Rhapsody: Child of Blood

11

Rhapsody smiled to herself as Grunthor’s ringing bass died away below her. The Bolg Sergeant clearly missed the troops that had been under his command, though he had not elaborated much about who they were, or what had happened to them. His marching cadences helped him pass the time, and gave her an interesting window into Bolg military life. More than anything, it made her appreciate that she had not yet become part of the menu.

A small thicket of rootlets offered a moment’s respite from the climb, and she took the opportunity to stop, trying to find warmth. As she rubbed her hands furiously up and down her arms, Rhapsody endeavored to stop her heart from pounding in the anticipation she could not control. The sickening feeling in her stomach from too many disappointments did little to quash the hope that was now lodged in her throat.

Finally, after an interminable amount of time, they were almost to the tunnel’s break. Above them in the darkness stretched a vast ceiling, too far to see the top, where Rhapsody hoped they might soon see sky. Perhaps it’s dark outside, she thought, but in the pit of her stomach she knew they had been traveling for far more than the span of a single night since the opening had come into view.

“Wait there,” Achmed called down to them as he approached the opening. Grunthor came to a halt as well and waited as the dark figure climbed the rest of the distance up the thickening root tower.

As the taproot grew closer to the opening of the tunnel it widened dramatically, and seeing the outside edges became impossible. Grunthor and Rhapsody watched as Achmed faded from view, scaling the enormous root trunk above them and disappearing over its edge.

While they waited, Rhapsody looked over at Grunthor. During their interminable journey she had grown quite fond of him, and grudgingly friendly with his comrade as well, though she still had not forgiven him or determined his motives. Now that it seemed as if they might be near the end, she had come to realize how the giant Bolg was more a man than many she had met, not at all the monster she had been told of in childhood horror stories.

“Grunthor?”

The amber-eyed Sergeant looked over at her. “Yes, miss?”

“In case I don’t get a chance to thank you after we get out, I want you to know how much I’ve appreciated your kindness, in spite of, well, the way we ended up together.”

Grunthor looked up to where Achmed had disappeared and smiled. “Don’t mention it, Duchess.”

“And I apologize if I hurt your feelings in any way, back in the meadows when we first met, by my comments about thinking of Firbolg as monsters.”

Grunthor’s smile brightened noticeably. “Well, that’s awful nice o’ you, Yer Ladyship, but Oi got a pretty thick ’ide; Oi didn’t take no offense by it. And you’re not so bad yourself, you know, for one o’ them glass-Lirin. They’re the worst-tastin’ o’ the lot.”

Rhapsody laughed. “What kinds of Lirin have you known, besides Liringlas?”

“Oh, all kinds. Oi’ve seen Lirin from the cities, and Lirin that live in the dark ’ills, and Lirin from the sea. They all look somethin’ the same, you know, all angles, skinny lit’le buggers with pointy faces and big wide eyes. Come in all different colors, mind you. You’re not a full-blood, are ya?”

She shook her head. “No, half. I guess I’m a mongrel among Lirin.”

“Aw, well, mutts make the best dogs, they say, miss. Don’t feel bad. It makes for a nicer appearance, Oi think. You’re a pretty lit’le thing, as Lirin go, not so sharp-lookin’ and fragile.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at the odd compliment. “You’re the nicest Firbolg I’ve ever met, but, as you noted, I’ve only ever met one.”

“Two.” The voice from the root above her caused her to jump a little. Achmed had returned.

“No, I’ve never met any but Grunthor.”

Achmed’s expression turned into something more resembling a sneer than a smile. “Well, far be it from me to correct the facts of the All-Knowledgeable, but you’ve met two.”

Rhapsody looked puzzled. “Are you saying you are also Firbolg?”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t use her for food, Grunthor; she shows a glimmer of intelligence.” The giant made a mock sound of disappointment.

She looked from one to the other, vastly different in appearance. Grunthor was at least a foot taller than Achmed, and where the giant was broad and muscular, with massive arms and hands that ended in claws, Achmed, from what she could see beneath the covering of robes, was wiry and of thinner build, with bony human hands. She turned to the giant.

“Are you a full-blooded Firbolg?”

