“No need to. I’ll be perfectly happy here.” She took out her bedroll and began unrolling it.
He bent down beside her. “But I won’t be. Rhapsody, you are the first person I have ever shown this place. I brought you all the way here so that we might both get some real rest before you head off to Tyrian. I’m tired of sleeping outside; I do it all the time, and I want one night’s rest in my bed. I know the place may not seem like much, but it’s the only place I have. Please come inside. I’m sorry about the mess and the stupidity. You don’t have to answer any questions, and I’ll stop bothering you about whether or not you’re Cymrian; I promise. Besides, part of our arrangement is that one watches while the other sleeps, and I can’t very well do that if I’m inside while you’re out here. It would be a dereliction of my duty as your guide. So please, come back in.”
Rhapsody looked up at the cloaked figure beside her. His voice had a desperation to it that she didn’t understand, and she felt sorry for him, this exhausted wanderer who was constantly on the move, hiding from the eyes of his stalkers. She felt ashamed for her lack of gratitude, after all he had done for her, putting his life and his relationship in abeyance to escort her here. She heard again the melodious, sensible voice of the dragon.
The man outside, he wanted to know if you are Cymrian, yes?
Yes.
You may as well tell him, Pretty. He already knows. It is obvious.
She stood up and brushed the dirt off her garments, then picked up her gear. “I’ll make a bargain with you, Ashe,” she said, slinging her pack over her shoulder again. “I will tell you the answers to your questions.”
“No, I had no right—”
“Let me finish. I will answer either question you put to me, or both, as long as you answer the same question about yourself first. Do we have a bargain?”
He thought for a moment. “Yes.”
“All right, then, let’s go inside.”
“Sorry about the mess.”
“Don’t be,” said Rhapsody. “First off, it’s your room, you’re entitled to keep it in any manner you choose. Second, this is neat as a pin compared to Jo’s.”
Ashe laughed. “She must live in a trash heap.”
“Yes, she does, but she lived much of her life on a real one before I met her, so I try not to bother her about it, no matter how much I dislike untidiness. I’m afraid fanatical housekeeping is part of my upbringing.”
He nodded. Rhapsody went to the chair and picked up the dirty woolen socks lying there; she folded them and sat down, depositing them in her lap.
“Here, let me take those,” said Ashe hastily. “You don’t need to hold them.” He dropped them into an empty basket in the closet.
“Aren’t you going to take off the cloak?” Rhapsody asked. “You must be dying to get out of it.”
Ashe pulled back the hood, leaving the cloak in place, and sat down on the bed. She took in a breath when she saw his face again; it was strange seeing it again. From across the small room she could not see the strange pupils in his eyes, but the metallic sheen to his hair was as startling as it had been when he first revealed himself to her. He seemed to notice her staring at him, and looked uncomfortable.
“So,” he began uneasily, “are you Cymrian?”
“You first.”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said, “you already know, but yes, I am.”
“Achmed and Grunthor, too?”
“I can’t speak for them without their permission,” she said regretfully. “You’ll have to draw your own conclusions.”
Ashe nodded. “What generation?” When she looked at him askance, he smiled. “On my father’s side, third. On my mother’s, it’s so far removed that it’s hardly worth mentioning.”
“Explain this to me again,” Rhapsody said. “First Generation Cymrians were born in the old world; their children, born here, are Second Generation?”
“Yes.”
“What if someone was Seren, lived in Serendair, but didn’t sail with the Fleets?”
Ashe, who was watching her face intently, blinked, and his face went suddenly blank. “And survived the cataclysm?”
“Obviously, or there wouldn’t be a reason to discuss it, would there?”
Ashe nodded. “No, there wouldn’t. Of course, how stupid of me. This happened to a great many people, in fact, if my historical studies are accurate. Not everyone who evacuated Serendair wanted to go with Gwylliam; a lot of them thought he was insane, or that the journey would be too much for them, particularly the races that were not inclined to sea travel. They left prior to the sailing of the Three Fleets, and went to other places, land masses closer to the Island.”
Rhapsody rose and pulled the cloak from her shoulders. “So, would they be considered Cymrians?”
The searing blue eyes trained even more intensely on her, the vertical slits expanding in the darkness of the room, soaking in her answers as if they were sunlight.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Even though they didn’t greet the indigenous population with Gwylliam’s aphorism, I think a native Seren who left Serendair prior to the cataclysm would still qualify as a Cymrian. The members of the Second Fleet never did, either; they landed in Manosse or Gaematria, and didn’t set foot on this continent until many generations later, when the first Cymrian Council was called. And they are Cymrians; they felt the call of the Council horn deep in their souls when it was winded, were compelled to answer, to come to the Moot. Yes; I think anyone who once lived in Serendair and left would be a First Generation Cymrian.”
Rhapsody turned away from him and hung her cloak on the peg near the door so he would not see how hard she swallowed. “I guess that makes me a First Generation Cymrian, then,” she said, smoothing out the mantle’s folds, brushing the dirt from them. Then she turned and looked back at Ashe. She studied his face, but no gleam of victory came into his eyes, just the fragment of a smile.
