Prophecy, Child of Earth (85 page)

Fire, mingled with guilt, coursed through Rhapsody's body as his lips moved lower. She quickly gave herself over to the passion, fueled by the pain of her imminent loss, and they made love again, clinging to each other desperately, as though they thought they would never see each other again.

When it was over, neither of them looked happy. Rhapsody lay quietly in his arms, in the throes of silent guilt. The pensive sadness in Ashe's eyes was much worse; he had felt their souls touch the night before in ecstasy, and today it was gone, replaced by bitter regret, the pain of being so close to ultimate happiness and still having it elude them.

Finally, Rhapsody rose from the bed and gathered some fresh clothes. She disappeared into the bathroom, and while she was gone Ashe dressed in the clean garments she had left out for him on top of his pack. He cursed Llauron, he cursed Anwyn, he cursed himself, anyone and anything that had conspired to keep them apart and was to blame for any part of the sorrow in her eyes.

As he waited for her to come out again Ashe's senses, then his eyes, turned to the threepenny piece lying unnoticed in the rug before the fire. He bent to pick it up, smiling. He looked in the pile of hastily discarded clothes and found her locket, then carefully replaced the coin within it. He had Emily back, and she was his wife. Now if he could only keep her safe and in love with him until she knew it.

LrvVeridion slammed back in his chair, his pulsing aurelay twisting red and hot with frustration. He had been trying for hours; his eyes stung from the painfully close work. Deep grooves had been worn into the flesh of his fingers from gripping the instruments so tightly, but it had been to no avail. He could not catch another dream-thread.

Rhapsody was no longer any use for such a purpose. It had been an utter fluke the first time, even less possible now; there was no give in the fabric of her dreams now that they were inextricably bound to Ashe. Despite her loss of the memory of that night, she still had given her unconscious mind over solely to thoughts of him.

His attempts to pry a thread free to attach elsewhere, where it needed to be, was only causing her pain and despair; he could see it in the resdess terrors and fever that haunted her sleep the night after she and Ashe parted. Meridion threw down the thin silver pick in despair.

The end was coming. And there was no way to warn them.

All his manipulation of the Past had come to nothing; the result was going to be the same, after all.

Meridion put his head down on the instrument panel of the Time Editor and wept.

Beneath his face were fragments of time, splinters and scraps of film left over from the destruction of the original strand from the Past he had tried to unmake. He brushed them away dejectedly. One stuck fast to his sweating fingers.

Meridion shook his hand, but still the scrap clung to it. He held it up to the Time Editor's lightsource.

There was nothing left of the image; the heat of the Time Editor's rending had marred the film irretrievably. The top edge was similarly rent, taking out the sensory information. The bottom edge of the film piece was the only part left intact, the piece that housed the sound from the Past. Meridion held it up to his ear.

At the edge of his hearing the Grandmother's dry, insectüke voice whispered.

The deliverance of that world is not a task for one alone. A world whose fate
rests in the hands of one is a world far too simple to be worth saving.

Meridion pondered the words.
Not a task for one alone
.

V

Not for one alone.

The idea flashed through him so intensely, along with the heat of excitement, that he felt hot and weak, almost dizzy.

Meridion reignited the Time Editor. The machine roared to life. Bright light flashed around the glass walls of his spherical room, suspended above the dimming stars, the heat from the boiling seas churning up a blanket of mist on the world's surface below him.

There was another way, another connection that could be made with dream-thread. A path that had already been blazed, synchronicity that already existed.

A name that had already been shared.

When the machine was fully engaged, Meridion looked through the eyepiece again. Carefully he backed the film up one night, and repositioned it under the lens to another place in the dark mountains, in the night black as pitch. It took him a moment to find what he was looking for in the gathering storm, crystals of harsh snow beginning to form in the wind of the Teeth.

He caught the dream-thread easily, anchored it without difficulty. The warning was in place.

Now it was only a matter of seeing whether they heeded it.

cA shaft of sunlight as golden as Rhapsody's hair broke through the morning clouds. Ashe stepped into the glow, the mist from his cloak sparking into a million tiny diamond droplets, hanging heavy in the new-winter air.

