Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“Thus speaks the so-called Lirin champion,” Anwyn said in a mocking voice; she laughed derisively as Oelendra’s nostrils flared and her eyes began to gleam with an antipathy that matched the Seer’s. “Well, well. How very interesting. Given the subject is treachery and self-serving behavior, I would think that you would have chosen to remain silent, Oelendra, to try and avoid scrutiny of your own actions. I guess you are as much a fool as you are a coward.”

Loud shouts of angry protest issued forth, mostly from the First Fleet and Lirin encampments, but the sound was swallowed almost instantly by a vibration within the Bowl of the Moot. Anwyn had the floor, and she knew it. Triumph began to shine in her eyes, as she strode farther up the rocky outcropping to the west of the Summoner’s Ledge.

When she got to the summit of the Speaker’s Rise, she reached out her long arms to the sky in a gesture of celebration, as though she was gathering power to herself. Then she pointed at Oelendra and laughed, a loud, nasty laugh that echoed off the rockwalls of the Moot.

“You pathetic hypocrite,” Anwyn said, staring down at Oelendra. Unconsciously the crowd around the Lirin champion began to peel away slightly, leaving space. Though Oelendra was surrounded by her contingent still, she was alone in the circle. Rhapsody’s blood boiled, and she tried to step away from the Summoner’s Ledge; if no one else would stand by Oelendra, she would. But her feet were frozen where she stood; she could not leave the Ledge.

“There she stands, the Holy Warrior, the sworn enemy of the mythical demon. You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself, haven’t you, Oelendra? The passionate crusader, singular in her quest to deliver us all from the evil that Gwylliam unwittingly brought with him. Refusing the leadership, refusing the power, to concentrate on ridding the world of the F’dor. Aren’t you noble. How many have come to you, seeking to make your quest their own, to be ridden mercilessly, trained obsessively, then sent without exception to their deaths? Do you still weep for them, Oelendra? Do you mourn the loss of the flower of the Cymrians? When the power was yours all along to prevent it yourself?”

The silence in the Bowl grew heavier. Even as far away as he was from her, Ashe could see Oelendra’s jaw clench tighter, and the look of hate in her eyes grew more intense.

“Tell them, Oelendra, while you have them all here. Tell them how you knew, you knew the appointed time and place to kill it decades ago . Manwyn told you, in the presence of my son, exactly when and where you would need to be in order to destroy the demon, back when it was still weak enough to do so without the aid of the Three. Do you deny it?” Her eyes flashed and her voice grew harsher. “ Do you ?”

Two hundred thousand eyes turned to Oelendra. Her head was still erect, her back and shoulders straight, but something had left her eyes. “No,” she answered. Her voice was barely audible.

A sickening smile of victory crawled over Anwyn’s face. “I don’t think anyone heard you, Oelendra,” she taunted, drawing herself up straighter. “What did you say?”

Oelendra sighed inaudibly; Rhapsody could see the light go out of her face. “No,” she repeated. The breaking of her spirit was visible.

Murmurs of disbelief began to whisper through the Bowl, and there were mutterings on all sides. Anwyn was smiling gloriously at the humiliation of her longtime adversary.

“You knew it, and you refused to go. You shirked your responsibilities as Iliachenva’ar, not to mention those of the grand and glorious Lirin champion! Admit it, Oelendra; you were afraid , the state of which you allow no one else the benefit. You heard the warning, and the risk was too great, wasn’t it? So instead you allowed another to go in your place, another worth a thousand of yourself, to stand in your stead and endure the consequences. My grandson, the hope of the Cymrian peoples, an innocent, suffered indescribable agony, the loss of his very soul, because of your cowardice. Your inaction delivered him into its clutches! Do you admit it?”

“Stop it!” shouted Ashe. “Who are you to taunt her? You, who destroyed the Purity Diamond, our one weapon against it? I went alone against the demon; it was my decision. If I don’t hold her responsible for my fate, why should you?”

“Why?” Anwyn asked contemptuously. “Shall I tell him why, Oelendra? Perhaps he would be interested to know that he is not the only one you have delivered thus. Shall I tell him, tell all of them, of Pendaris?” Oelendra’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Yes, Oelendra, perhaps you should tell them instead. Tell them how your husband died; tell them whether it would have happened had it not been for you.”

Oelendra’s face went white. Even from across the Bowl in his position at the head of the Second Fleet, Ashe could feel the breath leave her body, and he knew that this accusation was a new one, one that caused a fresh, deep wound. Anwyn let loose a crow of delight, and pointed at the warrior again. “This is why I should retain the title of Lady; I alone understand the Past, the history of the Cymrians! I alone know your secrets. Well, Oelendra? Tell them! Tell them who you have delivered to the F’dor in the Past; shall you deliver all of us to similar fates as well in the Future?”

The assemblage was now beginning to break into arguments and mutter loudly, far more bitterly and violently than they had before. Ashe looked across to Achmed and their eyes met. Between them a thought passed instantaneously: a riot was about to start. They both looked up to the Summoner’s Ledge at Rhapsody, but she was bent over, obscured from their view.

When she stood again they could see she was rummaging through her pack. Her face was calm, and when her eyes met Achmed’s, she smiled.

Rhapsody took out her harp and began to play. Ashe instantly recognized the tune; it was the song she had used during his renaming ceremony. The melody echoed off the walls of the Moot, the vibration increasing with each bounce. Wherever it touched, the earth began to shimmer.

“Anwyn,” she said. Her word, spoken softly, drowned out all other sound in the Moot. The Seer turned to her with wrath in her eyes at the interruption. “Anwyn,” she repeated, “be silent.”

Anwyn’s mouth opened in shock; seconds later she recovered, and her face burned with rage, her body coiling like a serpent ready to strike. The muscles of her throat tensed as she prepared to reply, and her eyes met Rhapsody’s own with a hate unlike any the Singer had ever seen.

Rhapsody returned her gaze unblinkingly. Her face was serene, even glowing; the only sign that she was at all intent was the striking shade her eyes had turned. They were the color of spring grass, blazing with a light that caused even the Seer to hesitate for a moment. Then Anwyn spoke, or tried to; her mouth moved, but no words, no sound, came out.

Pity came into Rhapsody’s eyes as Anwyn clutched at her throat; otherwise her face remained serene. The woman roiled in rage, curling down into herself with a silent scream that had no echo; when she looked back at Rhapsody her anger was replaced with a fierce look of fear.

“You have yielded the floor by repeatedly demanding that another answer your questions; indeed, you have violated your office as Seer of the Past by demanding an answer for the Future. Anwyn ap Merithyn, tuatha Elynsynos, I rename you The Past. Your actions are out of balance. Henceforth your tongue will only serve to speak of the realm into which your eyes alone were given entry. That which is the domain of your sisters, the Present and the Future, you will be unable to utter. No one shall seek you out for any other reason, so may you choose to convey your knowledge better this time, lest you be forgotten altogether.”