Prophecy

by Elizabeth Haydon

  She sang softly, waiting for Oelendra to join in, but the Lirin champion stood silently, listening to her. Her voice increased in power as the night deepened and the stars grew brighter; she could feel their light in her eyes. There was something right about singing in Tyrian, a sense of freedom and ease. The song was not held by the normal bonds of wind and the pull of the earth, but floated free and easily to the sky above. The Lirin of this land might not have been Liringlas, singers to the sky, but they were still its children.

  The greeting to the stars did not take long; each verse was short and succinct, and within a few moments Rhapsody was finished. She did not complete any of the more complex lauds, as she was unsure of the reason Oelendra was not joining her and did not wish to exacerbate the situation if she was in some way displeasing the older woman. She took a deep breath of the sweet evening air and turned to Oelendra. Her smile faded when she saw the look on her face.

  “Oelendra? What’s the matter?”

  The Lirin Champion was staring at the sky with the eyes of the lost. There was a sadness to her expression that moved Rhapsody to pity for a moment. Then Oelendra looked back at her, and her face relaxed into the same look of gentle wisdom Rhapsody had been drawn to when they first met.

  “Nothing, dear. I was just thinking. Why don’t you go back in the house? I’ll be there momentarily.”

  Rhapsody nodded and obeyed. She retraced their steps through the glade and back to Oelendra’s dwelling, opening the door and leaving it ajar behind her.

  Oelendra waited beneath the canopy of night, staring at the stars. Rhapsody’s song had awakened a memory in her, the memory of a ritual practiced faithfully, each morning and evening, every day of her life before she had left her homeland and come here. A ritual she had forgotten until this moment.

  Her own devotions had not been only the standard Liringlas vespers that Rhapsody had sung, but the Dirge of the Fallen Star as well, the star for which she had been named. How long had it been since that song was sung? Did anyone now living still remember her extinguished star, or had her unintentional neglect erased the memory of it forever?

  She felt her cramped heart expand with the returned memories, the songs that had brought her consolation in her hours of grief and guidance when she was lost were now hers once again. She had not even realized they were gone. And this girl had given them back to her; the first dark place into which Rhapsody was bringing light was Oelendra’s own heart. And the place that the light had originated was dark as well in the depths of the silent sea. Light to and from darkness. The Iliachenva’ar.

  The brisk wind of the spring night caught the edges of Oelendra’s cloak, but it was not the breeze that stung the warrior’s eyes. She wiped the tears from her cheeks as she stopped at the edge of the clearing to observe her own house. How could I have forgotten? she wondered. It must have been when the sword went silent, the moment it and Serendair were parted forever.

  The darkness now closed in around her. The pool of light from within her home was like an island of warmth in the black sea of night. Inside the house she could see Rhapsody moving about. She stirred the stew on the fire, then turned to arrange a vaseful of spring flowers on the table that she must have gathered in the dark.

  Oelendra smiled. This one has potential. Real potential, the ancient warrior thought as she watched the young Singer. She has a noble heart and a selfless devotion to others. She knows that there are things greater than herself, and she wishes to serve them. She just might succeed where they—where we have failed. Inside the house the girl readied two bowls at the table, then looked momentarily out the window before returning to tend to the stew again. How long has it been since someone has set me a place for supper? Oelendra wondered as the girl moved out of sight.

  This one was different, and that would be harder. She knew her scarred heart must invest itself one more time, would risk the pain again, to believe in this girl, to help her and love her and pray in tears that she would survive the ordeal for which she was destined.

  Rhapsody handed the dried plates to Oelendra to put away, then took a seat before the fire. “Will you finish telling me about Gwydion, please?”

  Oelendra closed the cabinet and smiled. She came over to the willow rocking chair and sat down in it, one leg bent beneath her. “We did leave the story incomplete, didn’t we?

