Prophecy, Child of Earth (75 page)

If you can find your guiding star, you will never be lost. Never.

She finally made one out that she knew, Prylla, an evening star revered by the Lirin of this land. It was named for a woodland goddess of ancient myth, the Windchild, reputed to have sung her songs into the north wind in the hope of finding the love she had lost. Only the wind had answered her; somehow Rhapsody found the legend poignantly appropriate for Jo. She cleared her mind as best she could, then pointed Daystar Clarion heavenward and spoke the name of the star.

The hillside was illuminated by a light brighter than any of them had ever seen, blinding them temporarily and radiating over the fields to the canyon. It touched the face of the mountains, making them shine with a splendor past that of the setting sun. Then with a roar, a searing flame descended, hotter than the fires of the Earth's core. It ignited the pyre, causing the wood to explode with flames that danced skyward. The fire burned quickly, sending a rolling wave of smoke into the wind and up to the starry canopy above them.

Rhapsody sang, in a voice barely above a whisper, her sister's name and the first few notes of the Lirin Song of Passage before she was too drained to continue; she had performed the rite already, she knew. Jo was already in the light.

The Three stood together, watching the flames take their friend. The ashes ascended into the air and the wind took them, whipping across the heath and over the mountains, twisting and swirling in beautiful patterns of white like rising snow in the darkness.

cAfter that her strength returned quickly. She seemed a little more herself each day, though the light in her eyes was conspicuously absent. Grunthor sat on the edge of her bed and told her filthy jokes and bawdy stories of life among the Bolg as he had before, remembering how much they had made her laugh. The anecdotes still brought a smile, but somehow it was not the same. Her soul was not healing as quickly as her body.

Achmed worried visibly about her. His thinking was belabored and his mood worse than usual, as demonstrated by the circumspect manner that his soldiers and guards adopted when in the Cauldron. They spoke in whispers and refrained from any kind of fighting or loud arguments, having once experienced the wrath of the Warlord after their high-spirited bantering had woken the First Woman from a fitful sleep. There had been such suffering as a result that the word spread quickly throughout the Mountain, and Grunthor had many more volunteers for duty outside the Teeth than ever before.

Her two friends afforded Rhapsody her privacy, never prying into her feelings with questions about her state of well-being; they knew the source of her pain, and were at a loss to know what to do about it. Their presence was a wellspring of great comfort to her. Achmed took to reading his briefings or studying the infinite manuscripts of Gwylliam's vaults in her room at night while she sorted herbs or wrote music, comfortable in their mutual silence.

Rhapsody had come upon Grunthor, quite by accident, when walking back to her room to replenish her supply of clean clothes. She was well enough to walk alone for short periods, and was in the process of fumbling for her key when she heard a noise in Jo's room across the hall.

She went to the door and opened it quietly, peering into the darkness to find the giant Bolg sitting on Jo's bed with his chin resting on his palms, a blank look of bewilderment on his face. The crates and sacks on the floor indicated he had come to clean out her belongings, probably with a mind to sparing Rhapsody the task, but instead he had found no clutter. None of Jo's hoarded treasures were anywhere in her quarters. It was as if the street child had discarded every memento she had ever collected. He looked up at Rhapsody as she walked in and silently came into his arms, her head still barely reaching his shoulder even as he sat.

'Oi don't know what 'appened, darlin'," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "We musta lost 'er a long time ago, and we didn't even know it." Rhapsody just nodded and hugged him tighter.

Finally the awkward solitude came to an end in a queasy realization. Achmed had come in the night to check on Rhapsody to find her sitting in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the ceiling. He approached her slowly and slid down the wall next to her into a sitting position on the floor, where he waited in silence, watching her. Finally she turned to him and made eye contact.

Their gaze locked, and then she closed her eyes and spoke.

'Do you think Jo was pregnant?"

Achmed shook his head. "I saw her the day before, and she seemed vibrationally the same. Of course, I can't be sure, but I would guess not."

Rhapsody nodded, then looked down at her drawn-up knees. "Oelendra once said the F'dor were masters of manipulation that spent eternity trying to figure out ways to get around the limits of their own power."

'That's accurate."

'And the prophecy about the F'dor—the uninvited guest—says that it will 'bind to no body that has borne or sired children, nor can it ever do so, lest its power be further dispersed', right?"