“Naw.”

The robed man snorted. “Did you think you’re the only half-breed in the world?”

Color flooded Rhapsody’s face, visible even in the dark light. “Of course not. I just thought Grunthor was Firbolg.”

“Grunthor is half Bengard”

The Bengardian race was a little-known one, reputedly from a distant desert. They were said [Garbled]

the size of the taproot luscule in contrast to this Grunthor whistled. The endless glowing ground that [Garbled]

[here comes the piece of Russian text in replacement of missing English piece]

Про них говорили, что они ужасно высокие, а их тела покрыты шкурой, похожей на змеиную. Она немного знала их фольклор и несколько песен.

— А ты?

Ее спутники переглянулись, прежде чем Акмед ответил:

— Я наполовину дракианин. Так что мы все тут дворняжки… Ну что, в путь?

Рапсодия уже достаточно хорошо изучила своих спутников, чтобы знать, когда следует задавать вопросы, а когда лучше помолчать.

— Разумеется, — ответила она. — Я совсем не хочу здесь задерживаться.

Она встала и потянулась, чтобы немного размять затекшие ноги, а потом последовала за двумя друзьями вверх по огромному корню.

— Сюда, мисси, давай ручку, и Ой тебя вытащит.

Рапсодия с благодарностью вцепилась в протянутую лапищу Грунтора. Он легко поднял ее с уступа, на котором она остановилась, и поставил у выхода из туннеля. Не в силах справиться с собой, она опустила ресницы, моля всех святых, чтобы черное пятно у них над головой оказалось ночным небом, усыпанным звездами. Но когда она вновь открыла глаза, черное пятно осталось черным пятном, уходящим в бесконечность.

Однако перед Рапсодией открылось поразительное зрелище. Земля у них под ногами была белого цвета — совсем как корень, по которому они карабкались. Только она едва заметно светилась и пульсировала, и ее голос торжественным гимном отзывался в душе Рапсодии.

Грунтор присвистнул от удивления. Бесконечная мерцающая поверхность земли, которую переполняла могучая, пульсирующая сила, оказалась шире Великой реки, рассекавшей остров Серендаир на две части. Эта поражающая воображение дорога имела множество ответвлений.

Рапсодия едва сдерживала разочарование:

— Боги, что это такое?

— Истинный Корень. Тот, по которому мы взбирались, был всего лишь боковым отростком, возможно, соединяющим Сагию с Осью Мира. Неужели ты думала, что мы добрались до конца нашего путешествия? Мы, считай, еще и не начинали его. [/Russian replacement]

She fought back the tears she had been forbidden to shed. “I can’t go any further,” she said, her voice coming out in a whisper.

The robed figure took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. “Listen! Can’t you hear the music around you? How can a Singer, a Namer, particularly a Lirin one, not be awed by the music of this place? Even I can hear it, I can feel it in my skin. Listen!”

Over the beating of her sorrowful heart Rhapsody could hear the hum, a great vibration modulating in the endless cavern around them. Against her will she closed her eyes and drank it in. It was a rich sound, full of wisdom and power, unlike any she had ever heard. Achmed was right, as much as she hated to admit it. There was something magical here, something unique in all the world, a melody that moved slowly, changing tones almost infinitesimally, unhurried by the need to keep pace with anything. It was the voice of the Earth, singing from its soul.

Rhapsody let the music flow through her, washing over the pain and the anger, healing the wounds from their combat with the vermin. She attuned her own note, the tone that was her musical name, to the voice of the Root, as once she had to the song of Sagia, and felt it fill her with its power. A moment later she opened her eyes to see the men conferring, pointing to the different pathways that extended out from this juncture. It was as if they were at a crossroads, trying to decide which way to go.

Finally Achmed turned to her. “Well, are you over your crisis? Are you coming, or are you staying here forever?”

She shot him a look of hatred. “I’m coming. And don’t speak to me in that tone. It wasn’t exactly my idea to come in the first place.” She rubbed her hands, beaded with moisture. At first she thought it was from her anxiety, but a moment later noticed that she was similarly damp on her clothes and boots. The moisture in the air hung heavy here; it was a dank place.

