Elizabeth Heydon - Elegy for a Lost Star

She was too far away, or perhaps just too spent, to hear the shouts of victory and the songs of jubilation, chanted in harsh bass voices, ringing off the canyon walls and up into the winter night.

Grunthor lifted a glass and toasted the Archons.

“Well, Oi’ve always told you lads to use what ya got, and use what ya know. Oi guess this proves ya all know hrekin .”

Ashe ran his hands over his wife’s forehead. The skin beneath his palm was cooler, but papery thin, dry. Her lips were pale, almost the same color as her skin, having lost a good deal of their redness with the loss of so much of her blood.

“Dry,” she whispered. “My throat is so dry.”

Ashe looked at Krinsel. “Is the baby any closer to coming?” he asked the midwife quietly. The Bolg woman shook her head.

The Lord Cymrian glanced from Rhapsody’s face to those of the others standing in the dark cave. Each aspect, each being was utterly different, and yet they all bore the same look of bewilderment, of quiet despair, as if there was nothing to be done in the world save for watching this woman labor and die.

Quickly he took off his cloak of mist and covered his wife with it, hoping the cool vapor would ease the dryness she was feeling. With a shaking hand he drew his weapon, Kirsdarke, the elemental sword of water; the blade came forth from its scabbard, waves of billowing mist running along it like the froth of the sea. He held it in his left hand, allowing his right to rest on her belly, and concentrated, willing the water to seep into her, to sustain her, to bring hydration and healing where the water within her blood was lost.

“How can we get the baby out?” he asked the midwife again.

Krinsel shook her head. “There are roots I have—buckthorn and evening primrose, black lugwort—can open the womb, but it may kill one or the other. You will need to choose which to save.”

“If you are going to resort to such extremes, allow me to help.”

The multiple tones of the draconic voice filled the cave, along with a sudden glow of scattered light that danced over the walls like the evening sun on the moving water of a lake.

Achmed and Ashe turned to see a woman standing behind them, a tall woman, taller than either of them, with skin the color of golden wheat and similarly colored eyes that twinkled with the radiance of the stars. Her hair, silvery white, hung in rippling waves to her knees, and her garment was a filmy gown that seemed woven from fabric more starlight; it cast an ethereal glow around the dark cave.

Achmed looked for the dragon.

She was gone.

Ashe was staring at the woman, a smile lighting his face for the first time since he had entered the cave.

“Thank you, Great-grandmother,” he said.

Rhapsody, half conscious, stirred at the change in the dragon’s voice.

“I thought—you had given up your human—form,” she whispered.

The glowing woman smiled broadly and bent to kiss her on the forehead.

“Shhhh,” she said, resting her ethereal hands on Rhapsody’s belly. “I have. Bolg woman, open the womb.”

Krinsel was staring, her eyes glazed slightly over. She shook off her reverie and reached into her bag, drawing forth the evening primrose oil, into which she dipped a small piece of cheesecloth and held it to Rhapsody’s lips for her to drink.

The two men watched the ministrations of the midwife in silence, uncertain of what they were seeing. From time to time Rhapsody’s forehead wrinkled as if in pain, but she made no sound, nor did she open her eyes, but Ashe was certain that she was at least partially awake.

His eyes went from his wife’s face to that of his great-grandmother, who in all the elegance of her regal beauty wore the plainly excited, childlike expression he had often seen her wear in dragon form. He continued to watch in a mix of fear and awe until he felt Rhapsody’s hand clutch his.

“Sam,” she whispered.

“Yes, Aria?”

She reached up falteringly and rested her hand on his chest.

“I need the light of the star within you. Our child is coming.”

Ashe bent closer to her and rested his hand atop hers.

“Whatever you need,” he said soothingly, though he had no idea what she meant. “How can I give it to you?”

She was struggling for words now, her face contorted in pain.

“Open your heart,” she whispered. “Welcome your child.”

All Ashe could do was nod.

Softly she began to sing the elegy to Seren that Jal’asee had taught her, the baptismal song that she had never had conferred upon her before the Island was lost. As she sang she wept; the midwife and the dragon were moving about her, touching her belly, whispering to one another, but she did not hear them. Rather, she was listening only to the music radiating from within her husband’s chest, the pure, elemental song of the lost star.

Come forth, my child , she sang, her voice strong in the skills of a Namer, quavering in the emotion of a mother. Come into the world, and live .

From within her belly she could feel a warmth radiate, the warmth of elemental fire she had carried within her soul for longer than she could count. Blending with it was the cooling rush of seawater, the water she had been steeped in not long before, and lore that came not from within her but from the child’s father. She closed her eyes and listened now to the whispered words of the midwives, the deep song of the Earth that came from Ashe as well, and the whistle of the wind from which her own race was descended, a symphony of the elements coming to life from within her, baptized in the light of the star that had been all but lost.

She continued to sing until the pains grew too strong; now she groaned in the contractions of labor, her song the story of the pain she accepted, as all mothers accept it, to bring forth life from within her body.

Elynsynos conferred one last time with Krinsel; when the Bolg midwife signaled her readiness, the dragon in Seren form raised her hands in a gesture of supplication, then reached into Rhapsody’s belly from above, her hands passing through as if they were made only of mist and starlight.

Rhapsody moaned aloud, her song faltering, as Krinsel squeezed her hand, but regained it as Elynsynos drew back her hands, and lifted aloft a tiny glowing light, pulling it gently from her body.

“Name him, Pretty, so that he can form,” the glowing woman said, smiling brighter than the sun in the darkness of the cave.

Rhapsody reached for Ashe with her other hand. When his fingers had entwined with hers, she whispered the Naming intonation.

Welcome, Meridion, Child of Time .

For a moment, nothing remained in her hands but the glowing light. Then slowly a shape began to form, a tiny head, smaller hands held aloft, then waved about. A soft coo erupted a moment later into a full-blown wail, and suddenly the cave was filled with the ordinary, human music of a crying infant.

Krinsel set about finishing the delivery as Rhapsody’s head fell back against the cave floor, spent. Elynsysnos glided over to Ashe, who was still staring in wonder at the entire sight, and gently placed the baby in his arms.

He stared down at the screeching child, transcendent joy twinkling in the vertical pupils of his eyes, eyes that matched the tiny blue ones that were staring up at him now. Then he grinned at his great-grandmother.

“Now, as never before, I understand,” he said to her.

Elynsynos cocked her head to one side, as she was wont to do even in dragon form.

“Understand what?”

Ashe looked down at his son again, unable to take his eyes away for more than a moment. He bent and brushed a kiss again on Rhapsody’s brow, then reluctantly turned away again to meet the dragon’s eyes.