Prophecy: Child of Earth

3

The morning following their argument the interaction between the traveling companions was easier, less strained, than it had been in weeks. Rhapsody was at a loss to explain why, finally deciding that what had erupted was mutual suspicion that had been brewing over the course of their journey, unspoken until the night before.

It was odd; he had drawn on her, she had insulted him, and here they were, feeling more comfortable than they had since they had left Ylorc, almost like breaking a fever. Being around the Bolgs is making me strange, she thought with an amused sigh. The appalling behavior of the men in her acquaintance, over i which her brothers would have felt the need to defend her honor, was now routine. All her male friends were rude to her.

Perhaps that was what she liked about Ashe. Unlike the other human men she knew, he treated her like a friend, or even a politely disinterested acquaintance. He was not constantly aroused; the detection of amorous intentions was a skill she had learned from Nana, the proprietor of the brothel in which she had lived in Serendair, and it served her well. She had come to realize that men existed in a state of almost permanent arousal, with a few exceptions. Ashe was one of them. He treated her in a friendly, teasing manner, much the way her brothers had, dropping an occasional flirtation but never pressing it. Whether his platonic attitude toward her was a sign of disinterest or a problem with his physiology did not matter. It made for comfortable companionship, and she appreciated it.

Ashe knew she was under this misconception, and it made him breathe easier. Nothing could be further from the truth. His mist cloak, his hated disguise from the eyes of world, was a blessing here. It shielded his longing for her, and his less-than-noble desires. Rhapsody’s own strange abilities of self-deception played into the situation as well. So they went about their journey—he gave her no reason to be wary of his intentions, and she ignored any sign of them.

The rains caught up with them, and the walking became arduous. The forest grew deeper as they journeyed west, making traveling slower. The snow around the base of the trees had melted, leaving rings of brown grass, the harbingers of warmer, if not better, weather.

One late afternoon, after a day of plodding through overgrown thickets and twisted patches of briars, they stopped at the edge of a bog. Rhapsody found a comfortable-looking pile of leaves within such a circle beneath an elm tree and dropped down into it wearily. Ashe backed away as she jumped up with a squawk, rubbing her backside, and muttering ugly curses in the Firbolg tongue.

A moment later, when she had regained her composure, she knelt beneath the tree and brushed the leaves away, uncovering a large square stone with runes carved into it. The words were filled with dirt that had hardened with time. Carefully she rubbed the crevices clean, then exhaled when she made out the inscription.

The inscription was one Llauron had shown her long ago, the words Gwylliam had instructed his explorer, Merithyn, to greet anyone he met in his travels with, the words he had carved upon Elynsynos’s cave. Come we in peace from the grip of death to life in this fair land. “It’s a Cymrian marker,” she murmured, more to herself than aloud.

Ashe bent next to her to examine it. “Indeed,” he said agreeably. “Do you recognize it?”

Rhapsody looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean? If I knew it was here, do you think I would have injured myself on it?”

Ashe stood up again. “No,” he said. “I was just wondering if perhaps you had seen it before.”

“When would I have? If I had been here before, why would I need you to guide me?” She took off her cloak and laid it on the ground.

Ashe unslung his pack. “I thought perhaps you might have seen it when it was erected.”

Rhapsody exhaled loudly in aggravation. This had become an old saw; he was continually dropping hints, making veiled reference to the First Generation Cymrians. She had determined early on he was trying to trip her up, attempting to make her reveal herself as one. This was the most blatant he had been so far.

“I’m really getting tired of this game,” she said. “If you want to know if I sailed with the First Fleet, why don’t you just ask me?”

Ashe stood up even straighter in evident surprise. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He seemed somewhat taken aback. “The Second? Third?”

“No. I’ve never been on any ship, except for rowboats and ferries.”

“So you have never traveled from one land to another on the sea? You’ve walked everywhere you’ve traveled?”

Rhapsody thought back to her trek within the Earth along the Root and shuddered slightly. “Or ridden on horseback. Now, will you please desist?”

Ashe dropped his pack on the ground. “Desist?”

“You have been quizzing me about the Cymrians since we left, in subtle ways. I don’t appreciate it.”

