Prophecy: Child of Earth

25

Rhapsody had awakened early, the sonnet from her dreams still nattering in her head. She had bathed, and dressed, but it still wouldn’t leave, driving her to distraction.

She listened at the door to see if her predawn putterings had disturbed Oelendra, but there was no sound from the hall. Rhapsody eyed the lute in the corner with annoyance, then gave in with a sigh, knowing that once the composing session began she would have to see it through or be unable to think of anything else.

She made herself a cup of tea. As she sipped the steaming liquid she remembered Ashe’s insulting comments and wondered what the problem was. It didn’t taste that bad to her.

She settled into the comfortable chair across from the fireplace, tuned the lute, and began to play. At first the song was cold, uncooperative, but after a few minutes the notes began to flow with more regularity and the melody started to take shape. Rhapsody played softly so as not to disturb her host. Soon the room began to hum with creative energy, adding to the light and warmth within it.

The fire sang on the hearth, crackling in rhythm to the notes from her lute, hissing in time. Rhapsody was lost in the music when the door opened.

“Are you ready?” Oelendra asked, entering the room. She was dressed in her customary leather armor, worn from years of workouts, and carried her high-collared cape.

Rhapsody looked up from her lute to the iron-grated window. Morning was still at least an hour away.

“It’s dark outside, Oelendra,” she answered, her fingers continuing to work on the strings.

“Aye, but you’re awake, or at least you do a good impression of it.”

Rhapsody smiled at her. “I am almost finished with this sonnet,” she said, her eyes returning to her instrument. “It will be completed before the sun comes up. As soon as I’m done I’m at your disposal.”

“Funny,” Oelendra said quietly, “I was of the notion that you were at my disposal regardless.”

It was an odd comment, and Rhapsody looked up. Oelendra was studying her intently. When her eyes met Rhapsody’s, she smiled. Rhapsody smiled back, feeling as if she was missing something.

“My focus should be better today,” she said, returning to the sonnet. “Once this song is out of my head, I should be able to concentrate again.”

“Really?” Oelendra’s voice was kind.

“Yes,” Rhapsody said, tuning a string that had slipped flat. “This lute is a harsh taskmaster. It nagged at me all night while I slept; that’s why I got up so early. It keeps drawing my attention back to the song, demanding I finish it. I don’t think it will let me rest or focus until it’s done.”

“What an annoying instrument. Well, if that’s all—” Oelendra reached out and yanked the lute from Rhapsody’s hands. As Rhapsody opened her mouth in protest Oelendra smashed the instrument into the wall, then threw it across the room into the fireplace, where it splintered into crackling fragments and the whine of burning gut strings. Rhapsody’s eyes stung in astonishment as she watched the wood begin to kindle.

“Well, then,” Oelendra said lightly, “now that ’tis not a problem anymore, are you ready to start?”

It took a moment for Rhapsody to regain her voice. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

“I’m waiting.”

“What in the name of the One-God is the matter with you?” Rhapsody shouted. She gestured at the fireplace. “That instrument was priceless! It was a gift from Elynsynos, filled with lore and history. And now it’s—”

“

“Tis going to keep the room warm.”

“You think this is funny’!”

“Nay, Rhapsody, I do not.” All pleasantries had been stripped from Oelendra’s manner, replaced by a cold, angry determination. “I don’t think this is funny, and I don’t think this is a game, though you seem to. This is about as deadly serious as it gets, and you’d better begin acting like you understand this. You are now the Iliachenva’ar. You are one of the Three—you have a job to do.”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did! I do have other responsibilities, Oelendra, besides this. I’m a Namer, too. I have to practice my profession, or I’ll lose it.” Rhapsody swallowed rapidly, trying to contain the anger that was burning behind her eyes.

Oelendra began to pace the room restlessly. “Perhaps, but, rare as they may be, there are other Namers in this world. There is but one Iliachenva’ar. You have a tremendous responsibility to live up to. The rest of your interests do not matter.”

Rhapsody felt her fists begin to coil in fury. “Pardon? Are you now dictating what I am? I don’t remember volunteering for this assignment.”

“Nay, you were conscripted,” said the Lirin champion, a harsh edge in her voice. “Now get up.”

“Oelendra, what is the matter with you?”

A washbasin and pitcher shattered against the floor, sending shards of crockery flying, as the Lirin champion slammed the washstand into the wall. “I can’t kill the damned thing; that’s what’s the matter with me!” Oelendra snarled. “If I could, it would have been ashes on the wind ten centuries ago. But I failed; I made mistakes, and the price has been great. You can’t let it escape,

Rhapsody. Your destiny is foretold, and you can shrug at it all you like, but you will kill the F’dor, or die trying. You have no choice. My responsibility is to give you a chance to be successful at it, and you are wasting my time.”

