Rhapsody: Child of Blood

40

He was at the crest of a deep swale in the Krevensfield Plain when Ashe felt it. At the very edge of his awareness he sensed something alien, something his perceptions had never before come across, and it made him stop in the morning shadow he was walking behind, unseen.

Power, the dragon within his blood whispered. Fascinating power. I want to touch it.

The dragon was a source of constant struggle. It was part of him, a faction of his own nature that had a mind of its own, and though he was perennially in a state of vigilance to keep it under control, Ashe had grown used to it over the years.

He had come to appreciate its vast awareness. Because of that element in his makeup he was conscious of the infinitesimal details of the world around him; he could feel and sense every blade of grass in the field he now stood within if he gave the dragon the leeway to do so. But Ashe tried to avoid that sort of thing; the dragon was unpredictable, and wanted more freedom than he was willing to allow it.

Its senses were never wrong; there was something alien around here, something mystical and old and perverse and fascinating all at the same time. Something more than a source of power, but exactly what it was he was at a loss to determine. It took him a moment to locate where it was coming from, and when he did, he sighed in annoyance.

Bethe Corbair; it was coming from within the city. Ashe hated cities. He avoided them whenever possible, primarily because Ashe’s life was a life of shadow and solitude; it was not a wise thing to put oneself around people when one was hunted.

Still, there was such a thing as being lost in a crowd. Ashe would have been known to have done that every now and then, if anyone had known anything about Ashe, but in truth no one really did. Though technically Ashe could be seen, he was generally overlooked. He lived his life shrouded in a cloak of mist, made from woolen cloth but powered by an elemental force of water beyond the comprehension of most.

Because of this, the signature of his heartbeat, his breath, his physical form and immortal soul were not discernible to the naked eye, or even to the devices that could read the vibrations in the wind. This was a good thing, for the pain he carried—constant, and excruciating to both body and soul—would have made him an obvious target were it not for his mist cloak. Ashe was a paradox: invisible to all, but aware of everything.

I want to touch it, the dragon insisted. Rather than pushing it back, as he generally did, Ashe was forced to agree. He needed to see what this new power in Bethe Corbair was. Silently he followed the moving shadow of the morning sun across the Krevensfield Plain until he reached the gates of Bethe Corbair, where he slipped in, unnoticed, and blended into the crowd.

“And no stealing.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

Rhapsody shuddered and looked at Achmed, who smiled beneath his hood in spite of himself. “Careful,” she said to Jo, “a phrase very similar to that once got me into unbelievable trouble.”

Jo dodged out of the way of an enormous cart filled with baskets traveling the road on which they now stood, outside the entrance gates of Bethe Corbair. A sea of humanity swirled around the city walls, generating a humming rumble they had heard from miles away. There was excitement in the air, a tense, edgy energy that only a city on the fringe of the wilderness could sustain.

“We’ve been on the road for weeks. What’s the point of coming to the city if you’re not going to loot a few pockets?” she demanded.

Rhapsody held up a small coin pouch. “How about actually paying for what you need?”

She received a surly glance in return. “That’s your money.”

“It’s our money,” Rhapsody corrected as she unwound the rawhide cord closure of the coin purse. “Sisters, remember?”

She took Jo’s hand and opened it, then poured half of the contents into it. “Here’s some ‘walking-around money,’ at least that’s what my father used to call it. Be careful with it; it may be a while before we have money again.”

“This is a city,” said Achmed, looking around outside the gate. “For you, money is as close as the nearest street corner. You have earning talents the rest of us don’t have.”

Rhapsody glared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a musician,” said Achmed in annoyance. “What did you think I meant?”

“I don’t know if you make an effort to be offensive, or if you just come by it naturally, but you are very talented at it either way. Come on, Jo,” she said, pulling up the hood of her cape. “We’ll meet you by the basilica at noon, Achmed. I’m sure there will be someplace to eat in the center of town.”

She took Jo’s hand and followed the crowd into the city of Bethe Corbair, the last town before the Bolglands.

Grunthor and Achmed waited until the women were out of sight, then began to walk the perimeter of the city outside the wall, far enough away that they were inconspicuous.