“But you do know who they were?”

“Yes,” she admitted, “but what I’ve heard about them I’ve learned from writings and students of history. So if you don’t mind, I would appreciate you ending this cat-and-mouse game.”

Ashe chuckled. “If I’m not mistaken, the way cat-and-mouse games end is by the cat eating the mouse.” He pulled the cooking utensils out of his pack. “I assume I don’t have to tell you which one of us is which in the analogy.”

Rhapsody was gathering sticks and peat for the campfire she had started. “Is that something you’d like to do tonight?”

“Are you offering?” His tone was suggestive.

“Well,” she said, bending over and picking up more fallen branches, “I think it can be arranged. After I get the fire going I’ll hunt around and see if I can find you some small rodents for supper.” She went about her gathering chore, and unconsciously began to whistle. A moment later Ashe recognized the tune. It was a hymn to the ancient harvest goddess, a song from the old land.

She was Cymrian; he was virtually certain of it. Ashe decided to try something else. He thought about the languages she would have used in the old world if she really was Cymrian, but his knowledge of Ancient Lirin was limited. He decided to try one comment in the archaic Lirin tongue first, then one in Old Cymrian. He waited until he could see her face on the other side of the fire.

“You know, Rhapsody, I find you extremely attractive,” he said in the dead language Lirin language, then shifted into the tongue of the Cymrians. “I really love to watch you bend over.” She gave him a strange look, but she said nothing, and the dragon did not sense any blood rise to her face in a blush. The furrow in her brow seemed more extreme at his first comment than his second; perhaps she had lived in a Lirin village, or a meadow longhouse, where the only language spoken was the Lirin tongue. He tried again.

“And you have the most incredible backside,” he said, waiting to see the reaction. She turned to gather more peat, and fed it to the fire, seeming to grow annoyed.

“I don’t understand you,” she said, glaring at him through the smoke. “Please stop babbling at me.” She heard him sigh as he returned to unpacking the utensils, waiting until his back was turned to allow the smile to take over her face. Tahn, Rhapsody, evet marva hidion—Listen without rancor, Rhapsody, I think you are a beautiful magnet. Abria, jirist hyst ovetis bec—I love to watch you squat. Kwelster evet re marya—you have the most beautiful muffins. It was all she could do to keep from choking with laughter. While his Old Cymrian was not too far off, his knowledge of Ancient Lirin was even more limited than he knew. And she spoke the truth, as always. She didn’t understand him at all.

They had taken to sitting shorter, more frequent watches, mostly because of her nightmares. After an hour or so of deep sleep, Rhapsody would invariably begin to toss and turn, muttering under her breath, sometimes crying, sometimes gasping as she woke in shock. Ashe wished he could comfort her when these dreams occurred, and thought often about waking her gently to save her from them, but he knew that she was probably prescient. If she was seeing visions of the Future it might be important to allow her to do so, no matter what it cost her. So he sat in frustrated sorrow and watched her suffer through the nights, sleeping lightly, to wake, trembling.

They spoke little during the day. It was the evening that eased the tensions and facilitated conversation. Darkness cloaked the forest; its sounds increased, along with the crackling of the fire and the whispering of the wind in the trees, so difficult to hear in the daylight. By day words seemed as though they were held up to the light, and so were used very little. The night hid them, made them safer, and so it was then Rhapsody and Ashe were able to exchange them.

They were but a few days out from their destination. Ashe had said they would make Elynsynos’s lair by week’s end. There was still a wide river to cross, and many more leagues to travel, but they were within reach.

There was a loneliness in the air that night. They had been walking in the forest so long that it was hard to recall when they were not surrounded by trees. Rhapsody’s sunset devotions seemed to be swallowed by the forest canopy, as if the songs themselves were suddenly too heavy to soar to the stars. She sat now on the rise of a small forest hill, watching those stars appear in the twilight one by one, to duck again behind the passing clouds that swallowed them intermittently. It put Rhapsody in mind of tiny minnows, their scales twinkling in the water of a dark lake, pursued by misty white predatory fish that consumed them and moved on.

