Destiny

by Elizabeth Haydon

  Oelendra rose. “I think I do.”

  “No, you don’t,” Rhapsody spat. She clutched the windowsill and tried to maintain control; she had much to get through before she could let her fear loose.

  Oelendra came up behind her and took her by the shoulders. “I do know what it is like to lose someone you love with all your heart to the F’dor, Rhapsody. I know you miss Jo, but Gwydion is still here. You must allow him to give you back your memories, no matter how painful, for without them you will never be whole.”

  Rhapsody shook Oelendra’s hands off her violently, and turned around slowly. The look of devastation in her eyes made the Lirin warrior’s soul shudder.

  “I will never be whole anyway, Oelendra. I can’t see Ashe right now. Please, stop it. I told him I would not see him until the Cymrian Council, and I do not intend to break my word. Now leave me in peace.” She turned and walked to the door. “Can I expect you this afternoon?”

  “Tell me,” Oelendra said quietly. “Tell me, Rhapsody.”

  Rhapsody knew better than to dodge. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t, or are afraid to?”

  “Both.”

  Oelendra put her arms out silently. Rhapsody stood for a moment by the door, her hand on the latch. Then she shook her head. “Don’t, Oelendra, if you comfort me I will not make it through. I have to keep going until I can safely lay it down.”

  “Then tell me from over there.” Oelendra went back to the fire and sat in her rocking chair, and pointed to a small wooden desk chair by the window. “Tell me as if you are giving me a scouting report. Or like you’re planning the spring festival, or as though you’re updating me on plans for the children.” The queen’s face turned white. “Sit down, Rhapsody,” Oelendra said gently, but firmly. Numbly, Rhapsody sat. Oelendra waited patiently, and in silence.

  Finally Rhapsody looked down into her lap, and squeezed her hands together until the blood left her knuckles. “There is a possibility that I am pregnant,” she said hollowly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Oelendra let her breath out quietly. She hid her smile, knowing what joy the news would bring to Gwydion, and how thrilled Rhapsody would be once she knew the truth. She just needed to overcome the misconception that her husband was wed to another. “All the more reason to tell him, darling,” she said sensibly. “He has a right to know.”

  “It’s not his.”

  Oelendra was thunderstruck, but outwardly all she did was blink. “Oh? Who is the father, then?”

  Rhapsody raised her eyes slowly and locked her gaze onto Oelendra’s. “The F’dor.” It was now her turn to watch her friend begin to shake uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, Oelendra. You wanted to know.”

  Oelendra rose from her chair and paced before the fireplace, trying to keep Rhapsody from seeing her face. When she had a modicum of control back she came to the queen and crouched down before her, taking her hands.

  “Explain, Rhapsody. What’s going on?”

  Rhapsody looked away. “I wish I knew for certain. The demon was able to speak to me from inside; Achmed and Grunthor couldn’t hear him. He told me that the Rakshas had taken Ashe’s place, and had—had—planted his seed inside me. He knew about a night when—when it could have happened. He knew a great many things he shouldn’t have, Oelendra; and when he spoke the word that made the seed begin to grow, I could feel it. He said that it had steeped a long time in his blood, so now it was demonic, not human like the others.”

  “You’re taking his word for all this?”

  “No, not absolutely,” Rhapsody answered quietly. “But, as I said, it’s hard to discount when he knows things that would be difficult to guess at.”

  “But not impossible?”

  She considered. “No, I suppose not. But I have been nauseous and in pain ever since.”

  “That could be nerves, or fear, or both. I know I have felt that way myself.”

  Rhapsody was on the verge of losing her temper. “Yes, Oelendra, it could be. It could also be that I am in the process of being the vehicle by which the F’dor returns to the Earth.” She stood and went to the coat peg, retrieving her cloak.

  Oelendra could not watch her. “Is it really possible, Rhapsody? Demons are expert liars. F’dor can take the smallest shred of the truth and build it into something terrifying, playing on your deepest fears. Could he have convinced you of this despite its impossibility?”

