Rhapsody: Child of Blood

12

Rhapsody had become so accustomed to crawling through cold, wet rock, had been chilled for so long, that she had forgotten what it was like to be dry, not to shiver. The musty smell of the earth and the stale water that pooled within it permeated everything.

Her clothes were constantly damp, and had been for as long as she could remember. At times it seemed as if there had been no other life but this, that her memories of the Past had only been dreams. This was the reality, this never-ending trek along the Axis Mundi.

They had been climbing, walking, and crawling on their hands and knees for so long now that they knew nothing else. Time had passed endlessly, and still they woke after each session of uncomfortable sleep to the same nightmarish reality.

Unlike the two Bolg, who seemed to have no fear of the depths of the Earth or enclosed spaces, Rhapsody still spent a good part of her waking hours silently battling her thoughts of suffocation and enclosure. Part of her routine consisted of driving out the realization of how far below the surface of the Earth they were, how precarious their air and space was, especially during the frequent cave-ins.

She was grateful that they avoided too much hands-and-knees crawling. Most of the time they were able to stand erect, or occasionally walk stooped over, which was barely better than crawling. Every part of her body, and especially her back and knees, ached with each step, each moment they moved along the sandy, rocky floor of the endless tunnel. There was little respite from the torture, even in sleep.

She still failed to understand how Grunthor was able to force his enormous body through the tiny crevasses by which she felt crushed. When Achmed finally declared they were stopping, usually once they had made it out of a tight, wet enclosure, she would sink gratefully into exhausted sleep, only to be wakened by her nightmares.

They grew in intensity the farther they traveled within the Earth, causing Achmed once to threaten to push her off the Root. When room allowed, she slept on Grunthor, finding some comfort in the strength of the massive arms, although waking to the grinning greenish face had taken some getting used to at first.

Achmed’s demeanor had changed. Once they had reached the Axis Mundi itself he became more reserved than usual, distracted even, as if he was listening for something just outside the range of sound. His voice had dropped to a near-whisper, though he had not opposed speaking or being spoken to, at least any more than he had before. His preoccupation was apparent to Rhapsody, so she tried not to disturb him, and instead directed most of her conversation to Grunthor.

When space allowed enough air to converse while traveling, the two men taught Rhapsody the Firbolg language, known as Bolgish, more to be polite than anything else. It was their common tongue, and to converse in it made it seem as if they were trying to exclude her. In return, in the rare moments when light permitted, she taught Grunthor to read. The lessons never lasted long.

Rhapsody had awakened from her sleep to find Achmed himself pale and clammy, muttering under his breath, much as she routinely did. The tunnel had been narrow for some time, through several stretches of travel, without respite, and several cave-ins had recently occurred.

Grunthor, who had cleared a large blockage of rock from their path a few hours before, slept through his friend’s nightmare undisturbed. She raised her head off the giant Bolg’s chest and watched for a moment, then rose slowly, and carefully climbed over her sleeping partner to the lookout spot where Achmed generally made camp for himself.

When she reached him she felt her own pulse quicken in concern. His eyelids were twitching rapidly; he was breathing shallowly and moaning intermittently. Gently she stroked his forehead and whispered to him.

“Achmed?”

The Dhracian struggled a moment more, and then his eyes snapped open, cleared from sleep.

“Yes?” His voice had an even drier edge than usual to it.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She caressed the side of his cheek as she would that of a child in the night. “You seemed to be having a nightmare.”

The mismatched eyes glared at her. “You think you have an exclusive right to bad dreams?”

Rhapsody fell back as if slapped. His eyes had shot sparks at her the same way his cwellan flung forth its disklike missiles.

“No, of course not,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, I was just—never mind.” She crawled back over Grunthor, now awake, and settled back down against the absurdly muscular chest. She had planned to ask what he was dreaming about, but realized upon seeing his reaction that she did not want to imagine something that could frighten Achmed.