  “Despite being mortally wounded, Gwydion was still alive when I found him. There was nothing I could do to save him, or even to ease his pain, so I carried his broken body deep into the Great Forest, past the Veil of Hoen, and into the keeping of the Lord and Lady Rowan. They worked to heal him; for days they struggled to keep him alive.

  “In the end, when nothing was working, and Gwydion was in mortal agony, I took a piece of a star from sword’s hilt and gave that to the Lady Rowan. You see, Daystar Clarion had piece of Seren, the name-star of our homeland, set into the hilt that I had put there. ’Twas my bond with the sword, a pure fragment of elemental ether, and I knew that nothing else in my possession but the sword itself was as powerful as that piece. I offered it to them in the hope they could use it as a last effort to save him, and they did, but he was too far gone. Perhaps it is just as well, because living with that kind of elemental power might have been worse than death for Gwydion.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Gwydion was the great-grandson of Elynsynos, and as such was wyrmkin; in other words, he was a man with dragon’s blood mixed with the human blood in his veins. That kind of intense power source might have brought the dormant dragon nature into full-blown status. I doubt he would have wanted to live as a dragon, since he had the soul of a man. ’Tis probably a blessing to us all that he did not survive; if the F’dor had been able to bind him, to command the dragon, I shudder to imagine how it would have used that power to control the elements themselves. Anyway, giving up the piece of the star for him was a desperate gesture, and one that did not work, but I don’t regret trying.”

  “I’m sure your kindness and generosity were appreciated in his last moments, Oelendra.”

  “I doubt he was aware of anything but his own agony, Rhapsody. ’Twas the worst I had ever seen a human being endure, and I have seen some very terrible suffering.”

  Rhapsody was thinking of Llauron. “I wonder if Gwydion is buried under the white ash tree in the Invoker’s garden, the one Llauron calls Mahb.”

  “Perhaps. ’Tis the word for son.”

  “Did you bring back the body?”

  Oelendra shook her head. “No; the Lord Rowan told me ’twas time to return to the land of the living. The Lady was still blessing the body when I came back through the Veil. I couldn’t even tell Llauron what his son said or did, if anything, in his last moments, because I wasn’t there.”

  Rhapsody was perplexed. “Land of the living?”

  A faraway smile came over Oelendra’s face. “The court of the Rowans is a mystical place, Rhapsody, on the other side of the Veil of Joy. In order to enter one must be near death, or in a situation that is truly life-or-death. Time does not pass there as it does here; one can be gone for years within their realm to find himself but a moment older when he returns.”

  “And who are the Rowans? Healers?”

  Oelendra’s smile dimmed into sadness. “Of the greatest magnitude, though the healing they give is oftimes hard to accept. The Lady is the Keeper of Dreams, the Guardian of Sleep, Yl Breudiwyr. The Lord is the Hand of Mortality, the Peaceful Death, Yl Angaulor. That’s why I know Gwydion is dead without having seen his last moment; the Lord himself told me ’twas time. And I left, for then I was not needed or welcome any longer. When I next see the Lord and Lady, I shall pass forever into their realm, and walk no more upon this earth. When I saw you, I knew that time was not far off.”

  A cold wave of nausea ran through Rhapsody. “Are you saying that my coming will be the cause of your death?”

  “Nay, but I have lived past my time, waiting for a guardian to come and replace me. Now that I have so
meone to pass my stewardship on to, I will eventually be able to find the peace that I have longed for. I will at long last be reunited with those I love. Immortality in this world is not the only kind, you know, Rhapsody.”

  The look in Oelendra’s eyes went straight to Rhapsody’s heart. She had longed for the same things herself.

  “And it was then that you gave up the sword?”

  Oelendra smiled and took a sip of dol mwl. “’Twas then that the sword gave up me. I turned back to it after removing the piece of the star, and it had vanished into the earth where I had left it, leaving nothing but its light behind for a moment, and then even that was gone. ’Twas almost as if it had died when Gwydion did, buried there beyond the Veil of Hoen. It seemed an appropriate place. I knew it would return eventually, and now it has.” Rhapsody nodded. Now she understood how it had come to be within the Earth.

