Destiny: Child of the Sky

33

Stephen reached behind the bottles in the first row of the rack and felt around until he located the reserve brandy.

“Here,” he said, and handed the bottle to Ashe in the dark. “You used to like this one.”

Ashe smiled. “I’ll take your word for it, since I can’t see it.” His dragon sense had already assessed the vintage, as well as all the others in Stephen’s cellar; Stephen had chosen wisely and generously.

“It’s Canderian, of course,” Stephen said, taking the bottle back. “Has a lovely color and a superior bouquet. You’ll appreciate it more in the light by the fire.”

“No,” Ashe said brusquely. His voice was harsher than he meant it to be, and he felt Stephen flinch at the sound of it. “I’m sorry. Let’s just talk here.”

Stephen shrugged. “It’s your birthday. If you want to spend it among the rats of my wine cellar, who am I to object?”

“I’ll feel right at home,” Ashe chuckled. “You know my family.”

Stephen laughed and sat down on a large barrel against the dank wall. He pulled a bottle of lesser-vintage brandy from the forward rack and uncorked it, taking a deep swig.

“I’m afraid I don’t keep the snifters down here. You shall have to drink your celebratory libations straight from the bottle like the barbarian that you are.”

“And I would do so even if you did keep the snifters down here.” Ashe pulled the cork carefully from the bottle, surprised at how the connoisseur’s technique had come back naturally to him after two decades of finding refreshment in forest streams and the rain gutters of backstreets. He passed it under his nose, inhaling the rich bouquet. “Ah, Stephen, you are far too good to me.”

“Truer words were never spake. So, have a drink, and tell me what happened.”

Ashe sat down on the barrel next to Stephen’s. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, reluctantly recalling the gruesome memories that Rhapsody had cast out of his mind. He tried to determine with his inner sense if there was any reason not to trust Stephen with the information; at the back of his mind the dragon’s paranoia whispered repeated cautions. Defiantly he crushed it into silence.

“It was the first night of summer.” Ashe’s voice choked off suddenly as the memories came flooding back. Stephen sat quietly as the silence consumed his friend. When finally the duke spoke there was a joking tone in his voice.

“I remember. I was sitting vigil for the Patriarch, as those of us of the true faith do on firstsummer night. Perhaps now you’ll finally see the error of your ways and convert.”

The joke broke the hold the memories had on Ashe, and he laughed. “All right. I had gone to the House of Remembrance because I overheard my father talking with Oelendra about the F’dor. Somehow they had determined it would be there, and vulnerable, so she was going to destroy it. When she had left the tree palace I confronted Llauron and demanded to go to help her.

“At first he wouldn’t hear of it, but I suppose he finally saw the wisdom in the idea. There was no one else in whom he was willing to confide. He—we have been chasing this thing for as long as I can recall. It has been the consuming goal of his life, and, as a result, mine.”

“I remember,” Stephen said again softly, staring at the wine cellar ceiling. “When I went off to train with Oelendra, Llauron warned me not to agree to become a champion in her cause, because he wanted to direct me himself.”

“My father believes that everyone on Earth’s sole purpose for existence is to serve his needs,” Ashe muttered. “Even when his causes are good ones, it can get tiresome being treated as his tool. The truth is, Stephen, even if he had forbade me I would have gone anyway. You knew me then; I was reckless and stubborn, and had nothing to live for.”

Stephen cast a glance at Ashe. “And do you now?”

Ashe sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I did.” His thoughts went immediately to Rhapsody, and the devastation in her eyes, hidden by a brave front, when he said goodbye to her for the last time.

I am holding the memory for you, Aria. One day it will be ours to share again.

No. It may be mine to keep someday, but it’s time for you to begin making memories with someone else.

Tomorrow. Today I am still here with you.

He closed his eyes and shook the thoughts from his mind. “I don’t remember much after that. I followed Oelendra’s route to the House of Remembrance—she’s virtually impossible to track.” Stephen nodded. “I never found her. When I got to the exterior gate of the House there was no one there; everything was silent as death. It was past midnight, so the solstice had passed. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it meant that the period of the demon’s vulnerability had passed as well.