Rhapsody closed her mouth; it had been open since Oelendra’s tirade began. She tried to formulate the words to calm her mentor down, but realized immediately that she couldn’t. There was more than rage in Oelendra’s eyes, there was something even deeper that Rhapsody couldn’t fathom. She remembered the warnings about Oelendra’s fury and her reputation as a harsh taskmaster. All she could do was try to stay out of her way.

“Listen to me, Rhapsody. I have sent eighty-four fully trained warriors after this beast, and not one of them, not one, has returned. You have more raw talent, more potential, than any of them to defeat it, but you lack the discipline and the will. Your heart wants to save the world, but your body is lazy. You don’t understand the depth of the evil lurking out there, waiting to destroy you.

“And if you can’t find a shudder over your own death and damnation, think of the people you love. Think of your friends, of your sister, of the children you look after. Do you have any idea what’s in store for them if you fail, as I did? Nay, you do not, because if you did you would be out there right now praying to get hold of this thing and drive your blade through it again and again and again—to taste its death on your hands and relish the joy of retribution for all the heinous things it has done over the millennia of its life!”

Rhapsody looked away; she could not bear to watch Oelendra rant. Deep within her a sense of calm descended, the feeling of peace that signaled imminent danger to her. But it was not Oelendra who threatened her, it was the panic that rose in her throat as she contemplated the task ahead of her.

“Do you know what befell your family, your friends, at this thing’s hands? Do you know happened to Easton, Rhapsody?”

“No,” Rhapsody whispered.

Oelendra’s eyes cleared; it was as if the Singer’s tone had brought her around. “Be grateful; ’twasn’t pretty,” she said in a calmer voice. “You have the chance to end it, Rhapsody, end the suffering for all time. You have a natural tie to the stars and to fire, and the aid of a Dhracian. You’re one of the Three. It knows you’re here, you realize. It has been waiting for you as long as I have. But if you’re not ready it will catch you unaware, and what it will do to you and those you love will make death seem like a blessing. And then I may as well have handed the sword to it myself long ago.”

Rhapsody took a deep breath, and willed herself to be calm. There was a desperation under Oelendra’s obstreperous tone that touched her; deep within herself she felt it resonate, and she could identify the song. It was the sound of unspeakable pain, pain as she herself had felt upon coming to this land. Clearly the ancient warrior was not as much at peace with the Past as she had seemed at first. Moreover, as impossible as it seemed, there was a cold fear in Oelendra, a fear whose depth knew no bottom.

“Oelendra, we have to resolve this,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I don’t want there to be anger between us. Please, will you sit down and talk to me for a moment? After that I will gladly go with you to the field, and you can work me through sunset and beyond if you wish. But it will be unproductive unless we settle this.”

Reluctantly the older warrior took a seat at the table. Rhapsody pulled back the chair opposite her, and sat down.

“Oelendra, I can’t be the Illachenva’ar that you were.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rhapsody. I wasn’t born with the sword in my hand. I had to learn it too, just like you. It takes commitment. And focus. And dedication. You can’t be a reluctant warrior.”

“I can only be a reluctant warrior,” Rhapsody answered. “I have no other choice. That’s not what I meant, however. I know I can learn the sword. I have a far better teacher than you did—the best, in fact. But each of us has different gifts. You are blessed with strength that I don’t have, and a mind like a fine instrument.” She looked to the burning ashes of the lute in the fireplace. “Well, maybe that wasn’t a good analogy.”

Oelendra smiled in spite of herself, her anger diminishing somewhat. “I get the gist.”

“And I have skills that you don’t have. I am a different person; if I try to be you I will fail. It seems to me in a fight against a foe of this strength that every skill can and must be brought to bear. So I have to become the best swordsman I can be, and I no doubt will, because I have your wisdom and experience to guide me, not to mention your boot on my hindquarters. But I don’t think it makes sense to ignore the other weapons at my disposal, either. You keep telling me to maximize my strengths in combat; ‘rely on your speed and skill, don’t fight like a Bolg’—isn’t that right?”

“Is there a point?”

Rhapsody exhaled. “Maybe. I hope so. There are many kinds of weapons, and all of them are powerful in their way and time. The point is, music for me can be my most powerful weapon, even more powerful than the sword. It is not a pastime or recreation; it’s my best skill, Oelendra, my best. That doesn’t diminish in any way my commitment to the sword.”

Oelendra stared at her for a long moment, then she looked down and let her breath out slowly. “You’re right. I really had no right to take my pain out on you today. I’m sorry about the lute.” Something in her voice sounded wrong; there was an undertone that made Rhapsody frown.

