“Of course. I wouldn’t have left if I’d had a choice.” Her jaw set, but both of the men noticed the flicker of a muscle in her cheek. The journey on the Root had left them with no sense of how much time had passed. It seemed almost as if a century had gone by, though that was not possible given their apparent lack of aging.
The prospect that her friends and members of her family might have died in the intervening time had always been a real one for Rhapsody, but she had not allowed herself to think about it while crawling along the endless tunnel. To contemplate it would have been to become unable to go on.
“All right,” said Achmed, “I suppose that’s fair enough. Grunthor and I will see you as far as the nearest major town. Then you can determine if you need our help in getting to the port. We owe you that at least.”
“Thank you,” Rhapsody said sincerely. “I feel safer knowing you’ll be traveling with me for a while.”
“But if you’re going to travel with us, you have to observe the same rules we do. Bolg generally have to abide by a higher standard of caution.” She nodded in agreement. “Then let’s start with language. We’ll speak only in Bolgish. You’re proficient in it now. Serendair had some major ports, and the language of men and the Lirin that lived there undoubtedly was used in sea trade, but no one except the Bolg speak Bolgish.”
“Very well,” Rhapsody said in the language. Grunthor laughed.
“You just told ’im he did a good job,” the Sergeant said.
Rhapsody shrugged. “It takes a while to get the usage issues of a language, and to learn the idioms if it isn’t your native tongue. Most languages are easy to pick up the basics in, if they have a consistent base, which most do. It’s like a musical pattern.”
“Well, if we’re agreed on the language, let’s talk strategy. We have no idea where we are, or what lives here. We are obviously not at the base of whatever Root Twin was connected to Sagia; we must have left the main trunk root when we started digging. That’s probably a good thing, since we know Sagia was guarded. It’s a fairly safe bet that there are people somewhere around here and we don’t want to meet them, at least not yet. We want to know as much as possible about them and the area before they even know we’re here.”
“Agreed,” Rhapsody said. Grunthor nodded as well.
“And when we do make contact, let’s keep as much information as possible among ourselves until we agree to share any of it. It’s safer for all of us that way.” The Singer nodded quickly. “Oh, and one more thing: Rhapsody, I suggest you keep that sword of yours under wraps until and unless you really need to draw it, or at least try to be sure no one sees it who doesn’t need to. It’s a powerful artifact; I don’t have any idea how it came to be here, on the other side of the world, wedged in the Earth. I doubt it’s a good sign.”
“All right. Can we go now? The sooner we get on the road the sooner we’ll get to port.” Rhapsody danced with impatience.
Achmed and Grunthor exchanged a look. They had nothing but time. It was a heady feeling.
After an hour of brisk marching Rhapsody began to shiver. When they left Easton it had been the height of summer, and she had been dressed for it. Now the rags that had once been her clothes were worn thin and full of holes. Even in prime condition they had not been adequate for wintry weather.
Rhapsody had hoped the pace of the walk would keep her warm, but the bitter wind that blew through the forest chilled her as the dampness of the tunnel never had. Despite its continuous state of sogginess, the heart of the Earth was warm for the most part. Here, above, outside its skin, the cold was debilitating.
“’Ere, missy, ’old up,” Grunthor commanded.
He unbound two of the wool blankets they had slept beneath the night before, prized possessions they had dragged with them along the Root. Then he drew Lucy, and with a quick slash ripped a hole in the center of each blanket. He tossed one to Achmed, who pulled his head through the hole and draped the blanket around him like a tunic. Then he gave the other to Rhapsody as he sheathed the sword.
Grunthor smirked as she put it on. The makeshift covering was much larger on her, hanging down over her wrists.
“I hope you don’t have to fight anything like that,” Achmed said in amusement.
“I hope so, too,” she said. “Given the sword I’m using, I’d probably light myself on fire.”
“Well, then, you wouldn’t be cold no more, would ya?” said Grunthor as they took up the trek again.
