Prophecy: Child of Earth

23

Steel clashed against steel as the two Liringlas women sparred in the courtyard of Oelendra’s garden. Blow after blow Rhapsody landed, and blow after blow Oelendra parried with little effort. Now and again the Lirin warrior would lash out with the flat of her blade, smacking Rhapsody in the calf, thigh, or occasionally on her side, but most of the blows to the vital areas the Singer managed to block or dodge.

In her mind she could hear Grunthor bellowing at her.

STRIKE! Get your pretty ’end out o’ yer arse and pay attention, or Oi’ll rip it off and stick it on my poleaxe!

Rhapsody grasped Daystar Clarion with both hands and pressed forward. She mustered all her strength and brought the sword down hard on the warrior.

Oelendra held up her sword with her left hand and parried the blow with ease. Then she punched out with her right fist, landing a jab on Rhapsody’s chin. The world vanished as white pain flashed before her eyes.

She stumbled and fell to the ground three feet back, hardly able to believe she could have received a harder blow from Grunthor. Rhapsody blinked the spots away from her eyes as she lay sprawled on the ground, uncertain where, or even who, she was for a moment. A time-weathered face appeared above her.

“You are not a Bolg, Rhapsody,” Oelendra said as she stood over her student. “If you try to fight like one, you will be killed. I’ve told you before your physical strength is not your strongest point, you shouldn’t rely on it so much. If you have need of strength, you can draw on it from the sword, but you shouldn’t rely on it alone. You won’t live long as the Iliachenva’ar if you let the sword wield you. Now, are you all right?”

“Yes,” Rhapsody said as her bloodied lip began to swell. “Just a little dizzy.”

“Very well, we’ll rest a moment before we give it another try.”

“No, I’m all right.” Rhapsody gingerly touched her bruised chin as she came to her feet. She assumed a ready position, and the two returned to sparring. This time Rhapsody’s movements were more carefully considered, and at the end of the match Oelendra nodded in approval.

Finally the rhythm became intrinsic, and Rhapsody began to land more blows, driving her instructor back and occasionally unbalancing her. She breathed deeply and concentrated on the music she could feel in her body, and how it matched with the vibrational blur that was her opponent and friend. With her eyes nearly closed, she waited for the moment when Oelendra’s hand swung up, sword poised, then slashed her across the side, following her stroke with a blazingly fast blow to her teacher’s wrist. She opened her eyes in alarm when she heard Oelendra’s sword clatter on the cobblestones of the courtyard.

Oelendra was uninjured and smiling broadly; it was the most delight Rhapsody had ever seen on her mentor’s face. The warrior extended her hand. Rhapsody took it and received a congratulatory handshake.

“Good work. Now we’ll stop fooling around and get serious.”

Rhapsody looked at her in dismay. “That wasn’t serious?”

The smile faded from Oelendra’s face. “I’m afraid not, dear. With what you have to face, what you just accomplished was enough to keep you alive long enough to see it kill you.”

“Wonderful.”

“Well, ’tis an improvement. Before, you wouldn’t have even known what hit you.”

Rhapsody grimaced. “And you think seeing it is an improvement, given that choice? No wonder they think you’re insane, Oelendra.”

The warrior wrapped an arm around the Singer and led her home, laughing.

Their days soon settled into a quiet routine. Each morning, after devotions, Rhapsody meditated, clearing her mind of thoughts, trying to feel the rhythm of her own body and the world around her. This exercise complete, Oelendra would have her run through her sword routines, practicing her movements slowly and carefully until they seemed second nature to her. This would be followed by a sparring session, in which the two would enter mock combat, with Oelendra stopping to point out faults or where improvements could be made.

They would spend the afternoons wandering the woods or the city, talking of the history of the new world or telling stories of personal events, getting to know each other well. Rhapsody felt Oelendra to be a kindred soul, someone who understood where she had come from often better then she did herself. Though she kept some of the details of her exploits with Achmed and Grunthor, and all of her knowledge of Ashe, to herself, she found herself confiding her fears and dreams to the Lirin champion, trusting her as she had not anyone else for as long as she could remember. Oelendra was a perfect listener; she answered questions fortfirightly and shared parts of her own heart and past as well. These times were as strengthening to the growth of Rhapsody’s soul as the physical exercises were to her body and ability as a sword bearer.