  Rhapsody belted her sword, and came back to where Oelendra still crouched down, and bent beside her, resting her hand on the warrior’s cheek. Oelendra turned after a moment and looked into her eyes, and cringed at what she saw there.

  “I know you don’t want to believe this, but it is definitely possible,” Rhapsody said softly. “In fact, the more I reflect on it, the more I think it is likely. But it doesn’t matter, Oelendra. I can’t know the answer to it now. I can’t, because if it is true, I won’t be able to go on. So help me, please, as you always have.

  “I need to get through the Council, and finish what we’ve started with the reunification and healing of the Cymrians. Before that, I have to be certain Tyrian is in good hands, which is where you can help. And when those two things are accomplished, I will seek out the truth. But I can assure you of the truth of one thing, Oelendra, on my word and my soul: if it is true, if I am carrying this demonic child, it will not be born. It will not revisit itself on this land. I will die first. I have already arranged it. Now, I’ll see you with Rial later. Thank you for the dol mwl.” She kissed the older woman and stood, walking to the door.

  “Rhapsody?”

  She turned to see the ancient warrior staring out the window. “Yes?”

  Oelendra did not blink, looking into the distance. “I love you as if you were my own daughter. I wish you were, more than you could ever know. Look after yourself.”

  Rhapsody watched her for a moment, then left as quietly as she had come in.

  70

  With the knowledge that Tyrian was in good hands, Rhapsody headed northeast on her way to the Bolglands. The earth around her was beginning to stretch in the relief of the thaw that was coming, tufts of frozen grass and ground emerging here and there. The trees of the forests and the fields were starting to send forth tiny precursor buds heralding the new leaves that would arrive with spring, and the hardiest early snowdrops were blooming everywhere.

  Rhapsody took in the sights with pensive eyes. She endeavored to make note of each of the things she had always found beautiful, cataloguing the memory of them in the knowledge that she might never see them again. Seeing them now was not the same as appreciating them as she once had; it was a joyless time.

  Her abdomen, though still flat and lithe, cramped more each day, and what food she could occasionally force down often refused to stay there. In addition, her nightmares had grown violent and more intense than ever; visions of the benison laughing as the Rakshas violated her over and over again, speaking in Ashe’s voice, then curling up inside her to await his abhorrent rebirth. Even the tamer dreams, images of Ashe and their time together, their gentle, reassuring love, would always end in his transformation into the construct of the F’dor.

  Try as she might, she could not seem to shake the incubus that had attached itself to her. As a result, she had taken to sleeping only as long as she needed to sustain her life. She became haggard in appearance and in speech, occasionally unable to form coherent sentences or complete simple thoughts. Rial had grown alarmed and tried to keep her from going alone; Oelendra had volunteered to travel with her, but she had refused them both, saying only that she would sleep long and well soon.

  Before she left she had made sure to say goodbye to the people in Tyrian that she loved, Sylvia and the pages in the palace, Rial, the townsfolk of Tyrian City, the soldiers and the Lirin children, as well as her adopted grandchildren, and most especially Oelendra. Her mentor refrained from all well-meaning advice and had stayed with her in silence or trivial conversation, watching the fire, sitting under the stars. T
he elderly warrior had held her hand and had sung Rhapsody’s devotions for her when her voice would not come. On the night before she left, Rhapsody had opened the door of her chambers in Newydd Dda to find the ancient woman standing there, clutching a package. She had placed it hurriedly into Rhapsody’s hands, refusing the invitation to come in.

  “I want you to have this, darling,” she said in response to Rhapsody’s questioning look. “It was Pendaris’s first gift to me, and there is more love in it than you can imagine. I hope it will bring you as much comfort as it did me. I will see you at the Council.” Rhapsody opened her mouth to protest, but before the words formed on her lips, Oelendra was gone.

