Rhapsody: Child of Blood

24

After breaking fast with the repast Vera had left out for them, Rhapsody and Llauron walked out through the gardens and across the wide field behind the keep to the stable where the Invoker kept his horses.

Gwen had arrived prior to their leaving the house, with a new pair of leather boots and soft woolen leggings for Rhapsody. They were a little large, but wrapped her feet in warmth and kept them dry, and she thanked the house servant gratefully.

As best as she could tell, despite the size of the house and the importance of his position, the Invoker only had the two women servants aside from the guards. Rhapsody had known minor nobles in Serendair who had kept far more than that, and it made her think well of him. Llauron looked after himself, for the most part, a unique and pleasing trait in the head of a religious order.

The stables were cleaner than most houses, with cobbled floors lined in thick straw and old rugs. It was easy to see why; Llauron’s steeds were among the most magnificent she had ever seen. Some were warhorses, sleek and rippled in their musculature, while others had been bred according to their breed and their bloodlines, making fine riders and dray horses. Rhapsody walked up and down between the stalls, clicking to them the way her father had to his horses, and finding Llauron’s steeds to be equally responsive to the soft sound.

“Do you see one you like, my dear?” Llauron asked with an approving smile. “I like them all.”

“Yes, but you can only ride one of them. If you’d like to meet Lark, we’ll have to travel a bit. The herbery is on the other side of the forest clearing, several leagues from here. What about the strawberry bay? He’s gentle.”

Rhapsody nodded, and Llauron signaled to the stablehand. “Saddle him up, please, Norma, and Eliseus as well; we’ll be heading out shortly.” He took Rhapsody by the elbow and led her back out of the stable into the biting wind.

While they waited for the horses, Llauron raised the hood on Rhapsody’s cloak as if she were a child. “It’s probably best for you to keep this up, my dear, the wind is brisk.” He followed suit with his own, then turned as the door to the stable opened and Norma came out, leading the bay and a roan with glossy mane, neatly plaited.

“Ah, there’s my boy now; good morning, Eliseus.” The horse snorted as if in reply, thick vapor issuing forth from his nostrils in the cold wind. “Well, then, Rhapsody, let’s be off to the herbery.” They mounted and rode off, Rhapsody following him over the fields to the woodlands.

“This is where the herb gardens are maintained,” Llauron said as they approached a wide meadow, visible past the glade through which they had ridden. “As nature-priests we practice a good deal of herb lore, both in medicinal and spiritual uses. Oh, and cooking; I despise bland food.” Rhapsody chuckled and slowed the bay to a plodding walk next to Llauron. Riding through the forest had been pleasant, primarily owing to Llauron’s knowledge of the terrain and the well-maintained forest paths that scored the ground, even in the snow. It seemed as if they had traveled the distance in no time.

The Invoker stopped before a large brick cottage with a thatched roof on the edge of the meadow. He dismounted and held out his hands to Rhapsody, but she shook her head politely and stepped down without help.

“This is where Lark lives, the herbalist who is responsible for maintaining the order’s herb stores and gardens,” Llauron said. He knocked briskly on the door. There was no answer. A moment later a voice called out from across the field near an area gated off with a large wooden fence.

“Your Grace! We’re out here.” Rhapsody turned to see a tall woman, dressed in thick trousers and a tunic-like shirt, waving to Llauron. Llauron raised his hand in acknowledgment.

“That’s Ilyana. She’s in charge of planting and training the acolytes in farm lore. Shall we go and meet them?”

“By all means.”

They stepped carefully around the sleeping beds of herbs that lined the fields for miles around until they found the cobbled path, buried in the snow. As they approached the fenced area two women came around from behind it.

One was Ilyana, whom she had seen a moment before. The other was a slight woman, with a long dark braid down her back, held in place by a kerchief. Her face bore the signs of middle age and a life lived outdoors, and something else: she was Lirin.

Unlike Rhapsody’s mother, who had been a Skysinger, of the Liringlas, a people noted for their blond or silvery hair and rosy complexions, Lark was Lirindarc, like those who had lived in Sagia’s wood, a dark, leather-skinned people with the same slim build and angular faces as the Liringlas, but with black or brown eyes better suited to the filtered forest light.

Rhapsody’s throat tightened at the sight of her, as it had earlier when she had seen Gwen. There were Lirin here; Llauron had made reference to their existence the night before in a place the Cymrians had called Realmalir, now known as Tyrian. She was not alone in her race.

Llauron stretched out his hand and brought it to rest on the woman’s shoulder. “Lark, this is Rhapsody. She’s my guest for a while, and a bit of an herbalist herself.”

Rhapsody flushed at his words. “Oh, not really. I know a little bit about plants, that’s all.” Lark nodded, her face passive.

