Ashe’s appetite disappeared. “It’s too soon,” he said, putting his half-full plate back on the table. “You really are in no condition to go overland with Llauron now, Rhapsody. You just lost Jo a little while ago. You’re grieving, and you were seriously injured. You should spend some time in Elysian, healing.”
Rhapsody smiled as she ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass. A soft, ringing musical note sounded, and she sang along, matching it wordlessly, sending it around the room like a servant doing her bidding. It dissipated after a moment, and she swallowed the rest of the wine, depositing the glass next to his.
“I have healed from that, Ashe,” she said gently, looking him in the eyes. “It’s been about seven years for me now since that time.”
“What are you saying?” Ashe asked, his face losing color. “Where have you been, Rhapsody?”
She rose and came to the bed, sitting down beside him. “I went to see the Lord and Lady Rowan,” she said, keeping contact with his gaze. “As you know, time passes there much differently from here; that’s why my hair is so long. While I was there I saw Jo—a few times, actually, and mostly when sleeping under the eye of the Lady. She’s happy now, Ashe, and she forgives me. I don’t feel pain about her anymore, though I do still miss her. I believe I’ll be with her again one day; the Lord Rowan promised me he would take me if he could.”
Ashe fought the urge to vomit. “You went to the Rowans, and you could find them? Gods, Aria, I had no idea you were so ill and in such pain about Jo. The Rowans don’t generally accept guests unless it’s a matter of life and death.”
“I know,” she said, breaking their locked gaze and looking away. “But I didn’t go there because of Jo, or for an illness of my own. I went for another reason. Before I tell you about it, though, do you still believe in me? I mean, do you trust that I would not lie to you?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m glad,” she said, looking at him again. “Then please believe me when I tell you this situation is resolved, and everything is going to be fine.”
Ashe was beginning to tremble. “Rhapsody, you’re frightening me. What are you talking about? Just tell me, before my heart stops.”
Rhapsody took his hands, and a breath, and then began. “I have ten new grandchildren,” she said, her eyes glistening. “They are of all different races, and ages, including a Lirin child I delivered myself. Her mother died in childbirth.” She waited for him to absorb what she had said.
The look on Ashe’s face went from one of dread to one of relief. “Childbirth? The mother died, but the child lived? Like Manwyn’s prophecy?”
“Yes.”
Ashe felt himself begin to breathe regularly again. “I am very sorry to hear that,” he said, caressing her cheek absently.
“Don’t get comfortable, Ashe. This is not the bad part.”
“What, then?”
Rhapsody lowered her eyes. “These children all have the same father. They are all the children of the F’dor.”
Ashe listened, not comprehending. After a moment his understanding was no clearer. “That’s impossible. The prophecy said that the demon could not inhabit the body of someone who had borne or sired children, nor could it do so itself.”
Rhapsody sighed, then plunged ahead. “These are the children of rape, Ashe. The F’dor impregnated their mothers by proxy through the Rakshas. The Rakshas’s blood was his, and so its issue is his as well. It found a way to get around the prophecy.”
Ashe stared at her for a moment more. Rhapsody could feel a humming beginning; it was a vibration that frightened her, lodged within the fabric of the room and air around them, and she knew the dragon was coming forth. She put her hands on his shoulders and tried to make him look into her eyes.
“Listen to me, Gwydion ap Llauron,” she commanded, using her powers as a Namer. The humming stopped increasing but remained, hovering in the air as the color roared back into his face and his eyes began to glow. “This may seem awful now, but it is actually a very positive thing. The children have immortal souls, every one of them, because the Rakshas carried a bit of yours. If not for you they would have been demonic. But because of you, they have contributed to the destruction of the F’dor by having what is demonic separated from their blood, giving Achmed a tool to find the demon.”
