Rhapsody

by Elizabeth Haydon

  “So it comes down to this, Rhapsody: our world, the world we knew, is gone. I need to find out if it took Tsoltan with it, either by MacQuieth’s hand, or by death in the cataclysm.

  “Most likely the F’dor died in the Great War. MacQuieth was the one non-Dhracian warrior that might have been able to kill both the demon and the human, but we don’t know that for certain. Obviously the wyrm was not released, or we would not be out here, freezing our arses off in the middle of a winter’s night half a world away from Serendair.

  “But the possibility exists that the F’dor didn’t die, as well. Something is definitely behind these strange incursions, and where there is unexplainable chaos, it is often a bellwether of F’dor. Of course, F’dor do not have exclusive rights to mayhem and aggression; man has been an active participant in that for centuries on his own.

  “Obviously, the greatest fear is that a F’dor spirit escaped, and has come here. It would not have to be the same one I knew in order to wake the wyrm, assuming that monstrosity is still alive in the bowels of the Earth. And any F’dor would know of its existence; that’s their lore. Any F’dor would seek its release. I need to know if the F’dor that I was enslaved to survived, but it is critical just to find out if any F’dor is here among us.”

  “Well, that’s easy,” Rhapsody said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to dispel the chill. “Its temple is right here, in Bethany. They’re worshipping it, in plain sight.”

  Achmed laughed. “Not necessarily. You have to remember, Rhapsody, if the legends are correct, the forces of the F’dor lost the Great War of Serendair. The loser’s history isn’t the one that is told and retold until it becomes legend. These poor fools, the descendants of the war’s victors, probably only had crumbs of the truth, just another example of Cymrian self-delusion. They wanted to honor the elements, the five children of their Creator. They just didn’t know the whole story.”

  “Is it possible that they are just evil, and sincerely worshipping it?” Rhapsody asked.

  “Anything is possible, but let’s assume for a moment those idiots in the basilica are innocent dupes. They seem too stupid to be evil. Besides, F’dor don’t tend to reveal themselves, and their infrastructure, publicly. Their strength is in remaining hidden.

  “So where did the Cymrians get this inaccurate story? Perhaps they came upon a painting of the symbol somewhere. Tsoltan used to wear an amulet depicting the Earth in flames, but it had an eye in the center. Maybe by the time they built the cathedrals, trying to commemorate their heritage, they had forgotten the origin of the fire symbol, or maybe they never knew it in the first place. That’s one of the reasons I asked you how long it was between our leaving, and the Cymrian exodus.

  “It doesn’t matter. What they’ve done, however inadvertent, has exposed a large segment of the population in this place to the F’dor if it is here. By putting themselves in a worshipful mode, in the presence of an elemental well of fire from a vent in the Earth’s heart, and by speaking of the F’dor as a beneficent force, they’ve handed this continent over to it, if it’s here. They invited it here.”

  The winter chill had crept into Rhapsody’s bones, along with something colder. “Then what do we do? How do we find something that can’t be found, in a place we don’t know, a thousand years out of our own time?”

  “We start in Canrif,” Achmed said. “It would have followed the Cymrians if it came with them. That was where the power was. It’s where the Bolg are now, and even if it turns out that nothing evil followed the Cymrians, it will be worth the journey just to see Canrif, and the Firbolg that live there.”

  “And that’s why this has been your plan all along, ever since you heard Llauron’s tale?”

  “Yes. And even more so since we met the Rakshas, and you told me of that vision you had near the altar in the garden. Though that was certainly demonic, it doesn’t sound much like the work of F’dor. Truthfully, Rhapsody, if the religion of this place is struggling with its own demons, I say we leave them to it.

  “I suspect the blood of those children is the source of sustenance for the Rakshas, keeps it alive. Stephen plans to set a trap for it. If his army, and the army of his cousins, can’t destroy the Rakshas, we have no chance against it anyway. This problem is of their world; we need to find the answers to our own concerns. And the place to do it is Canrif.”