The snow was deep in places, but Achmed seemed to be able to tell just by looking at the lay of the land what path to take to avoid the drifts. It was almost as if he was following a map laid out in his mind.
Grunthor also seemed to have a natural understanding of the land. He knew where the drifts were unstable, where creeks were hidden under the blanket of snow, and where, far from view, they would find walls of thorns or deadfalls that they needed to avoid. From time to time he would point these things out to Achmed, who would immediately adjust their course. For men who were in unfamiliar territory, Rhapsody noted, they seemed to know the land as if they had traveled it before.
Midafternoon the sky began to darken. The day seemed to have been too short, even for the dead of winter. Rhapsody had heard that in the southernmost parts of the Island of Serendair the sky darkened very early and that dawn came quite late during the winter. As a child, she had been told by her grandfather that out at sea, on the few small islands that lay even farther south, the nights were even longer. She began to wonder if in fact they were in some southern land, where the winter nights seemed endless but the summers were blessed with long days.
She was about to comment about this when Grunthor suggested a quick course change due east, which brought them to a narrow roadway that ran north-south. Its age was hinted at by the size of the great oaks and ashes that lined the edge of the road and formed an arch of branches high above, giving it the look of an ancient basilica. It was well maintained, with slight ruts on its rocky surface from wheels of wagons and carts. The snow along the route had been tramped into icy brown mush. They stared in silence at the road for several moments.
“Well, I guess we’re not alone,” Achmed said at last. Rhapsody felt a momentary glimmer of exhilaration at the realization that a road like this might lead to a city, and that even if it were not a port city, she could likely find her way to one from there. But her excitement was held in check by the understanding that the road also might belong to hostile people, or might be thousands of miles from the sea. Still, it was a start, and would eventually be the first step in finding passage back to Serendair.
After some hours Achmed stopped short.
“What’s going on?” Rhapsody asked, only to be silenced by a curt hand motion.
He had heard a noise, a sound that was outside his range of hearing. Unbidden, a picture of the place they stood formed in his mind’s eye; a moment later, the scene was moving. His vision was racing down the road at an incredible speed, accelerating. The trees became a blinding blur; the swiftest of the turns and bends in the roadway sent his balance spinning.
He had always been blessed with an unnatural sense of direction, which he had utilized on the Root to find the way through the Earth. The fact that Daystar Clarion, something from Serendair, had been waiting for them on the other side was a paradox he had yet to fathom. But now, since he had passed through the fire, seeking the right passage or path had become the dizzying experience that was now occurring. Grunthor’s hand shot out and grasped him by the shoulder, steadying him.
“Ya all right, sir?” Achmed nodded, bending over and resting his hands on his knees, hanging his head down to regain his balance. “Was it like it was on the Root?” He nodded again.
“There’s a herd of animals coming, and a thatched hut down a bit. The road itself forks after that, but then the vision faded. This new ability I seem to have been blessed with will probably prove useful, but it’s going to take some getting used to.”
The s
ound of braying could now be heard in the distance. The three travelers scanned the horizon. Grunthor pointed and led them to a well-hidden gully below a deep snowbank that provided good cover and a clear view. They crouched down behind an ice-covered log and waited.
Achmed shrugged the cwellan from his back into his hands and held it at the ready. As his vision had sped down the road he had seen a child traveling with the beasts; now he tried to lock his heartbeat on to the boy’s. Like a wild shot, a misspent arrow, he sought in vain, finding nothing. The world darkened in his mind for a moment. He had lost his bond to blood, just as he had feared.
The thought of the lost gift struck him like a missile from his own weapon. His abilities to hit targets at ridiculous distances, to feel the changes in the rhythms of the world were still there, but no longer as intense as they had been.