Her words rang in his soul, at the very deepest, darkest part, that had one time been the power source that the icy form of the Rakshas had taken shape around. The memories of the incidents that generated this abomination flooded back, a series of assaults so brutal that at first they seemed as if they could only also be murders. Each atrocity flooded into his mind simultaneously, filling his head with screaming and the sound of his own insane laughter. Ashe felt the horror of it as if he were witnessing each of the acts again. He broke loose her grip on his hands and screamed himself, a roar like an earthquake issuing forth. Small items blew off the dresser and nightstand, and the basket flew off the table, spilling its contents across the room.
As the room began to shake beneath and around them, Rhapsody threw her arms around his neck and held on to him as tightly as she could. Waves of power and pain were visible now, swirling red and angry about them. She clung to him, fearing she would lose him in the vortex that was opening above them. He clawed at her, trying to shake her loose, but in his grief and fury he only succeeded in scratching her face.
Rhapsody looked over their heads into the spinning darkness and shivered. It was coining closer, threatening to swallow them together into oblivion. She tried to make contact with his eyes again.
“Gwydion! Gwydion ap Llauron, listen to me.” Her voice was calm and strong, made ringing by the ancient power of the music in her soul. “Let it go. Let it go.”
He looked into her eyes, the vertical slits of his pupils thin as a whisper. There was a moment that he would be held in thrall by his name, and then she would lose him to his anguish again. Rhapsody concentrated on maintaining the vibration, forcing him to listen a moment more.
“I love you,” she said, using the powers of true speaking. “I love you from my soul, Gwydion ap Llauron. I would not lie to you, and I tell you truly that, as much as this causes you pain, it is as it should be; good will come from this. Please, please believe me.”
Ashe did not break her gaze, but his face grew reptilian, and he began to shake from the core of his being. Rhapsody knew that the dragon was rampant, and furious, but what motivated it was beyond her understanding. She could feel him slipping from her, and she tightened her grip on him to try and stop it from happening.
It was a mistake. A bellowing shriek came forth from his mouth, open in fury, and with a strength she had never witnessed he pried her off him. He twisted away from her, turning violently, trying to pull away. The force of his attempted escape sent Rhapsody spinning across the room into the wall. She sailed through the air with a tremendous force and hit the wall hard with a sickening thud, crumpling to the floor. As she lost consciousness she cursed her stupidity, praying that he would not rampage and lay waste to the land.
The shock of her impact caused Ashe to stop for a moment, and as he witnessed what he had done, the uproar stopped. The dragon, now in control, grew alarmed to see its treasure lying limp on the floor, not responding. The human soul within him panicked and fought its way back to dominance, running to her and gathering her in his arms, shaking with fear.
The swirling power that had been rending the room a moment before shattered like a snowflake and shimmered to the ground around them as he laid her on the bed, his hands trembling in worry. He went to the pitcher on the bedside table and drew forth water which he splashed her face with, but there was no response.
He stayed beside her, growing more and more anxious, stroking her face and pleading with her to wake. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she groaned and winced.
“Rhapsody? Rhapsody, please say something. Please.”
One eye opened slightly and regarded him woozily.
&nb
sp; “Is your temper tantrum over?” she asked, her face contorted with pain.
Ashe burst into tears that until now he had been too frightened to shed. He bent his head over her and wept, burying his face in her abdomen.
Rhapsody patted his head with a disoriented hand. “Ashe,” she said gently, but with effort. “Please stop it. I’m all right, and I understand—it’s not your fault. Besides, you’re making my headache worse and spotting my gown.”
“I’m sorry; gods, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t,” she answered, her voice a little stronger. “Please don’t. It isn’t necessary. I knew it could happen—it was too much for you to take. I was prepared for it. But I expected you to lash out; I didn’t think you would knock me into the wall trying to keep from hurting me. A tactical error. It was my mistake for grabbing on just then.”
“Your mistake?” he asked incredulously. “How in the name of all—”
“Ashe,” Rhapsody said, sounding annoyed. “Please, can we not have this conversation? For my sake. Please. I’m going to be fine in a moment. That’s why I had the wine. I expected this reaction. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. Can we please drop it now? I don’t want our last few moments together to be spent like this. Here, help me up.”
