Rhapsody

by Elizabeth Haydon

  Rhapsody was waiting behind him; he heard her catch her breath, and instantly knew why. The children had been placed forward, closest to the edges of the rock outcroppings, as if prepared for sacrifice. He saw her bite her lip; she was aware that this was not a culture she was akin to, nor one she understood at present. Then her face softened, and she smiled.

  He followed the direction of her eyes to see what had initiated the change, and was not surprised to see her looking at a group of small, dark faces, grinning repulsively back at her. Children; Rhapsody was a soft touch when it came to any child. It was a weakness he liked in her in spite of, but that posed a threat he was unwilling to risk.

  Grunthor was in place; it was time to begin.

  Achmed took a deep breath. He had studied over the six intervening days since his summons with Rhapsody, practicing the musical cadence she had given him to compose the speech by which he would address his new subjects.

  It was like a symphony, with an overture and movements, rising to a thunderous crescendo early on; he had melded his innate understanding of the rhythms of the Bolgish tongue with her composition skills, resulting in an address he hoped would serve in place of a bloody insurrection. He stared at the waiting Firbolg, meeting their eyes.

  “I am your new king. You live in the mountain, and the mountain serves me, as soon the Heath will, and the canyon, and the Hidden Realm. Ylorc will rise in power again, in ways it never has before. No more will we live under the heel of Roland.”

  A great rasping roar issued forth from the assembled Bolg; it echoed off the mountain and spread down the canyon, vibrating through the Heath and into the deeper realms. Here and there rocks slid from the cliffs, and dust rose. Achmed smiled; the overture had gone well. Now he timed the opening movement to punctuate the rhythm of the echoes resounding off the canyon.

  “Whatever you are now, you are but the splinters of a bone, perhaps once of one blood, but now without strength. When you move it causes pain, but comes to no purpose. Join me, and we will be as the mountain itself moving. I will not be a king like the one before, not a warlord like any you have known. We shall bring the mountain to life around us, and our enemies will come to our terms.

  “Is there anyone who would deny me the crown?”

  Achmed knew where to look; all afternoon they had been at the listening posts to get word of the possible strategies of the arriving Bolg. He knew that one Janthir Bonesplitter, a Claw chieftain who claimed to be descended of Gwylliam’s line, had been calling himself Emperor of the Teeth. It would be a matter of honor for him to object. Many of the clans knew his name and his reputation for cruelty and his desire for more territory and more slaves.

  Bonesplitter had positioned himself between two massive, waist-high boulders, perhaps to avoid arrow fire or to conceal his position until he chose his time to act. At Achmed’s challenge he drew a heavy, ancient sword that still had some gleam to it in the glow of the bonfires that burned throughout the canyon.

  With a roar, he moved out from between the rocks, raising his sword above his head. “I Emperor of the Teeth! And fire breath or ice breath I will wring from you, Usurper! This night, I swallow your eyes!”

  The collective attention of the assemblage shifted toward Achmed, who was much smaller and thinner than Janthir Bonesplitter. According to Firbolg custom, it was his turn for a boast or an acceptance of the challenge.

  Achmed smiled condescendingly. “You have a strong back; perhaps you will be of use to me. If you are able to prove yourself worthy I might take you for a chieftain. I have already taken your lands. Swear fealty to me now and you may unspeak your threat.”

  The roar of fury that echoed in response conveyed Janthir’s answer. As a stream of violent invectives rumbled across the canyon and up through the crags to the night sky, Achmed could feel Rhapsody shiver behind him, hidden in the shadows though she was.

  “As you will,” Achmed said patiently. His voice did not reveal even a hint of nervousness or anger. “I gave you the opportunity. I command the mountain, but even I cannot save a fool from himself. I told you the mountain serves me. Know my words to be true.”

