Black Star Light

Chapter 2

I named the capital of the Free Islands Iratani. In translation - the soul of the world.

They built it quickly and in accordance with my sketches - I needed not just a city, I needed Greatness. And therefore, drowned in the foundation of the fortress walls, the city was surrounded by statues of warriors seven times greater than human height. Their huge bodies inside were fortresses, the slits for the eyes were loopholes, the heads decorated with helmets were observation posts, I kept the system of signal fires. But if the warriors were built from the black basal rock that had once formed the frame of the dark fortress, then the walls themselves were boiled white, and yes, they too were built from "borrowed materials." So the islands became a fortress, a majesty built on the ruins. And in the evenings, the builders who were tired and gathered around the fires read fairy tales ... My fairy tales. Tales about the exploits and courage of people, tales about overcoming obstacles, tales about how great people are, each of the people. Tales in memory of Dinara... about Dinara as he once was. He was there even now - he helped in construction, led the gnomes and even told tales from his past life ... tales about his youth ... and I was not in these tales.

I came, more than once or twice, wrapped in the Darkness like a cloak, hiding my face and feeling only the presence of Lord Alris, who invariably guards me, with bated breath I listened to stories about Dallaria, about the battle with the terrible kingdom of Oitlon, and about the beautiful princess, whose her eyes shone brighter than all emeralds together, and blond hair could compete in beauty with gold, on which sunlight plays ... I still hoped. For what? I don’t know, for something… For the fact that he somehow managed to deceive Caesar, for the fact that the waters of Eheya washed away the magic of the greatest elar, for the fact that Dinar will remember… He will remember the one for whom he came into this world… But every day grew and became more and more majestic Iratani, and likewise every day my hope became more and more illusory, until it disappeared altogether.

There came a moment when I walked past Dinard arguing with the dwarves about the temple and its location, and my only thought was “I will need to increase the scale of the building” ... Everything. I stopped, looked back at Dinar, despite the growth that seemed to be equal to the gnomes in the shoulders and the ability to insist on his own, and did not feel anything. Nothing at all... Probably somewhere high, in the sense of in his chambers in the Rainbow Palace, the Caesar now smiled victoriously... Probably, I did not want to yield to him in anything, and therefore my tower was the tallest tower on the islands. It was not difficult for me to climb to its very top at least twice every day, because it was from it that a gorgeous view of everything I had created opened up. On houses built anew, spacious and bright, on gardens. Hanging, arranged on platforms that hung over the city and were connected by rope ladders and the same suspension bridges, to fields sown on distant islands, and to communication systems with both banks of the Eheya. Drawbridges. Once a project created by Caesar and planned to be built in the swampy north of Oitlon - we eventually found another way and drained the swamps by digging a chain of man-made lakes, but I remembered the project itself, and my memory, unlike some copper-haired ones, was excellent. Four bridges were built. Everything absolutely and completely under the control of us, people, everything plunging into the waters of Eheya at the slightest danger, and I could take control of all of them in an instant from the main point - my tower.

With the bridges, the restoration of the islands went much faster - there is still a big difference between bringing the purchased wood in boats or carrying it over the bridge.

On the twentieth day of my reign, they tried to make a sacrifice to me.

The victim, a small boy, was found tied to one of the pillars surrounding my tower and was about to be killed by a demoniac-looking old woman.

I had to introduce the islanders to such a thing as "public execution". An old woman who stole a child from a neighbor in the name of “good purposes” was beaten to death with a whip, having previously subjected to disgrace - undressing and cutting off her hair. The greater the shame, the easier it is to eradicate the desire to perform "good deeds."

“I,” standing in front of the inhabitants of the city, the barely elderly woman, having turned into one bloody piece of battered meat, stopped shaking in agony, “I will not tolerate any sacrifices! And she broke off, catching Dinar's thoughtful look on herself. He immediately averted his eyes, unlike all the inhabitants, looking not at me, but at the dead woman, pursed his lips, turned around and left.

I felt like the last scum ...

Not for long. The mother of that same boy stepped out of the crowd, silently placed flowers on the steps, closer to my feet, and stepped back. I was happy with the flowers, and maternal gratitude as well, but allowing myself only a fleeting smile, I continued, turning to the people:

- Sacrifices, as already announced, are prohibited. The punishment is the shameful death penalty!

And I left the silent people, because there were still non-silent non-humans ahead of me - no one canceled the meeting of the council of the owners of the Great Palaces. Everything is the same every day, everything is the same unchanged, everything is the same endless.

And at night Dinard came.