Where once he had heard the deafening sound of millions of hearts beating, now all he heard was relative silence punctuated by the sound of Grunthor’s ferocious, thudding pulse and the slow, steady rhythm of Rhapsody’s. His unique ability, his lock on the heartbeat of his prey, had been the price of his freedom. The loss of it was worse than being blinded, being maimed. The implications of his deprivation began to take hold, making him weak with nausea.
The herd came into view on the roadway. Shaggy, thickly built cattle with great arching horns, they plodded the ground with a sound not unlike thunder.
Driving them with a long, flexible stick was a young boy, in his teen years undoubtedly, wearing the simple clothes of any Seren farmboy. He was whistling an odd tune that Rhapsody had never heard before. By his side was a black-and-white herding dog, much like the ones her father had owned while she was growing up.
She turned to Grunthor and nodded at the young man, but the giant shook his head. She returned to watching the child and the animals until they were out of sight.
Once the roadway was clear again, she looked to Achmed. Even with his face partially hidden, she could still see what resembled devastation in his eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
The Dhracian said nothing, but Grunthor seemed to know at once what was wrong. The two Firbolg had discussed the possible effects leaving the Island might have on Achmed.
When he was the Brother, his gift had been tied to the Island, as the first of his race born there. Child of Blood, the Dhracian sage had said, Brother to all men, akin to none. By the look on his face Grunthor knew what they had feared had come to pass. The bond was broken, the blood lore gone. Brother to none. He rested a hand on Achmed’s shoulder. The assassin merely shrugged and, after checking the road again, climbed over the log and back onto the path.
They made their way down the road to the farm Achmed had seen in his vision, an animal barn and a simple hut with a small garden cleared from the forest.
The larger of the two buildings, where the cattle were housed, was little more than a roofed kraal, but the farmhouse was much better built, a design that utilized the least amount of material possible to the greatest effect.
Set above the doorway was a hex sign similar to the ones Rhapsody had seen her whole life. If the pattern of this one was the same as those in Serendair, to which it was strikingly similar, it was set to ward off fire and disease. She passed this information along to the others in a whisper. Again they hid and watched.
A man came out of the house as the boy approached it, and greetings were passed, but none of them understood the words. The two farmers carried on a pleasant exchange as they penned the animals, returning finally to the farmhouse. Once they had gone inside, the three companions relaxed.
“Did you recognize the language?” Rhapsody asked.
“No, but some of the words sounded familiar,” Achmed said. Grunthor shrugged. “Did you?”
“No. I don’t know how to explain it, but it seems to have the same cadence as our own tongue, only with slightly different rhythms and word patterns.”
Grunthor chuckled. “Maybe all you ’umans talk alike,” he said.
“Maybe. What do we do now? Shall we knock and ask for shelter?”
The two Firbolg laughed simultaneously.
“Oi don’t think so, Yer Ladyship.”
Rhapsody looked indignant. “And why is that such a stupid idea?”
Achmed sighed. “Well, in our experience, Firbolg don’t generally get the best of receptions when we knock on doors. You might be welcomed. In fact, I’m sure you could get a bed for the night, but I doubt it would be empty, if you take my meaning.” Rhapsody shuddered. Achmed chuckled. “Of course, it’s really up to you. I don’t know how much you’re craving a warm night.”
“Not that much. What do you suggest?”
“Well,” Grunthor began, “to the north, there are a number o’ farms like this one. To the south the road comes to some kind o’ village. It ain’t exactly large, but it’s pretty well built. Beyond that, the road goes on for some way.
“But Oi’ll tell ya what—about ’alf a mile into the woods, just to the southeast, there’s a nice lit’le dell, with a tree fallen over it. If we was to throw a few more branches on that tree, we could build a fire, and ’ave a cozy lit’le den that no one could see.”
Achmed and Rhapsody stared at him for a moment. They looked at one another, then stared at the Sergeant again.
“Precisely how do you know this?” Achmed asked.
“Oi don’t know. Oi just do. Oi got a feelin’.”