  Rhapsody sighed. “All right, then. I suppose there really is no alternative but to at least try and find out if something came with the fleets or not, and if it’s what is causing all the strife. Can I just ask you one thing more?”

  Achmed rose and stretched, gathering his robe around him. “Certainly.”

  “What are you going to do if it turns out to be what you fear it is?”

  He looked up into the branches that arched above them, white bare arms gleaming in the dark, lost in thought for a long moment. “I don’t know what I can do,” he said at last. “Since we were remade in the fire, many things are different. I have powers and skills I never had before, and have lost some of those I used to count on. I’m not sure what weapons I still have to bring to bear against it.”

  “That’s only part of the answer,” Rhapsody said softly. “Maybe I should have asked what you’re willing to do. I don’t know how much you care about this place and its people. In the past you have seemed distant from both of them.”

  He stared at her, unblinking, then finally smiled. “I don’t know, either. Let’s get back. Grunthor is probably sitting on Jo to keep her from eavesdropping.” He took her hand and pulled her to a stand.

  “All this talk of ancient races made me think of something,” Rhapsody said, pulling up her hood. “Do you remember the prophecy of the Three? Child of Blood, Child of Earth, Child of the Sky?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Could that have referred to those primordial races, the alliance of the Kith, the Mythlin, and the Ancient Seren, rather than Anwyn and her sisters, the Seers, like Llauron said?”

  Achmed stared at her in disbelief. “Is that really who you think the prophecy is about?”

  “I have no idea who the prophecy is about. I was just posing a suggestion.”

  Achmed smiled and pointed to the harp. “Get that thing and make it stop; it’s addling your brain.” Children of the Sky must have air between the ears, he thought. Liringlas. Your own race, and you don’t even recognize yourself. Or Grunthor and me. “You definitely are a Cymrian, Rhapsody; your self-delusion exceeds even theirs, and that’s a hefty accomplishment.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

  The mismatched eyes twinkled. “Nothing. Let me just tell you this: prophecy is clearest after the fact. I don’t allow myself to be taken in or led astray by it. Overconfidence is often a result of trying to read signs you can’t translate with certainty. After all, what has your prescience ever done for you? You dreamt of the Island’s death—were you able to stop it?”

  He pulled aside the branches of the thicket and started back to the camp. Rhapsody watched for a moment before following him.

  When morning came, it was like the spell of the night before had been broken. The companions saddled up sullenly, preparing for their journey to Bethe Corbair, the last human stronghold before the Bolglands.

  Once they came to the western edge of the Krevensfield Plain, the endless meadow that wrapped around the province of Bethe Corbair, Rhapsody tried once more to sound Achmed out, to see what he was thinking, to no avail. He had returned to his customary distance, resisting any overture she made with thorny silence. It was as if the conversation had never happened.

  40

  He was at the crest of a deep swale in the Krevensfield Plain when Ashe felt it. At the very edge of his awareness he sensed something alien, something his perceptions had never before come across, and it made him stop in the morning shadow he was walking behind, unseen.

  Power, the dragon within his blood whispered. Fascinating power. I want to touch it.

 
The dragon was a source of constant struggle. It was part of him, a faction of his own nature that had a mind of its own, and though he was perennially in a state of vigilance to keep it under control, Ashe had grown used to it over the years.

  He had come to appreciate its vast awareness. Because of that element in his makeup he was conscious of the infinitesimal details of the world around him; he could feel and sense every blade of grass in the field he now stood within if he gave the dragon the leeway to do so. But Ashe tried to avoid that sort of thing; the dragon was unpredictable, and wanted more freedom than he was willing to allow it.

  Its senses were never wrong; there was something alien around here, something mystical and old and perverse and fascinating all at the same time. Something more than a source of power, but exactly what it was he was at a loss to determine. It took him a moment to locate where it was coming from, and when he did, he sighed in annoyance.

