Rhapsody: Child of Blood

63

As the days passed, Ashe became a fixture of sorts in Ylorc. Achmed had barred him, as he had Jo, from Gwylliam’s vaults and the ancient library; only Rhapsody, Grunthor, and the king himself were allowed within those chambers. Ashe, of course, knew where they were anyway, owing to his dragon sense. But for some reason their contents were unclear to him; he was unable to make out the details from the restricted area, which was a rare occurrence.

It didn’t matter. Rhapsody was generally more than willing to discuss the various artifacts they had discovered with him, and Achmed routinely read the manuscripts he found within the library in the evenings after supper, giving Ashe the opportunity to discern what they were then.

Once, as he was allowing his dragon sense to scan the documents in the Firbolg king’s hands, the scroll was abruptly re-rolled. He opened his eyes to see Achmed staring at him from across the room. It was almost as if the Warlord could tell what he was doing, even beneath the misty hood. Perhaps it was a sign of his dominion over the land; Achmed held the law and lore of kingship and knew, innately, the minutiae of his kingdom, just as if he were a dragon himself. These were his lands; Ashe had no power here.

All the insults and restrictions were worth it, as it allowed him access to Rhapsody. She was a joy, there was no doubt about it. Her personality held myriad facets and contradictions; she was at once gentle and ferocious, depending on the circumstance, though she possessed a rare ability to laugh at herself and to graciously endure the sometimes brutal teasing of her friends. She was devoted to Jo, and kept after her like a mother hen, defending her chick in all confrontational situations with talons more akin to a raptor. And her intelligence and sense of humor were without peer.

Ashe knew he should be moving on; the one who was waiting for him would doubtless be growing annoyed by now, but he seemed powerless to leave her. He had established a casual, disinterested demeanor that had set well toward making Rhapsody comfortable around him; her guard was down, and she was growing to like him, or at least she seemed to be. Just a few more days, he told himself each night as he lay in bed, alone, wondering what she was dreaming about. Achmed’s will had extended even into the stone walls, making it impossible to sense her when she was not in the same room. It was a disconcerting feeling.

Everything changed a few days later. Achmed and Grunthor had been gone for most of the day, exploring the caverns. Ashe had spent the morning teaching Jo to play mumblety-peg, a dexterity game he knew she would excel in, owing to her nimble fingers. She had mastered the technique quickly and was demonstrating it to Rhapsody when the two Bolg returned from the vaults, wrapped in an air of excitement.

“Wanna see what we found, Duchess?” said Grunthor, handing her a slim jeweled case. It was pristine, the outer box made from the dark, blue-toned wood of the hespera trees that grew deep within the Hidden Realm and from which much of the ancient furniture they had found had been crafted. The top was hinged with tiny golden braces, and the clasp had no lock.

“It was within many other layers of boxes and caskets, buried deep in the vault,” said Achmed, pouring himself a glass from the decanter.

Rhapsody opened it carefully. Within it lay a flawed, curved dagger, the length of a short sword, made from bone or another inconsistent material. It was the color of rose-gold, the metal alloy formed when copper was mixed into a golden base.

“How very strange.” She removed the dagger carefully from the box, turning it over in her hands. “Who would gild a weapon with red-gold? It’s too soft for any battle use. And the craftsmanship isn’t good; look how many defects there are in the surface.”

“Perhaps it’s ceremonial.”

Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened, there was an intense hum in the air around the dagger. Then her eyes opened wide in alarm. “Gods; I think I know what this is,” she said. Her face turned white and her voice dropped to a whisper.

“What?”

“It’s a dragon’s claw; look at it.” She held it up at a curved angle; she was right. There was no mistaking it, or the extrapolation that the dragon it had come from had been immense.

“It’ll make a great sword for the lit’le miss,” said Grunthor.

“You’re insane,” Rhapsody snapped. Then regret flooded her face as Grunthor looked hurt. “I’m sorry, Grunthor,” she said. “I just remember a little dragon lore from the old land. Dragons are particularly selfish creatures, and very jealous of their possessions. If the owner of this claw is still alive, it will know who has it, and may scour the countryside looking to get it back. I don’t want Jo anywhere near this thing; in fact, I’m not so sure we want it anywhere within the mountain. We may have to take it back to her.”