“Rhapsody?” Ashe’s voice broke her solitude. She turned in the direction of her shadowy companion. He was sitting at the fire’s edge, its light flickering off his misty cloak, wrapping him in haze.

“Yes?”

“Do you feel safe here with me?”

She considered for a moment. “As safe as I do anywhere, I suppose.”

The hooded figure looked up. “What does that mean?” His voice was soft, almost gentle.

Rhapsody looked into the sky again. “I guess I don’t remember what feeling safe feels like.”

Ashe nodded, and went back to his thoughts. A moment later he spoke again.

“Is it because of the dreams?”

Rhapsody pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Partly.”

“Are you afraid of meeting Elynsynos?”

She smiled slightly. “A little.”

Ashe picked up the kettle and poured himself another mug of tea. As if to | make up for his rude behavior earlier in the trip, he was now drinking most of the pot over the course of a night, which she found amusing. “I could go in with you, if it would help.”

Rhapsody thought about it, then shook her head. “I don’t think that would be wise, but thank you.”

“Have you ever felt safe?” He took a sip from the mug.

“Yes, but not for a long time.”

Ashe thought about asking her what he wanted to know directly, but decided against it. “When?”

Rhapsody inched a little closer to the fire. She was feeling chilled suddenly and pulled her cloak around her shoulders.

“When I was still a young girl, I guess, before I ran away from home.”

Ashe nodded. “Why did you run away?”

She looked up at him sharply. “Why does anyone run away? I was stupid and thoughtless and selfish; especially selfish.”

He knew of other reasons people did. “And were you beautiful as a young girl?”

Rhapsody laughed. “Gods, no. And my brothers told me so constantly.” Ashe laughed too, in spite of himself. “That’s a brother’s main job, keeping his sister in line.”

“Do you have sisters?”

There was a long silence. “No,” he finally answered. “So you were a late bloomer?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Isn’t that the term for a girl who was, well, not beautiful as a child but becomes beautiful as a woman?”

Rhapsody looked at him strangely. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Beneath his hood Ashe smiled. “Of course. Don’t you?”

She shrugged. “Beauty is a matter of opinion. I suppose I like the way I look, or at least I’m comfortable with it. It never really mattered to me whether other people did or not.”

“That’s a very Lirin attitude.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m Lirin.”

Ashe let loose a humorous sigh. “I suppose this means that telling you you’re beautiful is not a way to get into your good graces.”

She ran a hand absently over her hair. “No, not really. It makes me uncomfortable, especially if you don’t mean it.”

“Why would you think I don’t mean it?”

“There seem to be quite a few people in these parts that think I’m odd-looking or freakish, but that doesn’t really bother me most of the time.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.” Ashe put down his empty mug.

“It is not ridiculous. I have to endure strange glances and curious looks more often than you might think. If you saw me walk down a street, you’d see what I mean.”

Ashe wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed at her lack of grasp of the obvious. “Rhapsody, haven’t you noticed that men follow you when you’re walking down that street?”

“Yes, but that’s because I’m a woman.”

“I’ll say.”

“Well, men do that—follow women, I mean. It’s their nature. They live constantly primed to mate, and they are almost always, well, ready for it. They can’t help it. It must be a very uncomfortable way to live.”

Ashe swallowed his amusement. “And you think any woman has this effect on any man?”

Rhapsody blinked again. “Well, yes. It’s part of nature, the cycle of propagation, of attraction and mating.”

Ashe couldn’t refrain from laughing. “You are sadly misinformed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I do, if you are under the impression that every woman affects men the way you do. You are judging by your own experience, and it is very different from the way it is for most people.”

The conversation was making her uncomfortable; Ashe could tell because Rhapsody reached for her pack and rummaged until she found her lark’s flute. She occasionally played the tiny instrument in the woods, as it had a sound that blended into the forest air, complementing the birdsong. That was by day; now the birds were silent, and the only music in the forest now was that of the wind. She settled back against a tree and regarded him with a wry look. “And you think you have a better perspective on men and women?” Ashe laughed again. “Well, not than most, but better than yours.” Rhapsody began to play, a tripping series of notes that tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. She pulled the flute away from her lips and smiled. “I think you are as unqualified to judge as I am, maybe more so.” Ashe sat up in interest. “Really? Why?”

