Prophecy: Child of Earth

7

“Would you like to see my hoard, Pretty?”

“Yes,” said Rhapsody. She was still recovering from the initial fear of losing her heart to the dragon. So far everything seemed fine; Elynsynos had made no false moves nor tried to restrict her in any way. The true test would come when it was time to leave. “I would be honored.”

“Then come.”

The immense beast hoisted herself out of the fetid water in the cavern’s basin and began the process of turning around. Rhapsody pressed up against the cave wall in an effort to stay out of the way, but her actions proved unnecessary. Elynsynos was far more agile and fluid than Rhapsody could have imagined; it was as if she had no solid form. She shifted her body with a smooth rolling movement, and within moments her enormous head was pointed toward the depths of the cave. She waited as Rhapsody came alongside her, then led the way down into the darkness.

As they descended the cave began to curve, bending in a circular fashion to the west. At the bottom of the tunnel she could see a vague glow, like the distant light of a raging fire. The dark walls began to brighten as they walked on, reflecting the glow of the tunnel before them. The scent of the air changed, too; rather than growing more dank, as Rhapsody had expected, it began to freshen and take a salty tang. She recognized it after a moment as the smell of the sea.

As the light became blindingly bright, Elynsynos stopped. “You go on ahead, Pretty,” she said, nudging Rhapsody forward with her brow. Rhapsody complied, walking slowly toward the glow, squinting to avoid the pain her eyes had initially felt. She put one hand out in front of her, hoping to both shield her face and avoid walking into something unseen.

After a moment her eyes adjusted, and she saw she was in a vast cavern, almost half the size of the grotto that held Elysian’s lake. The blinding glow was the reflection of the radiance of six huge chandeliers, each large enough to light the ballroom of a palace, each illuminated by a thousand candleless flames. The illumination was mirrored by more sparkling items than Rhapsody could even imagine, let alone count, piles of gems in every color of the rainbow and mountains of shimmering coins in gold, copper, silver, platinum, and rysin, a rare green-blue metal mined in the High Reaches of Serendair by the Nain of the old world.

The chandeliers were fashioned from the ship’s wheels from hundreds of vessels, the coins piled high in captain’s chests and hammocked in massive sails strung from ropes that were moored to the walls of the cave with rigging hardware. Wrecked prows and decks of ships were lovingly displayed throughout the cavern, as were anchors, masts, and several salt-encrusted figureheads, one of which bore a startling resemblance to Rhapsody.

In the center of the great cave was a lagoon of salt water, complete with waves that rolled gently to the muddy edges. Rhapsody walked down to the water’s edge and bent to touch the sand. When she looked at her fingers she saw that it was laced with traces of gold.

She looked into the lagoon at the rocks that held more treasures: a golden statue of a mermaid with eyes fashioned from emeralds and a tail that was made from individually carved scales of polished jade, intricately woven caps of merrow pearls, a tall bronze trident with a broken point. A secluded spot in the sand held scores of globes, the orb-shaped maps Llauron had shown her, charts and nautical renderings, as well as sea instruments—compasses, spyglasses and sextants, pulleys and tillers, and chests full of ships’ logs. It was a veritable maritime museum.

“Do you like my hoard?” The harmonious voice echoed in the vast cave, causing the water in the lagoon the ripple out of pattern. Rhapsody turned to face the dragon, whose prismatic eyes were glowing with unmasked excitement.

“Yes,” Rhapsody answered, her voice filled with awe. “It’s incredible. It’s—well, it’s—” words failed her completely. “It’s the most beautiful hoard I’ve ever seen.”

Elynsynos laughed in delight. The sound was like nothing Rhapsody had ever heard before, higher and thinner than the dragon’s gargantuan size would have suggested, with a bell-like quality that rang in Rhapsody’s bones. “Good, I’m glad you like it,” she said. “Now, come over here. There is something I want to give you.”

Rhapsody blinked in astonishment. Everything she had ever heard about dragons had reiterated that they were avaricious, coveting their treasure above anything else. She had heard tell in the old world the legend of a dragon that had laid waste to five towns and several villages, all to recover a plain tin cup that had been inadvertently taken from its hoard. And now the matriarch of wyrms and wyrmkin of this land, Elynsynos herself, was offering her a gift from her hoard. She was unsure how to react, but she followed the giant serpent over piles of winches, bells, oars, and oar locks.

On the other side was a large net secured by a harpoon thrust deep into the rock wall. Rhapsody shuddered at the thought of the strength needed to bury prongs that far into solid rock. Elynsynos rustled with an extended claw in the bulge of the net and drew forth a waxwood lute, beautifully polished, pristine as the day it was finished by the harper. She wrapped her serpentine tail around it, lifted it out of the net and held it out to Rhapsody.

The Singer took the lute with wonder, and turned it over in her hands. It was in perfect condition, despite unknown years of exposure to the salt air and water. “Would you like to hear it?” she asked the dragon.

