Prophecy: Child of Earth

20

Rhapsody’s new guide was a man named Clovis, whose hair and eye color were so close to that of Cedelia that they could have been twins. He had a readier smile, however, and Rhapsody felt slightly more at ease with him as she was led from the longhouse and onto a southerly path. Rial touched her arm as she prepared to go.

“Rhapsody, I hope you know that you are welcome here in Tyrian. The forest itself has made that abundantly clear, and I hope I have as well.”

“Thank you,” she answered, smiling up at the Lord Protector. “Now let’s see if Oelendra agrees with you.”

“She will, no doubt. Oelendra has her eccentricities and her temper, but she is a wise woman. She wants more than anything to see the world safe and at peace; remember that.”

Rhapsody tried to keep her smile from fading as Rial bent over her hand and turned to leave. She remembered Ashe’s comments about his friends finding Oelendra to be a harsh, humorless taskmaster, but decided that whatever lack of humor she possessed, it could not be as bad as Achmed’s. She watched as Rial faded into the trees, then followed Clovis down the forest path.

After an hour’s walk they came to the edge of a large clearing. It was a vast garden, almost a park, with sparsely spaced ornamental trees, tall grasses, and wildflowers giving it a feel that was more akin to a wild land than a formal garden. But here and there were touches that showed the work of Lirin hands. A well-manicured path, a bed of flowers whose colors were too perfectly suited to be the haphazard choice of nature, the lack of any underbrush all pointed to guidance and intervention rather than random growth.

Off the neatly trimmed path, not far into the garden, stood a group of children, all with wooden swords, laughing at a joke by the sole adult crouched in their midst. Rhapsody turned to Clovis, who had stopped. He gestured toward the children.

They were gathered around an older woman with long silver-blond hair touched with streaks of gray and white. She wore no armor and bore no weapon, and was dressed in a simple white shirt and brushed leather trousers that looked as if they had seen much wear. The woman spoke in soft tones to the children, patiently adjusting one child’s hold on his toy sword. Then she stopped as if she had heard something.

The woman stood, saying something in a low voice to the children before she began to approach Rhapsody. Rhapsody caught her breath as the woman crossed the garden, struck by the sight of her. She had shoulders almost as broad as Achmed or Ashe did, and coloring that made Rhapsody’s hands grow clammy; the silver-blond hair, the rosy-gold skin, the long, thin limbs: She was Liringlas, one of the People of the Fields, a Skysinger, the same kindred as Rhapsody’s own mother, a breed of Lirin that Rhapsody had seen no other traces of since long before she left the Island.

“Mhivra evet liathua tyderae. Itahn veriata.”

Rhapsody felt her heart miss a beat. Spoken in Ancient Lirin, the words were from another time: In you two rivers meet. How appropriate. The accent, the dialect, were exactly as Rhapsody’s own mother would have spoken, and the metaphor of joining rivers was one from Serendair used to describe those Lirin of mixed blood.

“Welcome,” the woman said as she came close, smiling. Rhapsody found herself unable to move or answer, as a tangle of old emotions rose up in her heart. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came forth. Her eyes met the eyes of the woman and found the memory of a time long forgotten in them. A look of wonder spread slowly over her face, following the path of a tear that fell, unnoticed. “I am Oelendra.” The woman placed her hand on Rhapsody’s shoulder in a gesture of tenderness. “I am most happy to see you.” She finally found her voice. “Rhapsody. I am Rhapsody,” she said. “Oelendra, like the fallen star.” An infinitesimal musical sound danced in the air as she spoke the word, whirling like an invisible funnel cloud until it shattered lightly, unseen, on the wind. “They didn’t tell me you were Liringlas.” She smiled, oblivious to her own tears.

“And they didn’t tell me you were the Canwr that we heard filling the forest with music, but that makes sense. You must have traveled very far, and I can see you are weary. Come with me and I will get you something to drink and a place to rest yourself.”