  They passed the remainder of the evening in pleasant conversation. Rhapsody played a few of the old world tunes on her lute from Elynsynos, singing some in Ancient Lirin. Oelendra listened raptly, but did not join in. She told the Singer of times long gone, of the final days of glory after the war and before the cataclysm when Serendair had peace for the last time, of friends and comrades and the stuff of enduring memory.

  At last the weariness from her long journey overtook Rhapsody, and she fell asleep by the fire. Some time later she was awakened by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Come, dear, let me show you to where you will stay.”

  Rhapsody rose, rubbing her head hazily. “I need to get a message back home to Ylorc soon, if that is at all possible,” she said.

  “Aye,” Oelendra agreed. “I will take you into Tyrian City in the morning. The mail caravan stops there on a weekly basis. I’m sure your friends will be glad to know you arrived here safely. Now come; you’re exhausted.”

  Half in a dream, Rhapsody followed the older woman past the large hearth and down a hallway. Oelendra led her into a small room at the far end of the house with an ironworked window. A large four-poster bed stood against one wall, and a heavy wardrobe against the other. The bed was covered with a variety of bedspreads and furs, enough to last a frozen winter.

  “This is your room, for as long as you want to keep it,” Oelendra said. “Make yourself at ease, and get some sleep. Tomorrow if you’d like I will show you about the city. For now, however, sleep as late as you can. I suspect you need it.”

  “Thank you.” Rhapsody was barely able to keep her eyes open. “I should probably warn you, I have nightmares. If you should hear me in the night, I apologize in advance.”

  “I shouldn’t doubt it, after all you’ve been through. I had them, too. They eventually go away, You will sleep without them one night, and then they become fewer and farther between until they stop haunting you. Sleep well.” Oelendra touched Rhapsody’s shoulder as she left. Rhapsody undressed and crawled immediately into bed.

  Her dreams were not of the old land, or the demon, but of a handsome face, smiling uncertainly. She could see it, looking down at her in the light of the forest glade again, bidding her farewell on the doorstep of the dragon.

  It is twisted and evil; you must beware of him, Pretty. It is very close to here now, nearby. When you leave, be careful.

  The face in her dreams smiled uncertainly again. Then the sun shone through the leaves of the forest and he began to melt, great icy tears running from his eyes, until he dissolved completely into a pool of steaming water that still reflected his image.

  “What have you to drink?”

  “Port. Or a young brandy.”

  “Anything stronger?”

  “Hmmm. Not a good day, I take it?”

  “I guess you haven’t been paying much attention to the status of my life recently.”

  “Not true, which is why I have this wonderful Canderian whiskey on hand.”

  “That’ll do nicely.”

  “I confess I’m a bit surprised to see you. Why are you here?”

  “I think it’s the warmth of the welcome. Hard to resist.”

  “Now don’t get testy. You know I’m always delighted when you come.”

  “Of course. Did I interrupt something critical?Plotting the destruction of anyone interesting?”

  “I’ll ignore that. Here’s your drink. What do you want?”

  Ashe took a sip and let the burning liquid sting his mouth for a moment before swallowing. The whiskey scorched his throat. “I want you to reconsider your plans for Rhapsody.”

  “Really? And why is that?”

  He took another, larger swallow and sat down at the ornate wooden desk. “If she’s who we think she is, it is unwise to abuse her good will.”

  “If she’s who we think she is, she will understand. It’s as much her destiny as it is ours.”

  “You know, I think you have a serious misunderstanding about destiny. Other people don’t always embrace it, or, in fact, interpret it, as you would have them. Particularly when it involves bringing harm, or pain, or tragedy upon themselves.”

  “You would not, by any chance, be speaking personally, now, would you?”

  Ashe was silent for a moment. “No. Of course not.”

  “I thought not. And when, might I ask, did you become so concerned about my protégé’s welfare?”

  “You are not the only one who thinks of her as his protégé, you know. She is studying with Oelendra as we speak.”