  The Bolg spectators gasped collectively as one of the two massive rocks flanking Janthir unfolded itself smoothly, rose to a monstrous height, plucked the heavy sword from the upraised claw of the speechless Bonesplitter, and struck off his head. Even before the gasp resolved into a stifled scream from the nearby onlookers, the head rolled down off the ledge. The rock which had attacked Bonesplitter tossed the sword into the canyon, returning to its position again. The entire incident had taken less than half a minute.

  Achmed waited until Grunthor had blended back into the rock ledge before addressing the assemblage again.

  “Who else wishes to challenge me?”

  No sound answered him except the howling of the wind through the canyon and the crackling of the roaring bonfires.

  “Very well, then; this is what you will do. Each clan will send me their five best warriors and one child, with its mother. These groups of five shall be my chiefs and elite guard, and will receive my blessing and training superior to that of any army in Roland.

  “Each child, if it passes a test, will be given a gift. Choose well. Send soon. You have three days. For any who would doubt my resolve, hear this: I come. You will be part of this body, or you will be cut off and the tribe you sprang from cauterized like a stump—in fire.”

  Achmed stared across the silent assemblage for a moment longer, smiling as he took in the sight of the frozen Bolg gazing down from their lofty perches. Then he turned on his heel and vanished from the ledge, pausing long enough in the tunnel to pluck the trembling Rhapsody from the shadows and take her back into the depths of Canrif with him.

  Well, that may not have been the single most repulsive thing I have ever witnessed, but it certainly was up there.”

  Grunthor looked offended. “What are you talkin’ about? It was great; no blood got spilt, and the Bolg are still out there now, pickin’ their captains. We can start trainin’ in the mornin’. Whaddaya mean, repulsive?”

  “I think Janthir might take issue with your assessment of blood not being spilled,” Rhapsody said as she and Jo rolled bandages and packed medical kits.

  “Well, ’e might, but Oi don’t think we’ll ’ear the old boy too well, ’is mouth bein’ down at the bottom of the canyon and all.”

  “I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me come and watch,” Jo pouted. “It sounds like a great time.”

  Rhapsody started to answer, but reconsidered and said nothing. Both Achmed and Grunthor were reveling in their victory; it seemed unfair to deny them their celebration. “How long before we take the Heath?”

  Achmed looked up from the map he was drawing. “I’d say within two weeks we’ll be well set to consolidate the Heath and the outer sections of the Hidden Realm in time to have a united front for Spring Cleaning. The experience the army will gain there will make it easy to take whatever stragglers have not already joined forces afterward.” Rhapsody nodded and returned her attention to the bandages.

  Saltar closed his burning eyes as the cold mist descended on his face and shoulders.

  The Spirit had come. He knew it would show up eventually, once he had heard about the new warlord’s meeting in the canyon at the edge of the Heath.

  What do you see?

  “Nothing yet; still cloudy,” Saltar said. As always, he heard the voice in his mind, the sensation akin to being violated.

  Look harder. Search the wind for one who walks between the gusts of air.

  Saltar closed his eyes, feeling the sting abate a little. He put his hand again to his chest, but saw no more clearly.

  “Nothing yet,” he repeated. “But he will come.”

  47

  “Keep your eyes closed, we’re almost there.”

  Rhapsody tried to swallow her anxiety. The excitement in Achmed’s voice, so wildly out of character, had a compelling effect on her; she couldn’t resist
dropping whatever she was doing to see his newest discovery or solution. It was not compelling enough, however, to drive from her mind the ever-present thought that the Bolg recruits would be arriving in the morning, and they had not finished their preparations.

  “This is the last time I can do this, Achmed,” she said, trying to keep from tripping on the uneven floor. Her head swam, knowing that when she opened her eyes, the darkness would still be there. The halls of Gwylliam’s fortress conjured up too many memories of the Root. “I have to get the quarters finished.”

  Achmed chuckled. “All right, if you don’t want to see the Great Hall, we can just go ba—”

  “You found the Great Hall?” Rhapsody exclaimed, opening her eyes.