“Her?”

“Elynsynos, Anwyn’s mother, remember? Llauron’s grandmother. She’s the only dragon I’ve ever heard of in this land.”

“It’s been fine here for centuries,” said Achmed, annoyed. “Why do you think she will suddenly want it back?”

“Perhaps when it was in the sealed vault she didn’t know where it was, but now that the air has reached it, its smell will be on the wind. I’m not kidding, Achmed; one of the first types of lore they teach you as a Singer is tales of dragons and others of the five firstborn races. Most of those stories have to do with the rampages the wyrms go on when a thief steals something from their hoard, or when it is taken inadvertently. We have to decide carefully what to do with this; it would be awful to wake up one night with fire raining from the sky.”

Grunthor sighed. “Oi’m not showin’ you nothin’ from now on,” he said.

“Perhaps she’s right,” Achmed said; the others looked up at him in surprise. He knew the tales as well, and darker ones. “But I’m not sure returning it is the answer. Perhaps we should just take it to the tallest of the Teeth and hurl it onto the plateau. If the dragon is still alive, she’ll find it.”

“Or someone else will,” said Rhapsody indignantly. “Anyone could come across that box and open it; you’d be sentencing an innocent stranger to a horrible death. Besides, I don’t think a dragon that would journey to Ylorc to retrieve something she thought was valuable would appreciate it being tossed from a mountain like so much garbage.”

Jo had organized the Bolg children into crews that had cleaned up the centuries of filth and litter from the steppes. “Nobody better be throwing trash from the mountain,” she said, then went back to her game.

“And how do you propose to return this to her?” Achmed asked.

“I’ll go,” Rhapsody said. “It will be interesting; perhaps I can learn some dragon lore firsthand.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed; it was the first sign of anger brewing.

“I said no,” Achmed repeated. “If I recall correctly, wasn’t Elynsynos the dragon that rampaged when she found out that Merithyn didn’t come back, and deserted her children as infants?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“And you want to seek her out and say, ‘Here, we found this; I’ll be on my way now?’ I don’t think so. Besides, you have no idea where to find her, do you?”

“I do,” said Ashe quietly. He had been sitting by silently, observing the proceedings with interest and a touch of amusement. The women jumped when he spoke, having been lulled into forgetting he was there. “I could guide you there.”

“No,” Achmed repeated again, a snarl in his voice.

“Do you have a better idea?” Rhapsody asked, her annoyance growing.

Achmed sighed irritably and glanced in Ashe’s direction. “Perhaps instead of no I should had said not yet. There may be some value in seeing what she might offer in return for it.”

“You’re going to ransom something to a dragon?” Ashe’s voice contained a note of either disdain or amusement; Achmed couldn’t decide which, but either one infuriated him.

“Don’t be a jackass. I just want her to remember to whom she owes its return.”

Rhapsody was becoming impatient. “I’m not willing to risk it,” she said. “Ashe knows how to find her lair.”

“Good; then he can draw us a map, assuming he’s literate.”

Ashe laughed. “I don’t think so. If you’re still interested in the morning, we can make plans for the journey. I think I will wish you all good night now.”

Jo stood as well. “Me too. I’ll walk you there.” She kissed Rhapsody on the cheek, then followed the cloaked figure out of the room.

Rhapsody waited until she was sure the two could no longer hear their voices, then turned to Achmed again.

“Why are you doing this? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. It’s not a case of something being ‘the matter.’”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a case of being careful in unfamiliar territory.”

Rhapsody’s brows knit together. “It’s not unfamiliar to Ashe, obviously.”

“Ashe is unfamiliar territory. What’s the matter with you, Rhapsody? You trip over this imbecile in the market; he calls you a whore and then buys you lunch to make up for it, and you forgive him, proving that, in a way, he was right. Then he shows up here, in my lands, unannounced and unwelcome, and worms his way into your good graces again. Are you so intolerant, is the company of Firbolg so repugnant to you that you crave the attentions of this useless idiot just to be around humans again?”