From beneath her hood Rhapsody smiled. The sight was a beautiful one, a memory she would hold on to in the sad days to come. Standing there in the sunlight, even swathed in his cloak and mantle, Ashe looked like something almost godlike, here at the crest of the first barrier peaks, on his way to the foothill rise.

Soon they would part company at the pass that led to the lower rim, and he would be gone from her life.

A billowing roar echoed through the Teeth, sending shivers through her. The sound echoed off the crags and over the wide heath, frightening the wildlife that still remained in the sight of winter's coming. The sound was unmistakable.

'Grunthor!" Rhapsody spun around, searching blindly in the blaze of morning light for the source of the scream.

Ashe put his hand to his eyes, scanning the panorama of the crags bathed in the sun's brilliance. He pointed to a pass in the guardian peaks, the barracks of the mountain guard.

'There," he said.

Rhapsody put her hand to her brow as well. From the cave door that led to the barracks hall, figures were spewing forth like ash from a rampant volcano. The Bolg soldiers of the barracks scrambled to evacuate the corridor, taking shelter behind whatever outcroppings of rocks afforded them cover. Rhapsody shook her head.

'Grunthor must be having nightmares again," she said, watching the Bolg scatter.

A moment later, her assumption was confirmed. A much bigger figure, still dwarfed by the mountain peak, emerged from the opening. Even from a great distance, his distress was unmistakable.

Rhapsody felt for a friendly gust of wind, making certain it would carry up to the top crag. "Here, Grunthor!" she called, wrapping her voice in the gust. A moment later the figure stopped and sighted on her, then waved frantically.

Rhapsody waved back.

'I'm sorry," she said to Ashe, who was leaning on his walking stick, his face shrouded once more by the hood of his mist cloak. "I have to go to him." She ran her hand down his arm.

Ashe nodded. If he was annoyed, the mist cloak shielded any sign of it. "Of course," he said, shifting his weight. "I'll wait."

Rhapsody patted his arm again, then hurried to the ledge midway up the peak.

Even as she ran, she could see the wary soldiers, backs pressed against the mountain face, surreptitiously slip into the barracks corridor again once Grunthor was clearly away.

s, what's the matter? You look awful."

The Sergeant-Major was disheveled and wild-eyed, even after his sprint. The enormous chest heaved so thunderously that Rhapsody grew frightened.

'Here, calm down," she said in her Namer's commanding tone. "What's the matter?"

Grunthor measured his breathing, his panting diminishing somewhat. "We gotta get down there, Duchess. She needs us."

'The Grandmother? Or the child? How do you know?"

The Firbolg giant bent over, his hands against his knees. "The Earthchild. Oi don't know 'ow Oi know, Oi just do. I could see inside 'er dreams, and she's panicking. From the feel o' them, Oi don't blame 'er a bit. You gotta sing to 'er again, Yer Ladyship. She's terrified."

'All right, Grunthor," Rhapsody said soothingly. "I'll go with you. I just need to see Ashe off first; he's leaving."

Grunthor stood, eyeing her sharply. "For good?"

'Yes."

The sharp look mellowed into one of sympathy. "Ya all right, Duchess?"

Rhapsody smiled. She remembered when she first heard him use that expression, the first of many times. It was in the tunnel of the Root; he had been trying to ascertain whether she had fallen into the endless darkness. Each time she had responded in the affirmative, knowing that the answer was only partially true; safe or not, she would never be "all right" again. There was something sadly ironic in hearing it again now.

'I will be," she said simply. "Roust Achmed, and get my armor. I'll meet you on the Heath."

Grunthor nodded, then patted her shoulder and headed back toward the Cauldron. Rhapsody watched him go, then returned to Ashe.

He was still there, as she had left him, leaning on his walking stick.

'Everything all right?" he asked.

Rhapsody shielded her eyes and looked up into the darkness of his hood. The sight tugged at her heart, but she swallowed the pain, hoping that the next time she saw him, probably from across the great Moot at his coronation, that he would be able at last to walk with his face to the sun, open to the sight of all men, without fear.

'My newest grandchild needs my help," she said. "I'll tend to her once we've parted at the foothills. Come; let's be off." cAchmed had expected Rhapsody to be late coming back from seeing Ashe off, so he had taken his time getting to the Heath. As a result, when he came over the top of the last rise he found two figures there, one enormous, one slight, both looking grim, and both waiting for him.