  Bethe Corbair; it was coming from within the city. Ashe hated cities. He avoided them whenever possible, primarily because Ashe’s life was a life of shadow and solitude; it was not a wise thing to put oneself around people when one was hunted.

  Still, there was such a thing as being lost in a crowd. Ashe would have been known to have done that every now and then, if anyone had known anything about Ashe, but in truth no one really did. Though technically Ashe could be seen, he was generally overlooked. He lived his life shrouded in a cloak of mist, made from woolen cloth but powered by an elemental force of water beyond the comprehension of most.

  Because of this, the signature of his heartbeat, his breath, his physical form and immortal soul were not discernible to the naked eye, or even to the devices that could read the vibrations in the wind. This was a good thing, for the pain he carried—constant, and excruciating to both body and soul—would have made him an obvious target were it not for his mist cloak. Ashe was a paradox: invisible to all, but aware of everything.

  I want to touch this, the dragon insisted. Rather than pushing it back, as he generally did, Ashe was forced to agree. He needed to see what this new power in Bethe Corbair was. Silently he followed the moving shadow of the morning sun across the Krevensfield Plain until he reached the gates of Bethe Corbair, where he slipped in, unnoticed, and blended into the crowd.

  No stealing.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

  Rhapsody shuddered and looked at Achmed, who smiled beneath his hood in spite of himself. “Careful,” she said to Jo, “a phrase very similar to that once got me into unbelievable trouble.”

  Jo dodged out of the way of an enormous cart filled with baskets traveling the road on which they now stood, outside the entrance gates of Bethe Corbair. A sea of humanity swirled around the city walls, generating a humming rumble they had heard from miles away. There was excitement in the air, a tense, edgy energy that only a city on the fringe of the wilderness could sustain.

  “We’ve been on the road for weeks. What’s the point of coming to the city if you’re not going to loot a few pockets?” she demanded.

  Rhapsody held up a small coin pouch. “How about actually paying for what you need?”

  She received a surly glance in return. “That’s your money.”

  “It’s our money,” Rhapsody corrected as she unwound the rawhide cord closure of the coin purse. “Sisters, remember?”

  She took Jo’s hand and opened it, then poured half of the contents into it. “Here’s some ‘walking-around money,’ at least that’s what my father used to call it. Be careful with it; it may be a while before we have money again.”

  “This is a city,” said Achmed, looking around outside the gate. “For you, money is as close as the nearest street corner. You have earning talents the rest of us don’t have.”

  Rhapsody glared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re a musician,” said Achmed in annoyance. “What did you think I meant?”

  “I don’t know if you make an effort to be offensive, or if you just come by it naturally, but you are very talented at it either way. Come on, Jo,” she said, pulling up the hood of her cape. “We’ll meet you by the basilica at noon, Achmed. I’m sure there will be someplace to eat in the center of town.”

  She took Jo’s hand and followed the crowd into the city of Bethe Corbair, the last town before the Bolglands.

  Grunthor and Achmed waited until the women were out of sight, then began to walk the perimeter of the city outside the wall, far enough away that they were inconspicuous.

  After completing their reconnaissance of the entire perimeter they conferred at the city’s northern edge. Although Bethe Corbair was a walled city, it had numerous scattered settlements at its outskirts ranging from rickety shacks to small villages.

  It was a border town, a place that looked east to the mountains known as the Teeth with trepidation. There was no fresh evidence of a Bolg incursion; such raids left visible scars. Still, if the residents of the area felt the need to keep within sight of the city walls, the historical bloodletting must have been horrifying enough to convince them that isolated living was a bad idea.

  “Scout farther, wider sweep,” Achmed said. Grunthor nodded. “We’ll meet at the eastern outskirts at sundown.” The Dhracian watched as his enormous companion walked away and blended into the landscape, then turned and went into the city himself.

  The city of Bethe Corbair was an old one, older than the capital at Navarne, though according to Stephen the areas were settled at about the same time. Rhapsody thought back to the history lessons she had learned from Llauron and Lord Stephen.