“Because you’re a wanderer.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“In my experience, foresters and other wanderers are very different from the majority of men,” she said lightly. Twilight had faded completely into night; her eyes scanned the sky, but she did not seem to find what she sought.

“How so?”

“They seek different things from women, for one. Women they would have on a temporary basis, that is.”

She couldn’t tell if Ashe really was smiling or if she just imagined she heard it in his voice. “And what might that be?”

Rhapsody returned to playing her lark’s flute, lost in thought. The melody was airy but melancholy, and Ashe imagined he could see the colors and textures she was weaving with her notes, patterns of deep, soft swirls in shades of blue and purple, like ocean waves against the darkening sky before a storm. Then the song changed into brighter, longer measures, and the colors lightened and stretched until they wafted like clouds on a warm wind at sunset. Ashe listened, enthralled, until she was done, but held onto the thought she had left unanswered. “Well?”

She jumped a little. It was obvious her mind was far away. “Yes?”

“Sorry. What do most men seek from temporary interaction with women?” Rhapsody smiled. “Release.” Ashe nodded. “And wanderers?” She thought for a moment. “Contact.”

“Contact?”

“Yes. People who walk alone in the wide world all their lives sometimes lose perspective on what is real and what is not, what still remains and what is only memory. What men who wander most of their lives want, when they come upon a woman for a short time, is contact, reaffirmation that they really do exist. At least in my experience, anyway.”

Ashe was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke his voice was soft. “And do they instead find sometimes that they do not exist?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a wanderer, at least not by choice. I hope only to be one for a short while. It’s not a life I find suits me, and I am growing tired of it.”

They sat in silence until her watch began. Ashe rose slowly and made his gear ready for the night, then slipped into the shadows, disappearing on the other side of the fire. Rhapsody watched him lie down, and thought she heard him sigh deeply. Perhaps she was reading her own feelings into the sound, but she felt its music speak of deep loneliness, not unlike her own. She had been wrong about his feelings before and had been taken aback when she tried to comfort or reassure him, only to find he felt no need for it, and was annoyed by her attempt. Rhapsody weighed her options for a moment, then decided to err on the side of being too kind. “Ashe?”

“Hmmm?”

“You do exist, even if you are hard to see sometimes.” The voice from the shadows was noncommittal. “Thank you so very much for telling me.”

Rhapsody cringed. She had chosen wrong again. She sat her watch, scanning the horizon for signs of life, but saw none. The night was quiet except for the crackling of the flames and the occasional sound of the wind. In the silence she heard him speak softly, as if to himself.

“I’m glad you think so.”

At the midnight she woke him for his watch and crawled gratefully into her bedroll, settling down to sleep almost before she was fully reclining. The nightmares came an hour or so later, taking her so violently that Ashe forgot his resolve to stay out of it and shook her awake gently. She sat up abruptly in tears. It took her more than an hour to become calm again.

It was an old dream, a dream that had come to her when she first learned that Serendair was gone, destroyed fourteen centuries before while she and the two Bolg were crawling through the belly of the Earth. In her dream she stood in a village consumed by black fire, while soldiers rode through the streets, slaying everyone in sight. In the distance at the edge of the horizon she saw eyes, tinged in red, laughing at her. And then, as a bloodstained warrior on a black charger with fire in its eyes rode down on her like a man possessed, she was lifted up in the air in the claw of a great copper dragon.

She drew her camp blanket around her shoulders, glancing occasionally out into the darkness beyond the glowing circle of campfire light. Ashe had given her a mug of tea and watched as she held it in both her hands until it was undoubtedly cold, staring into the flames. They sat together in the shadows of the fire, silently. Finally he spoke.

“If the memory of the dream is disturbing to you, I can help you be rid of it.”

Rhapsody barely seemed to hear him. “Hmmm?”

Ashe rose and dug in the folds of his cloak, a moment later pulling out the coin purse Jo had once tried to steal from him on the street in Bethe Corbair. He untied the drawstring and drew forth a small gleaming sphere which he then put in Rhapsody’s hand. Her brows drew together.

“A pearl?”