“I see. Well, let’s see how right your feeling is.”
17
Grunthor’s “feeling” turned out to be as accurate as a map, or a skilled guide. He seemed to know the terrain and the structures that touched it naturally, as if the Earth had been whispering her secrets in his ear as he slept. He gave them a list of its traits: the land they were now in was a series of hills, made from limestone and clay, pushed together by great underground pressure from the south.
For miles around and as far as he could sense, the land was completely wooded. None of the people who lived on the land had cleared it; instead they kept small subsistence gardens to feed themselves, sometimes trading their wares with each other. Their livestock were forest cattle, and served as barter for the other things they needed; he surmised this by the frequent patterns of transport of the animals to market. There was a small town farther east with no defenses to speak of. It and all the farms had been laid out willy-nilly with no eye to fortification. And there was the Tree.
“The Tree?” Rhapsody asked, unable to contain her excitement. “The Root Twin?”
The Sergeant shrugged. “Oi guess. It’s not far from ’ere, a lit’le to the south. It’s like the great Lirin Tree we came through, only it roots are everywhere. It’s like the ’ole forest is part of it.”
Rhapsody drew her sword and held it over an armload of wet kindling she had gathered in the hope of drying it out. “My mother used to say the same thing about Sagia. She called it the Oak of Deep Roots—I had no idea how true a name that was. The Lirin believed Sagia was tied to every living thing. If this is the Root Twin of that tree, I’m sure it’s the same.”
“Oi don’t know about that, but this tree ’ere certainly is tied to all the forest. It was like Oi was standin’ in a wide plain, and Oi could see this thing at the edge o’ my vision, even though Oi didn’t know it was there, ya know?”
“Not really,” Rhapsody admitted, setting the fire alight with her sword. The wood blazed up immediately, consuming the wet wood as though it were dry and seasoned.
“I do,” Achmed said. “When you see the world vibrationally you can’t see forever, but some things stand out like beacons, things of great power.”
Grunthor sat up, a look of interest on his face. “You think Oi can see vibrational-like?”
“No, not from your description. It sounds more like an elemental bond. Like you’re one with the Earth. Like you know what it knows.”
“Yeah, like that.”
Achmed tossed a handful of dried burrs onto the
fire. “The Ancient Seren, the first people of the Island, were like that. They were each bound to one of the five elements: earth, air, water, fire, or ether, the element they believed the stars were made of.”
“Lore,” Rhapsody said. “Ancient powers, the elements’ stories.”
Achmed nodded. “Perhaps by passing along the Root, each of us came to be bound to one of the elements. That would explain my sudden ability with paths and trails. As I found the right path to take, I gradually began to gain the ability to see down those paths to their terminus. I have kept that ability, but now it works not just with roots, but with any path I set my mind to.”
“Or perhaps being in the presence of so much power just brought forth natural ties you already had,” said Rhapsody, standing more wood up to dry by the fire. “Both of these newfound abilities seem to be based in the earth, which is, after all, where the Firbolg come from, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I think it’s more likely that. I haven’t been tied to anything.”
Achmed chuckled. “Actually, Rhapsody, I think you’ve been affected the most of all of us.” He stretched out his legs before the bristling fire to warm.
“How so?”
“Well, in case you’d forgotten, you’ve taken to warming Grunthor’s chest at night with your body to stave off your nightmares. They’re dreams of the Past and the Future, aren’t they?”
“Some,” she admitted, “but that’s nothing new. I’ve always had dreams like that.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her arms to keep warm.
“They certainly seemed more intense on the Root, miss, than out in the field when we first got you,” Grunthor said.
“Perhaps, but that may have had something to do with the place we were trapped within, and the company, no offense.”
“That gift, that lore, if you will, is called prescience, the ability to see the Future, or the Past, and to absorb images and memories from objects or places. You’ve had it happen once or twice, if I’m not mistaken.”
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