Beneath her, Grunthor closed his eyes and drove the thoughts from his mind. He already knew.

Finally Achmed seemed to find what he was looking for. They had followed the Root into a voluminous cavern, with walls so distant as to be indiscernible in the dark. The robed figure had slowed, then come to a stop.

“Wait here, and try to be quiet,” he said softly. “If I’m not back by the time you wake, go on without me.” Before Rhapsody could question him, he was gone.

When she turned around and looked to Grunthor for an explanation, she shuddered. The expression on the broad face was grimmer than she had ever seen.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered nervously.

The giant reached out a hand to her, pulling her silently down to the floor. The air was chillier than usual, and he opened his coat, offering her his shoulder for a pillow. Rhapsody lay down and he drew the great mantle around her. Slowly he let out a deep sigh, his eyes staring into the darkness at the distant ceiling overhead.

“Rest now, miss.”

Achmed cast a final look around the immense cavern before he began his climb across the Root to the passage he had finally seen. Unlike the other tunnels, it carried no branch of the Root but lay empty and silent, undisturbed in the darkness.

He had been following the low, flickering heartbeat for a long time. He had caught the first whispers of it just after they had climbed off the taproot onto the Axis Mundi. Swelling intermittently through the loud hum of the Tree, it was the echo of a low and distant thudding in the earth beneath his feet.

It had been his intention, when he and Grunthor first laid their plans of escape from Serendair, to avoid this place at all costs. What lay within the tunnel, coiled within the belly of the Earth itself, was the horrific destiny of the Island. The knowledge of its existence, and the plans for its awakening, had been part of the reason he had sought to leave, though he knew that something even more cataclysmic was waiting for its time to come forth as well. Something he had seen with his own eyes in the desert beyond the failed land bridge.

That he had been able to find its pulse at all was still of some surprise to him. His blood-gift, his tie to men’s heartbeats, was a legacy granted to him as the first of his elder race to be born on the Island. This thing preceded him; it was from the Before-Time. And it was not a man. Perhaps the inadvertent choice of names that Rhapsody made that afternoon in the streets of Easton had something to do with it, had given him entry into its blood, access he would not normally have had.

The pulse was almost imperceptible, slow in the frozen depths below, but it was definitely there. By the volume of the blood that ran through its veins, there could be no mistaking that this was what he sought.

He stopped. For the first time that he could remember, Achmed felt paralyzing fear.

His own death was not a concern to him now, nor had it ever been. Death was his partner, something he had dispensed as the consummate master of his trade. The incessant vibrations of the world that irritated his physiology on a daily basis, that which others defined as life, was not something to be cherished, but often just endured.

Occasionally upon dispatching victims he had seen a kind of peace come over their faces, a sense of imminent rest that intrigued him. Certainly he knew that many deaths he delivered came as a relief to those who hired him.

Part of his birthright had been his judgment, his discretion. He was not a ravager, like a pestilence or a war. The death sentences he bestowed were, in fact, often the only sense, the only justice in the tangled strife of the world. He was not afraid to meet death himself. It owed him.

What frightened him was the breathtaking, mindless, incomprehensible scope with which that grim entity was looming. The devastation that would be visited upon the land was absolute; once the wyrm had extricated itself from the earth in which it hibernated it would devour everything it could find. It would eclipse him a million times over as the master of dispensing death. It would be worse than an eclipse, a dark sun of ultimate ruin, not making death the shadow, but bathing the world in itself.

He and Grunthor would buy time by leaving now, escaping to another part of the world. They could probably live out the remainder of their lives and die in bed before it came for them. It had been their original plan.

And yet here he was, on the doorstep of its sanctuary, trying to find the antidote to a poison far more virulent than he could ever negate, something older than the Earth itself.

There was something ironic in the need he felt, heartless killer that he was, to try and preserve the lives of those innocents left behind, the unwitting populace of the Island, and eventually, the Earth. He was now physically unable to pass this chance by, not to intervene.