  “And something possibly more interesting, but if you have a pressing need to get back—”

  She grabbed his hand. “Show me. It can wait.”

  “Somehow I thought that would be your attitude. Follow me.”

  Rhapsody hurried behind him through the darkness. The tunnels were beginning to open in width and height, until they were four times their normal dimensions. The corridor finally emptied into a large entryway, where fragments of gold leaf still clung to the marble walls.

  Achmed rounded the corner, and stopped before an opening where two colossal doors had once been. One was there still, fashioned of hammered gold, embedded open in the wall next to it as if by the force of a violent storm. The other was missing.

  “The Great Hall,” he said, making a sweeping gesture toward the room beyond the doorway.

  Rhapsody stepped over a pile of crumbled basalt and through the frame of the entrance. A round room stretched out before her, built in the same vast proportions as the rest of Canrif, with pillars of blue-black marble lining the white stone walls all around, leading up to a wide dais. The domed ceiling, though cracked and peeling, was an exquisite shade of blue, colored to resemble the sky.

  Blocks of clear glass had been embedded in a full circle around the top of the round ceiling, allowing daylight to enter. Rhapsody could see a bit of the real sky, and the shadows of mountains through the glass, and deduced that the Great Hall had been built near the summit of one of the crags of the Teeth, hewn inside the mountaintop.

  The floor, now littered with rubble, had once been patterned in colored marble as well, inlaid in huge designs of the Earth, sun, moon, and an enormous star. A chill ran through her; it was the symbol for Seren, her birth star.

  “Aria,” she whispered.

  Unbidden, the voice welled up from her memory.

  If you watch the sky and can find your guiding star, you will never be lost, never.

  She choked back tears. A warm, strong hand gripped her shoulder.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Rhapsody blinked rapidly and looked around again, stepping farther into the Great Hall. At the far end of the room, on the elevated dais, were two large chairs formed from the same polished marble, covered with grit from the cracked ceiling above. Blue and gold giltwork channels ran through each of them, up the arms to the backs, and ancient cushions still rested on the seats beneath the debris.

  In the center of the symbol of Seren was a hole where a small door had once been hinged, now gone. Rhapsody bent down and looked inside. In the space below the floor was a long, deep cylinder, with a grate at the bottom where a fire had once burned, fairly regularly from the look of it. Above the grate were a number of circular metal frames that once had held mirrors, judging by the shards of glass scattered across the fire grate. The broken glass had long since melded to the floor of the hole.

  “I’ve seen the drawings of this in the library,” she said, half-aloud. She looked up at Achmed. “This is the device Gwylliam invented to both warm the floor of the Great Hall, and project light onto its ceiling. It gave the impression, if you want to take Gwylliam’s word for it, of the sunrise, and the changing colors of the sky during the course of the day, fading, as the fire did, with the coming of night. He even had crystals inlaid in the ceiling to resemble stars; supposedly they glittered when the last of the light hit them. All controlled by the turning of the Earth. I wish I could have seen it in working order.”

  “You will,” Achmed said, examining one of the pillars near the two thrones. “I’d like to see that manuscript when we get back. Any mention of the pillars? There’s one for each hour of the day.”

  Rhapsody nodded, then stood and brushed the dust from her hands. “The design centered around the celestial observatory, which should have been directly above this part of Canrif. There was a spyglass of some size situated in the pinnacle of one of the tallest crags in the Teeth. The observatory was accessible from a stairway in one of the back rooms of the Great Hall.” She pointed to doorways behind two of the pillars.

  “If there was a stairway there once, it’s now part of the rubble,” Achmed said. “It will have to go on the list for rebuilding.” He left the pillars and walked over to the thrones, stepping over the largest pieces of wreckage.

  Rhapsody decided to join him. As she crossed the floor she came to the symbol of the sun and stopped. The room was suddenly warm, its heat rising to the surface of her skin, leaving her feeling light-headed.