The evenings were filled with mental exercises, aimed at enhancing Rhapsody’s bond with the sword, as well as her own natural talents.

“As a Singer, you already know the world is made up of vibrations, waves of color, of light, of sound,” Oelendra said as they entered her chambers one evening not long after Rhapsody had arrived. “The world is full of constant motion which most people never see, and ’tis through such motion, such vibrations, that you are able to effect the world through music. This will be true of the use of Daystar Clarion as well. If you concentrate, focus on the patterns you can already see as a Namer, you can discover weaknesses in armor, areas of injury or vulnerability. When you have had more experience with this kind of concentration in combat, I will ask some of the Lirin soldiers to spar with you, especially those who have technique that is not perfect. Then you can practice finding your opponent’s weaknesses in combat.”

Rhapsody looked perplexed. “Isn’t this what we’re doing now?”

Oelendra smiled. “Do you do it blindfolded?”

“Oh.”

“At first I will have them go easy on you.”

“There’s really no point to that,” said Rhapsody, smiling. “My Bolg friends never do, and I tend to doubt my enemies will either, so you may as well let them at me without holding back. If I survive, I’ll be better for it.”

Oelendra returned her smile. Rhapsody’s matter-of-fact nature and simple honesty reminded the warrior of herself when she was younger. The young Singer was different in her outlook on life than she had been, however. Probably because she had grown up among humans, she lacked the natural reserve of the Lirin, and instead plunged into life with an eagerness that touched Oelendra’s heart in its recklessness.

It was an intense desire to celebrate the joy she saw around her, an insistence on believing there was good in situations where Oelendra herself saw none. Age and experience had taught her this was a life philosophy that guaranteed hurt, but it was scintillating to be around, exciting to be part of. She hoped Rhapsody’s need to burn brightly would more reflect her tie to the stars and their enduring, steady light, than the momentary glory of the fire to which she was also tied, which roared with passion and died quickly as the fuel that sustained it was consumed.

The lack of caution that was evident in almost every move Rhapsody made did not apply to the commitment of her heart, however. That she guarded with diligent wariness. Oelendra had noticed that she was willing to smile at the young Lirin men who handed her flowers in the street when they were out on their walks, or who left small gifts on Oelendra’s doorstep for her, but was unwilling to fulfill their requests for meetings in the glen or walks in the moonlight.

Whenever a man got his courage up to ask her to her face, she would either arrange for him to join the two of them for a meal, knowing how intimidating dining with the Lirin champion could be, or beg off, citing her need to train. Oelendra respected her privacy about it but wondered all the same. She was wise enough to know that she could train Rhapsody’s body but not her spirit. Ryle hira, she thought. Life is what it is, the old Liringlas expression. All she could do was give her tools and pray for the best.

That night they sat before Oelendra’s hearth, quietly drinking mugs of dot before the roaring fire. Oelendra stared past the flames, her mind wandering down old roads. Rhapsody’s own thoughts were closer to home, and to the world she had awoken into.

“Oelendra?”

“Hmm?”

“How can we find the F’dor? If you’ve been unsuccessful all this time, does that mean it might be unable to be found at all? That we will have to wait until it strikes, and react defensively?”

Oelendra put down her mug and regarded the Singer thoughtfully. “I wish I knew,” she said at last. “Certainly that would be unfortunate, as it gives all the advantages to the F’dor.

“I’ve spent centuries pondering ways to find it. I had hoped that the Cymrians would be reunited by now; Llauron has been working on that goal for centuries. There is a good deal of power in that population, and those that remember the Seren War would be eager to focus their talents on destroying the F’dor, if they can be convinced that it exists. ’Twould need to be a new, wiser group of leaders then we had in Anwyn and Gwylliam to do it, however.

“Without the reunited Cymrians, I suspect the crown of the Lirin might be useful in locating the demon if there were a monarch to wear it. Sadly, the greatest power the Purity Diamond would have had—the capability of trapping and holding the demon within it, is gone forever. This, no doubt, is why it sought to have the diamond destroyed.

