Rhapsody: Child of Blood

9

Achmed awoke in the darkness, shaking off the fragments of the dream that had been invading his repose. He knew instinctively, upon regaining consciousness, that Grunthor was already awake. The Sergeant was staring down at the girl, a look of consternation on his broad face, watching her toss and whimper in the throes of a nightmare.

“Poor thing.” The Bolg leaned back against the root. “Think we should wake ’er?”

Achmed shook his head. “Definitely not. She’s a Singer; she may be prescient.”

“She certainly is, cute lit’le thing. Oi like ’er.”

Within his hood Achmed smiled slightly. “She may have the gift of prescience, the ability to see into the Future, or the Past. Some Singers do, being in tune with the vibrations of the world. The nightmares may hold important knowledge.”

Rhapsody began to sob in her sleep, and Grunthor shook his head. “Not much of a gift, if you ask me. She ought to give it back.”

Achmed closed his eyes, trying to discern the heartbeats around him. There was his own, of course, and Grunthor’s, the strong, steady thudding he knew almost as well. Then there was the girl’s, flickering and racing anxiously. And all around them was the beating heart of the Earth, rich and vibrant, calling from far away but pulsing in its veins, the roots of the Great Tree. In his mind he set these rhythms aside, looking past them for something else. Something slower, and deeper. Something ancient.

After a moment he still could feel nothing solid. The hum from the Tree was loud enough to drown out everything but their three heartbeats. The Earth itself was masking all other sound except for the occasional dripping of water, the cracking of the tunnel walls as they crumbled imperceptibly. He couldn’t hear it yet, but he would.

His musings at an end, he looked back up and studied his friend. Grunthor was still watching the Singer keenly, interposing his foot between her and the end of the ledge.

“We’re going to have to lash her to the root with a rope when we start climbing, especially when she’s asleep.” Grunthor nodded, and Achmed rose smoothly to a stand, then looked over the deep ledge into the endless chasm below. It was growing narrower as the root tapered away to thin hairs. Achmed folded his arms and turned around again.

“How noble are you feeling, Grunthor?”

The Bolg looked up questioningly, then smiled. “Oi’m always noble, sir; it’s in my blood. ’As been ever since Oi ate that knight a few years back. Why?”

“I think we’re going to make a bit of a side trip.”

The sensation of warmth on her face drew Rhapsody out of the dream that had been plaguing her. As the nightmare evaporated she opened her eyes.

Achmed crouched before her, a burning spore in his hand. His face was hidden deep within his hood. In the back of her mind, Rhapsody pondered sleepily if this was the first time she could definitely assign an act of kindness to him. He had roused her in the light, and had sought to keep his frightening face from being the first thing she saw upon awakening. She choked back the seething dislike she had felt for him ever since he had dragged her into the Tree. “Good morning,” she said.

The cloaked figure shrugged. “If you say so. It still looks like night to me.” He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. Rhapsody shuddered as she looked past him to the edge of their makeshift landing on the giant fungus. Tall shadows whispered across the face of the vast tunnel above them. The giant was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Grunthor?”

“On the other side of the root. We’re going to be taking a different path. You may like this a little more; we have to make a short climb up, but then it should be a horizontal journey, at least for a while.”

She handed him back the rough camp blanket she had woken beneath, trying to keep her voice under control. “How do you know this path will lead us out of here? What if you are just getting us lost deeper within the Earth?”

Achmed ignored her question. He went to the root wall and grasped the rope that Grunthor had secured, then began to inch around to the far side of the root. “This way.”

It was more difficult navigating the root sideways than it had been to climb down. Grunthor had secured a rope to the root on his way around it, pegging it in place. Rhapsody clung to the guideline and struggled not to look down as the muscles in her legs and arms shuddered from the new strain. The endless darkness below her loomed, frigid and menacing. The air was growing colder.

“Come on, miss, Oi got the rope. Take your time.” Rhapsody took in a deep breath. She knew the giant still could not see her; he had been calling out routinely since she had started around, encouraging her. There was a note of uncertainty in the rich bass voice this time. The musical fluctuation told her that she hadn’t moved recently, and the Bolg was wondering if she had fallen. She steadied herself.

“I’m coming,” she called, amazed at how fragile her voice sounded. The weakness annoyed her, strengthening her resolve. She cleared her throat, and shouted.

“I’m almost to the bend, Grunthor.”