Rhapsody considered the woman’s statement. She had not rested for more than two hours at a time since she had entered the woods of Tyrian; by her best recollection that had been eight days ago. The call of the woods and the deepening magic all around her had lulled her, as if in a dream, and she had not felt the need for rest until now. Now it was as if she could finally let down a burden she had been carrying for a long time, in a place where it would be safe. Exhaustion roared through her, unchecked. “I am a little tired,” she admitted.

“Thank you, Clovis.” Rhapsody’s guide nodded, and walked back up the path, disappearing, as Rial had, into the woods. Oelendra took Rhapsody’s arm. “Come along; you’re exhausted, no doubt.” She led Rhapsody across the meadow and through an arbor of flowering trees, until they came to the edge of a field near the hollow of a hill. There a small turf-roofed house stood, close to the steepest part of the hillside. It had white plastered walls which revealed the wooden framework of the building, glass windows with heavy shutters, and a stone chimney which presently produced little smoke. Oelendra led her inside through the sunken front door.

“Please, sit down, make yourself at home.” She crossed over to a rather large fireplace, where a small pot hung over the low embers. “Sit anywhere.” Once inside, Rhapsody saw that much of the house was also sunken, built at a level below the ground, which made it far larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. They had entered through a small foyer into a much larger room which seemed to make up almost half of the house.

Like Oelendra herself, the furniture was not what Rhapsody would have expected. The house was starkly decorated, with little in the way of comfort or ornamentation. Two hard-backed chairs were positioned before the large stone hearth which served as the inside wall of the room. A sofa was placed nearby, and in the corner was a simple willow rocking chair. At the other end of the room was a solidly built dark pine table, with two long benches and two thick chairs. Aside from this, a series of large pillows, none of which appeared to match, seemed to serve as the rest of the furniture. The weapons rack near the door held a battered steel sword, without ornamentation, and a strange curved bow made of white wood.

Rhapsody sank gratefully into the willow rocking chair and sighed in relief. Her feet burned from all the walking she had done. She looked about the room as her host busied herself at the hearth. The room had a high ceiling open to roof, along the edge of which ran a balcony. The large fireplace had several iron doors that seemed to be ovens for baking, and a central hearth in which a small set of logs presently burned in low embers.

The walls inside the house were like those of the exterior, whitewashed with wooden framework exposed. A ladder led up to a loft, which overlooked the large room. The floors were bare except for a single rug woven in a complex geometric design. Rhapsody smiled. Without knowing why, here at last she felt at ease and at home. Oelendra turned around and walked over to her.

“Here, this may warm your heart a little,” she said as she handed Rhapsody a large ceramic mug. It was hot to the touch, but Rhapsody welcomed the warmth in the cool spring air. The mug was filled with a golden-red liquid from which the rich smell of spice wafted forth. Rhapsody took a sip, and her mouth was at once filled with the sweet taste of a gentle mead and oranges mixed with a medley of hibiscus, rosehips, cloves, and cinnamon blended with other subtler spices. The flavor brought back a wealth of memories she had all but forgotten.

“Dot mwl,” she said softly, closing her eyes and smiling sadly. “My mother used to give this to us after we came in from playing on a cold day.”

“Aye, I thought perhaps you knew it,” Oelendra replied, “though I would hazard that your mother used honey rather than mead. Mine did.”

“I haven’t had this since I was a child.”

“Humans just don’t appreciate it. Even the Gwenen and Lirin of the wood couldn’t make it. They always used sickly sweet mead rather than the mellow, lighter variety. The only good dol mwl I could get outside of the longhouses was at the Crossroads Inn in the old land, and that was a long time ago. Now I’m afraid it has faded from our culture, swallowed by the sea along with countless other treasures. Alas, I am the only one who seems to enjoy it, or at least I was until you came.”