“When I was Iliachenva’ar in the old land, I was sometimes able to see hidden evil things through the flames of Daystar Clarion. Your bond with fire may permit you to see such things through the sword in ways I am no longer able, especially since the F’dor are bound to fire. The Three may come, though I have given up hope of that. The only other thing I can think of is that we may come across a Dhracian somewhere in the world; Dhracians are the only race that can find F’dor by natural ability.”

Rhapsody opened her mouth to ask about the Three, but Oelendra’s final comment caused it to close rapidly. She thought back to where she had first heard of the race. It was in the darkness of the Root, on the first night she had come to think of Achmed as something other than an obstacle.

What, did you think you’re the only half-breed in the world’?

Of course not.

Grunthor is half-Bengard.

And you’?

I’m half-Dhracian. So you see, we’re all mongrels.

“What can you tell me about Dhracians, Oelendra?”

Oelendra rose and threw another log on the fire. “Dhracians were one of the Elder races, older indeed than all but the Firstborn, and they were the ancient enemies of the F’dor. They had a racial hatred of the demonic spirits that ran immensely deep, and they set forth on an ancient crusade to rid the world of them.

“The Dhracians, though humanlike, were also in many ways insectlike, and lived in deep caverns within the earth; some may still. They were said to be very quick, very agile, and they could see the world in shades of vibrations, as you have learned to. I am not certain, but I believe this is how they could sense the F’dor. They had a natural ability to turn the tables on them, to bind them, in a way.

“A Dhracian, by the strange pattern of its own natural rhythms, can hold a F’dor in thrall, make it impossible for it to escape from the host while the ritual is in force. In theory, a Dhracian could help sniff the demon out, and hold it in its human body while someone else killed it. Then both parts, the human and the demon, would be destroyed. I always hoped to happen across a Dhracian in my travels, but of course I never did.”

Rhapsody thought back to the moment of Achmed’s accidental renaming on the streets of Easton. “Did you know the Brother?”

“The Brother?” Oelendra gave her an odd look. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time. Nay, I did not know him. What makes you ask about him?”

Rhapsody hesitated for a moment. “I heard the name once and wondered what it meant.”

“The Brother was the greatest assassin the old world had ever known, if the tales were true. Hall-Dhracian, he was said to be the first of that race to be born on Serendair, and so was granted a bond to that land that increased his natural vibrational sensitivity. The Dhracians were all innately vibrationally sensitive, but in part due to his physiology, and in part to his status as the Eldest, his talent was greater than any other. What is more, he was bound to blood, much as you are to fire. Together, these skills made him a deadly foe.

“

“Twas said he could hear the heartbeat of an intended victim anywhere in the land and lock his own to it; I think that was part of the reason for his name. Once that happened, there was no place on the Island that his intended victim could run to escape him. And his skill was not only that of a seeker, but also of a slayer. He knew more ways to kill than anyone, but ’twas his speed and accuracy that proved the most dangerous. He could slay most opponents before they had the capacity to draw their swords, and that was only if one were lucky enough to have seen him coming. For the Brother did not need to see his victim; with his uncanny vibrational awareness, all he needed was to get within range of his weapon and fire—and the cwellan, his weapon of choice, had an astonishing range.”

“About a quarter-mile,” Rhapsody said absently.

“I wouldn’t know,” Oelendra replied. Rhapsody looked quickly at the woman, who was gazing at her purposefully.

“I’m sorry; please go on.”

The Lirin champion gave her a long look, then continued. “He had always served as an independent, neutral to all causes and serving no one lord, but rather whoever interested him and paid for his talents at the moment.

“Then, that seemed to change. We never knew for certain, but it seemed that during the early days of the Seren War he began to serve the enemies of the Seren king. He performed services that did not include just standard assassinations, but also other tasks, and several of our leaders and allies met their ends through the deadly disks of the cwellan.

“It seemed quite odd to us, for, as I told you, Dhracians are the ancient enemy of the F’dor. It was strange enough for the Brother to have chosen sides in a political argument, but for him to have served the F’dor, or even their allies, seemed to be against the natural order of things. And then one day he vanished, never to be seen again. ’Twas one of those mysteries to which we never found the answer.”