'Yes."

'Elynsynos said the Firstborn, the five oldest races, which included both dragons and F'dor, have control over their own procreation." Achmed swallowed the ugly comment about Ashe that danced on his lips. "It's a conscious decision for them to break their essence open in order to expand their power, because having progeny makes them immortal, in a way, but it can also weaken the parent." Achmed nodded again. "So what if the F'dor wanted to expand its power, make itself immortal, but didn't want to lessen its own strength? How would it do so?"

Achmed saw her point immediately. "It would find a way for its blood to reproduce without its body having to."

Rhapsody nodded, her eyes glimmering. "The Rakshas. It wasn't just using rape as a form of terror and a method for binding souls. It was breeding new hosts for the demon." i don't think you're well enough, Duchess. You shouldn't be ridin' yet."

Rhapsody bent down and kissed the great green-gray cheek. "I'll be fine. Achmed is here, and if I'm feeling weak I can ride with him." The mare danced impatiently, held in place by the reins and bridle in Grunthor's hand. The Singer spoke softly to her, gentling her down.

'We'll be back shortly," said Achmed, mounting the horse the quartermaster had brought and provisioned for him. "If this leads to a hunt, we'll come back here first to make arrangements." Grunthor and Achmed exchanged a look;
keep her safe
, the Sergeant was saying. The Firbolg king nodded in assent.

'Now, where actually is this Rhonwyn person, eh?"

'In an abbey in Sepulvarta," Rhapsody said, watching the quartermaster check her saddle and cinch the girth. "It's about ten days' ride from here, north of Sorbold on the other side of Bethe Corbair. We should be back in three weeks easily."

'Easy for you," the Bolg grumbled. "Oi, on the other hand, never get to go nowhere fun no more. No, Oi get stuck baby-sittin' the Bolglands."

Achmed smiled. "Try not to break any treaties while I'm gone." He clicked to his mount, and the two travelers set off across the Orlandan plain for Sepulvarta.

c,'vshe ran through the halls of the Cauldron, his footfalls sounding on the inert stone. He had run all the way from Kraldurge after finding Elysian dark and empty, causing passing sentries to try to overtake him, only to find him gone from their vision within seconds.

One dark passageway had a light at the end. It was the council room behind the Great Hall where the downward spiral had begun, the place where things had started to go wrong. Ashe cursed under his breath as he hurried through the arched doorway.

Grunthor was sitting at the massive table, scratching away with a quill on a large field map. He was drawing terrain charts and topographical diagrams; Ashe's dragon sense innately made note of the excellent detail and accuracy. The landmarks were unlabeled, probably a function of Grunthor's limited literacy.

The giant Bolg looked up and broke into a grisly grin. "Well, 'allo, Ashe," he said, putting down his quill. He sat back in the immense chair and folded his hands over his stomach. "Oi guess this means there really were two o' you after all. What brings you 'round?"

'Where's Rhapsody? I overheard two sentries say she'd been badly injured."

'Sorry, old boy, Oi'm afraid you're too late. She's gone."

'What?" Ashe's voice trembled suddenly.

'Yeah," Grunthor said, smiling and savoring Ashe's sudden panic. "She and Uchmed went for a ride a few days ago." He picked up his quill again and returned to his work. "You sure took your sweet time gettin'

'ere."

Ashe leaned on the table. "What do you mean, she went for a ride with Achmed?"

Grunthor grinned but did not look up. "Just what Oi said. They wanted some time alone together—if you get the gist."

'Oh, please." Ashe felt his face twist in disgust. He had to shake his head to drive the abhorrent picture from his mind. "Where did they go?"

'Oi think they went off to find Rhonwyn, you know, yer auntie."

'I know who Rhonwyn is. Why would they go to see her?"

'Somethin' to do with 'Er Ladyship's grandkids. If it's any of your business."

Ashe was growing irritated. "What do you mean by that?"

Grunthor's head remained stationary, but his eyes looked up, and they were full of accusation. "Well now, where was you when she was dyin', eh? After all she done, is doin' for you, where was you when she needed you?"

'I was on the coast." Even under the hood, Grunthor would hear the self-recrimination in his voice. "What happened? Is she all right?"

Grunthor nodded toward one of the chairs. Ashe sat and dropped his pack to the floor as the Sergeant filled a flagon from the pitcher next to him. "She was injured while savin' the lit'le miss's soul."