I heard how he exchanged phrases with the guards at the entrance, heard how he was let into my office, located on the second floor of the tower, without a word, heard how he opened the door ... and raising my head met the gaze of gray, clearly condemning eyes. At that very moment, I was writing a fairy tale, another one, about an old witch who kidnapped and killed small children - yes, I continued to try to educate my people. You look and it will turn out, at least I will try, I am persistent.

“You know, Empress,” the seasoned Dallarian ruler walked into my office, not reaching me three steps, took a chair, turned it around, and sat down, straddling the furniture, “in my empire, old age is at least respected.

I put down the pen, closed the inkwell, moved the freshly written fairy tale, folded my hands on my chest and coldly looking at Dinara answered:

- I know.

— Is that how? - in his gaze there is cold ice, slowly tightening with frost.

“Exactly,” she confirmed coldly.

Faithful Darkness, as if sensing that I was getting cold, rushed from the dark shore of Eheya, warmly enveloped my shoulders, fell on my hands with a warm shawl, hiding my pale fingers, carefully placed a flower on the table in front of me - a white lily, touched by a blue glow along the edges of the petals. Another gift from Kyara.

“I see you have fans on both banks of the river,” Dinar said in a strange way.

My breath hitched. She gave him an inquisitive look, a look trying to see at least something, at least some shadow of awareness, recognition, at least ...

Is there something wrong with my face? the Dallarian asked mockingly.

“If only with a face,” I smiled sadly.

And again she reached for the pen, but was stopped by a barely audible:

“You can't kill old people, Kat. Especially women. Especially in such a shameful way. And at least for the reason that old women usually have children and grandchildren. You have not dishonored an old woman, you have dishonored the whole race.

Closing the folder with the report on the state of the western coastline, I turned to Dinar and, trying to speak softly, without betraying my own emotions, said:

“You must not kill children, Emperor Grahsoven!

He exhaled noisily, placed his mighty muscular arms on the back of a chair, and said:

“In that case, it was enough just to execute her, Kat. It would be a dignified death proportionate to the crime.

- Is it proportionate?

He silently arched his eyebrow, with a gesture of Dinar, that Dinar who was so close to me, and that is probably why I was extremely frank in the conversation.

“Senma Haen has seventeen grandchildren, Dinar, three of them are now four years old, that is, the same age as the baby Senma stole from the house of a young mother who was away on business in the morning, due to an attempt by the dark ones to attack the islands left without a husband last year.” and a protector.

And the face of the emperor of Pride instantly changed.

“You didn’t think she was going to sacrifice her own grandson to me, did you?” I asked sarcastically.

He said nothing.

And I thought longingly - Great Mother Ancestor, why are we arguing where you just want to talk so much ?!

Pressing her icy fingers to her aching temples, she sat silently for a few seconds, then continued wearily:

- On the Free Islands, to my sincere regret, the cult of sacrifice has taken root. Judging by the structure of the temple, people adopted it from the light ones, who once, it seems, just in this way opened the passage to the higher ones. As you understand, I do not intend to tolerate religious killings. But there is a problem with the worldview of the islanders, who sincerely believe that ritual murder is honorable. Understand? It's honorable to kill for the sake of the gods. Ritual murder became something of a social ladder, and the accomplished killer rose above ordinary people. Even the priests showed the same hierarchy - the killers opposed themselves to those priests who had not yet killed. Realizing this, I came to the only option - the destruction of the assassin-priests as a class. The execution of Senma Khaen is not the only public execution since my accession to the islands, Dinar, the priests of the local god were executed in public, but by no means shamefully. I sincerely hoped that any sacrificial inclinations of people would leave at this point. But no. They thought that God is now me. I mean goddess. And since the goddess now rules, then she is assigned not priests, but priestesses. That is exactly what the old woman Senma reasoned, stealing a child from a defenseless mother, and hoping, by killing the child in front of my eyes, to get the post of high priestess. The old woman's goals were not sickly, were they not?

Dinar nodded thoughtfully, remaining silent.

“But a shameful death…” he finally said.

“Was the only option,” I answered quietly. - Vanity pushed her to kill the child, Dinar, and if I didn’t stop it, the same vanity could make other women try to get the favor of the goddess in the same proven way, and in any society there are enough those who are ready to lay their own children on the altar. That is why the sentence was imposed for an attempted sacrifice, and not for the kidnapping of someone else's child. That is why the execution was shameful. To remember her. To realize that the sacrifice is not a good deed, but a crime, which will invariably be followed by shame and punishment. And shame is the key word here.