“Oelendra, look at me.” When there was no response, Rhapsody pressed her again. “Please.”

After a moment the older woman raised her head, and her eyes met Rhapsody’s. There were tears in them that startled her. “Oelendra? What’s wrong? Please tell me.”

“Today.” It was a whisper. “What about today?”

Oelendra looked into the fire. “The anniversary.”

“Today is your wedding anniversary? Oh, Oelendra.”

The warrior smiled sadly. “Nay, Rhapsody, not the anniversary of our wedding. ’Tis the anniversary of his death.”

Rhapsody’s face melted in sorrow. “Oh, gods. I’m so sorry.” She bolted from the table and ran to her mentor, wrapping her arms from behind around her broad shoulders. She held her for a long moment, as Oelendra’s hand came to rest on her own. Then she released her, and went to the sword rack.

“All right, Oelendra,” she said, belting her sword. “I’m ready now.”

In the darkness of her dream Rhapsody could see a pinprick of light. It shone across the room from her, lighting the corner, and she sat up to watch as it grew in brilliance. She squinted in the dark. She could see the light source twinkle; it was a tiny star on top of a thin strand of spider-silk, hovering in the air.

As she stared at the infinitesimal star, she became aware of other lights in the darkness, pools of illumination composed of hundreds of dimmer points, glowing softly around her. In the dark they looked like brooches in a jeweler’s case, sparkling gems against the black velvet of night. Then she looked down, and Rhapsody could see she was no longer in her room in Oelendra’s house, but was sitting on a thin wisp of a cloud in the sky, hovering above the land wrapped in night.

From her lofty perch she watched as the sun rose, clear and golden, at the edge of the eastern horizon. The sunlight touched the land, and as it did she could see that the tiny star was the minaret in Sepulvarta, the towering Spire in the pictures Lord Stephen had showed her. The solar light glinted brightly off the Spire, and then touched the rest of the land, illuminating all of Roland at her feet. The jeweled pins were revealed as cities, which ceased to glow as the sun came up.

In the back of her mind, Rhapsody felt the urge to sing her morning aubade, but her voice would not sound. She shook her head, and as she did, she watched a shadow cross the land, a deep shadow that was moving toward Sepulvarta. She felt horror rise in her heart as the shadow fell across the Spire, and then consumed the basilica, plunging it into darkness.

In the darkness stood an old man. Rhapsody was now no more than a few feet away from him as he stood praying at an altar of a vast basilica, his face white as death. Black fire burned around him, and as he chanted, blood began to pour from his mouth and nose, staining the white vestments he wore a brilliant crimson. She watched, still unable to speak, as the dark fire consumed him.

A moment later the image cleared, and five men came into the basilica. They ran to the pool of blood where the old man’s body had been and stood over it, praying. Two of the men, a callow youth and a decrepit elderly man with hollow eyes, stared helplessly at the pool of blood on the floor. Two of the other men drew swords, and instantly began sparring across the pool. The last, an older man with a kindly face, began sorting papers and making tea for everyone, cleaning up the mess. He turned to Rhapsody and smiled, his hand extended, offering her a cup of tea as well. She shook her head, and he went about his business.

Rhapsody heard a sound at the window of the basilica, and went to look out. Traffic was the same as every other day, townspeople walking about, merchants selling their wares, all amidst a great river of blood than ran through the streets, drenching them to the knees. The people seemed oblivious to it, even as it rose above their heads, drowning them. She could hear the baker making change for the washerwoman at his window as his mouth filled with blood.

She heard a tremendous crack and looked skyward. The star on the top of the Spire dangled from the tower for a moment, then fell into the red sea that had been Sepulvarta, exactly as the star of her earlier dreams had. As it hit the street a great light slashed across the sky, blinding her. When she could see again she was sitting in the Great White Tree, the diadem of Tyrian on her brow, surrounded by Lirin who sang gently with her as the tree descended slowly beneath the waves of the ocean of blood.

There was more to the dream, but Rhapsody was jarred awake by her own screams. Oelendra was sitting on the bed across from her, holding her arms at the elbows.

“Rhapsody? Are you all right?”

Rhapsody could only stare at her and shake. She blinked hard, trying to recall the image clearly. It had obviously been a vision of some kind, a warning she was afraid to ignore. Oelendra sensed her struggle and disappeared, leaving her to find her way to clarity again.

Cis warm enough?”

Rhapsody took a sip of the Aol mwl and nodded. “It’s fine. Thank you for bringing it. I’m sorry to have awakened you.”

Oelendra watched in silence as her pupil drank deeply, willing her heart to stop racing. She had grown accustomed to Rhapsody’s nightmares, and was only rarely aware of them now; this was the first time she had awakened to the sound of screaming. Having heard the content of the dream, she was not surprised at the Singer’s reaction.

