Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

The ancient warrior sighed. “Now you know why she hates lies so much, Gwydion. I will offer my advice to you once more, and it is yours to ignore if you choose: Forbear. Wait a little while longer. What’s a few months to a man who is virtually immortal?”

“Too much to stand, that’s what,” Ashe replied as he opened the door. “Thank you, Oelendra. I’ll give her your love.” He bowed politely and took his leave, closing the door quietly behind him.

Oelendra sighed sadly at the closed door. “You won’t even get to give her yours, I’m afraid.”

In the quiet of dreams they met in a misty place, a place of unreality, Rhapsody and the great dragon Elynsynos. All sound, all vibration, any signature of the world around them had been muted into silence, stilled by the wyrm matriarch’s power over the elements. Rhapsody could barely see for all the steaming clouds of white, could hardly discern the great luminous eyes, their prismatic brilliance looking back at her through the hazy magic. She realized dimly that she was looking through the translucence of her own eyelids, seeing beyond her own tortured nightmares into the safe place the dragon had made for her between the dream world and the real one. And in that place she told the dragon her greatest worry.

What if I fain

The warm, iridescent eyes of the wyrm disappeared in an extended blink.

You may.

There was no fear, no panic in Rhapsody’s heart at the answer; it was as if the dragon had removed all emotion in this ethereal place as well, leaving only words as they would be on a written page, not resonating within her heart.

I have lived through the death of one world. I do not wish to witness such a thing again.

I know . Through the haze the face of the dragon moved away, becoming more distant in the mist.

Rhapsody tried to look past the rolling clouds of vapor, straining to see through her closed eyelids, but only the faintest outline of the dragon remained.

Failure could bring about the end of Time , she whispered wordlessly. I cannot even contemplate it .

The warmth in the faraway eyes radiated through the mist. You are at the place where the beginning of Time had its ending. Just a i tturely the ending of Time will have its beginning here, M well. You cannot change it, though you may delay its coming .

Why? Why me? Why was this onerous responsibility given to me?

The filmy outline of the dragon vanished, leaving only a whisper of her voice in the mist.

Because you are not alone.

Rhapsody slept deeply and dreamlessly in the crook of Elynsynos’s arm that night. She had awakened many hours later, refreshed but still distressed. The great wyrm had regarded her with sympathy and concern.

“There is something evil growing within you, Pretty,” she said seriously, fixing her multicolored gaze on Rhapsody’s tearstained face. “Right here.” The claw gently brushed her abdomen. “It feels wrong, unnatural, but that is all I can tell.”

Rhapsody nodded. “I know.” She struggled to stand up. “I’ll go now.”

The dragon shook her head, causing clouds of sand to spin around the cave, stinging Rhapsody’s sore eyes. “No; stay with me. Keep me company. What grows within you does not matter. Whatever must be done, I will help you.”

The Singer smiled. “I know, I know you will. You already have. I haven’t had as much sleep in weeks as I had last night; thank you.”

“It is strange to have a growing thing that is not of your own kind taking root inside you,” Elynsynos said, pulling Rhapsody into the crook of her arm again. “When I carried Merithyn’s children, it was a sad time for me. The body I was trapped in was so small, like yours, and they moved like moles within the earth, poking and kicking me, struggling to get out. It was horrible. I was so lonely, and I waited and watched each day, wishing he was here with me. He never came back, Pretty; he never knew he had made me with child.”

Rhapsody stroked the scaly forearm. “It must have been awful. I’m so sorry, Elynsynos. I wish I could have been there for you. The Lirin have a song that they sing to women in the throes of childbirth to ease their pain.” Her eyes clouded over at the memory of Aria’s birth; she shook her head to drive the ghastly image out of her mind. The irony of how her own fate was now tied up with that experience was too much to bear.

“But who will sing for you, Pretty?”

She forced back the tears that struggled to break free. “No one,” she said softly. “No one will.”

“That is why it is better to mate with a dragon,” Elynsynos said sensibly. “Then perhaps you can just lay eggs, like normal beasts do. It hurts a little more when they come out, but it is over much more quickly.” Rhapsody laughed in spite of herself.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Actually, if I live through this, I plan to. I’ve chosen a dragon for a mate, and he has agreed.” Anborn’s face swam before her rapidly drying eyes.

The iridescent eyes twinkled. “Good. Then perhaps I will have children to play with again that are of my own bloodline.”

“Perhaps.” Rhapsody looked away. She did not tell the dragon about her arrangement with Achmed.

Rhapsody stayed several days with Elynsynos, sleeping peacefully, growing strong again in the magical lair. She sang her the ocean songs the sea Lirin had taught her, getting drenched by the dragon’s reminiscent tears. She also showed her the crown. Elynsynos was fascinated with the diadem, endeavoring to catch the whirling stars that spun around Rhapsody’s head, entranced like an infant captivated by an especially shiny toy.

The dragon was delighted that she was about to call the Cymrian Council, and spent long hours telling her stories about the early days of the First Fleet. She had taken great pride in the accomplishments of the Cymrians in those times, despite mourning her loss of Merithyn, whom she spoke of often.

Rhapsody smiled each time Elynsynos repeated the same story. Merithyn and Elynsynos’s time as lovers had been brief, and the dragon’s lifetime long, so there were only so many tales to tell, each kept like a cherished treasure. When the prismatic eyes grew soft in memory, Rhapsody thought back to Anborn’s cynical comments about his grandparents; obviously he had not gotten to know Elynsynos at all. Whatever else she felt toward anything, it was impossible to miss the depth of the love the dragon had felt for her lost sailor. Its poignancy made Rhapsody’s heart ache.

The brimstone heat from the dragon’s breath stirred her memory, and an image arose in her mind of another night, long ago, in the shadows of a crackling campfire.

So that’s why I say you may have a problem , Ashe had said, hidden within the misty fold of his cloak, watching her intently from across the fire. If you are a later-generation Cymrian, you will be extraordinarily long-lived, and you will undoubtedly face what others did: the prospect of watching those you love grow old and die in what seems like a brief moment in your life. And if you are a First Generation Cymrian, it will be even worse, because unless you are killed outright you will never die. Imagine losing people over and over, your lovers, your spouse, your children —

Stop it.

As Ashe’s words about immortality rang in her ears; Rhapsody wondered if she herself would be destined to endlessly relive the same few happy moments she had with him as well. Then she remembered the demon’s words.

You will be a wonderful mother, Rhapsody, at least while the child is in your womb. It’s a shame that you won’t live through the delivery.