“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Rhapsody said. She opened her eyes and looked at the woman in front of her. Oelendra sat on the arm of one of the chairs with an air of ease that made Rhapsody relax. Her gray eyes gleamed as she waited comfortably through the silence that might have seemed awkward in other company.

She’s beautiful, Rhapsody thought, but the warrior’s build was far from the traditional feminine figure. Her shoulders were broad and well muscled, her skin, though rosy, was, not the skin of youth, but carried the fine lines of age and years in the wilderness. Each movement showed a gentleness of spirit and an easy confidence that held no trace of arrogance. In her silver eyes Rhapsody thought she saw a nostalgic sadness. She tried to imagine how many generations those eyes had watched be born and die.

“You must have a million questions,” Oelendra said, bringing Rhapsody back from her musings. “Let’s start answering some. I am Oelendra Andaris, the last Iliachenva’ar before you. I’ve been expecting you.”

“You have? How did you know I was coming?”

“

“Twas more a matter of hoping than knowing, Rhapsody. I’ve been waiting for two decades for the sword to return. Sooner or later I knew it would come back, and that meant the Iliachenva’ar would come with it. I have to say, that she is a woman, Cymrian, and most especially Liringlas does my heart good.”

“How did you know I was from the old world?”

Oelendra smiled. “ ’Tis written all over you, dear, but besides that, I have not seen another Liringlas since I landed here myself. There were some that sailed with the Second Fleet that landed in Manosse, I’ve been told, but other than that, ’tis you and me. We’re all that is left of what was once a vast and noble line, some of the greatest warriors and scholars the world has ever seen.”

Rhapsody looked uncomfortable. “You are, Oelendra, but please don’t ascribe those things to me. I’m a peasant, and my mother was a farm wife.”

“Nobility has nothing whatsoever to do with social class or family lineage, Rhapsody, it has to do with the heart. Tell me why you’re here.”

“I came to learn the sword, if you will teach me,” Rhapsody said, taking another sip of dol mwl. “I don’t really deserve to be carrying such a weapon unless I can use it well.”

“The first characteristic: a desire to be worthy of the weapon,” said Oelendra, more to herself than to Rhapsody. Her gray eyes began to shine with a distant light. “And what do you intend to do with this new knowledge, should I agree to impart it to you?”

“I’m not sure, exactly; I know that sounds inane, but I believe Daystar Clarion came to me for a purpose. Perhaps I can help mend the rift between the Cymrians, or the Lirin, and help put a stop to these terrible border incursions.”

“An aspiration to serve a higher cause,” murmured Oelendra. “And what if you die in the attempt?”

“I expect to, actually,” Rhapsody said, smiling slightly. “I have a sense my time is limited, despite everything I’ve heard about Cymrian immortality. I hope to go down doing something worthwhile that will leave this place a little better than it was when I arrived here.”

“The acknowledgment that there are things greater than one’s self, and a willingness to give one’s life for them,” said Oelendra softly. Her voice grew stronger as she put one last question to Rhapsody. “And what if you decide to use this power against the Lirin?”

“You have my permission to dispatch me immediately, and without argument. I would never betray my own people.”

“A loyalty and devotion to cause and kin,” said Oelendra. Her eyes cleared and she smiled finally. “Nay, Rhapsody, I’m afraid you’re wrong. You are no peasant, you are definitely Liringlas in your soul, whatever your father may have been. And you were born to be the Iliachenva’ar. I will be honored to train you.”

“Perhaps you had best tell me what it means to be the Iliachenva’ar,” Rhapsody said awkwardly. “I don’t want to promise to be something I don’t even understand.”

“Fair enough,” said Oelendra, settling back with her mug in the chair. “Iliachen, how would you translate that?”

“Light into darkness, or from darkness.”

“And of course you are familiar with the suffix ‘var’?”

“Bringer, bearer.”

“Aye. So, obviously, the word means “bringer of light into a dark place.”

“Or from one.”