After completing their reconnaissance of the entire perimeter they conferred at the city’s northern edge. Although Bethe Corbair was a walled city, it had numerous scattered settlements at its outskirts ranging from rickety shacks to small villages.

It was a border town, a place that looked east to the mountains known as the Teeth with trepidation. There was no fresh evidence of a Bolg incursion; such raids left visible scars. Still, if the residents of the area felt the need to keep within sight of the city walls, the historical bloodletting must have been horrifying enough to convince them that isolated living was a bad idea.

“Scout farther, wider sweep,” Achmed said. Grunthor nodded. “We’ll meet at the eastern outskirts at sundown.” The Dhracian watched as his enormous companion walked away and blended into the landscape, then turned and went into the city himself.

The city of Bethe Corbair was an old one, older than the capital at Navarne, though according to Stephen the areas were settled at about the same time. Rhapsody thought back to the history lessons she had learned from Llauron and Lord Stephen. Navarne and Bethany had been settled by the First Fleet, the initial group of planners, architects, and builders that Gwylliam had sent forth to construct the Cymrians’ new home. They built their guard towers and homesteads first, then took their time building the common areas. That explained the beauty of the cities, a sensibility of design coupled with artistry that endured, making them marvels to behold.

Bethe Corbair, by contrast, had been built by the Third Fleet, Gwylliam’s own contingent. The Third Fleet had been made up of soldiers and peasants, merchants and unskilled laborers, and as a result bore the signs of a fortress mentality. The city walls were thick and high, the buildings utilitarian in their design and built to withstand attack. Time had eased the military feel somewhat, but the city still held the intrinsic attitude of wariness.

That attitude was not evidenced in the people, however. They seemed as any other populace, made up of a typical number of the courteous and the rude, the peasant and the aristocrat, the educated and the illiterate. It was a city without scars, unpretentious and unafraid. Its streets spread out within its walls, filled with noise and foot traffic, merchants, carts and animals and the stench of human residence.

What made Bethe Corbair unique was the music. Rhapsody walked the streets as if enchanted, listening to the airy random melodies played by the bells in the basilica tower. Their songs were subject to the will of the wind, and therefore carried a feeling of freedom and wildness that made her heart rise into her throat at the beauty of it.

The townspeople went about their business oblivious of the music, though when the bells were ringing in a high breeze it had an undeniably pleasant effect on their attitudes. Street merchants stopped haggling, fishwives bickered at lower volume, and children squabbling in the streets generally found reasons to resolve their differences. Rhapsody smiled as she observed the power of the music.

Jo was fairly dancing with impatience. “This is boring,” she whined when Rhapsody stopped at the table of a fabric merchant. “Please, my head is going to explode if I look at any more of this. I’m going to scout around.”

“All right,” Rhapsody said reluctantly. “We can meet at the basilica at noon; look for Achmed if you don’t see me. And stay out of trouble. Remember, no stealing. I’d hate to see you lose your hand.” She smiled as Jo shuddered visibly, then nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

Ashe glanced around the open-air market at the center of the city. The Krevensfield Plain lay to the south of Bethe Corbair, so he had entered through the southern gate, though the power he had felt lay somewhere to the east. Or at least part of it did; one element of it seemed to have split off and was now circling the city at the very edge of his dragon senses. It had different properties than the other did, and was so methodical in its movements that he was unable to tell whether it was a being or an object on a cart of some sort.

His inability to discern the power’s nature bewildered Ashe. Generally he was able to accurately assess the properties of anything within his range, but for some reason this power was unknown to him even in the kind of form it was taking. The dragon was squirming impatiently; only the presence of the myriad items in the marketplace was able to distract it sufficiently to allow Ashe to remain in control.

He carefully sidestepped a swaggering buffoon, drunk with spirits and excitement about the warmth of the winter day. The man had been celebrating the temporary respite from the cold that the thaw had provided, and came within a few feet of driving an elbow into Ashe’s chest, largely because the tipsy fellow had not seen him standing there. Ashe was nimble enough to avoid these encounters, but they played havoc with his concentration.