Rhapsody’s eyes stung; Achmed had never been especially careful with her feelings, but even for him this was caustic. “What a horrible thing to say.”

“Far less horrible than the things that could happen to you, alone and unprotected, with this man you barely know, outside the range of help. You know I can’t leave Ylorc right now. This is not the time for me to go overland when the Bolg are finally united and the plans we put into place are beginning to bear fruit.”

Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed again. Grunthor caught a glimpse of them from across the room, burning like green fire; he knew that look. It was the warning of great wrath.

“And therefore I am required to stay in Ylorc as well, even though my part in your great unification plan is over,” she said, her voice low with the effort to remain in control of her temper. “I have done my share in your effort, Achmed, at times even crossing the line of what I was willing to, all for you, because you said it was the right thing to do. What am I supposed to do here now?”

Achmed gripped the arm of his chair. “What about helping with the agricultural program? The hospital? The hospice? The education strategy?”

“Those things are done and in place.”

“What about overseeing the production of the goods? The vineyards? Spring is coming; it will be time to plant soon. That’s an important contribution to this land and these people you purport to care about.”

“What about keeping them from frying in a wave of dragon’s breath?” Rhapsody retorted. “Have you forgotten what this is really about? I think you are more bothered by who my guide would be than the prospect of what might happen if I don’t go; not very good decision-making for a king, I would say.”

“Oi could go with you,” Grunthor offered.

Rhapsody smiled at the giant Sergeant. “No, you can’t; in a way, your presence here is even more important than his is.” Achmed nodded in agreement. She saw the light change in his eyes, but he said nothing. She went over and sat on the table in front of him, taking his hand.

“Aren’t we old and good enough friends by now to say what we really mean? Why don’t you just admit you’re worried about me? That you’re afraid the dragon will kill me, or hold me captive? That you don’t trust Ashe alone with me, and that you’re afraid if I leave here without one of you, I will not be able to protect myself?”

Achmed met her gaze. “Isn’t that what I said?” She shook her head, smiling. “If you know that, why are you still considering going?”

Rhapsody sighed. “Because someone has to, and I am the obvious choice. My work here is at a stage where I can leave for a while without it coming to a halt. And I can take care of myself. You forget, I survived on the street for a long time before I met you two. I can handle it; really. And Ashe, too, should he try to take advantage of me. I have Daystar Clarion and the best training in the sword possible.” She felt Grunthor smile, and turned to look at him. “Tell him, Grunthor; tell him I’ll be all right.”

“Oi can’t, miss; you know Oi never lie to ’Is Majesty.”

She sighed again. “Your faith in me is overwhelming. Look, do you remember what I told you that day on Elysian’s lake? That I needed a goal, a chance to do something for the people I care about? This is my chance, Achmed. I’m needed in a way that I haven’t been since I came to this place. This is my home now, too. Surely I should risk whatever I must to keep it safe. I can help the Bolg in a way you can’t. It’s important, to me, and, more critically, to them.”

“Go then,” said Achmed. “Take Jo with you. How long will you be gone?”

Rhapsody blinked. “Now you want me to go?”

He snorted in disgust. “Don’t be an idiot. Obviously I don’t want you to go. Just as obviously, you intend to. I’ve known you long enough to realize who is going to win here. So, since you’ve already made up your mind, what is left is to make sure you’re provisioned well and the plans are sensible. Then we’ll establish a date by which, if you have not returned, we’ll divide up your belongings, give away your room, and forget about you.”

Rhapsody ran a hand over her hair, trying to absorb the sudden shift. “All right,” she said awkwardly. “But I can’t take Jo; that would be a bad idea.”

“She can watch your back. And she’ll be out from under foot here.”

“She’ll be in danger, Achmed,” Rhapsody said, annoyance in her voice. “I’ve finally got that girl to a place she might actually be safe, and you want me to drag her out across the continent again to a dragon’s lair? I don’t think so. Besides, you’re the one who’s always worried about her flapping tongue. She might tell Ashe or someone else more about what is going on here in the mountain than you want on the wind.”