“Yes. A pearl is layer upon layer of tears from the sea. It is a natural vault of sorts that can hold such ephemeral things as vows and memories—traditionally deals of state or important bargains are sealed in the presence of a large pearl of great value.” Rhapsody nodded vaguely; she knew that brides in the old land wove pearls into their hair or wore them set in jewelry for the same reason. “You’re a Canwr,” Ashe continued. “If you want to be free of the nightmare, speak the true name of the pearl and will it to hold the memory. When the thought has^left your memory and is captured in the pearl, crush the pearl under your heel. It will be gone forever then.”

Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed. Canwr was the Lirin word for Namer. “How do you know that I’m a Canwr?”

Ashe laughed and crossed his arms. “Are you saying you’re not?”

She swallowed hard. Even his question proved he already knew the answer, since it was phrased in a way that would require her to lie if she were to deny it. “No,” she answered angrily. “Actually, I believe I am not saying anything from this moment forward, except to thank you for your offer of the pearl and to decline it.” She lapsed back into silence, staring out into the night once more.

Ashe sat back down by the fire’s edge and poured himself more tea. “Well, my intention was to divert your thoughts from your nightmare. This isn’t exactly the way I had hoped to do it, but at least my attempt was successful. I’m not certain why you are angry. I was trying to help you.”

Rhapsody looked up at the sky. The stars were shrouded in mist from the smoke of the fire.

“Perhaps it is because, while I respect your desire not to share details about your life and your past, you seem to be insistent on worming very personal and meaningful information out of me,” she said. “To Lirin, Naming is not a casual topic of discussion, it is a religious belief.”

There was silence for a moment. When Ashe spoke again, his tone was soft. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You are also relentless about determining whether or not I’m Cymrian. From what Lord Stephen tells me, in many places the fact that you think I am Cymrian would be considered a grave insult.”

“Right again.” He watched for a long while as she stared into the night at nothing in particular. Finally, unwilling to be the cause of her silent consternation, he made one more attempt at friendly conversation. “Maybe it’s best if we try to avoid talking about the Past. Bargain?”

“Agreed,” she said, her eyes still searching for something in the darkness.

“Then why don’t we talk about something you enjoy instead. Perhaps that will help drive the memory of the dreams away. You choose the topic, and I may even answer questions.”

Rhapsody snapped out of her reverie. She looked over to him and smiled.

“All right.” She thought for a moment until her mind settled on her adopted grandchildren, Gwydion and Melisande, and the dozen little Firbolg. They were her touchstone, the things she thought about when she was brooding, when her mind was filled with unpleasant thoughts.

“Do you have any children?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“Well, I am always looking for grandchildren to adopt.”

“Grandchildren?”

“Yes,” Rhapsody answered, ignoring the almost-rude tone in his voice. “Grandchildren. You see, you can spoil an adopted grandchild while you’re around, but you don’t have the responsibility of raising it all the time. This works for me because it gives me children to love, even though I don’t have the time to be with them always. I have twelve Firbolg grandchildren, and two human, and they are very dear to me.”

“Well, I don’t have any children. I’m sorry I couldn’t accommodate you! Perhaps we could work something out. How important is it to you, and how long are you willing to wait?” She could almost hear him smirk.

Rhapsody ignored the odd flirtation. “Are you married?”

Laughter.

“I’m sorry—why is that a funny question?”

“Most women don’t like me. In fact, most people don’t like me; but that’s fine—the feeling’s mutual.”

“My, what a cranky attitude. Well, I can tell you confidentially but with absolute certainty that you are not without feminine admirers in Ylorc.”

“You are not talking about one of the Firbolg midwives, are you?”

“Goodness, no. Bbbrrrr.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“No; my sister is somewhat enamored of you.”

Ashe nodded awkwardly. “Oh. Yes.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. But it won’t come to anything.”

Rhapsody felt a twinge of sadness. “Really? I certainly believe you, but do you mind if I ask why?”

“Well, for one thing, I happen to be in love with someone else, if that’s all right with you.” His tone was annoyed.

Rhapsody turned crimson with embarrassment. “I’m very sorry,” she said sheepishly. “How stupid of me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Ashe poured himself more tea. “Why not? I am, and I offer no apologies for it. Another prominent reason is that she is a child.”