Carefully he slid his hands around her waist, assisting her to stand and sensing the damage he had caused her. She was bruised but nothing was broken, and she had pain in her shoulder but no bleeding.
She limped to the chair and reached for the pitcher next to the bed, which he quickly got and gave to her. After splashing water on her face and drying it with the cloth he handed her, she sat down, reached out her hand to him, and pulled him over to her. He knelt on the floor in front of her to be on eye level with her, his face still twisted with anxiety.
“I’m really fine,” she assured him, patting the side of his face. “What I am trying to tell you is that the children are all fine, too. They are with Oelendra, and when the F’dor is dead I will go and retrieve them. They will be loved and cared for, a far better future than the one they faced before.”
“And their mothers? What happened to the women?”
Rhapsody took his head in her hands and kissed the top of it. “Their mothers are all at peace,” she said, trying not to upset him again but unwilling to lie to him. “Aria—that’s the baby—her mother got to hold her before she passed, and I know she left for the light happy.”
“You named her Aria?” His face softened, and she could see he was touched.
“Well, it’s such a beautiful thing to be called,” she said, smiling slightly. “It’s a wonderful old name that is lost to this world if no one uses it, and that would be a shame, don’t you think?”
Ashe’s eyes filled with tears again. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“And if you’re wondering why I can forgive you for hurting me, you can find the answer in what you said a moment ago. You know I’m no willing victim, Ashe. You’ve tasted my anger and my fist before. But the reason you went raging on me was that you were overcome with the thought of the pain you witnessed, and you feel that you participated in, maybe even caused. I felt that pain too, even though, unlike you, I wasn’t there to see it. It was horrific to a level that could not be borne and remain sane.
“You are a good man, Ashe. You have nothing to make up for, because you didn’t do anything wrong. You were a victim too, in case you’ve forgotten. Yet you still feel responsible, even though you’re not. You will make a wonderful Lord Cymrian because you will be the first one with a conscience, and certainly the first one who is willing to listen to his heart. Remember that old Lirin saying? Ryle hira. Life is what it is. We can only do the best we can to make it better; these children are part of the way to do that. So please, trust me. The situation is well in hand. Now, go. Be happy. Do what you need to do.”
He looked at her with an expression that broke her heart. “I don’t deserve you; I really don’t.”
She laughed. “I know, but you are stuck with me, my friend.” She rose slowly and walked to the dresser, gathered her belongings, and took her cloak from the peg by the door. From the closet she pulled a pair of boots and she put them on, tucking the satiny shoes into her pockets. She went to the door and began to open it, when he spoke.
“Rhapsody?”
She turned to see him one last time. “Yes?”
His voice was so low she could barely hear him. “Do you love me still? Even after all that time with the Rowans?”
She met his gaze, her eyes glimmering, shining like the depths of the sea. “Always.”
He sighed, and a smile crept over his face again. “Then everything else will resolve itself.”
“It always does,” she answered simply. “Can you tell if it’s snowing? Maybe I should put on something warmer.”
He turned and went to the window, looking into the clear night sky studded with stars. “No, I don’t think it—”
When he turned to her again, she was gone. She had tried to spare him the pain of watching her go; in her last gesture, she was still thinking of him.
He closed his eyes and waited until the last subtle vibration of the closed door had died away. Then he looked out the window at the night sky again.
“Goodbye, Emily,” he said.
49
Seeing the landmarks on the Cymrian Trail with Llauron was like seeing them for the first time. That they were on horseback this time was part of the difference; Llauron had loaned her a dappled gray gelding, keeping his prized white Madarian for himself. Rhapsody had smiled when she saw the elderly man mount; Anwyn’s sons appreciated fine horseflesh. Anborn’s black charger was among the most beautiful she had ever seen. Llauron’s steed was almost as impressive.
