Rhapsody: Child of Blood tsoa-1

by Elizabeth Haydon

  Rhapsody sat down beside him and stared silently into the approaching darkness. They watched the sun as it slipped quickly over the edge of the world, as if ashamed to remain in the sky a moment longer than proscribed. With the onset of darkness came a chill wind, and it blew across their faces and through their hair as it shrieked and moaned through the canyon below.

  Finally, when the shadows had reached completely across the vast Firbolg realm, Achmed spoke.

  "Thank you for not trying to fill up the silence with well-meant words," he said. Rhapsody smiled slightly but said nothing. The Warlord let loose a deep, painful sigh. "Has Grunthor said anything yet?"

  "No, not yet."

  Achmed nodded distantly, his mind on the other side of Time. "He's been through this before, and much worse. He'll be all right."

  "No doubt," Rhapsody agreed. She watched his face, reading plainly on it deep concern and sorrow. And possibly even fear, though she wouldn't recognize it on him. "I was told something by one of his lieutenants before he died."

  Achmed turned to hear what she had to say. "What was it?"

  She brushed back a strand of hair that the moaning wind had swept into her eyes. "He told me Fire-Eye's name, his real name, I think." Achmed's glance became more piercing, but he said nothing. She coughed, and glanced around nervously. "He said his name is Saltar."

  "Yes, I know."

  "And does that sound in any way familiar to you, like any other name you've ever heard?"

  "Yes. Tsoltan."

  Rhapsody exhaled, her nervous excitement deflated. "All right, I guess I'm not surprised you knew."

  "I didn't, not really. I've just been expecting it. I've been waiting for this day since we crawled out of the Root." He looked out over the heath, watching the distant meadow scrub bowing in the breeze. "The irony of the universe never fails to amaze me," he said, almost to himself. There was none of his customary sarcasm in his voice. He picked up a pebble from the tunnel floor and ran it absently between his fingers.

  "Tell me what you mean," Rhapsody said gently.

  Achmed looked into the distance again, as if trying to see into the Past.

  "All my adult life I have been a predator, and a good one at that. I was raised as the answer to the relentless campaign of genocide the F'dor waged against my people, so I in turn by nature was relentless."

  "I was given a gift at birth, a tie to blood that allowed me to be the Brother to all men. I used that gift in the name of Death, to walk alone and let that blood, rather than tie myself to others with it, to seek and find any heartbeat in our land and follow it, unerringly, until I found my prey. I was as unstoppable as the passage of time, Rhapsody. Unless my victims chose to hide in the sea, there was nowhere I couldn't find them. No one could run away from me forever."

  "And now, here I am, on the other side of Time. I gave all that up, everything, every natural weapon I had, and ran, futilely trying to escape the one pursuer that I had no chance against—myself. Because that was what I was trying to outrun. It had my name. I was his accomplice in the hunt for me."

  "Just as I never lost a quarry, the F'dor never loses, either. It will win the battle, or, in losing, take over the victor, making him its new host. So either way, it will win. The far better choice is to die at its hands than have it live on through you, but I'm not sure that I'm not already bound to it in either case. I should have known that this world was not a big enough place to hide from it, from myself. The avalanche is coming, and there is nothing I can do to stop it."

  Rhapsody said nothing, but gently ran her fingers up his forearm until her hand came to rest in his. Achmed stared down at their joined hands.

  "And then, Rhapsody, you came along and changed everything, addled my brain with your incessant babble, distracted me into believing that the F'dor's leash on me was broken, that I could somehow escape it, when I should have known better, having been myself the deliverer of the inescapable. It was only a matter of time before it found me again." He tossed the pebble into the canyon below.

  "You don't know that it has," Rhapsody said quietly. "And perhaps you have it backward. Maybe you're still the predator, Achmed. Maybe you are destined to face it, and kill it. Perhaps it will be your final victim. But you're right about one thing: you can't run away anymore. If you do, it will find you sooner or later. If I were you I'd rather not have my back to it."