The tall human woman put out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ilyana.” Rhapsody shook hands with her and smiled, noting that a moment later an odd look crossed the woman’s face.

“I’d like Rhapsody to study a bit with both of you, primarily you, Lark,” Llauron said. “She’s interested in horticulture, and I plan to give her a few lessons myself.”

“Is she an acolyte?” Lark asked, her face still unresponsive.

“No, just a visitor. I trust you will treat her with all due respect.” Lark nodded again. “Good, good. Well, please find a place for her and some work clothes. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you, my dear?”

“You did see me when I came in last night, didn’t you?”

Llauron laughed. “Good point. Very well, if that’s clear, I’ll leave you in capable hands, Rhapsody. I’ll be back for you at sunset.”

“She is not staying in the barracks?” Lark asked.

“No. As I believe I’ve already noted, she is my guest.” Llauron’s voice was gentle, but his eyes glinted in a manner that made Rhapsody momentarily uneasy. “I expect you know that I would not waste your time with anyone who might not be a friend to our cause, Mother.” Lark nodded again, stone-faced.

“Cause?” Rhapsody asked uneasily.

Llauron and Lark exchanged a glance; then the Invoker turned to Rhapsody and smiled.

“The preservation of the forest and the Earth, the care of the Great White Tree. I have not characterized you unfairly, have I, my dear? You do respect nature, do you not?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Good, then all is as it should be. Goodbye, Mother; you as well, Ilyana. Enjoy your studies, my dear.” Llauron walked back down the path to his horse, mounted, and rode off, waving.

The three women watched him until he reached the forest and had ridden out of sight. Then Ilyana put an arm around Rhapsody.

“You came last night?”

“Yes.”

The two Filids looked at each other. “Then it must have been you that all the commotion was about,” Ilyana said. Lark turned around and headed back to the fenced area.

“Commotion?” Rhapsody asked, her stomach going suddenly cold.

“Yes, scores of villagers from the east showed up in a rabble at the foot of the holy forest last night. Llauron had to address them all in the middle of the night and send them home. I had no idea what to make of it. Apparently they were seeking the return of someone they felt had been taken from them.”

Icy claws clutched Rhapsody’s stomach. What did the villagers think she had done that made them chase her this way? She hadn’t been there long enough to do anything but meet Khaddyr before he whisked her away. Surely they couldn’t be blaming her for any crime that had occurred.

Then she remembered her horrific appearance when she had come out of the forest. Perhaps they thought she was some kind of evil spirit, responsible for someone’s death or illness, or farming woes. She pulled her cloak a little tighter about herself.

Ilyana saw her nervousness and drew her closer to her side. “Don’t worry, darling, they’re gone. And they won’t be back. It’s clear Llauron plans to protect you, and if that’s the case, you can be certain you’ll be safe. Come on, you can help us rake over the compost heap.”

For more than a week Rhapsody came each day to study with Lark. The herbalist rarely spoke, unless she was talking about plants. It took some time for Rhapsody to realize that she was innately shy.

When she was pointing out herbs or methods to care for them, however, Lark became animated, a growing excitement entering her voice. She was a wealth of knowledge on the subject, and Rhapsody took copious notes, scribing Lark’s teachings onto parchment that Ilyana had provided.

They generally spent the hours when the sun was directly overhead, or days when the weather was too rough to brave the gardens, in Lark’s cottage, drying herbs and blending them together for medicinal uses and sweet-smelling sachets. The scent of the cottage was heavenly, and Rhapsody did not mind the long hours of painstaking work, enjoying the opportunity to absorb the lore. Occasionally she sang for Lark, Lirin songs that her mother had taught her, though Lark did not understand the tongue.

After ten days, Ilyana had claimed her, taking her on long rides over the vast fields in which the Filids toiled, even in winter, preparing them for spring planting. The faithful to which the Filids ministered were largely farming communities, and Ilyana had told her that the religion encompassed more than half a million known followers in the western part of the continent, a number Rhapsody found staggering.

By far the most interesting were the planting and harvesting rituals, rites that blessed the newly tilled ground and the fruit of the farmers’ labor prior to it being gathered. The ceremonies that the Filidic acolytes studied were in the language of her homeland, the tongue Rhapsody had spoken as a child. The Filids called the language Old Cymrian, a thought that filled her with ironic sadness. Did that make her, and Achmed and Grunthor, Old Cymrians?

The thought gave birth immediately to an even more desolate one. They were not, in fact, Old Cymrians, but their ancestors. Given how long ago in the history of this place the Cymrian Age had been, it seemed as if Time had forgotten all about the three of them. When it remembered, it would undoubtedly be back to claim them.

At the end of the first month Rhapsody was handed over to Khaddyr again. The priest was the master of the healing arts, a talent he seldom let anyone forget, and though he could be somewhat pompous, Rhapsody found him to be a clear and skillful teacher, imparting his wisdom in a way that she could assimilate easily and practice immediately.

