Prophecy: Child of Earth

41

There was a coldness to the stone within the corridors of the Cauldron that the torches, spaced in wall sconces every ten feet, could not dispel. In was an old chill, one that had been in the granite since before the Firbolg had taken the mountain, one that suited the history made here. It was a negative place, and dreary. Footsteps echoed for a fragment of a second and then were swallowed up by the inert stone. It was somewhat like walking inside a coffin.

Ashe could not remember the last time he had been in such a bad mood. For close to three weeks he had lived in unfettered bliss, alone and undisturbed with Rhapsody in the paradise she had made in Elysian just by being there. He had never known such simple joys—cooking inventive meals for each other, swimming by filtered moonlight in the crystalline lake, watching her sew or mend weapons in die firelight, helping her hang laundry, singing with her, brushing her hair, making love, making memories—and he deeply resented being snapped back to the reality that deprived him of even a moment alone with her. His clear understanding of the long-term need of this visit to the Cauldron did nothing to assuage this annoyance.

By mutual unspoken agreement they had not discussed the Past—both of them knew it was painful ground for the other and risked breaking die spell of their magical hideaway. For the same reason they had not discussed the Future, either. But they had agreed to this being the day that their request would be put before Achmed, and so here he was, with a headache dirobbing behind his eyes, striding down the dingy corridors of the Firbolg seat of power, to the council room behind the Great Hall where Rhapsody’s odious companions would meet them.

Rhapsody, walking beside him, sensed his frame of mind and gave his hand a supportive squeeze. She was dressed for work again in her traveling outfit—die plain white linen shirt, the soft brown pants tucked into high, sturdy boot-leggings tied with rawhide—and, of course, the infernal cloak. He had found good reasons to get her to undress twice already that morning, but still the black ribbon had made its way back into her hair, nearly binding die shining waterfall into a demure fall. The exquisite colorful clothes had been returned , to the cedar closet in favor of the disguise she wore to hide herself from the world.

This was the way he had first seen her, and he had lost his heart to her utterly, despite her being camouflaged by the plain costume. But now, having seen her true self revealed, he could barely stand to see her forced back into hiding. The jubilance she exhibited in being allowed to walk around in Elysian, free of obscurement, hair flowing without restrictions, in any garment of her choosing made his heart glad in many ways, and he hurt for her to see that freedom taken away.

But she seemed to be taking it all in stride, smiling at him, clasping his hand, hurrying him along to a meeting with the last people in the world he wanted to see.

The council room behind the Great Hall held a large, roughhewn wooden table made smooth by centuries of use. On the walls hung a few ancient tapestries, smelling of rot and darkened beyond recognition by smoke and time. There was a firepit taking up most of the far wall, ablaze with a foul-smelling inferno that cast the only light in the room; despite the lack of ambient illumination, the lanterns would not be lit until nightfall.

As they entered the room, Grunthor hopped up from his massive chair, clicked his heels and made a gracious bow in Rhapsody’s direction. She ran to him and embraced him while Ashe stood in amazement that something that big could move so gracefully. Then his eyes scanned the rest of the room.

Achmed remained seated, one foot propped on the table, reading from a sheaf of bound yellowed vellum. He did not look up as they came in.

Rhapsody walked behind the Firbolg king and bent down to kiss the top of his cloaked head. Then she glanced around the room, a look of displeasure taking hold. Her nose wrinkled up and she shook her head in disgust.

“Gods, Achmed, what are you burning? Never mind—I don’t want to know.” She set her pack on the table and rifled through it, pulling out an amber glass bottle of sweet flag boiled in vanilla-anise oil and a chamois pouch folded into several different compartments. From one of the middle folds she extracted some dried spices mixed with flakes of cedarwood and, squinting to avoid the rancid smoke, tossed them on the fire, followed by a hefty splash from the bottle. Instantly the putrid smell dispersed and was replaced by a fresh, sweet odor that dissipated into neutrality within a moment.