When Rhapsody finished she set down her mug. “I have to go to Sepulvarta in the morning.”

Oelendra nodded. “The man in the white robes fits the description of the Patriarch, certainly, although no one outside of his inner circle ever sees him, so I don’t know what he actually looks like. I don’t know who any of the others are, if they are not just symbols.”

“I recognized the young man who came in with the five as the Blesser of Canderre-Yarim,” said Rhapsody. “I met him once when negotiating a peace treaty between Roland and Ylorc, and he seemed a decent fellow. I imagine the death of the Patriarch would cause the consternation he showed in the dream.”

“Perhaps the others are the four remaining benisons,” suggested Oelendra.

“Perhaps,” said Rhapsody. “I’m sorry to have to leave so abruptly. I wish we could have more time together.”

“Tis time,” said Oelendra simply. “You know all you need to, Rhapsody; I was wrong to say you weren’t ready. You are. You are strong, and skilled in the ways of the sword now, and have a wise and giving heart. Nothing remains but for you to follow your destiny. I will help you in any way I can. Remember that you are welcome here at any time, for as long as you want to stay. And if you do decide you have it within you to try to unite the Lirin as well as the Cymrians, come to me and I will support you in that as well.”

Rhapsody smiled at her, but there was grave sadness in her eyes. “I think it will be harder for me to say goodbye to you than to anyone I have met so far, Oelendra. In the short time I’ve been here I have felt at home for the first time since I left Serendair. It will be a little like losing my family all over again.”

“Then don’t say it,” Oelendra answered, rising and walking toward the door. “As long as someone is thinking of you here, you will have never really left. And, I can assure you, someone always will be. Try to rest. Morning will be here soon.”

The High Holy Day in the religion of the Patriarch is the first day of summer,” said Oelendra, handing Rhapsody a saddlebag. The Singer nodded as she positioned the pack across the back of the chestnut mare Oelendra had given her. It was a strong animal, and gentle; Rhapsody could see innate intelligence in her eyes. “If you ride overland and avoid the roads you can make it just in time.”

Rhapsody was not so sure. “Sepulvarta is two weeks from here, you said. If I don’t follow the roads I’ll get lost. I’ve never been there before.”

Oelendra smiled. “The Spire is an enormous beacon lighted by a piece of a star. If you concentrate, you should be able to feel it in your soul, even without Daystar Clarion. With the sword to guide you to it, you will never be lost. No Lirin soul is ever lost under the stars at night, anyway.”

“My grandfather used to say the same thing about sailors,” said Rhapsody, smiling. Her smile dimmed as she heard her mother’s voice again.

If you watch the sky and can find your guiding star, you will never be lost, never.

“I have one last lesson for you, one you mustn’t forget,” said Oelendra, her eyes glistening. “I would have told you this one day, but I didn’t know our time together would end so quickly.

“In the old land, there was a brotherhood of warriors called the Kinsmen. They were masters of the craft of fighting, and dedicated to the wind and the star you were born beneath. They were accepted into the brotherhood for two things: incredible skill forged over a lifetime of soldiering, and a selfless act of service to others, protecting an innocent at threat of one’s own life.

“Someday you may attain this honor, Rhapsody; you are excellent Kinsman material. You will know if you have by the sound of the wind in your ear, whispering to your heart. I have never met one in this new land; I don’t know if the brotherhood still exists. But if it does, a Kinsman will always answer your cry for help on the wind if you are one yourself. Listen well, and I will teach it to you.” In a quavering voice Oelendra began to sing. The words were in Old Cymrian.

By the Star, I will wait, I will watch, I will call and will be heard.

“Don’t forget to call if you have to,” said Oelendra. “I don’t know if I will hear you, but if I do you can be certain I will come to you.”

Tears stung Rhapsody’s eyes. “I know you will. Don’t worry, Oelendra, I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will.”

Rhapsody patted the mare. “Well, I had best be off. Thank you for everything.”

“Nay, Rhapsody, thank you for everything,” the Lirin warrior replied. “You’ve brought far more here than you leave with. Travel well, and be safe.”

Rhapsody leaned down and kissed the ancient cheek. “I’ll tell you all about it when I return one day.”

“

“Twill be a marvelous tale, to be sure,” said Oelendra, blinking back tears. “Now, go. You have a long day’s ride ahead of you.” She gave the horse a gentle slap on the flank and waved as Rhapsody rode off, the latest in a long line of pupils to carry her prayers forward with them. Somehow it was different this time, she knew. She didn’t dare to hope anymore; she had seen too many young champions take their leave, never to return. But this time, her heart was riding off with this one. If she never returned, it wouldn’t, either.