“At least we don’t have to climb anymore, darlin’, eh? That’s for the better, anyway.” Grunthor winked at her as he shouldered his pack.

“This way,” Achmed said, pointing to a path leading off the left side of the Root.

“Why?”

“Because it feels right,” he said without rancor. “You, however, are welcome to go whichever way you please.” He and Grunthor climbed over a thick rise in the ground and began following the enormously wide, glowing path into the darkness of the cavern. Rhapsody sighed, shouldered her gear, and followed them.

They made camp when they could walk no longer. The ceiling of the cavern was now in sight, visible in the dark light as they approached the place where the Root seemed to pass through a tunnel in the Earth.

“Since this Root runs through the Earth, there will probably be extremes in the space around it,” Achmed observed as they made ready to eat and get some sleep. “Right now we’re in a cavernous place, probably because so many of the Root’s tributaries meet here. Soon I fear we will be in very close quarters. That tunnel ahead may be the normal space the Root has around it, and if that’s the case I think we will be doing a good deal of crawling. In addition, the air is unlikely to be very pleasant. Perhaps if Grunthor is going to train you in the sword, he’d be best do it here, while we still have some space. After we’ve had a rest, of course.”

“You think he needs to?” Rhapsody asked anxiously.

“No, I think you have need for him to,” said Achmed tersely. “Those worms came from somewhere. I doubt they were just on the taproot. I would guess we will see them again. It’s your choice.”

Rhapsody turned to the grinning Firbolg giant. “If you’re willing to train me, I would be grateful,” she said, “but I don’t have a sword.”

“Oi can loan you one, darlin’. Actually, it’s just a longknife for me, but for you it’ll serve as a sword.” Grunthor plucked a long dagger from behind the small of his back and presented it to her with a deep bow.

Rhapsody took it shyly. The blade was longer than her thigh, and sharp. It made her nervous even to hold it.

“I’m not sure,” she said hesitantly.

“Listen, miss, them worms are gonna eventually get you if you don’t keep a better distance,” the Bolg Sergeant said. “Ol’ Lucy there will ’elp ya.”

“Lucy?”

“Yep, that’s ’er name.”

Rhapsody looked down at the short sword. “Hello, Lucy. Do you name all your weapons, Grunthor?”

“O’ course. It’s tradition.”

Rhapsody nodded, understanding coming into her eyes. “That makes perfect sense. Do you find that you fight better with a weapon you’ve named?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes began to sparkle with excitement. “Why, Grunthor, in a way, you’re a Namer, too!”

The giant broke into a pleased grin. “Well, whaddaya know. Should Oi sing a lit’le song?”

“No,” said Rhapsody and Achmed in unison.

“Get on with the lessons,” added Achmed. “I’m only willing to wait for so long before pressing on.”

Grunthor was feeling about his back, trying to decide on a weapon with which to spar. He pulled two more of his blades out. The first one was a long thin sword he called Lopper. Rhapsody shuddered at the imagery, remembering the night in the fields with Michael’s men. The other was a thick, three-sided spike he introduced as the Friendmaker. He must have decided to use this one, because a moment later he slid Lopper back into its place behind him.

“Why do you call it ‘the Friendmaker’?” Rhapsody asked nervously.

“Well, you may ’ave somethin’ there, with all that name and power stuff,” said Grunthor as he took his position. “Take the Friendmaker, for instance. Oi called ’im that, and now, when people see ’im, they instantly want to be my friend. Those that live, o’ course.”

“Of course.” Rhapsody smiled sickly. “I know I do.”

“Well, that goes without sayin’, miss. Oi should ’ope we’re friends, we been sleepin’ together and all.”

Rhapsody smiled in spite of herself. “All right, friend. Let’s have at it.”

The sound of clashing steel rang through the cavern around the Root. The giant Firbolg had swept Rhapsody off her feet repeatedly. She was beginning to tire of getting up, only to find herself on her back a few moments later. Most disheartening was that she knew he was holding back, taking it easy on her as a beginner.

Grunthor had left many openings for her that she had tried to follow through on, only to find herself disarmed or compromised in some other way. Finally she took to seeking the openings he had not made obvious, and his approval was growing.