'Jo? Jo was hurt too?"

'Yeah, you might say that. She's dead." Grunthor's face was emotionless, his tone noncommittal, but the dragon could sense a sudden skip of his heartbeat, the increase of liquid in the giant's tear ducts, the tiny twitching of muscles in his great protruding jaw as it tightened. The silent responses said all that Ashe needed to know.

'Gods, Grunthor; I'm sorry." Ashe's thoughts shot to Rhapsody; she must be devastated. "What happened?"

'The bastard F'dor got to 'er. She must of followed us, even though we went out of our way to avoid it; we didn't even know she was there. And just as Uchmed was draggin' your sorry soul out of the burning refuse, she attacked. Oi never in all my time with 'im ever seen no one get close enough to touch 'im, but the king was a bit, well, distracted, shall we say? 'E would of taken one in the 'eart for you, sonny. Ironic, ain't it?" Grunthor took a deep drink from his flagon.

'O' course, the Duchess couldn't let that come to pass. She was next to 'im, and she tried to block with 'er body, but Jo was too fast. So she did what she should of; she parried. And she slashed Jo open; taught 'er well, Oi must say." He took another drink. Ashe's hands reached for the flagon Grunthor had set in front of him, trembling slightly.

'Then a bloody
tree
started growing from Jo's guts, and we was forced to cut it out, but you see, this vine-thing didn't want to be cut out, so it sort of attacked us back. It would of killed the Duchess too if it weren't for the king. You sure weren't nowhere to be found when we were trying to fix 'er. She still ain't gotten over killing Jo."

Ashe stared into the immense firepit in silence. He tried to imagine what Rhapsody must be feeling, but he couldn't get past his own mountain of guilt. She was out of the range of his senses, and that bothered him more than anything else.

'I'm very sorry," he said at last. "I'm sorry about Jo, Grunthor. How is Rhapsody? Is she all right?"

Grunthor put his feet up on the table, the thud of the gigantic boots shaking the chairs in the room. "Well, Oi suppose that depends on 'ow you define 'all right.'

She's alive."

'That's a start."

'She's awful weak, if you ask me, which nobody did; Oi wouldn't let 'er go out riding across the countryside in 'er current state, looking pale as a ghost. But whatever she needed to do was too important to the Duchess to get 'er to listen, and you can't argue with 'er when she's like that."

Ashe sighed. "I know."

Grunthor chuckled. "She's a lit'le slip of a thing, but she's tough. Oi'd rather have 'er watch my back as anyone."

'I agree. And she credits you with a lot of that, you know. She said even Oelendra admired the training you had given her."

The giant smiled. "Yeah, she told me. But Oi think it's more a matter of the fact that the Duchess's 'eart is bigger than 'er body."

Ashe smiled to himself. "It certainly is."

Grunthor leaned across the table. "And to that end, Oi'm warning you, waterboy, you better not do nothing to break it, 'cause if you do, Oi'll snap you like a twig."

'I'll keep that in mind." Tankards clinked together, and then were emptied.

cAchmed took Rhapsody by the waist and lifted her down from the horse. He could see she was grateful to be on ground that was not moving for the first time in a while. Generally when they rode together, Achmed left her on her own to mount and dismount, but he had noticed the way her face turned white with each of these actions now, and so made an exception to his general rule of benign neglect.

They made their way through the Square of the Spire, the vast, cobbled courtyard of the walled part of the city of Sepulvarta. The courtyard stretched to the edges of the inner rim of the mercantile district.

In the center of the square stood the mammoth structure that Rhapsody had seen from the Great Basilica when she had stood with the Patriarch on the Holy Night.

It was massive at the bottom, spanning the width of a city block, tapering upward a thousand feet in the air to its point, crowned by a radiant silver star. The star was visible for a hundred miles on a clear day, more at night, and was reputed to contain a piece of the Sleeping Child, the star in Seren myth that had fallen into the sea, causing the first Great Cataclysm. The impact of the star's entry into the sea, said the legend, had caused earthquakes and subsequent tidal waves that split the land and swamped the Island, leaving it half its previous size. It had lain beneath the waves for four millennia, boiling the ocean above it, until at last it had risen and claimed the rest of the Island, along with whatever had remained of Rhapsody's family and the two Bolgs' problems.