The iridescent eyes twinkled. “Of course. Why else would I have given it to you, if not to play?”

Rhapsody sat down on an overturned dinghy and tuned the lute, quivering with excitement.

“What would you like to hear?”

“Do you know any songs of the sea?” asked the dragon.

“A few.”

“And are they from your home, the old world?”

Rhapsody felt her heart skip a beat. She had not revealed anything to Elynsynos about her origins, as far as she could remember. The dragon smiled, revealing swordlike teeth.

“You are surprised I know where you come from, Pretty?”

“Not really,” Rhapsody admitted. There was little she could imagine that was beyond the dragon’s power.

“Why are you afraid to talk about it?”

“I don’t know, actually. The other people in this land, they seem very curious about where I come from, but they are very reticent about their own backgrounds. It seems that being Cymrian means to be sworn to secrecy, like it is something to be ashamed of.”

The dragon nodded knowingly. “The man who brought you here, he wanted to know if you are Cymrian, yes?”

“Yes.”

The dragon laughed. “You may as well tell him, Pretty. He already knows. It is obvious.”

Rhapsody felt heat rise in her cheeks. “It is?”

“I am afraid so, Pretty. You have fire, and time, and music in you. Innate lore is a sure sign of a Cymrian—no other human type has it.” She cocked her head as Rhapsody looked down. “Why does that make you sad?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s because the Cymrians here seem to be incapable of being honest, especially with themselves.”

“That is Anwyn’s fault, too,” said Elynsynos, an ugly note coming into her voice. “She is to blame for that. She is the one who reached back into the Past and gave it power. She is the one.” The electric charge returned to the air.

“Gave what power?”

“The evil one; the F’dor.”

The sound of her own heartbeat suddenly filled Rhapsody’s ears. “What do you mean, Elynsynos? There was a F’dor spirit here, in this land? Are you certain?”

Elynsynos’s eyes gleamed with hatred. “Yes. It was a demon from the old world, weak and helpless when it came, but it grew in power rapidly.” The dragons nostrils flared threateningly. “Anwyn knew; she knows everything that happens in the Past. She could have destroyed it, but instead she opened my lands to it, thinking it might be of use to her one day. And it was. She is bad, Pretty. She allowed it to live, even when she knew what it was capable of, like the one that took him away from me. He never came back. I never saw him again.” The air in the room grew even more full of static, and outside the cave Rhapsody could hear the thunder roll overhead. The dragon’s innate bond with the elements was beginning to assert itself.

“Merithyn?” she asked gently.

At the name the buzzing stopped, and the dragon blinked back tears again.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Elynsynos. I’m so sorry.”

Rhapsody reached out and stroked the immense forearm, running her hand gently over the millions of tiny scales. The skin of the beast was cool and vaporous, like mist; Rhapsody had a momentary sensation akin to putting her hand into a raging waterfall. There was a solidity to the dragon’s body that seemed at the same time ephemeral, as if her mass was not flesh but generated by the force of her own will. Rhapsody withdrew her hand quickly, fearing the undertow.

“The sea took him,” the dragon said sadly. “He does not sleep within the Earth. If he did, I would sing to him. How can he rest if for all eternity he is doomed to hear the endless crashing of the waves? He will never know peace.” An immense tear rolled down the scales of her face and splashed the cave floor, making the golden sand glisten.

“He was a sailor,” Rhapsody said before caution could intervene. “Sailors find peace in the sea, just as Lirin find it on the wind beneath the stars. We commit our bodies to the wind through fire, not to the Earth, just as sailors commit them to the sea. The key to finding peace is not where your body rests, but where your heart remains. My grandfather was a sailor, Elynsynos, and he told me this. Merithyn’s love is here, with you.” She looked around at the multitude of nautical treasures that filled the brimming cave. “I’m sure he is right at home.”

I

Elynsynos sniffed, then nodded.

“Where is my sea song?” she demanded.

Her tone sent chills up Rhapsody’s spine. Hurriedly she tuned the lute strings and began to pick out a simple sea chantey, humming softly. The dragon sighed, its warm breath a rush of hot wind billowing through Rhapsody’s hair, making her close her eyes for fear they might burn. The lute strings grew hot, and she quickly concentrated on her lore, drawing the fire into her fingertips to spare the strings from igniting and burning the lute.

Elynsynos rested her head on the ground and closed her eyes, breathing in the music as Rhapsody played and sang. She sang all the sad sea chanteys she knew, ignoring the splashing of enormous tears that soaked her clothes and made her boots wet, understanding the need for a good cry to wash away the recurrent pain of a great loss, and wishing it were an option for herself. The lyrics to most of the songs were in Old Cymrian, a few in Ancient Lirin; Elynsynos either understood both languages or was not particularly concerned about the words.