A few moments later she crested the edge and looked around. The giant was standing there, grinning, his hand outstretched, at the mouth of a small horizontal tunnel. The root itself branched off, like a many-tubered vegetable, into the walls of the main shaft they had been descending, some above her, some below.

“Don’t ’urry,” warned Grunthor. “Take your time.”

Rhapsody nodded, and closed her eyes. She clutched the rope and concentrated on finding the last footholds, listening to the rhythm of her racing heart. One by one, slowly. As she had the night before, she began to whisper her musical name in tune with the song of the Tree, and felt its music fill her, sustaining her, giving her strength.

After what seemed like an eternity she felt the grip of massive hands on her arm and waist, and the sickening rush of air as she was torn loose from the rope, then placed gently on solid ground. Rhapsody opened her eyes to find herself in a tunnel not much taller than Grunthor, the root’s tributary running horizontally next to her. A choked laugh escaped her as she fell to her knees, reveling in the feel of firm earth. The giant laughed in turn.

“You like that, do you?” He offered her a hand. “Well, then, shall we be on our way, Duchess? We gotta catch up.”

The exhaustion she had been fighting every moment since the climb began claimed her. Rhapsody shook her head, lay down and stretched out on her back. “I can’t. I need to rest. I’m sorry.” She ran her hand up the side of the narrow tunnel wall, staring at the crumbling ceiling above her.

The Bolg Sergeant’s face lost its smile. “Oi’ll give you a moment, Duchess, but then we’re gone. You don’t want to be where the ceilin’ can cave in one bit longer than you have to be.” His voice carried the quiet ring of authority that commanded armies.

Rhapsody sighed, then took his hand. “All right,” she acquiesced. “Let’s go.”

They walked erect until the tunnel grew smaller, then squeezed through the small opening that sheathed the now-horizontal root. The ceiling was too low for Grunthor even to crouch, so they crawled along for some distance until the earth-tunnel widened into a broader vertical space once again. In the distance there was light, and Rhapsody’s heart leapt. They must be near the surface.

Finally they came to the opening, struggling to hurry. When she emerged from the tunnel and stood upright, Rhapsody gasped.

They were standing next to a vast bulbous tower that loomed above them, with spidery flaccid branches sprouting from it, long thin trails of radix hanging next to it from the darkness above. By comparison, the root they had descended was nothing more than a branch of this one.

The giant root reached up into the vertical tunnel high above them out of sight. Unlike the absolute darkness of their descent, there was a faint red glow within this shaft, a dark light that held no radiance, just heat. There were no other horizontal tunnels, just more of this new root twisting into the chasm below.

The strangling disappointment of not being at the surface gave way to fearful amazement. “Gods, what is this?” Rhapsody said, thinking aloud.

“Oi believe it’s the taproot, the one what connects the tree to the main line,” Grunthor offered.

“Main line? What are you talking about?” A disgusted snort came from the darkness in front of her, and her weary eyes made out Achmed at the edge of the tunnel. Until that moment she had not seen him; he had blended completely into the darkness.

“One would think you would know your Lirin lore a little better. Had you thought this was the end? We haven’t even made it to the real Root yet.”

Fighting the devastation that threatened to consume her, Rhapsody thought back to the stories her mother had told her about Sagia. It is the Oak of Deep Roots, she had said, its veins and arteries are lifelines that spread throughout the earth and are shared by other holy trees, called Root Twins, around the world. She had spoken of its massive girth, but the outsize impressions of childhood perspective had led Rhapsody to expect a trunk of great heft, not a tree the size of the town square.

The main roots of the holy trees ran along something her mother had called the Axis Mundi, the centerline of the Earth, which the Lirin people believed to be round, contrary to the opinions of their neighbors. This main axle on which the Earth spun, reputed to be an invisible line of power, and the root of Sagia had melded together. That was the reason the Tree resonated with the wisdom of the ages, that it had grown to such an unbelievable height and breadth. It was tied into the very soul of the world, her mother had said. That might be the main line to which Grunthor had referred.

“You mean the Axis Mundi?”

“The one and only.” Achmed spat on his hands, then took hold of one of the flaccid vestigial roots, called a radix. He pulled himself awkwardly off the ground, swinging slightly as the radix flexed, then positioned his foot in the crotch where an outsize knob was attached to the giant root.

He was able to scale the taproot slowly, compensating for the weakness in the smaller roots by keeping one arm wrapped around the vast green-white flesh of the main trunk. When he was ten or so feet from the ground in the tunnel he looked down.