He stood at the edge of the chamber, breathing the bitter chill. Something about having been the intended agent of the wyrm’s release, or the bait, or his loathing of the demon who had tried to command him, or all of these things, made him plan against all better instincts to keep this monstrous force asleep, hidden.

Try as he might to shrug it off, the need to act had clutched at him mercilessly, refusing to let go. He didn’t understand its genesis, but he knew it had something to do with Rhapsody.

Somehow she was bound to this as well. He would need her if he was going to make the attempt, would have to convince her that she was capable of this immense undertaking. She would benefit from the confidence he displayed in her, even if, in the depths of his heart, that faith was uncertain. The consequences of a misstep were dire. The consequences of not making the attempt were more so.

Rhapsody was dreaming of darkness. The light of the candle-flame had flickered as the door of her bedroom creaked open. The rustle of the bedclothes as her father sat down beside her.

Are you all right, child?

In her sleep Rhapsody shifted to move away from the root now beneath her ear. She nodded.

Dark, she whispered now, as she had then. I’m afraid, Father.

He had wrapped her in the bedclothes as he lifted her from her bed and carried her outdoors, under the star-sprinkled sky.

I used to do this with your mother when she first came here, when she was afraid.

Mama was afraid of the dark, too?

The scratchy roughness of her father’s beard against her cheek as his arms encircled her, forming a wall of protection that would keep her safe.

Of course not. She’s Lirin, a child of the sky. Much of the time the sky is dark. She was afraid of being away from it, of being enclosed. And of the darkness within.

In her sleep Rhapsody folded her cold hands and buried them between her knees.

Is that why you made the window in the roof?

Yes. Now, look into the sky, child. Can you see the stars?

Yes, Father. They’re beautiful.

She could still see his smile gleam in the blackness around them.

And would you be able to see them but for the dark?

No.

You cannot see the beauty without facing the darkness. Remember this.

She thought she knew what he meant. Like when you first brought Mama, to live here, and the people of the village were unkind to her?

The smile had disappeared, along with its light.

Yes, like that.

How did the village come to change its mind about our family, Father? If they despised Mama so when you first married, why did you stay?

She could see his face in her memory, wrinkles pocketing around his eyes as he smiled at her again.

We needed to face that darkness. And we did, together. I will tell you something that I want you to remember. If you forget all my other words, remember these: when you find the one thing in your life you believe in above anything else, you owe it to yourself to stand by it —it will never come again, child. And if you believe in it unwaveringly, the world has no other choice but to see it as you do, eventually. For who knows it better than you? Don’t be afraid to take a difficult stand, darling, find the one thing that matters —everything else will resolve itself.

Tears fell onto the glowing Root below her. She had listened, had remembered, had taken his words to heart. And, in doing what he said, she had lost everything. Even him.

“Rhapsody?”

The word was spoken so softly she thought she was only hearing it in her mind. Rhapsody opened her eyes and found herself staring up into the darkness of Achmed’s hood, the gleam of his gaze fixed on her. She nodded silently.

“I have a story for you. Its ending isn’t written yet. Do you wish to hear it?”

Slowly she sat up and took the hand he offered her. As on the day she had first accepted it, the grasp was firm and clawlike, but now his hands were bare, the leather gloves gone.

She thought for a moment that this was still a dream, but the clarity and openness of his gaze and words was something she knew she could never have imagined. He pulled her carefully to a stand and led her from the sleeping giant to a sheltered spot some distance away. He pointed into the darkness.

“Over there is a tunnel unlike the others we have followed. There have been many like it, but I doubt you’ve noticed them. The tunnels were not carved by the Tree’s roots, but have been here since long before its acorn was ever planted.”

“Deep within that tunnel is a beating heart. You have asked repeatedly how I know where I am going. The answer is that I can sense almost any pulse in my skin. I know that what I am saying frightens you, because even though your outward expression has not changed, your heartbeat has quickened. If you become lost within this place, if you fall down a root shaft or are buried alive by a cave-in, I can find you, because I know the sound of your heart.”