“I don’t remember meeting the F’dor, or who it was. Everything was dark. I just remember an explosion of dark fire, and the most searing pain I have ever felt, a pain that only death could quench. And then it took a piece of my soul. It reached inside me and spread through me like a vine growing up my spine, until it had clawed through my entire chest cavity, grabbing hold of my very essence.” Even with his eyes closed he could feel Stephen shudder.

“In that moment I remember knowing that death would be preferable to what was about to happen. I could feel its will, and it wanted me, was going to take me as its host. It would devour my soul and become what was left of me. I saw the Void, Stephen, saw it. And somehow I was able to use Kirsdarke to sever the vine, knowing that it would mean leaving a piece of my soul behind in its possession. It was the only thing I could do.”

“Sweet All-God.”

“And that’s all. I don’t remember the rest except for flashes and fragments that come to me in dreams. I vaguely recall crawling through the forest toward Haguefort; it was a conscious choice to seek your aid. I’ve dreamed many times of your face as you bound me with your cloak, though I’m not certain if that’s memory or imagination. So much of that time is just cloudy dreams accentuated by excruciating pain.”

“What happened after I left you to find your father?”

Ashe hesitated. Though his heart told him that Stephen was trustworthy, the dragon began to whisper its doubts to him again, just as it had with Anborn.

“I’m not certain. I was healed enough to go into hiding, though the pain was barely diminished. Pain of the soul surpasses any you can imagine.”

“And are you still in pain?”

Ashe took another swig of the excellent brandy, then rested his arms on his knees. “It’s better now,” he said finally. “But the pain was hardly the worst of it.

“The F’dor took the piece of my soul that was left behind and formed it into a Rakshas, a demonic construct built of its own blood and that of feral animals—wolves, mostly—and ice. It was endowed with my soul fragment, my spirit, and looked almost exactly like me. It was mindless but intelligent, and was a powerful tool for the demon for a long time, wreaking murder and mayhem across Roland and Tyrian. I know this because I spent whatever time I could tracking it, trying to right some of the wrongs it had undertaken, spying on its movements for Llauron. It was this creature that kidnapped the children of your province, that drained them of their blood for the F’dor’s purposes.”

Stephen stood up, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, still holding the bottle. “I will kill it, I vow it,” he said, beginning to pace.

Ashe smiled. “No need. It’s been done.”

“And your soul?”

“Whole again.”

“Thank the All-God.” Stephen pacing grew in intensity, frenetic energy seeking release. “What can I do to help you?”

Ashe stood as well and clasped his shoulder. “Keep my secret, for now.” He smiled at his best friend. “And show me my namesake and his sister.”

“Done.” Stephen tossed the bottle aside and led him up the dark passageway to the keep.

“Are you certain she’s asleep? I don’t want to frighten her. With my hood up I look like the stuff of nightmares.”

“She’s deeper than the sea,” Stephen said fondly, running his fingers affectionately through Melisande’s golden curls. “And you look like that with it down as well. Always have.” He kissed the child’s forehead and pulled the blankets up around her neck; Melisande smiled but didn’t move.

“She’s beautiful, Stephen.”

“Indeed she is. She has her mother’s black eyes. I’m sorry you couldn’t see her awake.”

“Who was her mother?”

“Lydia of Yarim.”

Ashe chuckled. “Ah, yes. Good choice.” He voice grew soft. “I’m sorry, Stephen.”

“And well you should be. She would have liked you, Gwydion.”

“A rare woman—extremely rare, if that be true.” The warmth in Ashe’s voice held a tinge of melancholy. “Your son is so big. So many years I’ve missed; he’s almost a man.”

Stephen sighed in agreement, then passed his hand through a cloud of mist that hovered in the air of the dark room. “Where does this come from?”

Don’t tell, the dragon hissed. “From Kirsdarke,” Ashe said quickly, beating the wyrm voice back again. “It embues my cloak with its power over the element of water. It protects me from those that can find me vibrationally, or otherwise.”

“So that’s how you’ve been able to remain in hiding.” Lord Stephen rose and gestured toward the door that adjoined his chambers.

Ashe followed him. “Yes.” As they passed the door from Melisande’s room into the common hallway he stopped. “Who sleeps across the hall from Melly?”

Stephen stopped as well. “The children’s governess, Rosella. Why?”