“Saddle up, Grunthor,” he said in the strange, fricative voice that had first caught Rhapsody’s attention in the market. He looked at her now with an expression that hovered between contempt and indifference. “Are you coming?”

“How far up does it go?”

“No telling. There’s nothing but this for as far as I can see, and my underground sight is good. What’s your alternative?”

She was without one, and he knew it. Rhapsody was still unsure as to whether Achmed had been her deliverer or her kidnapper, but whatever he had intended, he was now her captor. He had dragged her in here, trapping her inside the Tree with no exit except through the root, and even that was looking more and more unlikely. She tried to keep the seething hatred out of her voice.

“Thanks to you, I have none. I’m coming.”

The climb was arduous, with repeated episodes of slipping and a few almost-tragic falls. Initially it had been a little like climbing a ladder, and almost as easy. There were more knobs and lichenous growths on the taproot to serve as foot and handholds than there had been on the first root they had descended, the root of Sagia’s trunk.

But as the first few minutes passed into an hour, the dull ache in Rhapsody’s shoulders roared into full-blown agony. She tried to make better use of her legs to give her arms some respite, but even that did little to ease the searing pain and bone-deep exhaustion. The men had quickly outdistanced her, having far greater strength in their arms and upper bodies than she did, but even they were slowing slightly, remaining in view above her. At least Grunthor was; she could see nothing past him, except for the never-ending pale wall of the root.

Once they had been climbing for more than an hour Rhapsody could no longer see anything that even vaguely resembled the ground below them, just perpetual darkness. It was like being suspended in the sky among the stars, hovering above the world miles below.

The thought of the stars made her choke up, but she held back the tears, remembering her abductor’s harsh warning about crying. Her mother’s race, the Liringlas, the Skysingers, believed that all of life was part of their God. They held the heavens to be holy, the sheltering sky that touched its children, making them part of the collective soul of the universe. This was the reason they greeted the daily celestial changes with song, honoring the rising and setting of the sun, as well as the appearance of the stars, with chanted devotions.

The pain she had suffered in her life was her own fault. She had run away, abandoned her family as a teenager, but still had longed for the day when she might return, repentant, to the fold. The daily devotions, particularly the songs to the stars, were her way of comforting herself until that occurred. She would faithfully sing her morning aubades and evening vespers each day, thinking of her mother, knowing she, too, was chanting the ancient tunes of her people, thinking of the child she had lost. And now that child was trapped in the Earth, miles below the surface, possibly never to see the sky again.

“Ya all right down there, miss?” Grunthor’s deep voice shattered her thoughts; the other two were many yards above her. The Sergeant was leaning away from the taproot, trying to discern what was delaying her in the darkness.

Rhapsody sighed. “I’m fine,” she called, then began the laborious task of hauling herself up the towering root once more.

Finally Achmed found a ledge large enough for the two men to rest, with a smaller indentation in the root below it for her. Rhapsody settled into the pit, her body numb from the pain and exertion. Grunthor leaned over the ledge and handed her down a flask of water he had collected from the radix around him while he was waiting for her to catch up.

“’Ere ya go, Yer Ladyship. Ya all right?”

Too tired to answer, she managed a weak smile and a nod, then drank gratefully. A moment later Achmed’s rope landed in her lap.

“Tie yourself to that outcropping of branches there,” he directed from above. “We’re going to sleep here. You should make sure you never sleep without it.” Rhapsody looked up and met his glance, and in the fog of her exhaustion understanding came over her. There was no end in sight. There might never be.

They continued to climb. Any sense of time vanished. There seemed to be nothing at all in time or space but the root, the three of them, and the endless climb. How long it had been was impossible to tell; Rhapsody was rarely hungry, and the other two felt compelled to eat even less frequently than she did, so keeping track of the passing of hours or meals or breaths they took didn’t serve to mark the passage of time. Eventually they gave up altogether, becoming resigned to the eternal journey, with the ever-dwindling hope that there would one day be an end to it.

Achmed and Grunthor had become accustomed to traveling with their hostage. She never complained, and rarely spoke, though she had some trouble staying on the root. She was small, and the trunk was too vast for her arms to gain any purchase, so as a result she slipped more frequently than they did, on occasion necessitating that Grunthor make an adjustment in pace to keep from losing her.

The most troublesome aspect to her company was the nightmares. The three companions endeavored to find sleeping places as close to each other as possible, Achmed in the lead, Grunthor next, and the girl bringing up the rear. Rhapsody never passed a sleeping session in peace, always awakening in a cold sweat or a panic, gasping wildly.