“How did you survive? Where did you go? It must have been somewhere you could get to by rowboat or ferry, since you said you never sailed on any other kind of ship. How did you come to be here, half a world away?”
“That’s more than two questions,” said Rhapsody hastily. The memory of her endless sojourn through the bowels of the Earth reared its head; she shook her own to banish the sensation of crawling along the Axis Mundi, still hovering close to the surface of her consciousness. It was a struggle not to think about it, and when she did, she felt despair she could not easily overcome. “Besides, I thought we agreed we would try to avoid talking about the Past as much as possible.”
“I’m sorry,” Ashe said quickly. “You’re right, of course. Thank you for telling me what you have.”
Rhapsody eyed him uneasily. “You’re welcome. So now that you’ve extracted this information from me, what are you going to do?”
Ashe stood up. “Bathe.”
Rhapsody stared at him again. “That’s it? You’ve been nagging me the entire length of this trip to know this answer, and you’re going to bathe?”
“Yes,” Ashe answered with a laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, while you have taken advantage of every sheltered spot in the river and each secluded pond to swim yourself clean, I have had to make do with the mist from the cloak; hardly fair, and certainly not conducive to us sharing a small room tonight. So if you will excuse me, I’ll be going now.” Rhapsody watched in amazement as he picked up a scrap of woven cloth from the floor that may have, in less ratty days, been a towel, and walked out the door, whistling.
Ashe had just finished lacing his trousers when the door of the cottage opened and a hailstorm of dirt and debris flew out. Rhapsody had apparently found a large branch to use as a broom and was sweeping his room with a furor that rivaled a windstorm. She emerged for a moment; their eyes met, and she gasped. She was staring at his chest.
Commencing at his navel and extending to his left shoulder was a hideous wound, black and twisted, festering red in the light of the g
len. The enormous gash seemed to be an old one, but one that had never healed; it was raw and open, with burned flesh blistered beneath charred skin. Blue veins spread radially across his chest, forming a starlike shape above his heart. The sight of it was enough to bring tears to Rhapsody’s eyes.
Customarily I’d cut your heart out, although it’s fairly obvious someone already has.
Ashe turned quickly away and pulled his shirt over his head. When he turned back she was gone. He ran his hands through his now-clean hair and waited for her to reappear, but she didn’t. Finally he decided to break the awkward silence.
“Rhapsody?”
She reappeared at the door. “Yes?”
He pointed at the backflow pool of the waterfall. “I’ve dammed a spot in the pool to make a little lagoon, if you want to use it.”
Her face brightened. “Perfect! Thank you. I’ll be right out.” She vanished into the hut, emerging a moment later with a full basket of clothes. He stared in dismay; they were his.
“What are you doing?”
“Laundry.” She went to the small pool that he had made for her to bathe in and dropped the clothes, garment by garment, into it, followed by a bar of hard soap. A pair of soiled pants, a shirt with an immense grease stain and several sets of dirty undergarments fell into the water, to his intense embarrassment. He strode around the shore and reached for the basket.
“Here, give that to me. I’ll do it.”
Rhapsody’s eyes twinkled. “Nonsense! You offered me the position of maid, and I accepted, for today at least. It’s my way of paying for your services as my guide. Laundry comes with the territory. In fact, if you want to strip out of those, I’ll wash them, too.” She pointed to the clothes he was currently wearing and picked up a stick.
“No, thank you.”
“You may as well take advantage of the service while you can. Once our account is squared, you’ll be washing your own clothes and sweeping out your own hovel—er, house.” The water in the lagoon began to bubble, steam emerging in the cool air of early spring. She had used her fire lore to boil the laundry and now stirred it along with the soap, creating a lather in the lagoon that washed out among the rocks, avoiding the waterfall itself.
When the clothes were done Rhapsody pulled them from the water, suddenly cool enough to touch, and hung them on the rope line she had strung in between the trees of the glade. Ashe went to each garment and touched it, removing the excess water instantly.
“Are you going to bathe?” he asked.
Rhapsody looked up through the canopy of trees at the patches of sky. The clouds were thickening and beginning to grow gray. “I don’t think so. It looks like rain.”
Ashe looked at the sky as well. “You’re right. Let’s get inside.”
They snatched the laundry, hurried into the hut and shut the door just as the raindrops began to pelt the roof. Ashe stopped in amazement. His room was tidy and scrubbed, cleaner than it had ever been. The bed was made, the floor swept, and a pot of tea had been set to steep on the table, which had been washed and polished.
“How did you do all this in such a short time?”
“Experience.”
“I see. Well, this wasn’t necessary. Thank you.”
Rhapsody smiled at him from the doorway. “It’s part of my job as maid. We provide some of the services you would get without cost if you were married.” Her words choked off almost as soon as they had left her lips. She was still not sure that he wasn’t.
Ashe laughed. “If that’s the case, there are some others I would far rather have.” His eyes twinkled merrily.
“Sorry,” said Rhapsody, taking the laundry he held and dropping it on the bed. “This is just a temporary arrangement until my debt to you is paid off. Basic housekeeping. Other services cost extra, and there are some things you just can’t afford.”