Rhapsody rubbed her eyes in an effort to clear her mind. The words, spoken softly in the now-familiar dry tone, bore no resemblance to anything Achmed had ever said to her before. She concentrated on the music in his tone, and found empathy there. And concern. And fear. She shook her head to clear the lingering cobwebs of sleep; she must still not be thinking clearly. Her skull was pounding.

“Listen to me. I’ve been following a pulse. First it was that of the Tree itself, but once we found the Axis Mundi it changed; now I have been following that other heartbeat to this place. Something terrible rests in there, something more powerful and more horrifying than you can imagine, something I dare not even name. What sleeps within that tunnel, deep in the belly of the Earth, must not awake. Not ever. Do you understand me? You once said that you could prolong slumber—”

“Sometimes.”

“Yes. I understand. This must be one of those times.”

Achmed’s eyes searched the Singer’s face as she struggled to wake more fully. He wasn’t doing very well with his explanation. He needed her to understand what he was asking of her.

She had been as uncertain of her abilities as he now was, from the moment she had renamed him by accident to her shielding of their presence from the Lirin of the fields and forests. He had come to realize that this was at least in part because she had finished her studies alone; her mentor had disappeared with but a year left in her training.

His blood ran cold at the thought. Tsoltan had once made a casual reference to a Namer in his thrall. Perhaps there had been an earlier connection between Rhapsody and himself than he had realized.

She had been consuming the flesh of the Root, as he planned, almost from the very beginning. There was no question that it had affected her, as it had Grunthor and himself. They had passed a lifetime or more, or so it seemed, down here in the depths of the world, and had not aged a moment, at least by the vibrations he had been able to sense. The Tree tied to Time itself had prevented its ravages. If anything, they were healthier, stronger, even younger than they had been upon entering Sagia.

But there was also another change in her, an inner strength that he had not felt when they first met. Whether it had come from long hours of practice or as a gift from the flesh of the Tree, Rhapsody was becoming a Namer of great power. He hoped it would be enough.

“I need to know what it is if you want me to try to make its sleep last longer,” Rhapsody said softly. “You’re talking in riddles, or avoiding the whole story, which is a minor form of deception. I told you long ago that power is in the truth. I can’t help you if you keep me in the dark.”

Achmed exhaled slowly. He stared at her for a moment, as if gauging her soul. “You named me Achmed the Snake because it sounded frightening to you, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I told you that a long time ago. And I’ve been embarrassed about it ever since.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be. It may have been the only thing that allowed me to find the tunnel. When I was the Brother, I was tied only to the blood of men and women. It may have been the serpent name you gave me that helped me hear this beating heart.”

“In the Before-Time, when the Earth and seas were being born, an egg was stolen from the progenitor of the race of dragons, the Primal Wyrm. If we live to get out of here I will one day tell you its name, though it would not be wise to do so now.”

Rhapsody nodded in agreement.

“That egg was secreted here, within the Earth, by the race of demonic beings born of elemental fire. My former master was one of them.”

“The one who gave you the key?”

“Shhh. Yes.” His voice dropped even lower. “The infant wyrm which came from that egg has lived here, deep in the frozen wastes of the Earth’s interior, growing, until its coils have wound around the very heart of the world. It is an innate part of the Earth itself; its body is a large part of the world’s mass. It sleeps now, but soon that demon wishes to summon it, and will visit it upon the land. Rhapsody, I can’t explain its size to you, except to say that Sagia’s trunk root was a mere piece of twine in comparison with the taproot, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And the taproot was a thread compared with the Axis Mundi. The Axis Mundi is like one of your hairs in comparison with this creature. It has the power to consume the Earth; that was the intent of the thieves who put it here. It awaits the demon’s call, which I know for certain is intended to come soon.” He blinked, and Rhapsody could no longer see his face. “I know this, because he planned to use me to help bring this about.”