“That’s it, Duchess, keep at it, now.” He parried her blow. She stripped Lucy the sword down the side of the Friendmaker, only to find him in defensive position again. “Come on, don’t give in, sweet’eart. Oi know you can do it. Knock me off the bloody Root. Do it.”

Rhapsody swung twice more, futilely. Grunthor was too fast for her. She stepped back and took a deep breath.

“STRIKE!” Grunthor bellowed, causing her to jump away even farther. “Get your pretty ’ead out o’ yer arse and pay attention, or Oi’ll rip it off and stick it on my poleax!” Rhapsody stared at him in astonishment. The giant’s eyes opened in surprise as well. He regarded her sheepishly.

“Sorry, miss, sometimes Oi slip back into my Sergeant Major role.”

Rhapsody bent over at the waist, trying to catch her breath. When she stood back up she was still laughing.

“I’m sorry, Grunthor. I guess I just wasn’t cut out to fight with a sword.”

“Perhaps,” came Achmed’s dry voice behind her. “But you should learn anyway. What you need to change is your attitude.”

Rhapsody regarded him between breaths. “Really? And what new attitude do you suggest I adopt?”

The robed man came and stood beside her, taking her hand and turning it over. “First, however you initially grasp the sword, change your grip a little, so that you focus on how you’re holding it. Don’t take your weapon for granted. Second, and far more important: tuck your chin. You’re going to get hurt, so expect it and be ready. You may as well see it coming.”

“You’re spending too much time trying to avoid the pain instead of minimizing it and taking out the source of what will injure you further or kill you. If Grunthor weren’t holding back you would have been dead in the first exchange of blows. You should accept that you will be injured and decide to pay him back in spades. Learn to hate; it will keep you alive.”

Rhapsody threw her sword onto the Root. “I’d rather not live at all than live that way.”

“Well, if that’s your attitude, you won’t have to worry long.”

“I don’t want to act like that. I like Grunthor.”

The giant Bolg rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, the feelin’s mutual, miss, but if you don’t learn to take care of yourself, you’re worm-meat.”

The sense of irony that came over Rhapsody she had felt before, each time she considered her situation and realized that she was indeed in the company of two strange men of monster lineage, stuck within the Earth, crawling along a giant root. The sweet one, the one that looked at her from time to time in a wistful manner she could only interpret as thwarted appetite, was trying to convince her to attack him in order to save herself. The more human of the two, proving the deception of looks, was still treating her with consummate indifference. She picked up Lucy again.

“All right, Grunthor, let’s give it a few more passes and then we’ll stop.”

The Sergeant broke into a wide grin. “That’s it, miss, ’it me just once, and make it a good clean blow, now.”

When Grunthor was finally satisfied with her performance Rhapsody sank down to the ground, bruised, disheveled, and hungry. She rummaged through her pack, looking for the small sack in which she kept the remains of the loaf of bread Pilam had given her. She gripped the bag a little tighter and began to sing, chanting the name of the bread, as she had since the day the baker had given it to her. In her song she described it in music the best she could, flat bread, barley loaf, soft.

When the namesong was over she opened the sack and took out the bread, breaking off a sizable piece for herself, then offering the remainder to the men. After all this time there was still not a speck of mold on it, even in this humid place, and it was still able to be chewed. By rights it should be harder than a lump of coal by now.

“What was that, now, miss, a blessin’ o’ some sort?” asked Grunthor, taking the piece she held out to him.

“In a way. I called it by its name.” Rhapsody smiled at him, then proceeded to eat her portion. Achmed said nothing. “And is that ’ow you got it to stay fresh?”

“Yes. It remains as it was when it was first baked.”

Achmed stretched out on the thick smooth flesh of the enormous Root. “Well, when we wake up, why don’t you call it something else? I’ve always liked the name ‘Sausage and Biscuits,’” he said. It was the first joke Rhapsody ever remembered him making.

“I can recall its original state, but I can’t change its nature,” she said, chewing her bread. “If I had that power, you would be a good deal more pleasant, and I would be home.”

