Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

The benison chuckled.

“Really? Now that is a brave boast, though a trifle unpleasant and crass in the mouth of a queen. You disappoint me, Your Majesty, truly you do. You pick up an ancient weapon—little more than a flaming toothpick, really—and think that as a result you know something of elemental fire ” He laughed again, his expression one of genuine amusement that resolved a moment later into a more contemplative expression that turned darker before her eyes.

“Allow me,” he said flatly, “to teach you a little of what you don’t know about fire.”

He made an absent gesture with one hand. A ball of black fire appeared in his palm, and he tossed it her way. As it approached it grew in volume, hissing menacingly as it picked up speed and power from the evil-tainted air around them, soaring toward her. The flames spread out like a black-orange net, reaching for her with eager, ragged firefingers.

Rather than dodge, Rhapsody opened her mouth and softly sang the note ela , the last in the ancient scale, her own Naming note. Her voice held steady as the tiniest of the carillon bells picked up the note and began to hum, unnoticed amid the others bells, still settling from the cacophony a moment before.

The air around her crackled and hissed with the sound, as if fighting it. She drew a quick circle in the air above her with the sword, trying to wrap the protection of the note, and the wind it called to, around herself. She did not fear the fire; it would not harm her.

The instant before the black fire impacted her, Rhapsody felt something shift within her. Fire had been her friend from the moment she had passed through it at the core of the Earth; it had absorbed into her soul itself, melding into her essence, tying her to the element irrevocably. From that time until this second she had not feared flame, because it had never sought to harm her, allowing her to pass, unscathed, through the hottest of infernos.

But in the fragment of a heartbeat before the fire hit her, Rhapsody felt her soul lurch. This was not fire, not really, not any fire that she knew, at least. It did not smell the same, mold the air as fire did; it was thin, acidic, evil, alive with malice and malevolence. It was the blinding, corrosive essence of hatred. And she knew, at that last moment, that she was not immune to its effects.

Slypka , she whispered.

The black fire dimmed slightly, but did not extinguish.

She had just enough time to avert her head to shield her eyes before the ball of black fire exploded, shattering the protection circle and igniting her clothing. With a gasp of pain Rhapsody staggered, patting herself frantically to snuff her smoking garments. The skin of her arms and legs stung violently from the contact and the searing flame.

Lanacan Orlando slowly closed his fist, his arm still outstretched, then twisted it suddenly. The acid from the black fire roared with anger, intensifying the heat, and against her will Rhapsody gasped again.

Pain shot through her, followed by cold shock. It had been so long since she had felt even hesitation, let alone caution, in the presence of fire, that she was caught totally off-guard by the damage it was doing to her. Still, at least a little of her immunity was in place; her skin stung deeply, but did not burn or blacken. Smoke poured out of her clothing, but her body still did not ignite.

The demon at the altar stared in amazement. Anger flooded his face, and once again he wrenched his hand, his eyes darkening to crimson at the edges. The elderly forehead of his human body furrowed; he clenched his fist even tighter, the muscles in his frail arm quivering, and twisted his arm once more.

A cry of agony was torn from Rhapsody’s throat as she sank to her knees, struggling to hold on to the sword. No , she thought desperately, No! I’m failing ! In the depths of her mind, she remembered the voice of the dragon in her dream. What if I fail ?

You may.

She struggled to rise, resting one hand on the floor. Instantly the smooth slate gave way beneath her palm; a tendril of a vine, smooth as glass, black as night with veins of white running through it, shot forth with the recoil of a whip and encircled her forearm, tightening in a stranglehold.

In the alley outside the basilica, through the earth itself, Grunthor felt Rhapsody fall.

The benison laughed aloud as another corded vine broke forth from the floor and lashed around Rhapsody’s leg, dragging her against the slate.

“Oh, my, won’t the Lirin be disappointed,” he said with mock sympathy. “After all that pageantry! So much effort went into the coronation, and indeed, it was a lovely event. Well, perhaps they will make a better choice next time.”

Rhapsody struggled in the grip of the demonic vines, kicking and pulling, with little result. Her skin prickled with cold fear as the memory of Jo’s gruesome death, and Llauron’s, came back to her; she could smell the hideous odor of the F’dor’s excitement, even as far as she was from the altar, the sickening smell of burning flesh. From the floor in every direction tiny glass like thorns were emerging, crawling through the seams in the paving stones like streams of roaches, evil seedlings that in a moment would be vines themselves, binding her hopelessly, strangling her.

Around her, Time seemed to slow; the magnitude of what loomed made her heart thud in a cadence that beat with the turning of the world. Failure could bring about the end, of Time , she had said in the dream to Elynsynos. I cannot even contemplate it .

Another tendril grew in a sudden spurt, lunging for her neck. Rhapsody dodged out of the way, only to find her movements more severely restricted than she had imagined.

The vines bit deeper into her arm, into her leg, making her heart shudder and pulse arrhythmically. The dragon’s words whispered in answer, fading in and out with the irregular beating of her heart.

You are at the place where the beginning of Time had its ending. Just as surely the ending of Time will have its beginning here, as well. You cannot change it, though you may delay its coming.

Fighting back the panic, she wrenched against the tension and rolled to her side, slashing at the vine that bound her other hand with Daystar Clarion.

The sword flashed angrily in the darkness of the basilica; the black candle flames in the chandeliers roared back in sinister response. The benison crossed his arms and leaned back against the altar.

“You put on a good show, Your Majesty. First rate amusement. I fear it will end far too soon.” The benison leaned forward a little. “I am going to eat your soul, Rhapsody, and those of your Bolg friends who hover at the outer edges of my profane ground. Such a sweet soul it must be; I’m sure I will savor it. I think I will leave you alive while I do, so that you can watch each piece of it disappear down my throat and into the mouth of the Underworld.”

Focus , Rhapsody thought, don’t let him distract you . She blotted the demon’s words from her mind, honed her concentration, and, using her bound arm, pulled with all her might on the vine encircling it, stretching it as much as she could. With the other she struck the elongated binding with the fire sword, shattering it into a thousand shards.

Both hands free now, she dodged a serpent-like strike from the vine aiming for her neck, then slashed it at the base. A blast of pure fire from the sword issued forth as she hit the mark, a brilliant sunburst in a world of darkness, cauterizing the tendril, which withered within seconds to dust.

The snare around her foot tightened viciously and yanked, pulling her off balance on the roughened, broken floor. Rhapsody concentrated, taking the hilt in both hands, and brought the blade down on the vine with all her might. The spray of fragmenting slate stung her as the vine exploded in a hail of fire and stone.