He turned his attention once again to the source of the power, but once again it had dispersed, as if dividing itself. He felt particularly attracted to one of the two aspects, the one that was somewhere nearby, radiating an irresistible warmth.

Ashe was immediately suspicious; servants of fire were the main hunters after him, and he had survived only by recognizing the potential for traps in every tantalizing situation. The source was around somewhere, and sooner or later it was bound to end up in the marketplace square. He resolved to hang back and wait.

In the meantime he was struggling with the dragon. Another reason he tried to avoid cities, particularly ones on a trade route like Bethe Corbair, was the fascination the dragon had with merchandise. The element of his nature had grown rampant as they passed a table of gems displayed under glass, whispering in his soul in excitement.

Prettier, it insisted. I want to touch it.

Ashe beat it back down again. No.

I want to touch it.

No. He walked away from the gem merchant, who had looked up a moment before as she became indistinctly aware of Ashe’s presence, then looked back to her table, having not seen him as he passed by.

The dragon noticed the next table as well, spread with fine spices. Peppercorn; I want to count them, it whispered again as it made note of each grain, seed, bean, flake, and sprinkle.

Ashe willed it down again. No. He looked around for the source of the power.

Perfume and ambergris; it came from the vomit of a leviathan which had eaten seventeen mackerel, one hundred seventy —Stop.

Look at the fabric; no silk today, just linen, cream velvet, and wool in thirteen textured. The wool is in shaded of blue, azure, violet, indigo —NO. Ashe turned around again; it was near. He sublimated the dragon with an intense effort and tried to clear his mind.

Across the street a commotion caught his attention. It seemed to be centered around a small woman in a gray cape and hood, not unlike his own. He moved closer, feeling the call of the power source.

Rhapsody had been struggling with her own personal dragon, the desire to run her hands over the exquisite fabrics on the table in front of her. The cream velvet was especially exquisite, but far outside her ability to pay. With a sigh she forced her hands back to her sides and moved on, looking at the other wares of the marketplace.

At the end of the street a table caught her eye; the items on it were pooled in clusters that sparkled in the sun like light on a moving stream. Her interest piqued, Rhapsody hurried down the street in the direction of the gleaming objects.

She stopped before the merchant’s table. The sparkling pools turned out to be jewelry, mostly earrings, by and large tawdry merchandise, but there were a few things of value and craftsmanship, some of which were genuinely lovely. She had a weakness for beautiful clothes and baubles, though she would rather die than admit it to her Bolg companions, and so in their absence she allowed herself the secret pleasure of looking at the glistening trinkets, her eyes matching their glow and even exceeding it.

The merchant turned to her when he was finished with his other customer, checking the table before raising his eyes to her face. Rhapsody knew immediately he was unconsciously taking stock in case she had stolen or would try to steal something.

Her Lirin blood had elicited the same reaction in Easton, something she never really understood. Lirin had little use for material possessions, especially items as useless as adornments like earrings and necklaces, so why they were automatically suspected by shopkeepers and tradesmen was beyond her. She had written it off to racism and tried not to be offended, but each time it happened it made her blood boil. She swallowed hard and tried to maintain a pleasant expression as she turned away from the table, her interest gone.

“Miss?” The merchant’s voice held a note of desperation. Rhapsody innately held her hands up slightly, putting them into plain sight, in case he was about to accuse her of lifting something.

“Yes?” She did not turn back.

“Please, don’t leave yet. Did you see anything you like?”

Rhapsody turned around again. The look on the merchant’s face was utterly different than it had been a moment before when he was trying to wheedle a bald man into purchasing a matching pin for the ring he had just bought. His eyes were wide, as if amazed, and he was gripping the table in front of him so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

“Is something wrong?” Rhapsody asked, concerned. The merchant shook his head quickly, but did not release the table. “Yes, there are a lot of very nice things here. You have some lovely merchandise, but I was just looking.” She turned once more to go.

“Miss?” The tone was even more urgent this time.

Rhapsody sighed, trying not to be visibly annoyed, and looked back at him again. His face was flushed and his hands were trembling.