“Exactly.” Oelendra looked pleased. “In the old world, Daystar Clarion had two other names, Ilia, meaning Light, and Firestar. I’m sure you’ve noticed why that second appellation came about. So do you now understand the role of the Iliachenva’ar?”

“I’m to be a lamplighter?”

Oelendra laughed; it was the merry, bell-like sound that her mother’s voice had made in happy times, and Rhapsody felt her throat constrict suddenly. “Well, the sword would certainly make that job easier. You are suited to this role perfectly, Rhapsody. The Iliachenva’ar seeks to bring light into places and situations that are tainted and despoiled by evil.”

Rhapsody shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I’m not so sure, Oelendra. I don’t know if I would recognize evil if I saw it. You see, my judgment is not always the best. People who are generally considered monstrous or subhuman are some of the people I love the most, while I seem to be distrustful of those in regal positions and of honorable reputation. I’m not good at discerning who I should trust and when I should keep my mouth shut. I could be very dangerous in a position like that. In fact, perhaps I should just give the sword back to you.”

“Oh? To do what with?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “I—I don’t really know; I mean, you were the Iliachenva’ar before.”

“And you think I should be again?”

“I guess that’s for you to decide, Oelendra. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

The Lirin warrior smiled. “You’re not being presumptuous, Rhapsody, you’re misinformed. That’s easily correctable; you just need information.”

Rhapsody sighed. “Of all the things I have been searching for since I’ve been in this land, Oelendra, I find that information, honest information, is the, hardest commodity to come by. People are unwilling to part with it as if it were the family silver. That and trust.”

“You’re more discerning than you think, Rhapsody. Let me tell you three things. First, I understand completely how you feel, and will accommodate you In any way I can as far as information goes. Ask me anything you want, and I will tell you everything I know about it without hesitation.”

Rhapsody’s breath came out in a whistle. “Thank you. I’m not sure if I can handle that or not.”

“You can. Second, what you see as the inability to tell the difference between what everyone else sees as good and evil is uncommon wisdom. Not everything that is good is beautiful, and not everything that is beautiful is good. Generally that rule is imparted in childhood to keep pretty girls from becoming vain, and make those less blessed feel better. The truth of it goes far deeper; what is good and valuable is not always visible to the eye. That goes for evil as well.”

“Are there specific duties to being Iliachenva’ar, other than just brightening a room and scaring off unspecified evil?”

Oelendra laughed again. “Well, traditionally the Iliachenva’ar acts as a consecrated champion; that is, an escort or guardian to pilgrims, clergy, and other holy men and women. The sect does not matter. You are to protect anyone who needs you in the pursuit of the worship of God, or what someone thinks of as God.”

Rhapsody nodded. “And the third thing you wanted to tell me?” Oelendra’s face lost its smile. “Daystar Clarion chooses who it wishes to carry it, not the other way around. It has chosen you, Rhapsody. I can’t be the Iliachenva’ar, even if I wanted to, which I do not.”

“Why did you stop being the Iliachenva’ar, if you don’t mind my asking?” The older woman stood up slowly and went to the hearth; she bent as stirred the embers beneath the pot of dol mwl. From a barrel beside the fireplace she ladled water into a dented kettle and hung it beside the dol mwl. Rhapsody could see the muscles in her brawny back tighten as she stood back up and turned to face her. A sharp look was in her eyes.

“I’ve never told anyone the story before, Rhapsody. I suppose I do owe it to you, however.”

“You owe me nothing, Oelendra,” Rhapsody blurted, her face flaming red. “I’m very sorry to have pried into something that was none of my business.”

“No one else has ever asked, largely because they think I’m insane.” Oelendra came back to her chair and sat down heavily. “I had been railing at them for centuries, trying to tell them what was living in their midst, what had followed them from the Island, but they refused to listen.”

“The Cymrians?”