“Speakin’ o’ Ashe,” said Grunthor seriously, “you might want to warn ’im that if anythin’ bad befalls you, or you don’t come back, Oi’m gonna track ’im down and kill ’im by several methods that’ll get me enshrined in the Torture ’All o’ Fame.”

Rhapsody laughed. “I’ll tell him.” She leaned forward and kissed Achmed’s cheek.

Five days later she and Ashe set out, heading west again the way the four had come. She had spent much of the intervening time with Jo, who had desperately wanted to come as well, but had been finally convinced to stay by Grunthor.

“Oi’m gonna lose the Duchess and the lit’le miss, too? Naw. ’Ave an ’eart, Jo. Oi’ll be so lonely Oi’ll just curl up and die.” The women had broken into laughter at the image.

“How could you possibly resist that plea?” said Rhapsody, hugging her sister. She pulled her closer, so only Jo could hear her whisper. “And look after the other one as well; he needs it even more.” Jo had just nodded.

Jo’s reluctant agreement had brought to light something odd, Rhapsody had noticed. It had been necessary for her to use many of the same arguments to dissuade Jo that the other two had tried, without success, on her. As a result, by the time Jo had finally acquiesced, Rhapsody was feeling far less certain of the wisdom of the undertaking than she had been, and more than a touch hypocritical.

The last day before their departure she spent with Achmed alone, going over plans and sitting in comfortable silence.

“Is there anything you especially want me not to tell him?” Rhapsody asked over the quiet dinner they shared in his chambers.

Achmed leveled a glance at her. “Everything.” A smile crept over his face. “Tell him whatever you want.”

Rhapsody was surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I expect you will be judicious and keep our shared information to yourself unless you need to do otherwise.”

“Yes, I will. I’ll also keep an eye out for those strange incursions and record what I find.”

Achmed agreed. “Just be sure you stay out of harm’s way. And you might want to watch for any link between those raids and Ashe; I have long suspected that they might be in some way connected.”

Rhapsody looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“The Hill-Eye attacked just as he showed up. The last two incursions we’ve heard of from Roland were outside Bethe Corbair, just prior to us meeting him in the city, and shortly thereafter. Perhaps there’s a tie.”

She shuddered. “I hope you’re wrong.”

“So do I. It isn’t too late to change your mind.”

Rhapsody thought for a moment. “Better to take the risk now and influence the outcome than to hide and have it visited upon us,” she said simply. Achmed nodded; he understood.

The three that remained behind had come to bid her farewell as she and Ashe left before dawn on the fifth day. She embraced and kissed each of them, her eyes dry, reassuring them as best she could that she would be back, well and safe. And then they were gone.

“She’s never coming back, is she?” Jo asked tearfully as the two shadows disappeared over the far edge of the Teeth, too upset to maintain her normal disinterested demeanor.

“Now, there, lit’le miss, don’t think that way,” Grunthor said, draping an enormous arm around her thin shoulders. “The Duchess is much tougher than she looks. You ought to know that by now.”

Jo wiped her eyes fiercely. “She’s gonna die, and then I’ll be stuck here alone with you two. Wonderful.”

Achmed smiled slightly. “Well, it will certainly improve your social position among the Bolg; you’ll move up to First Woman, you can be the new Duchess of Elysian and take over the court role of Extraneous Blond Female, unless you have a better offer somewhere else. Then I suppose we can hold auditions.”

“Bugger yourself,” Jo scowled, and strode off.

Grunthor shielded his eyes from the rising morning sun, his expression dancing between thoughtful and worried. “Supposin’ she does die, sir? ’Ow’ll we know?”

Achmed shrugged, his hunter’s eyes scanning the western horizon for a vestige of her shadow and not finding one. “We won’t, though I suspect we might hear her last song on the wind; Lirin Namers have strange connections to music and death.” He sighed silently. Or he might hear her heartbeat, a rhythmic, reassuring sound that soothed his sensitive skin, wink out like a candle-flame in the distance. He shook off the thought. “Her work here is started and well in place. We’ll live without her as best we can. Did you notice when she said she’d be fine her voice didn’t have that Namer’s ring to it?”

Grunthor nodded. “That’s because she can only do it when she’s sure she’s tellin’ the truth.”