Ashe turned away, smiling. “There are some things worth begging, borrowing, or stealing for, too.”
She laid the laundry across the bed and began to fold it. “Yes, but I hardly think that’s one of them.”
Ashe picked up a cambric shirt from the bed and took it to the closet where he hung it on a peg. “I doubt you even know which one I’m talking about, Rhapsody.”
Rhapsody picked up her pack from the floor and opened it. She began rearranging items in preparation for repacking her clean handkerchiefs and the clothes she had washed with Ashe’s laundry. “I can guess,” she said dryly.
“You might be wrong,” said Ashe humorously. “Why don’t you hazard a guess. What wifely service might I like you to provide?”
She removed a series of pouches from the bottom of the satchel. “I don’t want to guess. Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll try not to belt you if I’m not offended.”
Ashe picked up his leather gloves and pulled them back on. He sat down in the threadbare chair and put his feet up, enjoying the prospect of making mischief with her. “All right.” He looked her up and down as she continued to ignore him, sorting through her supplies. Child rearing, he thought.
“There’s a town that’s part of the southern Nonaligned region called Gallo. Men use their wives as shields when they enter into battle. The women walk before them to absorb the arrow shots.” He waited for the eruption, but she said nothing. He tried again. “In addition, when they are trading horses, if one needs to somehow make up the difference in the value of a—” He stopped when he saw her looking down at her hand in amazement. “What’s the matter?”
“Look at this,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. Ashe stood up and came over to where she stood. She was holding the dragon’s claw dagger she had returned to Elynsynos. “I gave this back to her.”
“Obviously she wants you to have it.”
“I suppose. I wonder how she got it in here without my noticing.”
Ashe smiled at her. “Never underestimate the determination of a dragon when it comes to something it loves, Rhapsody. It will always find a way to get what it wants.” He put his folded laundry in the closet and went out into the rain.
14
“The tea’s ready. Want some?”
“Yes, thank you,” Rhapsody answered. She looked around the interior of the room again as Ashe laid a fire with the wet branches he had found behind the hut. She went to the hearth to light it, moving the little screen out of the way.
“It’s here on the table,” Ashe said.
“Thanks.” Rhapsody looked at the wood that a moment before had been green and wet; it was now dried as though seasoned for a year or more, every drop of water having been removed from it. She touched the kindling and spoke the word for ignition, then the one for sustenance, and sparks leapt up, catching the edges of the wood. She smiled and looked up at Ashe, who was kicking the towel he had dropped on the floor under the bed.
“Are you tied to water yourself, or just through the sword?” She rose, picked up the mug he had set out for her, and went to the old chair, settling down in it.
He looked startled, then relaxed a bit. He took off his battered scabbard and laid the sword across his knees, running his hand over the tattered leather. “It’s hard to say, really. I’ve had Kirsdarke for so long now that I can’t remember that element not being a part of me. I’ve always felt the sea in my blood, even as a child. My family were seafarers by and large, and so it comes naturally, I guess.” Rhapsody waited for him to go on, but instead he went to the hearth and picked up the fire iron. She shifted in the chair; it was so old and the fabric so threadbare that it was difficult for her to sit upright.
“So what do you want from me now?” she asked.
Ashe bent to stir the embers of the fire, and as he did she felt a thrill run up her back, as though his ministrations to the flames were being applied to her body. She felt a moment’s panic, then realized almost immediately that it was a function of her communion with the fire rather than anything he was doing intentionally. She concentrated on separating herself from it as he replaced the screen and turned t
o face her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Rhapsody answered, sipping her tea, “you have been after me for weeks to yield the information I just gave you about my Cymrian lineage. It has seemed very important to you, so now that you’ve broken me down and you have your answer, I’d like to know what you plan to do with the knowledge. What do you want from us? From me?”
“Nothing you aren’t prepared to give.”
Rhapsody sighed. “You know, I don’t make a very good Cymrian, and I certainly don’t much like being one. You people can’t answer a question directly to save your lives.”
Ashe smiled in spite of himself. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I know it’s annoying, but it comes from centuries of breeding, from paranoia and distrust cast in the forge of a terrible war, Rhapsody. They’re all like that, I’m afraid, and I am among the worst.”
“I can tell. I mean, how many people walk around by choice in a cloak of mist, hiding from, the eyes of the world?”
Blue eyes of startling intensity met her own. “Who said it was by choice?”
She was unable to break his gaze or to say anything for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said when she could finally speak again. “I had a sense when you first showed me your face that it wasn’t.”
“Why?”
Rhapsody considered her answer. Until the moment he had lifted his hood and let her look at him, she had assumed he was malformed in some way, the victim of an accident or a battle injury, or perhaps of a difficult birth. She had felt an affinity for him because of it; she sometimes felt that way herself, knew the desire to shield her countenance from the stares and gawking looks that often came her way in the street.
She had examined her face at great length in the glass, trying to determine what was so unusual about it, coming finally to the conclusion that her Liringlas blood had produced a visage in her that the people of this land were not used to seeing, or found to be alien. Even though she didn’t consider herself ugly, the stares sometimes made her feel that way.
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