After two weeks of tending to the patients in the hospices that Khaddyr managed, she went on to Brother Aldo, who was also a Filidic healer, but of animals. She enjoyed learning from him; he was gentle and soft-spoken, and had a manner that quieted even the wild animals in his care.

Finally, she was sent to Gavin, the somber, silent chief of the foresters and scouts, the armed men she had seen when Khaddyr first brought her to the Tree. These men traveled the wide land, sometimes serving as guides to the faithful along the Cymrian Trails, two series of markers that commemorated the journeys of the First and Third Cymrian Fleets after they landed, which Llauron had referred to on her first night with him. Apparently very few people followed the Trails now; instead, the pilgrims came to worship at the Tree.

Rhapsody could see that the majority of the scouts and foresters were not escorting pilgrims, but were traveling the lands of the holy forest, engaging occasionally in combat. Many of the patients in Khaddyr’s hospice were men such as these, coming in haggard and worn, and often injured. Apparently this was not particularly unusual; Khaddyr and his acolytes tended to the men without any obvious surprise.

Late each afternoon Rhapsody returned to the Invoker’s house. Llauron would be finishing up the duties of his office as leader of the Filids—a substantial job, from what Rhapsody could tell.

Each town had a Filid assigned to it to assist with crops and animals, and to help maintain a balance between nature and agriculture. In addition to providing guides to the religion’s spiritual sites, it also fell to Llauron’s office to maintain the hostels along the way. He did not object to these tasks, but early on he had confided to her how much he missed the days of his youth, when he had roamed the wild seas and wandered the forests of the world, free from administrative duties.

His way of recapturing those lost days was by taking her with him on long walks, where he would instruct her on the balance of nature and various aspects of the forest and the world around them. He knew every animal, and roughly how many of them lived in the wood, as well as each plant and tree, knowledge that he imparted to her in his light, pleasant voice.

It was almost like listening to a song, and she strolled with him, fascinated, as he told her of trees, how the oaks were strong and sacred, how ash trees were close to the spiritual world and so their branches were often used for wands and ritual magic. He said that willows were greedy, maples were leaders, and evergreens were adventurous. He told her of the woodland plants, of mistletoe and holly, which held spiritual properties of life, of ferns and mints and countless others. Occasionally he would sing sea chanteys for her as they walked.

Llauron walked with a young man’s pace and a vigor in his step; Rhapsody had known men half his age whose pace was half that of the Invoker. On their outings he carried a staff made of white wood and topped with a gleaming golden oak leaf, which he swung to keep pace rather than to bear his weight.

It had been made from a branch of the Great White Tree that had fallen ages ago during a storm and had been given to Ulbren the Younger, the Invoker of the Filids who had come from Serendair, bringing with him the religion they now practiced. It was considered the symbol of his office, but Llauron carried it as if it were an ordinary stick, pointing out birds and rapping on the trunks of ancient trees to sound their health.

Each evening their walks would end at sundown beneath the branches of the Great Tree, in time for Rhapsody to sing her twilight vespers. She had determined that Llauron had known the customs of the Liringlas prior to her arrival, and would expect her to sing her salutations to the rising sun and the stars, and so she did not attempt to hide the ritual from him, though Achmed’s voice nagged in her head. The Invoker always stood beneath the Tree with her as she sang, smiling to himself, but never sharing whatever thoughts occurred to him during these times.

They would share an evening meal together, often talking late into the night about the forest and its creatures, or the Cymrian Age and all its wonder. In particular they discussed the Cymrian Council, an annual meeting of all the refugees of Serendair, held in something called the Great Moot. It was the intent of the council to maintain peace among all the diverse races that had fled the doomed Island, to keep communication channels open, a worthy aspiration that had died on the battlefields of the Cymrian War.

Llauron was of the belief that the fragmented nations that had once been part of the Cymrian empire, Sorbold and Roland and the lands now occupied by the Firbolg, would only be able to maintain peace and resist war again if they were reunited into a common land. Rhapsody had noticed one realm missing in his discourse.

“What about the Lirin?” she asked, looking up over her sweet-fern tea.

“The Lirin were never part of the Cymrian realm. They were here first, after all, and resisted becoming part of it. But they were allies, and good friends to the First Generation, the refugees who had actually made the voyage and landed here. It was unfortunate that they ultimately got drawn into the war, which devastated much of Tyrian. And on top of that, it fragmented their society as well. Now even the Lirin are divided among themselves. A shame.” Rhapsody nodded as Llauron fell silent.

“I will need to be going soon,” she said as he stared into the fire. The Invoker’s eyes turned back on her immediately, but she saw no sign of the glint that came into them occasionally when he was annoyed.