“The Cymrians, at first, then the Lirin.” Oelendra disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a pair of knives and a black cast-iron pot filled with potatoes and onions. She put it on the pine table and went to the bins by the door, rummaging and coming up with dried meat, carrots, and barley, which she deposited next to the pot. Rhapsody rose and came to the table. She pulled out a chair next to the one Oelendra had sat down in and picked up one of the knives. With a practiced hand she set about peeling the potatoes while Oelendra sliced onions savagely, an outward manifestation of the look in her eyes. When she spoke, however, her voice was calm.

“You see, Rhapsody, when the Cymrians left Serendair, I was the protector of the First Fleet, the people who were sent initially to settle and build up the place Merithyn had found. He reported that the land he had discovered was uninhabited, except, of course, for Elynsynos, the dragon.

“Gwylliam, the last of the Seren kings, the Visionary, kept the army back until the third and final sailing, since they wouldn’t be needed in an uninhabited place. He had no desire to make the dragon feel threatened, or to appear that we intended to fight or invade its land. We had been invited, and so we had come in peace, the architects, the masons, the carpenters, the physicians, the scholars, the healers, the farmers. Our passage was difficult, we lost Merithyn and many others along the way, but the land welcomed us and, once we found our home, the plight of the First Fleet was easy, certainly compared to those who came later.” Oelendra tossed the onions into the pot with the potatoes Rhapsody had peeled and chopped, then began to strip the meat.

“

“Twas more than a year before they landed, the Third Fleet, almost fifty more before we met up again. That was a day of great celebration; it wasn’t until later that the hard feelings emerged. And in all the revelry and jubilation of being reunited with our countrymen, I felt suddenly uneasy. Deep within me I could feel it, the smell of the same kind of demon that had been responsible for the Great War, that had almost destroyed the island centuries before. You have heard of F’dor?”

“Yes, a bit, but please tell me about them anyway.”

“The F’dor were one of the Firstborn races, like dragons; one of the first five to walk the earth. They were naturally tied to fire, dark fire, and innately evil, a deeply twisted, spiritlike people who sought only destruction and chaos, the masters of manipulation, spending eternity trying to figure out ways to get around the limits of their own power. They are gifted liars, able to take pieces of the truth and mix them in with half-truths and outright lies, and be convincing with the whole. Because they are noncorporeal they can bind themselves to the souls of men and women, becoming an intrinsic part of their host.

“Sometimes the binding is slight and temporary; the victim performs some act he is not aware of and is never bothered again. Sometimes they bind to a soul, owning it for the Future, payable upon the death of the victim.

“And then, by far the worst kind, there is the taking of a true host, the individual who it becomes. It is more than possession, it is a complete insinuation of the demon into the victim. It lives in that body, growing stronger as the host does, taking on other forms as it grows more powerful or when the host dies. And it is, to most, including myself, indiscernible. I had suffered greatly at the hands of these creatures, Rhapsody, as did many that I loved.

And as soon as we met up with the Third Fleet I knew that one had come with them. It had bound itself to someone on the last ship out. Gwylliam had failed in his guardianship. ’Twas his task to keep the evil from following us. But no one believed me.”

Rhapsody shuddered. “That must have been terrible. What did you do?”

“When the Lord and Lady were chosen to rule over the reunited Cymrian people, I warned both Gwylliam and Anwyn of what I felt. They dismissed it, and nothing particularly bad happened, so my warnings were laughed off as paranoia.

“What they didn’t understand was just because something like that is out of sight, doesn’t mean it’s gone. More than likely ’tis hiding in the dark, festering, growing stronger. But Anwyn and Gwylliam seemed to feel their wisdom was borne out. The F’dor never surfaced; they ruled in relative peace for three centuries, until it all fell apart one night in Canrif, the place now called Ylorc. Whether the demon played some part in that, or if ’twas just their own folly, will never be known. The war came, and it went on for centuries, Rhapsody, more than seven hundred years. All along I had been training champions, sending them forth to find the demon. None of them ever returned.” Oelendra threw the meat into the pot and began to clean the barley. “And that by itself wasn’t enough to convince them?”