  Rhapsody went to the balcony of her room and watched as the warrior walked away, her broad shoulders bent as if carrying a great weight. She took the package to her bed and opened it. Inside was the red silk robe with the embroidered image of a dragon that Oelendra had left for her the first night she had stayed in the warrior’s home. Her stomach turned; the image on it reminded her of Ashe. She hurriedly packed it up and placed it carefully out of sight in her satchel.

  Anborn had come to see her, and had provided much useful information about the various Cymrian Houses and their leaders, as well as refreshing and brutally honest insight into the expected hostilities and bad blood between them. Rhapsody found him easy to talk to, as always. When he left he had taken her comfortably in his arms and warmly kissed her goodbye, then pulled back and regarded her with amusement.

  “I suppose you are going to make me wait until after we are wed before going to bed with me.”

  “Of course,” she had answered breezily. “It’s the only honorable thing for me to do. Otherwise, you might fear I was taking advantage of you, having my way with you to leave you, despondent and brokenhearted, at the altar. I know you would be consumed with worry.” His laughter had rung in her ears long after he had taken his leave that night.

  Now, as she rode over the fields of Avonderre and western Navarne, she drove the thoughts of the people she cared about from her mind. The F’dor was dead, but she was now more afraid than ever.

  Finally, after a week of hard riding, she found herself in the right place at sunset, in the secluded glade where she had come a year before, walking slowly around a quiet lake at the base of the hillside. When she could see the cave she felt the wind pick up, blowing her hair lovingly around her.

  “Do you want to see me?” she whispered.

  “I always want to see my friend,” came the multitone voice, warm and windy. “Come in, Pretty.”

  “I may be with child, and if I am, it is demon-spawn,” she whispered again in a tone so low that no one save the dragon could hear her. It was something she had given voice to only once before, and she choked on the words, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Do not cry, Pretty,” the harmonious voice answered. “I love you.”

  Oelendra winced at the look on Ashe’s face; he had obviously been to the palace and had been turned away. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said gently, opening the door of her cottage wider to allow him entrance. “She’s gone. Do come in and rest awhile.”

  Ashe looked away for a moment. “No, thank you, Oelendra, I have to find her. Please tell me where she went so I can be on my way.”

  “Come in,” Oelendra said firmly, in the same voice she had used to coerce Rhapsody’s secret out of her. “I have dol mwl on the fire; it’s a beverage Rhapsody has loved since childhood. Perhaps it will ease your heart a little as well.”

  Ashe sighed reluctantly and removed his hooded cape, then followed her into the house. He sat in the willow rocker before the fire as Oelendra ladled him out a mug of the steaming drink.

  “You must go to the coast, Gwydion,” she said as she handed him the dol mwl. “The Second Fleet will be arriving soon in response to the horn of the Council. It is your responsibility as head of the House of Newland to greet them and lead them into the Moot.”

  Ashe’s startlingly blue eyes opened wide in the hot vapor that rose from the mug. “She’s calling the Council?”

  “Aye.” Oelendra studied his face. “Is that disturbing to you?”

  He took a deep drink, letting the soft flavor fill his mouth, then warm his throat as he swallowed. “Only a little.”

  “Why?”

  Ashe looked into the fire. It was burning steadily, without an opinion, so unlike the way it did when Rhapsody was nearby. “Because I expect the Council will change a great many things about her life, about our lives. All she wants more than anything in the world is to find a goat hut in the forest and live out her days in peace. If I could grant her anything, it would be that.

  “But it will never happen now. Once the Cymrians see her they will idolize her. She will be sought after, harassed endlessly. I don’t really want to share her with them, Oelendra; they don’t deserve her any more than I do. For all I know I will be at the end of the line for her attention and her love.”

  Oelendra nodded knowingly. “It must be very difficult for you now.”

  “Difficult?” His laugh was almost a bark. “I’m afraid that doesn’t even begin to describe it. Can you imagine what it is like being married to someone like her, and she doesn’t even know it? She hates me, Oelendra.” His tone was more frightened than bitter.