Achmed cursed. She was predictable in her unpredictability.

'He's gone, then?" he demanded, handing Grunthor the morning's report from the night patrol. Rhapsody nodded. "Good."

Grunthor shot him an ugly look, then put a hand on her shoulder. "When'll 'e be back, darlin'?"

'He won't," she said shortly. "Perhaps I'll see him at the royal wedding in Bethany, but that will be the last time I expect to. He's off to fulfill his destiny."

She looked back into the sun rising over the crest of Griwen. "Let's go fulfill ours."

L,'he tunnel to the Loritorium had echoed with their footsteps, and with the memory of voices.

Is she still there, sir?

Damn you, Jo, go home or I'll tie you to a, stalagmite and leave you until we
return.

I want to go with you. Please.

Achmed closed his eyes, his head heavy with the weight of the memories.

The torch Grunthor carried flickered uncertainly, a pale candle compared to the roaring flame that had first lighted their way into the hidden vault of magic.

Achmed wondered if the weak fire was an indication that the concentrated lore, once heavy in the stale air, had begun to dissipate as the wind from the world above made its way down the ancient passages. Or perhaps it was more a sign that the fires of Rhapsody's soul were burning a little more dimly.

She said nothing, following them silently down into the belly of the moun tain, her face drawn and ghostly white in the pale torchlight. All the length of the tunnel to the Loritorium she remained quiet, so unlike their travels overland or along the Root, where she and Grunthor had passed the time with songs or whistled tunes.

The absence of noise was deafening.

After they had gone a thousand paces Achmed heard a slow, broken intake of breath, and she knew she was hearing voices in the echoing tunnel as well.

Do you mean to tell me that the Lord, Roland sent an unarmed woman into
Tlorc without the protection of the weekly armed caravan? These are unsafe times,
not just in Tlorc, but everywhere.

I'm just doing my lord's bidding, m'lady.

Prudence, you must stay here tonight. Please. I fear for your safety if you were
to leave now.

No. I'm sorry, but I must return to Bethany at once.

Ghosts
, Achmed thought.
Everywhere ghosts
.

Finally the tunnel widened into the entrance to the marble city. The flame from the firewell was burning brightly, steadily, casting long shadows about the empty Loritorium.

'Everything seems all right here," Achmed said, examining the fiery fountain. "I don't feel any strange vibrations here."

They left the Loritorium and wandered down the corridor to the Chamber of the Sleeping Child.

The Grandmother was in the entranceway, as always.

'You've come," she said; each of her three voices was trembling. "She's worse.

From within the chamber the sound of moaning could be heard. They hurried past the enormous doors of soot-streaked iron, into the well of the chamber.

The Earthchild thrashed about on her catafalque, murmuring in panic. Rhapsody ran to her, whispering soothing words, trying to gentle her down, but the child did not respond.

Achmed grasped Rhapsody's upper arm with a grip that hurt. When she looked up, he turned her toward Grunthor.

The giant stood beside the Earthchild's catafalque, his sallow skin ashen in the dim light. His broad face was pickled with beads of sweat.

'Somethin's coming," he whispered. "Somethin'—" His words choked into a strangled gasp.

'Grunthor?"

The giant was trembling as he reached for his weapons.

'The Earth," the Grandmother whispered. "It screams. Green death. Unclean death."

As if to mirror the Firbolg giant, the ground began to shudder all around them.

Pieces of rock and granite crumbled from the walls and ceiling as dust streamed down in great rivers, blackening the air.

'What's happening? An earthquake?" Rhapsody shouted to Grunthor. The sergeant was drawing Lopper, his hand-and-a-half sword, and the Friendmaker, his expression grim. He barely had time to shake his head.

Soft popping sounds erupted around them, like sparks from wet wood in fire.

From the floor, ceiling and walls, thousands of tiny roots appeared, black and spiny, poking through the dirt like new spring seedlings. Within a few moments they had grown to the size of daggers, slashing menacingly at the air. By the time they had, Achmed was across the cavern, almost within arm's reach of Rhapsody.