  "The sanctimonious words of someone who has no idea what the consequences are for me," he scowled, snatching his hand away.

  "Perhaps not. But I know what they are for me. I could lose the only family I have left in the world, in particular my irritating brother who is the opposite side of my coin." She saw his glare temper into something deeper. "You cannot possibly understand how deeply I fear that happening again. But whatever those consequences are, I will be facing them with you, as Grunthor has. That's what families do." She smiled, and Achmed felt his heart rise against his best effort to remain morose.

  "Have you heard the Bolg talking about Fire-Eye's Ghost?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "What do you suppose that is all about? If this is Tsoltan's demon-spirit, if it escaped from the destruction of Serendair and came here, clinging to one of the Cymrians on the last ship out, could they see it?"

  Achmed shook his head. "I doubt it, though perhaps the first step in our plan is to acknowledge that the rules have changed, and what we knew for certain in the old life may not apply anymore. F'dor are generally indistinguishable when they are bound to a human host, though once in a great while you can catch a whiff of their putrid odor. But not often. That's what makes them so damned dangerous."

  "Then what do you think it is?"

  Achmed stood and brushed the sand of the tunnel out of his robes. "I've no idea. Whatever it is, it wields dark fire like a weapon; that's where those burn wounds came from. The Bolg think the Ghost is part of Saltar's magic, a mysterious defense that makes him indestructible, that always gives him the upper hand."

  "Can we kill it, then? Are we fighting a man possessed by a demon?"

  "I don't know." Achmed took her hand and helped her rise. "I don't plan to take any chances. I need to face Fire-Eye myself, Rhapsody. There is an ancient Dhracian ritual called the Thrall that holds the demon-spirit in place, prevents it from leaving its human host. That way, if Fire-Eye is the host of the F'dor, both man and demon will die. The tricky part is not killing him unless he is in Thrall. But if he's not the host of the F'dor, then obviously the ritual won't work."

  "And can you find him?"

  Achmed leaned against the tunnel wall and closed his eyes. His vision centered on the deep canyon below, and the wide space of air between the crag they sat within and the Heath on the other side. And then his second sight was off, racing over the crevice, speeding over the wide Heath, past the rock walls of Kraldurge and the wide fields, waiting the plantings of spring.

  It was a journey he knew well, having traveled extensively with Grunthor on the campaigns to recruit and subdue the Bolg. These lands were his now, were under his domain and subject to his will.

  The vision flew over the ancient vineyards, wide slanted hills with a river between them, lined on both sides with vines awaiting the warmth of spring, tended carefully by the Bolg Rhapsody had trained as farmers. Through forest lands and the openings in the hillsides that had once been the realm of the Nain and Gwadd, the Cymrian races that had chosen to live within the Earth, he followed the path at a sickening rate of speed, past the deep woods where the Lirin loyal to Gwylliam had once built their homes.

  Then into the Hidden Realm, past the decaying remains of Cymrian villages and cities, outposts that were now no more than stains on the ground and stone wreckage. The land here was rich, dark and undisturbed, its populace hidden within the labyrinthine network of tunnels stretching out endlessly within the far mountains.

  His path lore sped between the mountain passes and into the tunnels, following their twists and turns into a colossal cavern with a l
arge cave at its far end. His distant sight came to an abrupt halt before a Bolg figure, sleeping on a wide stone bed, the mattress gone for centuries. In the dark, the Bolg shaman's eyes opened and stared at him, rimmed in the color of blood. Then the vision faded and disappeared.

  Achmed exhaled as the vision left and looked back at Rhapsody. He smiled involuntarily at the expression of anticipation on her face, her deep green eyes gleaming in the dark.

  "I know exactly where he is," he said. "And now he can say the same thing about me."

  * * *

  "Did she give you any trouble, Yer Ladyship?"

  Rhapsody struggled with the vambraces of the armor Achmed had given her.