“Yes. You’re right.”

“She is also a human.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No. But the racial makeup of my blood is much longer lived than that, like your own.”

“You’re Lirin, then?” The thought had never occurred to her.

“Partly, like you.”

I see. Well, that makes sense. But is it really all that important? My parents vere Lirin and human, as some in your family obviously were as well. It didn’t stop them.”

“Some diverse life expectancies are closer than others. For instance, if you illy are Cymrian, as I believe you are but won’t admit, you will have a major problem facing you.”

“Why?”

“Because even the extended life span of the Lirin will still be no match for yours.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ashe got up and threw another handful of twigs on the fire, then looked over at her. Rhapsody caught a glimpse of what she thought was a scruffily bearded chin, but in the flickering shadows it was impossible to tell.

“When the First Generation Cymrians came, it was as if time had stopped for them,” he said. “I’m not sure what caused it to happen. Perhaps it had something to do with completing an arc across the world, across the Prime Meridian; I have no idea. But for whatever reason, the Cymrians did not seem to be affected by the ravages of time. They didn’t age, and as years, then centuries, passed, it became evident that they weren’t going to. They had essentially become immortal. And as they reproduced, their offspring, while not completely immortal, were extraordinarily long-lived. Of course, the farther the generations move away from the first, the shorter the life span becomes until it will finally blend into the way it should be. But that doesn’t affect the immortals. There are still First Generation Cymrians alive today; mostly in hiding.”

“Why? Why do they hide?”

“Many of them are insane; driven mad by the ‘blessing’ of immortality. You see, Rhapsody, if they had been immortal from the beginning, it probably wouldn’t have affected them so much, but they were humans and Lirin and Nain and the like, extraordinary only in the journey they made. They had already embarked on a life cycle that had a certain course, and it was interrupted, wherever they were in it, and frozen there.

“So imagine being a human who had lived seventy or eighty years, and had passed through all the stages of infancy, childhood, youth, adulthood, middle age, and then finally old age, preparing to meet death soon, to discover that you were going to live forever that way, elderly and infirm.” He poured yet another cup of tea and offered the pot to Rhapsody, who had grown quiet in the firelight. She shook her head, lost in thought.

“Children continued to grow and mature, until they reached adulthood, but they never got any older. Some of them are alive still, looking no older than you do. But far more of them died in the war, or at their own hands, just to avoid facing an eternity they couldn’t accept, sometimes with powers they didn’t understand. Virtually every First Generation Cymrian took at least a small piece of elemental lore away from the Island with him, whether he knew it or not.

“So that’s why I say you may have a problem. If you are a later-generation Cymrian, you will be extraordinarily long-lived, and you will undoubtedly face what others did: the prospect of watching those you love grow old and die in what seems like a brief moment in your life. And if you are a First Generation Cymrian, it will be even worse, because unless you are killed outright you will never die. Imagine losing people over and over, your lovers, your spouse, your children—”

“Stop it,” Rhapsody said. Her voice was terse. She rose from the ground and walked to the edge of the firelight, then tossed the remainder of her cold tea out into the darkness. When she came back she took a different seat, far her away from him, so that he did not have as good a view of her face.

They sat in silence for a long time, Rhapsody watching the smoke from the fire crackle with sparks and rise, like that of a Lirin funeral pyre, to the dark kv above, where it wafted among the scattered stars and dissipated. Finally

Ashe spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Rhapsody looked pointedly over at him across the fire. “I’m not upset,” she said coolly. “I am not worried about anything like that.”

“Really?” he said, and there was amusement in his tone. “Not even a little?”

“Not in the least,” she answered softly. “I doubt I will even live to see the end of what is coming now, let alone forever.”

“Ohr” Ashe’s tone had a controlled steadiness. “What makes you think so?”

“Just a hunch,” she said, reaching for her cloak. She shook the dirt and leaves from it and wrapped it around herself.

“I see. So you would rather die than acknowledge the prospect that you might live forever?”

Rhapsody chuckled. “You really are persistent, Ashe, but not very subtle. Is there actually a point here, other than just trying to determine whether I am what you think I am?”

