal – but also not the most beautiful. Six friends are as poor as I am. – The girl wiped away her tears and snot, ‘Two ways,’ she continued. – To become a despised tramp, or to fight for my dream. I choose the second!” Maybe if a wise counselor had been around, the girl would have realized that there were actually more ways. But there was no wise counselor, and the decision was made. Laira said goodbye to Childhood, and set out on a path that brought her much unbearable suffering. But which led to power over the Empire.
***
To begin, Lyra proposed to her six amorous friends that they swear an oath to each other. They agreed. All seven swore to cherish, support, and protect each other-no matter what. The friends called themselves the “crazy seven” and even wanted to come up with a motto. But they quickly gave up this childishness… Childhood years were over, it was time to act.
So, there was no way back – and the “crazy seven” set off over the horizon… They wandered through the northern suburbs for three long years. They worked as guards, did dangerous jobs for food, and didn’t shy away from stealing. They tried to find supporters, made speeches… Nobody listened. They couldn’t save any money, either. “The Crazy Seven had become a regular gang of vagrants, and looked the part…
Lyra was almost desperate, and began selling her soul and body to the Green Serpent. Tough as an oak trunk, the character gave way to cracks. It turned out that the tree had weak roots, and a gut riddled with fears. Friends-lovers shared with Lyra all the hardships and hardships, protected her and cared for her-but could not restore her faith in herself. For there was little faith left in themselves. One day the girl awoke in the middle of the night, pale with nightmares, and looked at the moon. It was red as blood-a lunar eclipse, and a total one at that. Lyra cried. Her friends tried to comfort her, but she hugged them one by one, thanked them warmly for their friendship – and declared that she wished to die. “I will love you even after death. Go and find your happiness. Promise me you will find it. I dragged you into this story, I ruined my native village, I did not do my father’s will… I’m sick of it. But you must live – it is my last will. Well, farewell! Don’t say goodbye…” Matach, the smartest and calmest of the seven, said: “You can’t be late to the cemetery. So why rush? Think hard. As long as a man is alive, all is not lost for him. Give yourself another chance.” Lyra looked up at Matah with an infinitely sad look, and said: “if I live another year – I might make new mistakes. Why? Tired… Mat! Don’t blame yourself for my death. I’m making you senior in the squad. Take my ten coppers, all I could save, and use them wisely. Take care of your friends, and let them take care of you. Well, farewell! May all be well with you…” But the boy did convince the girl to live another month. “What if fate smiles? Let’s give ourselves one last chance.”
This conversation took place
***
Ragged, dirty, hungry, and desperate, the “seven” showed up at the Witch’s lair. She was a witch, not a shaman. Shamans and shamans, though they can make a curse, consider themselves servants of Light. They heal, call rain, tell the future… And witches made no secret of the fact that they served the Dark Ages. And very proud of it…
It was the idea of big boy Gan, the funniest, most hard-working guy in the group, to get a “helper” like this. He made the idea in jest, he liked rough grim jokes, and loud merry cackling… But Laira liked the “joke. The future empress squinted and pondered, rubbing her chin for a long time. At last she made her Final Solution. Try to talk her out of it!
The witch lived in a plain old barn in the middle of nowhere. And she hid her name. Claimed to have lived for centuries, having buried her own children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. Lyra did not believe in such marvelous longevity-but the dark servant’s appearance spoke for itself… No one among the Seven had ever seen a mummy, except in fairy tales. But discussing the next day the appearance of the Witch – unanimously decided that the mummies look like this.
The face, riddled with wrinkles, was still able to smirk. The darting eyes shone with sincere wicked joy… and intelligence. His head was covered in bald, parchment skin, a skull. He was crowned, as befittingly so, by a huge hooked nose.
– So you’ve agreed to see us,” Laira said to the Witch. – Your maidservant apprentice, your great-great-granddaughter, said you weren’t interested in money. Well, I’m smart enough to know that Witches don’t do anything for free. And neither do most people. So what do you want from us? Our souls? Ridiculous. Tell me
a price and tell us if we can pay it. Just don’t stall, okay?
The shriveled woman held out her pinched hand to Lyra. A skeleton covered in leather. A long finger, adorned with a silver ring, pointed directly at Lilac’s nose.
– You’ve got it,” the mummy said. The voice sounded like the breath of a blacksmith’s bellows.
– Hmm? I don’t understand.” Clary jammed her hands at her sides. – You can explain. Don’t play riddles with us; that’s not why we’re here.
– You came because I called,’ the Witch continued, ‘and I called for a long time. Not you personally… My call is like the mooing of a cow in heat. A call to everyone – and no one. – The mummy made a painful sound, resembling a quick dry cough.
“It’s a laugh. She’s laughing,” Lyra whispered, “why? What’s so funny? I don’t like any of this.” Matah scratched the back of his head. “Me neither. Let’s get the hell out of here. Before it’s too late.” Laira regretted not
