on the rutted roadway and the strange creature that wandered there, seemingly neither demon nor human, but something in between. It wasn’t very beautiful, but there was obviously a fairy-tale beauty slumbering inside it. Rhianon could see it even through the alien eyes of the one who was transmitting the visual images to her. It is strange why this being is now so wretched and lost and miserable. He has a great talent. She did not know exactly what was in his purse: a brush, a pen, or a musical instrument, but she was sure it was part of his talent. Beneath the skimpy garment there was light, but it was obscured by pain. This incredibly beautiful, but unknowingly vilified creature would perish if he did not find his own special way to salvation. She suddenly felt sharply sorry for him. Pain pierced her heart like a sharp splinter. This creature is part of Madael’s troops. Rhianon wanted to see something else, but she couldn’t see anything else. Only a voice could be heard now.
“It is the Cathedral of Thunder! Its path lies in the Cathedral of Thunder! Where we all die in agony, to…”
She lifted her head above the pillow. Curls slid down her back like golden snakes, catching the hand that caressed her. She felt Madael tense.
He hissed something fast and harsh. The words left an unpleasant residue. Rhianon blinked to see a colorful figure materialize on the threshold. At first it was only a cloud, giving off a vague mottle, the more time passed, the brighter it became.
“To regain its former appearance,” were the last words she could not hear. Rhianon looked questioningly at Madael, but he was now sizzling with his gaze at the entrant. His blue eyes, black with anger, seemed to be about to burst into flames, and fire turpentine dripped from his lashes instead of moisture.
“How dare you…”
His low but menacing whisper seemed to make the walls themselves tremble.
Orpheus looked rather bewildered as he climbed into the tent.
“I… What? What?” He clearly had no intention of leaving. Not right away.
“Out,” Madael raised his head menacingly, and put his hand to the hilt of his sword. “But if you want to become a pile of ashes…”
Now Orpheus did retreat toward the exit. The reaction was instantaneous.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he mumbled guiltily, and a second later he was blown away like the wind. Rhianon still looked questioningly at the scarlet curtained exit of the tent, it did not even sway and the guest himself had disappeared, but the address “Your Majesty” so much reminded her. She could deduce, however, that he was not addressing her. But what shocked her most was how quickly he obeyed. She turned her gaze to Madael in surprise. He was sleepily brushing back tangled curls from his forehead and looking very young, but she seemed only to be convinced that the spirits considered him a king.
“It never worked out that way for me,” she nodded to where Orpheus had stood recently, the ground seemed to be burning beneath his feet there, and he still wanted to stay here. Is it next to her or to him? Probably with her, Rhianon judiciously decided, because the spirits were not very keen on intimacy with Madael. They were afraid of him, yes, they seemed to be, but that was something she didn’t understand. With him it was so easy, no need to think about any problems, because he solved everything instantly. Even the mediocre Orpheus listened to him. And with her he played the naughty child.
“You have to be tougher and tougher with them,” Madael was still sizzling his eyes into the empty space by the exit, and his gaze seemed able to burn through the empty space.
Then he softened and quickly pulled her to him, as if to prove, not to the spirit, but to the emptiness around them, that he would not give up his prey to anyone. It was his possessive instinct. He is a conqueror after all, a warrior, a victor… Rhianon grinned. It felt good to feel his embrace, but her thoughts of Orpheus still wouldn’t let her calm down. What was this place? What did he mean? Who is the wanderer who seeks his terrible fate in the Cathedral of Thunder, something terrible is there, but it is impossible not to go there, because it is even more terrible to stay here on earth. Thus the terrifying path is inescapable, but beyond it lies liberation and darkness. Rhianon huddled tighter against Madael. Beside him it was possible to escape the fear that stretched to the consciousness as if with pincers. It was good that the nearness of the angel was soothing and calming.
She was half lying on top of him. He ran his hand through her golden curls and seemed to rub her hair in such a way that all bad thoughts receded from that touch. How simple it was, he could have saved a madman with his light touch, or he could have driven her mad, but she was no longer afraid of him. He made her feel so good.
“What is this place Cathedral of Thunder?” She asked, falling asleep.
“The place where heaven and hell met,” he could have avoided answering, as he always did, but somehow he told her everything. “It is the cornerstone in the architecture of the entire universe, and of all worlds. A place that is the receptacle of evil and yet it is blessed because we are all reborn there again. Any of my lost angels can become the same again if they find their way there and perform the ritual. Their consciousness, imprisoned in a human body, still holds all their former knowledge. If only they have the strength to overcome the madness and the conviction that they are only human, and the road from paradise is not their fantasy, then they return to their paradise. It is a gloomy paradise with intricate colonnades and dormant statues. Beneath the enormous dome is a hall, and on its marble floor so many sacrifices have already been made that it is difficult to count. Only a few of them have ended in death. There are some people who want to be mistaken and identify themselves with my troops. Such people perish. It would be the same if a man imagined himself a bird and threw himself into flight. Their entrails remain on the floor and those who do manage to eat the bodies. The others, fragments of my army, remain dead for only a few seconds… it’s not death, really, but an eerie suspension between the real world and the spirit world that dwells in the cathedral. Both worlds are alien for a moment.”
“And then?” She gripped his arm harder so that she almost scratched her side, but he didn’t even notice. If he says what she hopes, she’ll even give him another kiss.
“Then their wings grow back, but if you’ve seen the agony they are beating in a moment before. Only a few minutes pass, and they manage to endure on the marble floor all the pain I have endured in eternity. It comes over each of them in a black wave and drives them insane. A moment seems endless.”
“And you sit on the high parapet like a statue, watching indifferently as others take in your pain. Sometimes you are even satisfied when you realize that you are not the only one who has suffered the most. Others have gone through the same thing.”
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“I guess I can see it in your mind,” she admitted uncertainly, afraid of what would follow.
“You can keep looking,” he said graciously. “I can show you everything.”
“Why?”
“Because you, my twin, are part of me,” he squeezed her shoulders tighter.
“And that means that one day I’ll have to suffer like you, there in the cathedral… or somewhere else…” she herself was frightened by her hunch.
“It is not you,” he quickly objected, “I won’t allow it. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“I’m afraid to find