Ashe leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m just explaining why I could never be interested in someone like Jo; that she has a completely different life expectancy than I do. And if you are First Generation, you will have a very limited pool of others as long-lived as yourself to make a life with, who won’t die on you before you have even gotten to know them.”

Rhapsody smiled and set about brushing the mud from her boots. “Well, thank you for your concern, but I wouldn’t worry. First, I don’t plan to marry anyway; I’ll make do with my grandchildren as my family. Second, I’m not afraid of time differences. My mother told me when I was very young that the time you had together was worth the loss because without the acceptance of that pain there would be nothing valuable to lose. And, of course, since you know I am Achmed’s contemporary, there’s always him. Grunthor, of course, is out of the question.”

Ashe’s voice contained a note of horror. “There’s always Achmed for what?”

Rhapsody said nothing, but her smile broadened as she continued to scrape her equipment clean.

“You have to be joking. Please tell me you are—that’s disgusting.”

“Why?”

“I would think that is obvious.” Even as far away as he was from her, Rhapsody could feel him snudder.

“Well, of course, that really is no concern of yours, since you’re already spoken for. By the way,” she said, growing serious, “does she mind that you’re here? You know, for such a long time?”

“Who?”

“Your—well—whatever she is. I assume she’s not your wife, since you said you’re not married, I think. Actually, you didn’t say that, did you?” Receiving no reply, she tried lamely to finish the thought. “You know, this woman you’re in love with? Is this journey causing a problem with her?”

“No.”

Rhapsody exhaled in relief. “I’m very glad. I do try to make a point of not causing problems with people’s relationships, especially married people. I have great respect for the institution.”

“Then why don’t you intend to marry?”

Rhapsody got up again and began to spread out her bed roll. “Well, it isn’t really fair to marry someone unless you have a heart to share with them, to love them with. I don’t have one, you see. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Suit yourself,” said Rhapsody, crawling into the bedroll. “Anyway, thank you for being honest about my sister.”

“Just out of curiosity, why do you call her that? Obviously you’re not related.”

Rhapsody sighed. “I can’t believe you don’t understand that, Ashe. There are different ways to make a family. You can be born into it, or you can choose it. Bonds to family you choose to be a part of are often as strong as those you are born into, because you want to be, rather than have to be, part of each other.”

On the other side of the fire Ashe was unpacking his own gear, settling into his watch. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Well,” said Rhapsody, lying down and trying to get comfortable, “I guess it depends on who you are. They aren’t mutually exclusive—your love for both can be equally strong. But that’s why I have so much respect for the institution of marriage, because husbands and wives choose each other out of everyone else in the world, and therefore ought to be accorded the acknowledgment that this is the most special relationship of their lives.”

From across the fire came a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sigh. “You really have led a sheltered life, Rhapsody.”

Rhapsody thought for a moment about answering, then decided against it. “Good night, Ashe. Wake me when it’s my watch.”

“Had you ever thought about just doing it the regular way?”

“Doing what?”

“The grandchildren process?”

“Hhmm?” She was almost asleep already.

“You know, finding a husband, having children, letting them have the grandchildren—is this a concept you’re familiar with?”

Deep within the bedroll he heard a musical yawn. “I already told you,” came the sleepy voice, “I don’t expect I’ll live that long.” f)n the night he woke her as her watch came due. She felt him shaking her gently.

“Rhapsody?”

“Hmmm? Yes?”

“It’s your watch. Do you want to sleep a little longer?”

“No,” she said, pulling herself free from the bedroll. “But thank you.”

“You didn’t mean what you said earlier, did you? About Achmed?”

She looked at him foggily. “What?”

“You would never, well, mate with Achmed, would you? The thought has been churning my stomach for the last three hours.”

Rhapsody was now awake. “You know, Ashe, I really don’t like your attitude. And frankly, it’s none of your concern. Now go to sleep.” She made ready her bow and arrow, and stirred the dying fire, causing it to roar back to life, finding fuel from some unknown source.

Ashe stood above her a moment longer, then the shadows on the other side of the fire took him. If she hadn’t been watching, Rhapsody would not even have known where he lay.