As she and Ashe reached the summit of the last of the crags before the foothills, Rhapsody turned and stared east into the rising sun, which had just begun to crest the horizon. She shaded her eyes, wondering if the long shadows were really the silhouettes of the three people she loved most dearly in the world, or only the hollow reflections of rock and chasm, reaching ominously skyward. She decided after a moment she had seen one of them wave. Whether or not she was right didn’t matter, anyway.

There was something deeply poignant about looking back on the mountains as they receded into the distance, fissured crags pointing, fanglike, to the brightening sky. Rhapsody struggled to quell the sense of loss welling within her, her throat and chest tightening as it had one night long ago. My family, she thought miserably. I’m leaving my family again.

Somewhere within the multicolored mountains greatness was being born, a history was beginning. The people she had once thought of as monsters were rising out of the darkness as they had once crawled forth from the caves in ages past, coming together to forge a new era. Only this time the mountain would serve them; they would become sharp, honed by the grindstone, under the hand of a master swordsmith who was one of their own.

She no longer feared the Firbolg. She feared for them. It was not just the bloodthirsty dragon lurking somewhere in the mists on the edge of the world that posed a threat to the primitive people under Achmed’s hand. As different as the humans of this new land were from the ones she had lived among in Serendair, in one frightening way they were the same: they thought of the Bolg as monsters, just as she had. And they sought to destroy monsters.

The wind whipped through the Teeth and whirled up to the summit of the last crag, cold and sweet, clearing the morning mist from her eyes and the doubt from her mind. A fondness beyond all reason surged through her, looking back at this place where her friends remained, where the Bolg were just beginning to awake.

Once she had hidden in the highgrass, not knowing with which of two sides to ally herself—the men who had pulled her out of harm’s way, or the people of her mother’s blood. There was no longer a dilemma.

Her father’s voice whispered in her ear, carried by the morning wind.

When you find the one thing in your life you believe in above anything else, you owe it to yourself to stand by it —it will never come again, child. And if you believe in it unwaveringly, the world has no other choice but to see it as you do, eventually. For who knows it better than you? Don’t be afraid to take a difficult stand, darling. Find the one thing that matters —everything else will resolve itself.

Wherever she might eventually come to live one day, the Bolg, and those that ruled them, would always have her allegiance. Any risk, any loss was worth the undertaking to keep them safe.

“Look,” said Ashe, his pleasant baritone shattering her reverie. Rhapsody turned and let her gaze follow his outstretched finger in the direction of another line of shadows, miles off, at the edge of the steppes where the lowlands and the rockier plains met.

“What are they?”

“Looks like a convocation of some sort, humans, undoubtedly,” he said after a moment.

Rhapsody nodded. “Ambassadors,” she said softly. “They’re coming to pay court to Achmed.”

Ashe shuddered; the tremor was visible, even beneath his cloak of mist. “I don’t envy them,” he said humorously. “That ought to shake up their notions of protocol.”

Rhapsody looked up into the darkness of his hood, seeing nothing but a thin trace of vapor. The edges of her scalp hummed for a moment as she sought in vain for eyes in which to gauge an expression. Ashe had seemed at ease among the Bolg, a polite, nonjudgmental visitor, but that was only the most ephemeral of indicators. The hood could be hiding something far more sinister. And even if she could see his face, she would not be able to look into his heart.

He was her guide, the one who might be able to lead her to the dragon’s lair, a necessary undertaking if she was to ensure the safety of the Bolglands. Whether or not she would make it there remained to be seen. But in any case, she would have to be wary of Ashe, for the sake of the ones she was leaving behind.

Ashe took up his walking stick again.

“Shall we?”

He looked off to the west, over the thawing valley and the wide plain past the foothills below them.

Rhapsody looked back at the panorama of the Teeth for a moment longer, then turned her eyes toward the west as well. A slice of the sun had risen behind them, casting a shaft of golden light into the gray mist of the world that stretched out below them. By contrast, the distant line of black figures moved through a jagged shadow.

“Yes,” she said, shifting her pack. “I’m ready.” Without looking back she followed him down the western side of the last crag, beginning the long journey to the dragon’s lair.