“Are you ill?” Rhapsody asked in alarm. She was about to reach for her waterskin, but the man shook his head and pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, mopping his brow rapidly.

“No, thank you, miss. Please, take a minute. Is there anything you would like?”

“I just told you, I’m only—”

The man seized a pair of gold earrings from the table and held them in front of her eyes. “These match your locket perfect, miss. Why don’t you try them on?”

Rhapsody looked at the earrings. They were one of the items she had identified as lovely, with a simple but elegant artistry that did, in fact, match the gold lavaliere she always wore. Undoubtedly they were far more than she could afford, but she couldn’t resist a look.

The trinkets caught the sun and flashed, and the secret part of Rhapsody that coveted pretty things was delighted, even as her mind reminded her sternly that street hawks could sell sea-water to a shipwrecked sailor. She had never been good at resisting, and so had avoided the Thieves’ Market, as the bazaar in Easton was affectionately called, whenever possible.

“Please, miss. They were made for you. Try them on; I just want to see how they look on you. Please.” His insistence seemed more than even the most fervent sidestreet pitch.

Rhapsody couldn’t stand it anymore. “Oh, very well, as long as you understand I probably won’t buy them.” She took the jewelry the man proffered with an intense gleam in his eye, and pulled down her hood to try them on.

The gold was a different grade; she could see that even before they were attached to her earlobes, and it made her wistful for a moment. She remembered the pride on her mother’s face as she had opened the box with the locket, and Rhapsody had known then, as she did now, how dearly it had cost her. Next to the earrings it looked less lustrous and rich, though its craftsmanship held up as a match.

A deafening screech, followed by a crash and the splintering of wood, erupted in the street behind her, and Rhapsody jumped.

She spun quickly around, dropping the earrings on the counter, and moved back; two oxcarts had smashed into each other. The first cart was unbalanced and about to tip over onto the table of the jeweler.

The animals snorted and screamed in panic as the drivers tried to get out of the way of the toppling cart. Rhapsody ducked under the table and pulled it back out of the fray, managing to keep most of the wares in place. The jeweler panicked, and would have abandoned his merchandise if there had been a place to run, but his exit was blocked.

After a precarious moment, the drivers sorted it out. Amid much cursing and recriminations the wagons were pulled apart, and Rhapsody busied herself helping the jeweler reset his table; it gave her a chance to experience the enjoyment of touching the baubles while helping him. He seemed to be in shock, so she passed him her waterskin while she worked. His wide eyes never left her face as he drank.

It only took a few minutes to set the bench to rights, and after making sure nothing was missing as far as she knew, she helped the man up, brushed him off, and gently retrieved her waterskin from his rigid grip.

Poor soul. Rhapsody thought with sympathy, how terrified he is. “Are you all right?” she asked, receiving only a glazed nod in answer. She was surprised that a merchant in a bazaar would have such a long recovery period. The ones she knew were amazingly fast on their feet, and probably wouldn’t have let an event like this even slow, let alone stop, a sales pitch. But the jeweler was an older man, and this was a different world than she was used to. As she turned to go, once again, the man called after her.

“Miss?”

With a sigh, Rhapsody turned to face him for what she prayed was the last time. Nana had tried to teach her the fine art of walking away courteously, but she had never quite got it down. “Yes?”

The jeweler held the earrings out to her. “Please. With my thanks.”

“No, thank you. I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“You must,” he said, his voice louder than he meant it to be. “Please,” he said, exhibiting more control.

The look in his eyes was so urgent that Rhapsody feared hurting his feelings. “Well, thank you,” she said, giving in, and took the earrings from hands that trembled. She attached them to her ears again and swung her head slightly so that they caught the light. “How do they look?”

The man’s mouth fell open, and he stuttered his answer. “Beautiful.”

Rhapsody reached into her pack for her coin purse, but the man waved her hand away. “A gift. Please.”

“All right; thank you,” she said, smiling. “I hope you are feeling better soon.” She put up her hood and walked away, leaving the jeweler, as well as the cart drivers and the witnesses to the accident, watching her in stunned silence.