Being within the Earth intensified her dreams, changing them dramatically. They now began as distant visions, inexplicable sights that had no bearing on any real experience. Rhapsody dreamt often of Sagia, sometimes walking around it in the darkness of the silent glade, touching its gleaming bark in wonder, unable to find the hole through which they’d entered.

One night, in a particularly disturbing dream, she saw a star fall into the sea, and the waves around it erupting in fire, swirling into a towering wall of water that enveloped the Island, swallowing it. She saw Sagia, its boughs filled with thousands of Lirin singers, dressed in green, chains of wildflowers entwined in their hair and about their necks, singing sweetly as it vanished beneath the ocean surface.

She had moaned in her sleep, turning over in the ropes by which she had bound herself to the root. Achmed had been on watch, and tore off one of the millions of bulbous growths that disfigured the root, dropping it on her from above in hope of making her stop whining. It had the desired effect; she grew quiet again as her dream changed into an old one, one that recalled her past.

It was a dream of the bordello she had worked in a few years back. She could see the bedchamber again clearly in her mind’s eye, the tawdry red furniture that was the decorating staple of every brothel, the extra-large bed. She shuddered in her sleep at the memory that unspooled itself against her best efforts to keep it in check.

Michael had been sprawled lazily across the bed, the mud from his boots soiling the linens.

“Well, there you are, Rhapsody, my dear,” he said, his eyes opening wide in delight. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“I wasn’t,” she answered tersely. “Why are you here? What did you say to Nana? Why does she look so upset?”

“I merely requested an appointment with my favorite girl. Surely there’s no harm in that?”

“And surely she told you that I have declined to accept any more appointments with you, Michael. So why, then, are you still here?”

Michael sat up, the dirty boots shoving the bedspread onto the floor as they stepped down. “I was hoping you would change your mind, darling, when you saw how truly devastated your rebuff has made me.” He took off his boots and nodded to one of his henchmen. The man closed the door behind her.

Her eyes narrowed, and her face set in anger. “You don’t look too upset to me, Michael. Please leave. I don’t want you here.”

Michael looked at her in obvious admiration. She was tiny, but powerful, and he could feel her spirit coursing through his veins. She was the only one who not only stood up to him, but seemed to have no fear in doing so. While fear was arousing to him, this was even more so, especially when he knew he would win.

“Now, now, don’t be so hasty, Rhapsody. I’ve come a very long way. Can’t you at least let me tell you what I want?”

“No. I don’t care what you want. Now get out.”

“Ouch,” he said, clutching his chest as though wounded. “You are so insolent, my dear. That’s not something I tolerate in my men, but in you it’s strangely stirring. And speaking of things that ought to be stirring in you, why don’t you just come and sit down over here.” He patted the bed next to him, and then began to unlace his trousers.

Rhapsody turned to leave. “I’m sorry, Michael. As I’ve told you, I’m not interested. I’m sure there are any number of others who are more than happy to serve you.”

“You are so right,” he said, as the henchman stepped in front of the door. “Though I am crushed by your lack of interest, I am prepared in case you are unwilling to change your mind. Would you like to meet her?”

“No,” Rhapsody said, glaring at the grinning lackey. She was not intimidated in the least by the presence of the henchmen; surely Michael was aware that Nana’s guards were the best in Easton, and far outnumbered these two. Nana had an arrangement with the town guard as well.

She could feel the frost in Michael’s smile even behind her back. “All right, Rhapsody. Have it your way. I’m sorry we couldn’t come to an understanding. Let her pass, Karvolt.” The guard opened the door and made a sweeping gesture toward it, the cruel smile growing a little more radiant.

As the door opened, a third guard came into the room, bringing with him a child of no more than seven, trembling violently. She was Liringlas, like Rhapsody’s mother, and the shawl that was draped around her shoulders had obviously belonged at one time to an adult. It was dirty and bloodstained, and as she came into the room the child’s eyes went immediately to Rhapsody. The look of abject terror was barely held in check by the stoic face that the race naturally granted its members.

Rhapsody’s eyes opened wide in horror, and she turned back to Michael, who was smiling broadly as he removed his pants.

“What’s she doing here?”

“Nothing yet, obviously,” he answered smugly, and the guards exchanged amused glances. “Goodbye, my dear.”

“Wait,” Rhapsody said, as Michael pulled his shirt over his head and settled back, naked, onto the bed. “What do you think you’re doing, Michael? Where did this girl come from?”