  “Good, good. That will help. Now, don’t avoid the question. Where did all this worry about Rhapsody come from? Has she proven not to be up to the task?”

  “Hardly. In fact, if anything, she may be more powerful than we originally thought.”

  “Then why are you concerned?”

  Ashe spun the last of his drink in the glass, then downed it. The alcohol was having no numbing effect whatsoever. “I would hate to have all this come to naught because you have misjudged your influence with one of the Three.”

  He looked up to see eyes of blue granite staring back at him, an almost reptilian gleam blazing from them. So out of place in the kindly old face, he thought.

  “Now, let me be perfectly clear. I need Rhapsody to play the part I’ve cast her in. Neither of the other two can. But that part is minor. When it comes to currying favor, the only one within whose good graces I need to remain is Achmed. He alone is irreplaceable.”

  Ashe smiled, then rose and ambled to the liquor chest. “You don’t understand that power structure at all,” he said, filling his glass to just below the rim. “Achmed is devoted to Rhapsody. It is her loyalty to you that might influence him, not any of his own. He couldn’t care less about you and your plans. And if you harm her in any way, he will come after you.”

  It was Llauron’s turn to smile. “You know, your lack of thoroughness disappoints me. I’m afraid you are mistaken. Achmed has other reasons to do as I plan. Reasons that are much older, and much stronger, than any love or friendship his hideous heart might have for her. You obviously don’t know them as well as I had hoped you would come to in all this time you’ve spent with them. A waste.”

  Ashe fell silent, staring into the lapping flames of the fire in the dark study. Except for the mist, thought Llauron, he could be one of the shadows in the room. His voice grew gentle as he laid his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “Does she know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That you love her.”

  “No.”

  “Good. It’s better for all concerned.”

  An ugly choked laugh came from the misty shadow. “Really? I await with eagerness your explanation of that belief. How is it better for anyone but you?”

  The old man sighed and went back to his chair. “There was a time when you believed without question that I knew what was best for everyone, mostly because what benefits me also benefits you, and ultimately, the rest of the land.”

  “I suppose twenty years of wandering the world alone in physical and spiritual agony tends to dim even the most arde
nt hero-worship.”

  The voice from the chair was cold and hollow. “It’s temporary. And it will be over soon. This matter is insignificant. When your dominion comes to rest over this land, your pain will end. And, of course, you can have any woman you want then.”

  “There is only one woman I will ever want.”

  “Forgive me if I remind you that I have heard this from you before.” He did not flinch as Ashe hurled the whiskey glass into the fire, causing the flames to bellow out of their stone boundaries and roar with smoke and shards of glass. “Besides, there is no reason you can’t have Rhapsody then, if you still want her. She will undoubtedly have tired of being the Bolg’s courtesan by that time. If you really want a used whore, I’m sure she will jump at the chance.”

  Ashe turned. Silhouetted against the inferno, Llauron could see the fury of blue eyes within the dark hood, and could almost see the dragon within them coil. “Don’t ever say anything like that again,” he said, his voice deathly calm. “You have already pushed the limits of my loyalty farther than you think. This is not a subject on which you want to tread heavily.”

  Llauron smiled into his own glass. “You forget, we differ in our opinions of the value of court trollops, Gwydion. Some of the best women in my life were whores in my court. I certainly meant no insult to Rhapsody.”

  Ashe was silent for a moment. “You know, Father, there may be nothing you don’t know about power and strategy and fashioning destiny,” he said finally. “But you know nothing about trust and the human heart.”

  “You think not?”

  “Without question. You promise me Rhapsody as if you had some control over her feelings. She will probably hate me when this is done, and she will have every right to. There are some things you cannot manipulate, and some things you cannot repair once they are betrayed. You can’t expect someone to stand by you when you’ve used them as a pawn to accomplish your own ends to their detriment.”

  Llauron looked away. “Why not?” he said to the floor. “It has always worked with you.”