“And that’s why you ran?”

“Partly.”

Rhapsody sat back, and looked at him with new eyes. Hithertofore it had been obvious that her two companions had histories that were nefarious; it was impossible to conclude anything else after the slaughter of Michael’s men. And yet despite their pasts there was a nobility to both of them.

Grunthor’s she had seen right away. He had been her protector from the beginning, advocating for her with his partner, assisting her in her climb, protecting her from her dreams. It was this other one in whom she had seen no good until now.

You cannot see the beauty without facing the darkness. Remember this.

“And rather than circumventing this place you have brought us here in the hope that we can help contain it.”

“Yes, if possible.” The mismatched eyes glittered in the darkness. “And even then, Rhapsody, you will only be buying time. You will never have the power to destroy it completely, nor I, nor any living soul.”

She rested her throbbing head in her hand. “I can sing it a song of slumber, but I don’t have any idea if it will work. And I will have to be very close to it to ensure it hears me.”

Within his hood she heard a sigh. “I had suspected that. Grunthor and I discussed that possibility.”

“And he objected, which is why you waited until he was asleep to talk to me.”

“Careful, Rhapsody, you sound almost astute. You’re going to ruin my opinion of you.”

“I have an idea, but I’ll need my pack,” she said, hiding her smile. “You are more likely to be able to get it without waking Grunthor.”

“Before you do anything foolish, why don’t you tell me what you are planning?” Achmed handed her the pack, remembering a night long ago by the light of a hidden campfire in the fields outside Easton’s wall.

So I’ll ask you again, Singer; what can you do?

I can tell the absolute truth as I know it. And when I do that I can change things.

When the thought passed he looked up again. Rhapsody was untying the rawhide strings that held the burlap cover over her shepherd’s harp.

“Thanks for your confidence in me.” She pulled the ragged cloth loose and uncovered the instrument. It had not been damaged by its time within the Earth, much like Pilam’s bread. “You said that at some point this beast will be summoned.”

“Yes.”

“What if it didn’t hear the call?” Achmed stared at her blankly. She tried again. “In order to summon something, you need to know its true name. Of course, I don’t know this thing’s name. But if we could obscure the call, keep the beast from hearing it properly, or feeling it, perhaps it would just stay asleep and not answer. At least for a little while.”

A fragment of a grin crawled over Achmed’s face. “And how would you achieve this?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll have thought of something by the time we get to the tunnel.”

With great care they crept across the vast, glowing Root, taking their time to ensure silence. Eventually they came to its edge and stepped off it for the first time onto the black basalt rock through which the Axis Mundi ran. In the shadows not far from the Root’s edge was an immense tunnel, so huge that it faded into the darkness of the stone around it, its edges barely visible.

The closer they came to the tunnel, the colder Rhapsody felt. When they were close enough for her to see it, she knew why.

An icy wind was rising from the depth of the vast circular cavern. Her ears and fingers stung as it blasted through, freezing the wet clothing to her skin.

“Gods,” she whispered. “Why is it so cold?”

Achmed slowly turned to her. When he spoke his words were measured.

“The demonic spirits that secreted the egg here took the element of fire with them when they went upworld to keep the wyrm in hibernation. They wanted it to grow to its greatest possible size before setting it free. I think that’s why the vermin are attracted to heat and light.” The natural percussion in his voice seemed stronger, as if his teeth were chattering.

“Are you all right?”

Achmed smiled through the ice that was forming on his lips. “I’m pondering hibernation myself.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned slowly over so she could catch his whisper. “You’re the one who named me Achmed the Snake.”

Concern filled her eyes as Rhapsody reached out and brushed the frost off of his face. His movements were now so slow as to be almost imperceptible. “Gods,” she whispered again. He was trapped, living up to the reptilian name she had given him.