  Navarne and Bethany had been settled by the First Fleet, the initial group of planners, architects, and builders that Gwylliam had sent forth to construct the Cymrians’ new home. They built their guard towers and homesteads first, then took their time building the common areas. That explained the beauty of the cities, a sensibility of design coupled with artistry that endured, making them marvels to behold.

  Bethe Corbair, by contrast, had been built by the Third Fleet, Gwylliam’s own contingent. The Third Fleet had been made up of soldiers and peasants, merchants and unskilled laborers, and as a result bore the signs of a fortress mentality. The city walls were thick and high, the buildings utilitarian in their design and built to withstand attack. Time had eased the military feel somewhat, but the city still held the intrinsic attitude of wariness.

  That attitude was not evidenced in the people, however. They seemed as any other populace, made up of a typical number of the courteous and the rude, the peasant and the aristocrat, the educated and the illiterate. It was a city without scars, unpretentious and unafraid. Its streets spread out within its walls, filled with noise and foot traffic, merchants, carts and animals and the stench of human residence.

  What made Bethe Corbair unique was the music. Rhapsody walked the streets as if enchanted, listening to the airy random melodies played by the bells in the basilica tower. Their songs were subject to the will of the wind, and therefore carried a feeling of freedom and wildness that made her heart rise into her throat at the beauty of it.

  The townspeople went about their business oblivious of the music, though when the bells were ringing in a high breeze it had an undeniably pleasant effect on their attitudes. Street merchants stopped haggling, fishwives bickered at lower volume, and children squabbling in the streets generally found reasons to resolve their differences. Rhapsody smiled as she observed the power of the music.

  Jo was fairly dancing with impatience.

  “This is boring,” she whined when Rhapsody stopped at the table of a fabric merchant. “Please, my head is going to explode if I look at any more of this. I’m going to scout around.”

  “All right,” Rhapsody said reluctantly. “We can meet at the basilica at noon; look for Achmed if you don’t see me. And stay out of trouble. Remember, no stealing. I’d hate to see you lose your hand.” She smiled as Jo shuddered visibly, then nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

  Ashe glanc
ed around the open-air market at the center of the city. The Krevensfield Plain lay to the south of Bethe Corbair, so he had entered through the southern gate, though the power he had felt lay somewhere to the east. Or at least part of it did; one element of it seemed to have split off and was now circling the city at the very edge of his dragon senses. It had different properties than the other did, and was so methodical in its movements that he was unable to tell whether it was a being or an object on a cart of some sort.

  His inability to discern the power’s nature bewildered Ashe. Generally he was able to accurately assess the properties of anything within his range, but for some reason this power was unknown to him even in the kind of form it was taking. The dragon was squirming impatiently; only the presence of the myriad items in the marketplace was able to distract it sufficiently to allow Ashe to remain in control.

  He carefully sidestepped a swaggering buffoon, drunk with spirits and excitement about the warmth of the winter day. The man had been celebrating the temporary respite from the cold that the thaw had provided, and came within a few feet of driving an elbow into Ashe’s chest, largely because the tipsy fellow had not seen him standing there. Ashe was nimble enough to avoid these encounters, but they played havoc with his concentration.

  He turned his attention once again to the source of the power, but once again it had dispersed, as if dividing itself. He felt particularly attracted to one of the two aspects, the one that was somewhere nearby, radiating an irresistible warmth.

  Ashe was immediately suspicious; servants of fire were the main hunters after him, and he had survived only by recognizing the potential for traps in every tantalizing situation. The source was around somewhere, and sooner or later it was bound to end up in the marketplace square. He resolved to hang back and wait.

  In the meantime he was struggling with the dragon. Another reason he tried to avoid cities, particularly ones on a trade route like Bethe Corbair, was the fascination the dragon had with merchandise. The element of his nature had grown rampant as they passed a table of gems displayed under glass, whispering in his soul in excitement.