They had gone first to check on the House of Remembrance, finding it in ruins, nothing but the shell of the frame remaining. Rhapsody’s heart had constricted when she saw it. She thought of the marvelous library, and the significance of the outpost historically, that had caused her to take the time to extinguish the fire that had ignited in battle when they first visited the House. The raging fireball that had destroyed the demon-vine which had invaded Ylorc in search of the Earthchild had destroyed the House of Remembrance as well. At least the grisly scene of sacrificial horror had been purged, leaving nothing but blackened timber and ash.
She looked with concern at Llauron, whose family heritage had been so much a part of the outpost, but the old gentleman seemed quite calm. He crouched down and ran a hand through a nearby pile of gray cinders and black ash which contained the scorched remnants of what had once been leather book bindings, sifting the debris through his fingers. After a moment’s reflection he looked up at her and smiled slightly.
“Pity, isn’t it? It was once such a marvelous museum.” Llauron tossed the ashes back to the ground and stood, wiping his hands on his gray robes. “Ah, well, now that the next Cymrian Age is in the offing, we will need to build new outposts, new museums, won’t we, my dear?”
Rhapsody smiled at him. “I suppose.”
Llauron’s face grew serious as they traversed the charred cobblestones lining the remains of the courtyard to its center, where the tall sapling of Sagia, the Oak of Deep Roots on Serendair, still grew, healthy and vibrant among the destruction. “You know, Rhapsody, it is within your grasp to leave this land as great a bequest as ever has been given it. That’s a tremendous opportunity for a peasant of common birth; it is the chance to affect history as none but the Lords of the Cymrians themselves did.”
Rhapsody swallowed the sarcastic comment that rose to her lips. “And what opportunity would that be, Llauron?”
The ever-present twinkle in Llauron’s blue eyes disappeared. “Protect the tree.”
Rhapsody glanced at the young Sagian oak, remembering how diseased and dead it looked when she had first beheld it so long ago. Llauron himself had given her the salve which she had used to bring about its healing, anointing its polluted roots and protecting it with a song of healing. I
ts gleaming branches now towered above her head, white wooden arms outstretched to the clear winter sky, laden with bright blossoms. She smiled and pointed to the small shepherd’s harp that was nestled in the lowest crotch of the trunk, playing its repetitive roundelay. “I believe I already have,” she said.
The Invoker’s smile returned. “I’m sorry, my dear, I misspoke. Of course you have cast your mantle of protection on this tree. It was the Great White Tree to which I referred.”
She shook her head in surprise. “The Great White Tree?”
“Yes.”
A sudden blast of winter wind blew through, rippling her cloak and making her arms shudder with the chill. “I don’t understand, Llauron. Do you not protect the Tree yourself, as Invoker?”
“I do.” The old gentleman’s voice grew soft and deepened, as it had back in the days when he was instructing her in history or woods lore. “And I will continue to do so until the end of my days. But it seems to me, my dear, that your ministrations have been able to impart a special protection to this young sapling that even the Great White Tree does not enjoy—a protection from the ravages of fire.”
He smiled as he stretched out an arm in a panoramic sweep. “Look about you. Centuries of history, both building and contents, reduced to nothing more than soot and embers in a matter of moments—and yet the tree still stands, unblemished, not even a scorch mark or stain. Quite remarkable, really, and quite unprecedented. In the various conflicts of the Cymrian War, and in many terrible thunderstorms over the years, the Great White Tree has been greatly damaged, once almost burned to its destruction in the Battle of the Outer Circle. Even I, as its sworn guardian, cannot protect it thus.” His eyes glittered.
“But you, my dear, you seem to be able to rebuke fire itself, to deny it claim on those things which you protect—that you love. I have watched you for a long time, Rhapsody, watched as fire responded to your every move. I’ve seen how it leaps to greet you when you pass, settles into a low, steady burn at your command. It is a great gift, and doubtless it rests in the best of hands. Now, I ask only for one boon, as your old mentor—that you grant this protection to the holiest entity on the continent: the Tree itself. It is the marker of the last of the five places where Time began—what could be more important?”
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