Perhaps it was the pulsing power of the Axis Mundi beneath her head as she slept, but Rhapsody was now plagued incessantly with even more vivid nightmares.

The dreams that night were especially intense. Clearest among them were repeated visions of a man, drowning in darkness, smothering in endless pain. All around him was a blanket of mist. She tried to brush the vapor away, but it hung in the air, unwilling to be dismissed. Rhapsody struggled to wake, but the exhaustion was too great.

She moaned and wrenched from side to side, falling off Grunthor’s massive chest as the image changed. It was the picture of another man, his face formless except for eyes, rimmed in the color of blood. He was digging about in the darkness, passing his hands through the air, grasping after something that he could not find. Words formed in her mind, and unconsciously she whispered them aloud.

The chain has snapped, she said.

Achmed, lying on his back and staring into the darkness above him, heard her and sat up. He looked down at her face, contorted in the struggle with the torturous dreams; she looked like she was losing the fight. He tapped Grunthor, who sat up as well.

The man with the blood-rimmed eyes looked up at her, and the image of his amorphous face filled her mind. The eyes, the only identifiable feature, stared at her as though memorizing her face. She knew she should look away, but something held her in an iron-fast grip. Then, as she watched in horror, each of the eyes began to divide, replicating itself, multiplying over and over, until there were dozens, then scores, then hundreds in the formless face. All staring at her.

The Lord of a Thousand Eyes, she whispered.

One by one the eyes broke off the misty face, independent but identical. A cold wind blew in, catching each of them, carrying them across the wide world. And still they stared, unblinking, focused on her.

On the surface of the world above, war is raging, she murmured.

“What’s she on about?” Grunthor asked softly.

Achmed waved him into silence. He had heard her name the F’dor.

In her dream a handsome face appeared, gleaming with the patina of youth and moonlight. His cheek grazed her own as he embraced her, nuzzling her ear.

This is all I have; it’s not much of a gift, but I want you to have something from me tonight, he said. Then the gentle hands tightened their grip, and muscular legs forced hers apart as the soft breathing turned to the heightened panting of lust.

No, she moaned. Stop. It’s all a lie.

He laughed, and the clutching hands on her arms squeezed painfully. I would never, never hurt you on purpose; I hope you know that.

Stop, she sobbed. I want to go home.

Home? You have no home. You gave all that up, remember? You gave it up for me. Everything. Everything you loved. And I never even told you I loved you.

Gasping in the throes of the nightmare, Rhapsody began to choke on her tears. Grunthor, who had grown visibly more upset with each passing moment, reached over to help her. Achmed caught his arm.

“She might be prescient,” he said warningly. “She may be seeing the Future, or the Past. The information might be important.”

“Don’t you think keepin’ ’er from a fatal fit might be a lit’le more so, sir?” Achmed saw the angry look in the giant’s eye, and moved aside. Gently Grunthor took her arm and shook her awake.

“Miss?”

With a violent lurch Rhapsody sat up; then she recoiled and belted him in the eye. It was a beautiful shot, innately aimed, with her entire weight behind it, and carried with it the impact of a blow from a man twice her size. Grunthor fell back on his rump with a thud.

Achmed chuckled. “See what being a considerate fellow buys you?”

Rhapsody, now awake, blinked back the tears and stumbled over to the giant, who was gingerly touching his eye as it began to swell.

“Gods, Grunthor, I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t know it was you.”

The Bolg looked up at her and grimaced with an expression that might, under different circumstances, have been a smile.

“That’s all right, miss. Quite a nice right cross you got there. Where’d you learn it?”

She was rummaging in her pack for her waterskin. “My brothers.”

“Oi see. Well, Oi guess since we adopted you, perhaps you would do me the favor of thinkin’ o’ me as one o’ your brothers, and don’t ’it me with that lovely right cross again, eh?”

A hint of a smile crossed her face as she dabbed his eye. “Who do you think I used it on the most?”

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No need to be, darlin’. ’Ere, put that away. Oi’m all right. Come and lie back down, and perhaps we can get a lit’le more rest.” Rhapsody obeyed sheepishly.

When they woke they gathered their gear and moved into the endless low tunnel before them.