Rhapsody nodded, but remained quiet. She turned slightly away from the fire, hoping Oelendra wouldn’t pressure her for answers. She did not. The older woman just watched her for a while before returning to silently staring at the flames.

Ashe’s face haunted her dreams that night, as it had for weeks. Oelendra had come the first night when she had woken, crying out in her nightmare, to find Rhapsody sitting up in bed, shivering beneath the heavy furs, her eyes staring wildly.

“Are you all right, dear?”

After a moment Rhapsody nodded. “I’m very sorry, Oelendra; I’m afraid I do this a lot. Perhaps it is best if I sleep in the garden.” She began to rise from .the bed.

“Don’t be foolish,” said the older woman, sitting down on the edge of her bed. She reached out and gently stroked the Singer’s hair. “You can’t help it if you’re prescient. ’Tis actually a useful skill, if it doesn’t ruin your health due to sleep deprivation.”

“Or that of your friends,” Rhapsody said. “You’ve known other people who are prescient?”

“Many of the First Generationers were. I think it contributed to their eventual insanity.”

Rhapsody sighed. “Well, I can easily see how it could.”

“Don’t let it discourage you, Rhapsody, and don’t underestimate the importance of the power. It can be a bellwether, a forewarning or a clue when there is no other. What’s a little sleep lost if it saves your life, or ends the threat of war?”

Her words came back to Rhapsody now as she woke again, clammy from the sweat of fear. In her dream Ashe sought her endlessly, hunting her wherever she went. Each time she found safety he would be there momentarily, following her ceaselessly. Finally he had caught her; she had been unable to wrest herself free as he spun her forcefully around, took her head in his hands and jerked it skyward. He took her sword hand in his own and raised Daystar Clarion to the heavens, pointing it at a distant star.

“Hiven vet.” Say it. “Ewin vet.” Name it.

She had whispered the name of the star, though upon wakening she had forgotten what it was. With a furious roar, starfire descended from the sky and struck a figure some distance away; its body arched in agony and burst into flames. As she watched it burn, the figure turned slowly.

It was Llauron.

She woke once again, alone in the dark, trembling.

Rhapsody, you’re not concentrating.” Oelendra’s voice was patient, but had a touch of scolding in it. “ ’Tis easy enough for you to call upon the fire aspects of the sword, and that’s good. You have a natural affinity for those powers that I did not have, it helps you link to it, but you need be able to utilize all of its attributes if you are to fight the enemy that is waiting for you. Fire is not enough to destroy the F’dor—’tis their own element. You need to make that link with the ethereal aspects of Daystar Clarion. You need to reach out to the stars. If you do not know the seren, you will die when you face the F’dor. Now try it again, and this time concentrate.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Rhapsody tried to clear her thoughts and focus on her breathing. She held the sword before her, closed her eyes and reached out with her mind. In a moment she saw the world like a grid, lines roughly forming the silhouettes of rocks and trees. Oelendra appeared as a glowing human form. She hummed her naming note, da, and the sword seemed to change its vibration to match the tune.

At once the clarity of her vision increased, and even through the brightness of the sun the stars suddenly seemed to come out. The landscape of the garden appeared on the imaginary grid, everything plotted in proportion and place except for the river that flowed through the field. She noted that she could not see through it. It caused a disturbance in her vision, and she began to wonder if that was how Ashe would appear. At the thought her concentration broke and her inner vision of the world vanished. Rhapsody sighed heavily and lowered her sword.

“I’m sorry. My mind just keeps wandering.”

Oelendra sat on a garden bench and pointed to the seat next to her. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Rhapsody stood quietly for a moment, then came over and sat beside her. “How do you know for certain whether to trust someone?”

“You don’t,” Oelendra replied, “not really. You have to take people as individuals, listen to what they say and judge that against what you know. You have to give others the benefit of the doubt, but hold a piece of your trust in reserve until they prove themselves one way or the other. You are blessed with extraordinary wisdom, Rhapsody. Look into his or her heart and see what you find there.”

“What if there isn’t time to wait until they prove themselves? What if you don’t know anything about the person? What if you can’t see into his heart? What if you can’t even see his face?”