What have I done ? she thought miserably, watching him freeze where he stood. If I fail and wake the serpent, he will be unable to escape. He’ll be its first victim. No; its second.

“I’m going to take you back first,” she said, taking his frigid hand. “You can’t stay here.”

With the last of his remaining mobility, Achmed shook his head. His eyes, still piercing, sought hers and stared down at her.

“Rhapsody,” he said with great effort, “you do this. I will wait.” His words had the ring of finality to them.

She looked down the tunnel into the icy darkness. “Can you still sense its heartbeat?” He blinked twice. “Good. All right, then, I’m going to set up right here. You need to tell me if it reacts to anything I’m doing, if it starts to wake. I’m going to begin softly, so we can stop if we have to. Give me a moment to gauge the direction of the tunnel.”

Quietly she put down the harp and tiptoed into the vast opening. Its walls were wider than she could see in the dark, its ceiling higher, so once inside she was blind. She rested her hand on the wall and leaned forward slightly to try and estimate the angle of descent, but could see very little. The dirt beneath her hand was sandy and cold. The tunnel sloped downward, curling into the distance. Rhapsody returned to where Achmed waited.

“The wyrm must be very far away,” she whispered. “I can’t see an end to the tunnel.”

Achmed struggled to speak. “The tunnel—wall—”

She moved nearer to hear him. “What about the tunnel wall?”

“—is—a scale in—the—skin of—the wyrm.”

Frost ran through her veins as she realized what he meant. He had said that the body of the serpent was a large part of the Earth’s mass, but she hadn’t realized that it was part of the cavern around them. If the immense tunnel wall was a tiny piece of one of its coils while its heart was far away, deeper within the belly of the Earth, then surely there was nothing in the known world that could contain a beast of this size should it arise. And she had touched it.

Fighting nausea and panic Rhapsody sat on the ground and took up her harp. She cleared her mind and attuned herself to the diffuse music in the air around her. After a moment, its low, smooth tone began to fill her ears. There was little fluctuation, just the occasional variation in the monotone up or down a half-step. A sign of deep sleep.

Softly she began the simplest slumber song she knew in the same key as the music around her. She looked to Achmed’s face, looking for signs that the heartbeat of the wyrm had increased, but his eyes remained steady, watching her intently within the frozen prison of his body.

The melody wove through the music in the air, matching its tune. Slowly Rhapsody added a harmonic element, and noted a slight increase of warmth in the air around her. She looked up at Achmed, questioningly, and he blinked once. Still no change.

A stray thought knocked on the door of her mind, and Rhapsody shook her head to drive it out again. The import of what she was doing, and its potential consequences, was something that had to remain in abeyance until she was finished. Otherwise it would have buried her in its weight.

When the demon summoned the wyrm he would be using its true name, something that would match exactly the musical vibration it was attuned to. She needed to change that vibration subtlely, needed to wrap it in a slightly discordant song.

When using music to cause pain, it is better to be slightly sharp or flat than either of those things in the extreme, her mentor had said. If she did it slowly enough, took it up a degree at a time, perhaps the wyrm would not notice the subtle change, but it would still be enough to interfere with the call of its name.

Rhapsody breathed in time to the song, focusing all the rhythms of her body. All sense of time melted away as it had in the Wide Meadows. She had no idea how long she played, repeating the monotonous refrain over and over again, varying its tone infinitesimally. She shaped it as a roundelay, singing the repetitive melody again and again, over and over.

She added a slightly different beat to the rhythm. Suddenly Achmed’s eyes opened wide; the heartbeat had leapt, the ocean of serpentine blood had begun to pump. He blinked furiously.

Rhapsody scarcely noticed. She was attuned to the song herself; it had become part of the fiber of her being. She continued to play, raising the key a half-step.

The wall of the tunnel vibrated as the great beast stretched slightly, then settled back into sleep. The air cooled imperceptibly, the heartbeat slowed. Achmed closed his eyes and sighed, willing the dangerous game to end.