“Oh, you mean her?” he asked innocently, pointing at the child. “That’s Petunia, my dear ward. A very sad story, really. Her entire family perished when an unfortunate accident befell their longhouse. Tragic. But don’t worry, Rhapsody; I plan to take very good care of her. You can leave now, darling.”

Rhapsody pulled loose from the grip of the guard who had taken her arm and crouched down, opening her arms to the child. The little girl ran to her and buried her face in Rhapsody’s shoulder.

“No, Michael. You can’t do this. Gods, you really are the most repulsive thing I have ever encountered.”

Michael laughed in amusement, his arousal becoming more intense. “No? And why not, Rhapsody? She belongs to me; she doesn’t work here. We’re just staying here tonight. I don’t want the guests at the inn to be kept up too late tonight by any, er, noises; now, isn’t that considerate of me? No one will notice here. In fact, it may even excite some of your customers more.”

Rhapsody stared into his crystalline blue eyes; she saw no sign of a soul in them. The smile on his face was triumphant; he knew he had her. She looked back into the face of the little girl. Tears were brimming in the child’s eyes. She trembled with fear and clutched Rhapsody tighter. Rhapsody closed her eyes and sighed.

“Let her go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, she needs me.”

Rhapsody cursed him in her mother’s tongue. “Let her go,” she repeated.

“Why, Rhapsody, what are you saying? You’re jealous! Have you had a change of heart suddenly? Whatever brought that on? Was it, perhaps, the sight of me in all my splendor?”

“Hardly,” she replied angrily, running her hand down the child’s hair, whispering words of comfort into her ear in their common language. “All right, Michael, what exactly do you want?”

“Well, first I would like some privacy.”

“I can certainly accommodate that request,” Rhapsody replied, rising and taking the child’s hand. “We will be more than happy to leave you alone.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t waste my time, Rhapsody; this game is only fun for a short while. I will send the men away as soon as I have your word that you will meet my wishes upon delivering the child to Nana. I’m sure that’s what you had in mind, isn’t it? And I know I can trust you, darling. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Well, that’s one thing we have in common,” she retorted. “All right, you sick bastard. I’ll be back momentarily.” She turned and led the child to the door.

“Wait,” said Michael, and his tone had a frightening ring of victory to it that caused her to look at him again. “We haven’t discussed my terms yet.”

“Terms? Are you expecting something different this time, Michael? Sewing lessons, perhaps?”

He laughed. “You really are amazing, my dear. Impertinent even in the face of very real danger.” He rolled onto his belly and crawled to the end of the bed, his muscles moving like those of a cat stalking its prey.

“Karvolt, take the child into the hall.” His eyes glittered as the guard obeyed. Rhapsody patted the little girl comfortingly as she released her hand.

“Now listen, my dear. Here is the bargain: my men and I are here for a fortnight, after which we will be leaving for the foreseeable future. I will miss you very much while I’m gone; it will probably be years before we see each other again, though I promise I will come back for you. You’re in my blood, Rhapsody. I dream about you almost every night. And I know you feel the same way about me.” He smiled at the look of disgust that came over her face.

“Now, this is the first of the terms: I will have you to myself, whenever I want you, until I leave. Nana has graciously agreed to let me rent this room for the entire time. If you perform up to my expectations, which you always do, I will leave the child with you when I go. If you make this difficult, I will take her with me, and you will be left to imagine what is happening to her for the rest of your life.”

“Now, the second term. You will want me, too, and tell me so. I expect you to be very demonstrative of the affection and desire I know is pounding through you right now.”

“Well, desire anyway,” Rhapsody said, trying not to let the seething anger she felt take over her voice. “I would be more than happy to demonstrate what I desire to do to you right now. Give me your belt.”

“Karvolt? Is Petunia well?” An anguished cry of pain issued forth from the hallway, turning Rhapsody’s blood to ice. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t hear you. Now, what was it you were saying?” Michael laughed aloud at the murderous rage that burned in her eyes. “Why, Rhapsody, I do believe you’re angry. Whatever is wrong?” His own eyes became wild, and the calm amusement that had been playing there moments before vanished before the oncoming storm.

“Now, back to the terms. You will not only meet my needs, you will engage in their succor willingly, with relish. You will make love to me with your words, as well as all your other attributes. I expect to leave here with your heart in my pocket, having placed one of my organs in yours repeatedly. Now, can you do that? Can you promise me a reciprocal situation?”

“No. I’m sorry. I agree to the first condition, but, as you’ve already said, my reputation precedes me. I can’t lie about this, Michael. You would know it was false anyway.”