Oelendra sighed, her eyes clouding with memory. “That’s a hard place to be, Rhapsody. I was really only in it once. When I first became the Iliachenva’ar, I met a man who seemed to be willing to help me, but those were troubled times, more so perhaps than even today, and I was a hunted woman. Then he came my way out of nowhere and offered his assistance. I didn’t know whether I could trust him or not. F’dor are masters of deceit; in those days there were more of them, and my enemies had countless servants. ’Twas quite a dilemma; if I made the wrong choice it meant that I could be killed and that Daystar Clarion would fall into the hands of our enemies. That was a blow my allies might not have survived. Finally, I just had to trust my heart. ’Tis all we really have in the end, anyway.”

Rhapsody looked crestfallen. “That’s not good news. My heart has not proven reliable.”

Oelendra smiled. “We all make mistakes. I think perhaps you should give your heart a second chance. I know you well enough to trust what you would discern.”

“You shouldn’t gamble your life on anything I would decide.”

Oelendra her reached out and touched the young Singer’s face. “In a way I already have. And I am confident the wager was a winner.” Rhapsody smiled and looked down.

“What ended up happening with this man?”

“I married him,” Oelendra said with a broad smile. “His name was Pendaris, and in our short time together we loved a lifetime’s worth.”

“What happened?” Rhapsody asked gently.

“He died in the Seren War; he didn’t live to see the exodus of the Cymrians,” Oelendra answered. Her smile grew nostalgic. “Not long after we were married we were captured by F’dor and those that served them. They tortured him to death.”

Rhapsody touched her hand. “I’m sorry, Oelendra.”

“’Twas a terrible war, Rhapsody, one you should be grateful that you missed. But in the end, at least he and I were able to share the time together that we did. The truth is, if I hadn’t trusted him when I did, I probably would have survived, but I never would have had the happiest moments of my life. That is something to always remember when you face a choice—the cost of what might have been.”

Shrike was slightly late, and it irritated him. In addition to disliking being tardy for any meeting, he knew that his master would hardly appreciate being kept waiting. Given who that was, it made for some discomfort.

As he rode into sight of the meeting place, he saw, as he knew he would, that he was being awaited. In the center of the road stood his master’s steed, as beautiful a piece of horseflesh as Shrike had ever seen, with its rider atop it, glaring at him. Shrike sighed. The day had started out with a drenching thunderstorm. It seemed about to get worse.

“Where the blazes have you been? It’s almost dark.”

“Sorry, m’lord,” said Shrike breezily, trying to diffuse his master’s anger. “I wanted to be assured that I was not followed.”

“Well, how went your visit?” The beautiful stallion turned about in the road.

Shrike’s own horse stepped in place nervously. “It was as you suspected. The Firbolg warlord is the one you saw last year, and his Bolg general was there as well. The blond girl you mentioned didn’t live up to the description in my opinion, however.”

“What do you mean?”

Shrike looked uncomfortable. Generally he was not afraid of his leader’s wrath, and ordinarily their discourse was easy. Today, however, the subject of the takeover of Canrif was making him testier than usual. The light in his azure eyes was fierce, and his tone of voice was harsh. Shrike could guess the reason.

“Well, this girl was in her teen years, and she was somewhat plain of face and sallow of skin. Unremarkable. Given your experience and proclivities, I would hardly think you would have seen her as comely. In addition, she was unformidable.”

“It must be another, then,” said his master, drawing the reins up tighter. “There was no mistaking either of those characteristics in the woman I saw.” The silver rings interlaced in his black chain mail flashed.

“There is another, then, most likely,” Shrike agreed.

“And what of Canrif?”

“It is surprisingly intact, though unrestored, which, of course, is not surprising. What is interesting is that the Bolg are manufacturing goods of im pressive quality, and have even managed to produce a preliminary pressing from the ancient vineyards.”

His master nodded. “And their forces?”

“Substantial and well trained. I would credit the giant Bolg commander for that. He didn’t say much, but his hallmark is clear in the reaction of the various Bolg guards.”

“Have they found the vaults? The library?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Anborn scowled. “Damnation. All right, Shrike, let’s get out of the rain. There’s a tavern not far from here, decent food, reasonable wenches. We have some planning to do.” Shrike nodded and spurred his horse, trying to catch up with Anborn as he galloped up the road into the coming darkness.