Hours later, Rhapsody finally rose, exhausted, still playing, and walked back to the entrance of the tunnel.

“Samoht.” she said to the instrument. Play on endlessly.

The harp continued the lullaby, even as her fingers left the strings. Over and over the roundelay played, repeating the same complex melody. Rhapsody set the instrument carefully on the floor of the tunnel near the entrance, then stepped back. On it played, endlessly. Samoht.

She turned and went quickly back to Achmed, whose eyes were now closed. Fighting fatigue, Rhapsody stood on tiptoe and sang his name into his ear.

“Achmed the Snake, warm; come.”

Achmed blinked but didn’t move. The command in the song had not worked.

Exhaustion roared through her, consuming the last of her strength. She fought back tears with the effort to remain standing, and grasped his arms, pulling with all her might.

“Come on. Please.”

Still there was no response. Rhapsody pulled harder, trying to drag him from the tunnel’s maw, but her strength failed her and she only succeeded in knocking his frozen body to the ground, where it lay unmoving.

Tears began to flow, and even the act of crying made her too tired to think. Grunthor. She had to get Grunthor.

Blindly she stumbled back toward the Root where they had left him. She got to the edge of the Root before she fell and landed, sprawling, on the glowing surface of the Axis Mundi.

For a moment she lay, too spent to go any farther, her ear resting against the humming floor beneath her. The song of the Root filled her head again, bringing with it ease, solace.

Rhapsody took a deep breath. The music of the Root had sustained her before. Perhaps, even in her utter exhaustion, there was strength she could tap. She began to sing her Naming note, ela, trying to match the tonal modulations of the Tree.

After a moment she felt a fragile spark of energy enter her legs, and she stood slowly. Grunthor was here somewhere. She had to find him. She had the strength to find him.

Concentrating on the Root’s song she pushed on, step after agonizing step, keeping her head down, breathing slowly, until she was stopped in her tracks by the grip of huge hands.

“Miss! Are ya all right?”

“Achmed,” she choked, looking up into the face of the Bolg. He was trembling. “Help me get him out of there.”

Without a word the giant swept her up in his arms and ran back to where she had come from.

Achmed was still lying on the ground, motionless, when they reached the spot where he had fallen. While Grunthor took off his greatcoat Rhapsody patted the Dhracian’s face to check for signs of awareness and was overjoyed to see the familiar scowl radiating up at her from the frozen features.

With an efficient sweep the Bolg Sergeant swathed him in the greatcoat, then lifted him to a stand. Grunthor hoisted Achmed’s body, too stiff even to bend, against his chest and shoulder. He turned to Rhapsody.

“Can you walk on your own, miss?”

Rhapsody nodded, watching Achmed carefully. Color was returning to his face, and he flexed his limbs slightly. Rhapsody smiled. She took his hand and gave his arm a solid pull, and was not surprised to find resistance in the muscles. He bent forward slightly and whispered in her ear.

“Look.”

She turned and stared back at the tunnel. Slowly it was filling with slender threads of light, like the gossamer of a spider’s web. Each new repetition of the melody had formed a new strand, attaching itself in a circular pattern to the cavernous walls of the tunnel.

“The song is freezing in place,” she murmured, fascinated.

With each new round the threads grew thicker, the sound of the song louder. Its key was now up three notes from where it had been when she started, different enough, with any luck, to jangle the namesong when the demon eventually spoke it. The roundelay, something Singers learned early in their training in order to be able to sing harmony with themselves, continued on, creating more strands of glowing spider-silk. Each strand hummed, repeating its simple melody, vibrating like the strings of her harp, each song beginning a few seconds apart.

“After a while it’s going to be cacophony,” Rhapsody said.

Grunthor nodded. Already the vibrations were in pleasant discord, like a band of musicians without a conductor, each playing at his own speed.

“Come on, miss, let’s get out of ’ere,” he said.