“Oh, ’ow lovely,” said Grunthor. “Now we can all smell like a field o’ daisies. Oi’m sure the troops will love it. Thank you, my dear.”

Rhapsody’s expression was growing more pained as she turned in a circle, surveying the room with distaste.

“You didn’t do anything to redecorate, did you? What happened to the silk tapestries I had sent from Bethe Corbair?”

“We used them to make the floor of the stable quieter,” said Achmed, still reading. “The horses thank you.”

“Oh, and Oi buried one of my favorite lieutenants in one,” added Grunthor helpfully. “ ’Is widow was genuinely touched.”

Ashe struggled to contain his amusement. Whatever problems Rhapsody’s friends posed, it could not be denied that the relationship between the three of them certainly made for good entertainment. Still, his head ached and he couldn’t wait to get back to Elysian with her, alone. He coughed politely.

“Oh, ’allo, Ashe,” said Grunthor. “You’re ’ere too?”

“It apparently couldn’t be helped,” Achmed said to Grunthor. “If you’re ill, Ashe, I can get you a leech.”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” said Ashe.

“Well, there’s the lit’le miss,” said Grunthor in a jolly tone as Jo came into the council room. “Gives us a kiss, darlin’.”

Jo complied, then she and Rhapsody hurried to each other and embraced warmly.

“What’s been going on?” Jo asked as Rhapsody put an arm around her waist and walked to the table. “Where have you been?”

Rhapsody looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Didn’t you get my letter?”

“Letter?”

For the first time Achmed looked up, in the direction of Grunthor. “Uhhhhrrrumph.” Grunthor cleared his throat awkwardly, his bruise-colored skin flushing suddenly.

Rhapsody turned to Grunthor with an incredulous look. “Uhhhhrrrumph? What do you mean, uhhhhrrrumph? You didn’t give her my letter?”

“Let’s just say Oi’ve been keepin’ it next to my ’eart,” the giant Firbolg replied sheepishly as he removed the folded parchment from his breast pocket.

“I’m so sorry, Jo,” Rhapsody said, looking daggers at Grunthor. “No wonder you’re confused.”

She glanced at Ashe, and her look spoke volumes. They had worked on the letter together endlessly, trying to explain their new relationship in a way that Jo could accept, in language simple enough for her to read, endeavoring not to hurt her feelings. The intervening weeks had been carefully timed to allow her adequate opportunity to adjust. All their good intentions had obviously just gone to smash.

Jo took the letter and began to read it. Her brows furrowed together after a moment, and Rhapsody tried to intervene.

“Here, Jo, why don’t you give that to me? There’s really no need for a letter now that I’m here; we can just go and talk. Gentlemen, we’ll be back in a—”

Jo held up her hand suddenly and Rhapsody fell silent. The girl’s sallow countenance grew florid and she looked around the room wildly. Realization, then humiliation, crawled over her face as she absorbed the first blow, then the understanding that her friends had all known about it and had been worried about her reaction. The second embarrassment seemed much greater.

Rhapsody could see that she was mortified, and tried to put her arm around her again. With a violence that almost knocked her down, Jo broke free and ran from the council room in tears.

The four stared at each other in helpless silence. Then Rhapsody spoke, a stricken look on her face.

“I have to go after her.”

“No, let me,” said Ashe gently. “It’s my fault for not talking to her sooner; besides, you three will probably be better off meeting without me anyway.”

“You’re a wise man,” said Grunthor.

“Let’s not get carried away,” said Achmed.

Ashe kissed Rhapsody’s hand, and she touched his shoulder in a final thought. “Don’t pursue her too excessively,” she said, looking up into his hood. “She might not want to be found, and she may need her privacy right now. And please—don’t use your dragon senses or anything that might upset Achmed. He’s sensitive to that sort of thing.”

“As you wish,” he answered, and was gone.

Grunthor took one look at Rhapsody’s scowl as she turned from the door. “It’s probably best if you talk for both of us, sir,” he said nervously. “Oi’d agree to about anythin’ she wants just to get that look off ’er face.”