“During the war, the loss was insignificant; soldiers disappeared all the time. And after the end of the war, in the relative peace that followed, ’twas eventually assumed that I was somehow responsible for the loss of the champions myself. The Cymrians, and then the Lirin, began to believe I was insane, chasing this demon that didn’t exist. Even I began to wonder myself if somehow I had just misread the signs, had just been so lost in the pain of the Past that I had imagined it all. Slowly, the Cymrian families stopped sending their sons to me to learn the sword, fearing I would bring about their deaths with my wild goose chase. I sought the F’dor endlessly myself until I finally decided they were right.”

Rhapsody went to her pack and pulled out one of the pouches of spice. She threw a handful of dried herbs and some wild horseradish into the pot. “What made you realize they weren’t?”

“Finding Gwydion.”

At the name, Rhapsody looked up. “Gwydion of Manosse?”

“Aye. You know of him?”

“I’ve heard his name once,” Rhapsody admitted. “That barely even qualifies as knowing of him. It was in the keep of Lord Stephen Navarne, in a place Lord Stephen keeps a few remembrances of him.”

“I hardly knew him either. I had only seen him once, at his naming ceremony when he was an infant. I did know Stephen, however; he studied with me. Stephen and Gwydion were childhood friends, but were raised in different provinces until they met up again when Stephen came to Gwydion’s father for further training.” too—

Rhapsody retrieved the dented kettle of boiling water and began pouring it into the cast-iron pot. Oelendra stared at her hands, unshielded from the red-hot iron. Rhapsody felt her glance and looked up at her, smiling.

“So who was Gwydion’s father?”

“Llauron, the Invoker of the Filids, in Gwynwood.” Oelendra moved rapidly out of the way to avoid being burned by the steaming water as Rhapsody dropped the kettle on the table. Rhapsody quickly mopped up the water with one of the towels hanging beside the drysink.

“I’m terribly sorry. Are you all right?”

“Aye, are you?”

“I’m fine. Did you say that Gwydion of Manosse was Llauron’s son?”

“His only son, only child, only heir. Llauron’s Lirin wife, Cynron, died giving birth to him.”

“How sad.” Rhapsody absorbed Oelendra’s words slowly. She felt grief for her gentle mentor; it was no wonder that he buried himself in his work. The trappings of Cymrian royalty obviously couldn’t replace what he had lost, so he kept to himself, to his studies, tending to his garden and his followers, and eschewing the riches and titles of his lineage. It also explained his close friendship with Lord Stephen, his son’s best friend. “What do you mean, you found Gwydion?”

Oelendra’s eyes took on a distant look. “Twenty years ago I came upon Gwydion, broken and bloodied, hovering near death, outside the forest of Gwynwood, in Navarne, not far from the House of Remembrance. He had gone after the demon; he is the only one I know of who ever did and escaped. But in spite of getting away he was grievously wounded, his entire chest cavity torn asunder, a piece of his soul ripped open. I knew he was dying the moment I saw him, and I knew what had killed him.”

Rhapsody hung the pot over the fire and watched the flames crackle as she came near them. “The F’dor?”

“It was obvious. His soul was hemorrhaging; he was surrounded with a bloody light that pulsed in a way I will never forget. The soul is thought of as an ethereal thing, something with no physical form, but the F’dor had succeeded in slashing it open. ’Twas a hideous sight.”

“I can’t even imagine. What did you do?”

“I panicked, but not from fear for Gwydion. I had seen enough death in my time to be unaffected by it. What frightened me, Rhapsody, was knowing how powerful the F’dor had become. Gwydion was a formidable opponent. He had grown up wandering the wilds of Manosse, he had sailed to distant and dangerous lands with the Sea Mages and was a veteran of more than one war. But more than that, the powers and Rites of Command he had received through his lineage were unparalleled.