  “No, she doesn’t, Gwydion. She loves you. She is under great pressure and false assumptions.”

  Ashe nodded and took another sip, hoping it would loosen the choking knot in his throat. “It probably doesn’t help that she is being pursued mercilessly by every idiot in the world, slathering over her, locking their horns like stags in rut.”

  “Undoubtedly not,” Oelendra said gravely. “Are you behaving like one of them?”

  Ashe set the mug down with a graceless thump. “Of course; I never denied I was an idiot. So she has gone back to Ylorc; bloody hrekin, I just came from there. Well, at least I found all the shortcuts so the way back will be faster.”

  “Gwydion, listen to me,” Oelendra said sternly. “Do not go to Ylorc; go to the coast. She doesn’t want to see you now; she won’t see you now. Wait until after the Council is over; then everything will have been sorted out, and you’ll know what you’re dealing with.”

  Ashe stood up. “You expect me to wait for months to see my own wife? To delay telling her that I love her, only her, and always have? Oelendra, I don’t think you understand. I hid from the world for twenty years, believing that the next moment held my death and damnation; it was indescribable torture. But I would gladly go back to that state in a heartbeat rather than remain in the torment I am in now. By the time she finally consents to see me she’ll have wed Anborn, or Achmed, gods forbid, or have been stolen away by one of her suitors against her will—”

  “I doubt that,” Oelendra interjected.

  He was already at the coat peg, retrieving his cloak. “Perhaps not; I don’t care. I can’t let this go on any longer. I could carry this secret the rest of my life if I thought that the alternative was better, but it’s not. She’s going to find out someday what we promised to each other. If she has married another in that time, it will kill her; it will be like Llauron all over again, only worse.”

  The ancient warrior sighed. “Now you know why she hates lies so much, Gwydion. I will offer my advice to you once more, and it is yours to ignore if you choose: Forbear. Wait a little while longer. What’s a few months to a man who is virtually immortal?”

  “Too much to stand, that’s what,” Ashe replied as he opened the door. “Thank you, Oelendra. I’ll give her your love.” He bowed politely and took his leave, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Oelendra sighed sadly at the closed door. “You won’t even get to give her yours, I’m afraid.”

  In the quiet of dreams they met in a misty place, a place of unreality, Rhapsody and the great dragon Elynsynos. All sound, all vibration, any signature of the world around them had been muted into silence, stilled by the wyrm matriarch’s power over the elements. Rha
psody could barely see for all the steaming clouds of white, could hardly discern the great luminous eyes, their prismatic brilliance looking back at her through the hazy magic. She realized dimly that she was looking through the translucence of her own eyelids, seeing beyond her own tortured nightmares into the safe place the dragon had made for her between the dream world and the real one. And in that place she told the dragon her greatest worry.

  What if I fail?

  The warm, iridescent eyes of the wyrm disappeared in an extended blink.

  You may.

  There was no fear, no panic in Rhapsody’s heart at the answer; it was as if the dragon had removed all emotion in this ethereal place as well, leaving only words as they would be on a written page, not resonating within her heart.

  I have lived through the death of one world. I do not wish to witness such a thing again.

  I know. Through the haze the face of the dragon moved away, becoming more distant in the mist.

  Rhapsody tried to look past the rolling clouds of vapor, straining to see through her closed eyelids, but only the faintest outline of the dragon remained.

  Failure could bring about the end of Time, she whispered wordlessly. I cannot even contemplate it.

  The warmth in the faraway eyes radiated through the mist. You are at the place where the beginning of Time had its ending. Just as surely the ending of Time will have its beginning here, as well. You cannot change it, though you may delay its coming.

  Why? Why me? Why was this onerous responsibility given to me?

  The filmy outline of the dragon vanished, leaving only a whisper of her voice in the mist.

  Because you are not alone.