“She has a substantial amount of extract of adder-flower in her possession. It’s a deadly poison.”

Stephen’s face went slack. “How do you know this?” he whispered, casting a glance at his sleeping daughter.

Don’t tell, the dragon insisted violently. Don’t tell! Ashe swallowed. “My senses are heightened,” he said softly. “I can smell it.” It was a small enough lie; Stephen must have forgotten some of his training in herbalism with Lark. Adder-flower had no scent or taste.

“Has it any other use?”

Ashe shrugged. “It’s a fixative for dyes in small concentrations. Weavers add it to coloring compounds like lavender and butternut hulls to make cloth hold color.”

Stephen’s worried face relaxed and he exhaled with relief. “That’s undoubtedly the reason, then,” he said. “Rosella is also a talented seamstress; she makes many of the children’s clothes. You had me worried for a moment there, old boy. But Rosella would never think of harming the children. I’m certain of it.”

Ashe smiled at his best friend. “I’m sorry. Extreme suspicion of everyone and everything around me is the only thing that has kept me alive all these years. I suppose if I’m going to become a real person again I’m going to have to put that behind me.”

“Indeed. Come; my chambers are through here.”

When they reached Stephen’s bedroom Ashe went to the balcony door and peered out the window.

“Your wall looks as if it has taken some damage,” he said wryly. “Harsh winter?”

The Duke of Navarne leaned against his writing desk. “You’ve heard about the solstice festival?”

Ashe nodded, still staring into the darkness. “Yes. I’m sorry, Stephen.”

Stephen nodded. “Then you know about Tristan taking control of the armies?”

“Yes.”

The duke rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you plan to do anything to oppose him? Now that you’re back?”

Ashe chuckled. “Why would I?”

“Because—well, because it was always assumed that you would be the one to unite Roland. You’re the one born to it.”

Ashe laughed and turned back to face his friend.

“Now, that would make for some interesting name possibilities,” he said. “How do you like ‘King Gwydion the Dead’? No? How about ‘The Once-Dead’? ‘The No-Longer Dead’? ‘The Undead’? I don’t think so.” He pulled his gloves from the pockets of his cloak and put them on. “Thank you for the birthday drink.”

“You’re going then?” Stephen asked, disappointment heavy in his voice.

Ashe nodded, resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder one last time. “I have to. Just as I had to come here tonight and tell you what happened.”

“There are still so many things I want to know,” Stephen said. Desperation clouded his blue-green eyes. “When are you coming back?”

“When I can. I wish I could be certain. But know that in all these years, Stephen, you have never left my thoughts. Seeing you are safe and well has been a great comfort to me. The day will come when we can walk in the open in peace again.”

The duke smiled. “I hope it comes soon. Your namesake is growing to manhood too fast for me to keep up. His godfather should be lending a hand in some of his training, and that of his sister as well. He needs you, Gwydion. I need you, too; between the two of them I’m growing more elderly and infirm every day.”

Ashe laughed, then embraced his friend, letting go reluctantly. “When this is over there will be time to live life as it should be lived. We’ll pick up where we left off, do great deeds, live heroically, love extraordinary women and—” “—have statuary erected to us all over Roland,” Stephen finished, completing their boyhood motto, laughing. His grin resolved into a slight smile as their eyes met. It seemed strange that many of those childhood goals had already been accomplished and lost; it was a painfully hollow feeling. “I’d settle for having you sit in my buttery after the cooks have gone to bed, eat the heels of brown bread, and talk into the morning hours the way we used to.”

“I look forward to it,” Ashe said. “We can celebrate the joy of the ordinary for the rest of our lives. We’ll both be in our dotage soon, anyway; we can hide in your wine cellar, drink ourselves into a fine stupor, and tell each other the stories that would bore anyone else to death.”

“Done.” Stephen’s face grew serious. “Know that I stand ready to help you in whatever you need, Gwydion. The land is balancing on the brink of war. Perhaps your return from death may spare the continent from its own.”

“Goodbye, Stephen,” Ashe said. “Take care of yourself and your children first. We’ll meet again soon.” He opened the door to the balcony and was gone, leaving Stephen staring out into the darkness and flying snow as the bitter wind howled around and through the windows and doorways of Haguefort.