“Oh, dear, what a pity. I knew this day would come eventually, but I have to admit I’ve been dreading it, my dear. We’ve all grown to love you around here, Gwen and Vera and I. And I’m sure your instructors will be sorry to see you go.”

“I’ll be sorry to leave everyone as well,” she replied sincerely. “And I’ve learned so much from all of you.” A thought occurred to her when he mentioned the teachers. “May I ask you something about the Filidic instructors?”

“Certainly.”

“The religion does not ascribe celibacy to its priests, does it?”

“No, we leave that unnatural state to the Patriarchal religion of Sepulvarta, to the Patriarch and his benisons—those are his version of our high priests, the next rank below him in the hierarchy of that faith. Benisons are sometimes also known as Blessers when it is a specific title, such as the Blesser of Avonderre. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I thought it interesting that none of the high priests of Gwynwood are married.”

Llauron sat back in his chair and touched his fingertips together. “No, none of them are at that, are they?” he mused. “Well, Ilyana was married, but her husband was killed in a border incursion ten or so years back.”

“Lark has never married, but then, as you know, she is very shy, as is Brother Aldo. He prefers the company of beasts to that of women, though I certainly could introduce him to some that qualify as both.” Rhapsody laughed. “Gavin isn’t here often or long enough to marry; he is constantly on the forest path somewhere. And Khaddyr, well, actually, he is proscribed from marriage and progeny as my Tanist.”

Rhapsody blinked. “Your what?”

“The Filids now use the laws of Tanistry to select a successor to the Invoker instead of some of the uglier rituals they once practiced, which generally involved fighting to the death.”

“Oh, yes, Khaddyr did tell me something about that, but he said those rituals had not been practiced in a very long time, and you had not ascended through them.”

“That is correct,” Llauron said. “Tanistry dictates that the religious order pick its successor, generally someone hale and hearty and likely to survive the leader.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Frankly, I think I am much younger in body than Khaddyr, poor fellow. I doubt he’ll outlive me.”

She laughed again, feeling a little guilty. “I agree.”

“In fact, I think that when the Circle elders meet, it’s possible they will remove the title from him and make Gavin my Tanist. He has a better chance of surviving me, and is a very wise man. Not that Khaddyr isn’t as well, of course. Khaddyr is one of the kindest men I know, and I think that’s what makes him such a singular healer.” Rhapsody nodded.

“But a Tanist vows celibacy because the whole point of having one is to avoid the problems of succession and family lineage. If the Tanist were to have children before he or she became Invoker, it would complicate things, make him less likely to have a successor named. It’s an awful system; it allows the Invoker to marry eventually if he so chooses, but usually by the time he takes the office he is a brittle old man like me, having waited for his predecessor to die. Silly, isn’t it?”

Exhaustion was descending on Rhapsody. “I guess so. If you’ll forgive me, Llauron, I think it’s time for me to retire for the evening.”

Llauron stood as she did and walked her to the door of the study. “Yes, my dear, get some sleep. You have a busy day ahead of you.” He touched her arm. “And you’re more than welcome to invite your two companions to come back here for a visit, too. I would most enjoy meeting them, I’m sure.”

Rhapsody’s arm trembled beneath his touch. She had never spoken of her Firbolg friends. She looked into the blue eyes and found them twinkling in the reflected firelight.

“Excuse me?”

“Come now, my dear. These are my lands. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize something foreign when it came onto them? At first I believed it might have been a Firbolg incursion, but that is most unlikely. The Firbolg lands are very far away, and two of them traveling alone would doubtless have run into one of my scouts between here and Canrif.”

“No, I assumed they were waiting for you, since they have been watching this place. I long to hear the story of how you ended up in their company, but that can wait until another time. Why don’t you invite them back for a visit?”

Rhapsody’s entire body was trembling. “I—I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she whispered, her voice betraying her. “They’re a little—well, antisocial.”

Llauron nodded. “Well, I don’t blame them a bit. Firbolg are often treated as less than human. How about a compromise? I will come to them. Ask them if they’re willing to meet me, how’s that? I will come to their camp instead, and come alone. It would be most enlightening; I’ve never met a Firbolg before.”

Rhapsody’s head was spinning. “All right,” she said finally. “I can ask them.”

The elderly face broke into a broad smile. “Very good. I will look forward to the meeting. Good night, my dear.”

“Good night.” She left the study quickly and wandered, as if in a daze, up the stairs and to her room. She undressed quickly and slid beneath the covers, pondering how she was going to explain this to Achmed, given his dislike of strangers and priests. Every answer she came up with was inadequate, so she closed her eyes at last and fell into an anxious sleep. Her dreams of disaster shifted from the sinking of the Island to the reaction of her friends when they learned how many of their secrets were out.