  “Achmed,” she called, but her voice came out in a weak whisper. His back was to her still; he hadn’t heard her.

  The Great Hall seemed to sway a little as a tingle swelled through her. In her mind she recognized the physical feeling she was experiencing, but it made no sense. It was the sensation of passion.

  Wet warmth pressed against her throat, the feeling of a lover’s kiss, and slid lazily down her neck. Pressure, like the touch of fingers, surrounded her waist, moving slowly up to her breasts, where it began to circle. Rhapsody struggled to break the vision.

  “Achmed, please,” she called again. “Help.” The sound of her own voice was very far away.

  The world grew darker, warmer, and she felt herself sinking to the floor, supported by invisible hands. The air around her closed in, caressing her body insistently; she could feel the shirt being pulled from her waistband. Her mind tried to fight it, to bring her back to the Present, but it was a losing battle.

  As much as her brain protested at what seemed a violation of her will, a stronger force, tied to the lore of Time that was part of the fabric of her soul, won out. Overwhelmed, her mind surrendered to the emotions of someone else, whomever’s story it was that she was reliving. Instead of her own feelings she was momentarily consumed with lust, and passion. And anger, almost violent rage. Then, as suddenly as it came, the vision passed.

  Her eyes cleared. She was looking up into Achmed’s dark hood.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, extending a hand. She took it, unsteady, and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  “I’ve had more than enough of this nonsense,” she muttered, brushing off the debris and smoothing her hair. Her shirt, though loose, was still tucked in the waistband of her trousers. “I’d rather not know these pieces of lore, thank you.”

  “What did you see?”

  Rhapsody’s face, already warm from the vision, reddened to an even deeper shade. “I didn’t really see anything. It was more tactile than that.”

  “Well, what did you feel, then? It might be important.” Achmed was growing annoyed.

  “Let’s just say I think this may have been the place where Anwyn and Gwylliam—er, consummated their union.”

  Achmed chuckled. “Lucky you.”

  “Excuse me?” The warmth of her face changed from embarrassment to fury.

  “You’re fortunate that Grunthor wasn’t here. If he had been, you would never hear the end of it, though the comments would have been choice, I’m sure.”

  “Indeed. Does this mean I can count on you not to mention it again?”

  “Maybe. Do you want to go to the bedroom now?”

  Rhapsody felt her hands curl into fists, even as she reminded herself that Achmed’s choices of words were often not the best. “By that do you me
an that you found the royal chambers?”

  “Yes.”

  She exhaled. “All right; let’s get out of here before something like that happens again. Anwyn and Gwylliam were married an awfully long time. I’d prefer not to stay here if this is where they trysted after all the courtiers had gone home.”

  Well, if you want to avoid having another out-of-body sexual experience, it looks like Gwylliam and Anwyn’s bedroom is the place to be.”

  Rhapsody couldn’t help but agree. The bedchamber had been designed in the same outsize proportions as the rest of Canrif, but had been divided severely into two separate sets of quarters, both grandly appointed, but neither imparting the feel of any real warmth.

  In one of the huge rooms an ornate fireplace and mantel had been carved into the stone of the mountain, its vents and the arched window above it in the same mountain wall as the outer side of the Great Hall. The window, filled with the same heavy glass as the apertures in the ceiling of the Great Hall, had grown cloudy and distorted with time, but was still intact, and offered what must have once been a magnificent view of the steppes leading to the Krevensfield Plain.

  Above the fireplace was a stone relief of a family crest, rendered in painstaking detail. In the foreground a rampant lion and a griffin faced each other, a star shining over their heads. Behind them was an image of the Earth, an oak tree growing on it, with roots that pierced through the bottom. Rhapsody recognized it immediately; it had been minted onto the back of every coin she had ever seen in the old land.

  “The coat-of-arms of the Seren royal family?”