  "Not a bit," she said, twisting her arm around to try and cinch the closures, finally giving up and turning to Grunthor for help. "I made sure she got a good look at the bodies of the worst victims of Fire-Eye's Ghost. Jo was more than happy to stay behind and help in the hospital. In fact, she even volunteered to watch my grandchildren."

  Grunthor smiled, his eyes absent of their normal sparkle of humor.

  "Good. At least she'll be safe. Oi don't suppose you might change your mind as well, Duchess?"

  She patted his arm, satisfied with the fit of the vambraces. "No."

  "Well, then, Oi'll be grateful to have you along. Just remember what Oi taught ya."

  "Of course. And Achmed's sage advice as well: tuck your chin, you're going to get hurt, so expect it and be ready, you may as well see it coming."

  The Firbolg king smiled behind his veils. "Are you ready, then?"

  Rhapsody came to the mouth of the tunnel and stood next to him. She looked down over the sea of Bolg that swelled in the canyon below. Tens of thousands of them, itching with anger, bristling to wreak vengeance. The noise was deafening.

  The black mass of soldiers roiled with their martial preparations, their ugly shouts and outbreaks of violence audible even from a thousand feet below. The size of the convocation continued to grow as more fighters, men and women, joined with each passing moment.

  "Are you sure they're going to remain in control?" she asked nervously.

  "Nope," Grunthor replied, almost cheerfully. "But at least Oi know 'oo they'll take it out on if they lose it."

  * * *

  The horses were dancing in place, the nervousness rippling through their muscles. Rhapsody imagined she had the same wild look in her eyes as the animals did.

  It had been frightening enough to observe the Bolg from the ledge a thousand feet above. Now, here in the belly of the canyon, it was like being in the unstable eye of a hurricane.

  All around her was writhing humanity, or demi-humanity, muscular movement laced with the stench of sweat and the excitement of war. She could see the battle frenzy building, glittering in tens of thousands of eyes, and it terrified her.

  "Any sign of the Hill-Eye?" Achmed asked Grunthor, who was giving commands atop Rockslide, the massive warhorse that Lord Stephen had given him.

  "Nope. Oi don't think even they would be stupid enough to attack now." Grunthor cast a satisfied glance around the canyon, teeming from rim to rim with his army.

  Rhapsody moved her leg out of the way of the Bolg quartermaster, who was checking her mare's barding.

  "Are the Fist-and-Fire an Eye clan, or Guts?" she asked.

  "Guts," Achmed and Grunthor answered in unison.

  "Then why is their leader called Fire-Eye? Don't Bolg chieftains usually put their clan type into their own name?"

  Achmed dismounted and came to the mare's side, rather than shout over the cacophony that blared all around them. She leaned down to hear him.

  "Virtually every clan in the Hidden Realm is a Guts clan. This shaman's name undoubtedly refers to the bloody edges around his eyes. Occasionally you can catch a glimpse of a F'dor like that, but it's fleeting. You've seen them in your visions sometimes, haven't you?" Rhapsody nodded. "And it's also possible that it is using the same holy, er, unholy symbol, the representation we saw in the basilica at Bethany. That was Tsoltan's sign."

  Rhapsody thought back to the vision of her mother, the last nightmare she had before reality turned into one. "I think he does; I believe I saw it in a vision."

  "Well, I didn't when I looked, but he didn't have it embroidered on his blankets. Whether or not it is displayed on his ceremonial robes, if he even has any, I have no idea."

  Achmed grabbed her bridle and dodged out of the way of a scuffle between three Bolg crossbowmen. Grunthor cuffed one and barked an order at the others, and they quickly moved back into the chaotic ranks.

  "Remember what I said about the Thrall ritual. Don't strike him until you're sure he's entranced."

  The noise was too loud to be heard, even if she shouted, so Rhapsody just nodded. Achmed patted her leg and went back to his mount.

  * * *

  The long ride to the Hidden Realm was harrowing. Rhapsody struggled to remain in her seat, gripping the horse with her knees and hanging on for her life.