In the distance, a figure of a man touched by a darker, unseen shadow stopped for a moment, gazed up into the hills, then continued on its way to the realm of the Firbolg.

With a smoldering screech, the Time-strand broke and ignited, snapping off the spool. The projection on the viewing screen went blank as smoke began to rise from the lamp. A burning length of fragile film fell to the floor.

Meridion bolted forward and seized the spinning reel, patting out the gleaming sparks that clung to its broken edge. Quickly he passed a hand over the instrument panel of the Time Editor, and exhaled as it went dark, idle for the moment. Then he scooped up the strand of film from the floor and turned it over in his hands in dismay. Without even looking he knew the thread was irretrievably broken.

He sat back in the chair again, disconsolate, staring at the film fragment. Then he lifted it to the light.

He could almost make them out, tiny images of the small, slender woman with the gleaming hair tied back in a black ribbon, the hooded man in the gray mantle. Facing each other on the summit of the last of the crags before the foothills, illuminated by the rays of the rising sun.

Meridion sighed. How painfully ironic it was to leave them, frozen at the crest of a breathtaking valley, much as he had seen them that night in the Patchworks. At least he had brought them together again, on the same side of Time. Their souls were so scarred by its ravages that they didn’t recognize each other. But they would. They had to.

Meridion waved his hand over the instrument panel again, and the Editor roared with light once more. Gently he slid the burnt edge under the lens. He patiently adjusted the eyepiece, moving it up and down, trying to bring the crisp cinder where the film had snapped into focus.

Finally he gave up, exhausted and distressed. The image was now permanently shrouded in darkness, burnt beyond recognition. He hoped fervently there wasn’t something on those frames he had needed to see, an image that would have provided a clue to the F’dor’s identity. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to intervene again. They would be as much in the dark as the charred film of their lore-strand. Their story had been tragic enough. Without the clue he had been seeking, it was bound to only get worse.

He turned off the Editor again and sat back in the darkness to think.

The image within the burnt edge of the film, crisp with carbon ash, was shrouded in darkness as well.

Night was falling, but it didn’t matter. Darkness was a friend to him, his eyes accustomed to the absence of light, having come long ago from the realm of black fire.

The rims of the whites of those eyes, indistinguishable from any other man’s by day, now began to gleam with the tinge of blood. Had anyone been there to observe, they would have seen them darken at the edges to a scarlet hue. But, of course, no one was there. He was careful to hide his other side; it would not do to be unmasked now that he was so close to his goal.

In the distance he could see the ambassador coming, and he settled back in his chair and sighed. Finally, after all this time, the Three had come, he was certain of it.

The strange rumblings in Canrif, the whispered tales of the new Firbolg king and the advances of the monstrous population there, could only be evidence that his assessment was correct. Even the mighty Gwylliam had not been able to tame the Bolg. The question that now remained was what to do about it.

Things were going well, too well to be allowed to go awry now. Enough of the seeds of discord had been sewn to ensure the uprising at hand. The loss of the House of Remembrance had been a serious blow, but nothing that couldn’t be dealt with.

More critical to his plan was the upcoming interruption of the Patriarchal rite. Whether this new power in the land posed a threat to that or not was uncertain. If that power was ensconced in Canrif now, concerning itself with greedy conquest and the militarization of monsters, it would be too far away to intervene. This was important; too much depended on the assassination in Sepulvarta to allow it to fail.

He closed his eyes and tasted the death that hung, heavy with ripe anticipation, on the wind. The time was coming, and with it the sickening, thudding excitement that built, like a marching cadence, into the frenzy of war. It was the rhythm of growing hatred, determined and unstoppable, sounding in the distance as it came. It would be here soon, all in good time.

The knock on the door shattered his pleasant musings. He rose slowly and went to admit the ambassador, one of only two in the world he could entrust with the most critical tasks. This first task was assessing Canrif and its new sovereign. The second was assuring that the Three remained in the Hidden Realm of the Bolg and out of his way while he tended to more important matters.

After his emissary had left for the court of the Firbolg king, he settled back into his chair again.

“We shall soon see who really deserves to be called the Child of Blood,” he said, smiling to himself.

Only the darkness heard him.