Michael pushed up on his strong forearms. “Karvolt, bring Petunia back in here and put her directly under me.”

Rhapsody wheeled as the guard dragged the little girl back into the room. “No, Michael, please. Please.”

The child began to sob, and Rhapsody stepped in front of the guard, positioning herself between them and the bed. The guard lifted the little girl off the floor, and as she began to scream Rhapsody grabbed her, pulling her away. She turned and looked at Michael again. His eyes were gleaming with a frightening intensity.

“All right, Michael, I’ll say whatever you want. Let her go.”

“Show me, Rhapsody. Show me why I should believe you.”

Rhapsody glared at the guards, whose smiles glittered brighter than the flickering light from the candelabra. Quickly she walked the child to the door, and bustled her into the hallway.

“Nana,” she called down over the balcony railing, “please take her out of here and get her something to eat.” She gave the child a brave smile and pointed down the stairs, where Nana and the others were waiting. After the girl had descended, Rhapsody sighed and went back into the room.

Michael was plumping the pillows when she returned.

“Well, Rhapsody? Tell me what you want.” His voice dropped to a warm whisper, erotic, threatening.

Rhapsody met his gaze. Then, with a practiced hand, she slid her fingers into her shirt and, ever so slowly, began to unbutton it.

“Leave us,” she said to the guards. “We want to be alone.” His smile broadened. “Yes, leave us,” he echoed. “This beautiful woman wants to be left alone to pleasure her lover. Isn’t that right, Rhapsody?”

Rhapsody’s eyes never dropped. “Yes,” she said, staring at him. She removed her blouse and let it fall to the floor, causing his pulse to beat faster and his breathing to quicken. “Leave me alone with my lover.”

Rhapsody’s forehead furrowed, and she lurched to one side in the throes of the nightmare. She began to mutter in her sleep, and Achmed, perched on a trunk root higher up, tapped Grunthor with his foot.

Grunthor stirred and woke without a sound to full awareness. He followed the downward angle of Achmed’s glance and saw the girl, eyes closed, murmuring, swearing epithets softly under her breath. Then she began to whimper, and her body rocked back and forth, trying to loose the bonds of the rope that bound her to the root.

Grunthor took hold of a long vine and rappelled backward, leaning out to reach the girl, who was now sweating, crying in her sleep. She struggled to break free, and just as Grunthor came within reach of her, she did.

Rhapsody began to fall into the endless darkness, waking as the world rushed by above her. She gasped and clutched wildly at the root, feeling her hands burn as they stripped along the radix. A huge hand grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her aloft, disorienting her totally.

“There, now, Yer Ladyship, plannin’ to drop in on someone else now, are ya?”

Rhapsody fought for purchase, then to regain her perspective, and found herself upright against Grunthor’s chest, his enormous arm wrapped tightly around her torso. She leaned back and looked up at him. His grisly features spread into a broad grin.

“Thank you,” she said, her brows knitting together. She looked around the endless tunnel in the dark light, then back to his face. “Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure, darlin’. If Oi might be so bold as to suggest it, you best sleep on the root between us, eh?”

“Bad idea,” came the voice from above. “You can’t be certain that a falling body, even one that small, wouldn’t catch you off guard and unbalance you, Grunthor.”

“’E’s right, miss; sorry,” Grunthor said, looking at Rhapsody with what she swore was sympathy.

“I understand,” she replied, taking hold of the root once more. She started to climb down, but her foot slipped against the slime on the main vine. Grunthor’s hand shot out to steady her again.

“’Ere, missy, come on up ’ere,” he said as he lifted her effortlessly from below him. He carried her like a child back up to his perch, then stretched out again, positioning himself horizontally between the trunk root and its tributary branch. Gently he pulled her down onto his chest and slung an enormous arm around her.

“Why don’t you just sleep ’ere, Yer Ladyship?” he asked, patting her awkwardly on the head. “Oi’ll keep you safe, darlin’.”

Rhapsody looked up into the monstrous face, and decided that what she saw there was kindness, not appetite. Despite his monstrous appearance, and what she knew he was capable of, he had been kind to her. She could trust him, at least.

“Thank you,” she said softly, giving him a shy smile. “I will.” She put her head down on his chest and closed her eyes.

Grunthor shivered. “Oooooh. Beware the smile, sir; it’s a killer.”

“Thanks for the warning,” came the voice from the root above. “Somehow I think I’ll manage.”