  They rode at the head of an endless column of Firbolg, their ranks expanding to the sides as well as behind them. From every hillside and crag of the deepest Teeth came more clans and families, hunters alone and soldiers in groups, fathers with one or more of their sons, swelling the horde until it seemed as if the mountains themselves were following Achmed. In her memory she heard his voice, brimming with excited energy, addressing his new subjects for the first time on a dark ledge overlooking the smoke from the bonfires in the canyon below him.

  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.

  It was coming to pass, just as he predicted.

  To her left she heard the Sergeant's ringing bass begin a marching cadence.

  Revenge I am told

  Is a dish eaten cold

  But me, I prefer my food warm

  So when I come for you

  The first thing I will do

  Is to rip off and chew on your arm.

  Thousands of voices immediately picked up the next verse, croaking in rasping tones.

  From your head to your feet I'll devour the meat

  But your bones I will just toss away

  And with any luck then

  Your kin and your friend

  Will pick someone else to betray.

  Rhapsody clung to the saddle, struggling to remain upright in the vibrations of the echo that resounded off the Teeth. It was a ferocious sound, low and mighty, despite the ridiculous words. There was depth to the voices, pain still hovering at the surface, and she could feel the energy in it, bristling in the sound issuing forth from the throats of the Bolg.

  She added her own voice to it, concentrating on amplifying the sound. Suddenly the song was even louder, and many more voices joined in, chanting their vengeance in march time.

  A shiver of fear mingled with excitement ran through her, tingling from the base of her spine to her scalp. She glanced over at Achmed, who smiled at her, then back to Grunthor. The Sergeant was shifting into another song, this one a gruesome battle ode, his face intent, without the joy that singing cadences usually brought to it. He had taken the slaughter of his men very seriously, she knew, and planned to avenge them in ways she might be horrified by. She steeled herself for what was to come.

  * * *

  For the first three days of the journey the army continued to swell, new members joining as the colossal column marched by. From the fields and forests a sizable number had come, Claw and Eyes and even a few Guts clans eager to join once they determined that the shaking of the ground was the army passing, and not an earthquake.

  They camped at night, those sitting watch tending massive bonfires, still singing the martial hymns. Rhapsody watched the enormous shadows from the fires light the hills at the edge of her vision, clouds of smoke billowing across the dark sky where it hovered among the stars.

&n
bsp; Toward the end of the fourth day a few skirmishes had broken out. The Bolg now dashing from the hills or emerging from the broken ruins of abandoned Cymrian settlements were not intending to enlist, but rather to take out the fringes of the royal troops. Any such attempts didn't even make a ripple through the column, and were quashed without missing a note in the cadences.

  On the fifth day everything changed.

  Achmed had warned her the night before, in the light of the blazing bonfires, that they were now within the territory of the Fist-and-Fire. Though he suspected they would not be a match for an army of this size, they were a vast and vicious tribe, with an impressive ability to ambush.

  They demonstrated that ability as the sun was rising. Achmed's troops, now fed a steady diet of roots and organ meat to improve their night vision, saw them coming, charging out of the foredawn mist, gray and lightless. Aligned in two waves, the outer force formed a wide ring around Achmed's army, stretching from end to end of what had once been a large city, now crumbled and decaying. The inner wave swarmed from all sides, emerging from tunnels throughout the ruin, swinging torches that burned with caustic fire.

  "Enfilade!" roared Grunthor. Rhapsody reined her mare to a halt in horror as Achmed's forces split down the center and turned, firing their crossbows at the charging Fists. Up and down the charging line they sprayed, loosing bolts methodically into the oncoming attack.

  From all around them flames roared skyward. The outer circle of enemy troops had set great fields of oil and pitch alight, clogging the air with rancid smoke and cutting off escape on all sides.

  Grunthor turned to Rhapsody. "Sing!" he shouted.

  Waving the fumes away, she began the war chant they had practiced, a song written to match the rhythms of Bolg hearts, enflaming their blood. A savage roar echoed across the plain, undulating through the dirty black smoke and the blinding heat. The royal forces, enraged and invigorated by the chant, fired again and then waded into the fray.