“From Gwylliam, his grandfather, he had been given the bonds to the land that only those of ancient royal blood inherit, the lineage of kings. From An-wyn, his grandmother, he had the blood of Elynsynos the dragon and Merithyn, who was Seren, another of the five Firstborn races, races sprung from the elements which make up the fabric of the universe.

“And on his mother’s side of the family he had the lineage of MacQuieth. He was the Kirsdarkenvar and the Chief of the House of Newland, the most senior of the Manossian houses. And despite all that, the crown prince of the Cymrian dynasty was reduced to a quivering pile of bleeding meat. If it could destroy Gwydion of Manosse, its power had grown beyond what I could hope to defeat alone. That was twenty years ago, Rhapsody; I shudder to think what it can do now.” She looked up at her new pupil and her brows furrowed. Rhapsody was trembling. “Gwydion was the Kirsdarkenvar?”

“Aye; he carried the elemental sword of water, Kirsdarke, handed down to him through the generations. Through the rights of blood and rite of passage, he had wielded that sword with as much power as anyone ever had. And if he, using a blade that was forged specifically to kill evil beings just such as this, could be slain, I knew the time had passed when any but the Three could destroy it. Rhapsody? What’s wrong?”

She was staring out the window into the fading twilight that had crept up on them while they were conversing.

Are you tied to water yourself, or just through the sword’? It’s hard to say, really. I’ve had Kirsdarke for so long now that I can’t remember that element not being a part of me.

Rhapsody thought back to the hidden glen, the unexpected sight of Ashe after his bath, naked from the waist up, the grisly wound festering in the filtered red light. Unexpectedly her memories shifted to another hidden glen.

It must have been the Rakshas that you met. The F’dor created the Rakshas in the House of Remembrance twenty years ago. A Rakshas looks like whatever soul is powering it. It is built of blood, the blood of the demon, and sometimes other creatures, usually innocents and feral animals of some sort. A Rakshas made just of blood is temporary and mindless. But if the demon is in possession of a soul, whether it is human or otherwise, it can place it within the construct and it will take the form of the soul’s owner, who of course is dead. It has some of the knowledge that person had. It can do the things they did. It is twisted and evil; you must beware of him, Pretty. And hear me: it is very close to here now, nearby. When you leave, be careful. Cedelia had stared at her. Have I done something to offend you, Cedelia ?

You were seen with a man in a hooded gray cloak five days ago at the Outer Forest lip. A man in a hooded gray cloak led a raid on a Lirin village on the eastern edge of the Outer Forest lip that same night. The settlement was burned to the ground. Fourteen men, six women, and three children perished in that raid.

She remembered the look in Achmed’s eyes as she read to him from the contract they had found in the House of Remembrance.

The parties involved are Cifiona and someone called the Rakshas, and through him his master; that’s strange—his master is not referred to by name. Among those services shall be counted the commitment of the blood sacrifice of thirty-three persons of innocent heart and untouched body of Human descent, and an equal number of Lirin or half-Lirin origins.

“Rhapsody?” Oelendra’s strong hands closed around her upper arms.

Rhapsody turned around. “Yes?”

“What are you thinking?”

Rhapsody looked back out the window and swallowed; the night was coming.

“We can talk more after supper, Oelendra. We have to hurry now, or we’ll miss devotions.”

“Devotions?”

She looked at the ancient Lirin warrior in surprise. Surely she must have been familiar with the songs of the rising stars and the setting sun; Oelendra was full Liringlas, a Skysinger. But she was staring at Rhapsody in what seemed to be confusion. Perhaps she knew them by another name.

“Here, Oelendra, come with me. We can do them together. It has been so long since I’ve had someone to sing with who knew the songs.” She took Oelendra by the hand and together they left the cabin, hurrying toward the nearest clearing in the advancing twilight.