How many hours she sang Rhapsody did not know, but finally she ran out of chanteys and other sea-related songs. She put down the lute and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“Elynsynos, will you sing for me?”

One enormous eye opened slowly. “Why do you want me to, Pretty?”

“I would love to learn what dragon music sounds like. It would be the most unique song I have ever heard.”

A smile came over the serpent’s face. “You might not even recognize it as music, Pretty.”

“Please. Sing for me.”

The dragon closed her eye again. A moment later, Rhapsody could hear the water of the lagoon begin to lap in a different rhythm, an odd, clicking cadence that sounded like the beating of a three-chambered heart. The wind began to whistle in through the mouth of the cave, blowing across the opening in varying intensities, producing different tones. The ground beneath the boat she sat on rumbled pleasantly, the tremors rattling the coins in the chests and making the hardware clink and bang into itself. An elemental song, Rhapsody thought in fascination.

From the throat of the dragon came a rasping sound, a high, thin noise that set Rhapsody’s teeth on edge. It was like the whistling of a snoring bed partner, accompanied by deep grunts and hisses in irregular time. The song went on for an indeterminate interlude, leaving Rhapsody breathless when it was over. When she regained her composure she applauded politely.

“Liked it, did you, Pretty? I am glad.”

“Did you like the Cymrian songs, Elynsynos?”

“I did. You know, you should make them your hoard.”

Rhapsody smiled at the thought. “Well, in a way they are. The songs and my instruments; I have quite a few of them at home. The music and my garden, I guess that’s my hoard. And my clothes; at least one of my friends would say so.”

The great serpent shook her head, stirring a cloud of sand that rose from the ground and blinded Rhapsody temporarily. “Not the music, Pretty. The Cymrians.”

“Pardon me?”

“You should make the Cymrians your hoard, like Anwyn did,” Elynsynos said. “Only you would not bring harm to them like she did. They would listen to you, Pretty. You could bring them together again.”

“Your grandson is after the same thing,” Rhapsody said tentatively. “Llauron seeks to reunite them as well.”

Elynsynos snorted, sending a puff of steam over Rhapsody and the lagoon she sat beside. “No one will listen to Llauron. He sided -with Anwyn in the war; they will not forgive him for that. No, Pretty, they will listen to you. You sing so nicely, and your eyes are so green. You should make them your hoard.”

Rhapsody smiled to herself. For all her ancient wisdom, Elynsynos clearly did not understand the concept of social class and lines of succession. “What about your other grandson?”

“Which one?”

Rhapsody’s eyes opened in surprise. “You have more than one?”

“Anwyn and Gwylliam had three sons before the Grievous Blow, the act of violence between them that began the war,” said the dragon. “Anwyn chose the time to bear each of them. Firstborn races, like dragons, have control over their procreation. She chose well, for the most part. The eldest, Edwyn Griffyth, is my favorite, but I have not seen him since he was a young man. He went oft” to sea, disgusted by his parents and their war.”

“Who is the other one? The manuscripts did not mention him.”

“Anborn was the youngest. He sided with his father, until he too could stand it no more. Eventually even Llauron could not take Anwyn’s blood-thirstiness and went to sea. But Anborn stayed, trying to right the wrongs he had committed against the followers of his mother.”

Rhapsody nodded. “I didn’t realize Anborn was the son of Anwyn and Gwylliam, but I suppose it makes sense.” She thought back to the scowling general in black mail interlaced with silver rings, his azure blue eyes gleaming angrily from atop his black charger. “My friends and I met him in the woods on the way to visit Lord Stephen Navarne, and his name was mentioned in a book we found in the House of Remembrance.”

“Your friends—there are three of you together?”

“Yes, why?”

The dragon smiled. “It makes sense, too.” She did not elaborate further. “Why did you go to the House of Remembrance?”

Rhapsody yawned; she hadn’t realized how exhausted she was. “I’d love to tell you, Elynsynos, but I’m afraid I can’t keep my eyes open much longer.”

“Come over here by me,” said the dragon. “I will rock you to sleep, Pretty, and will keep the bad dreams away.” Rhapsody pushed herself off the rowboat and came inside the arms of the reclining beast without fear. She sat down and leaned back against the dragon, feeling the smoothness of her copper scales and the heat of her breath. That there was anything strange about the situation did not occur to her at all.

Elynsynos extended a nail on her claw and with infinite tenderness pushed back a loose strand of hair from Rhapsody’s face. She hummed her strange music and moved the crook of her arm back and forth in a rocking motion, lifting Rhapsody off the ground as she did.

“I dreamt you saved me, Elynsynos; you lifted me up in your arms when I was in danger,” she said drowsily.

Elynsynos smiled as sleep took the small Lirin woman she was holding. She leaned her head down close to Rhapsody’s ear, knowing that the Singer would not hear her anyway.

“No, Pretty, that was not me in your dream.”