Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

She began to sing, and the faces of the throng of Cymrians went slack with wonder. Her voice was sweet but smoky, filled with sorrow, and her song spoke of their history, in all its horror and pain. The lyrics were Ancient Lirin, so not everyone in the gathering understood them, but those who did began to weep. The tears were not theirs exclusively, though; understanding of the words was not necessary to comprehend the message of the song.

The song told of war, the war of their homeland, and their flight in desperation to escape its destruction. It built to a terrible crescendo, then resolved into a sea aire, the story of their voyage to the new world, through the Great Storm, and the wonder of the discovery.

Ashe, himself weeping in awe, felt a smile come over his face as the song changed yet again. He realized that the song was a rhapsody, with movements unique to each tale in the legend; somehow the thought delighted him. He listened raptly as she sang of the wonder of finding the White Tree, of meeting the inhabitants, of reuniting the Three Fleets, and all the glory days of the Cymrian Age that built great cities, sought deep knowledge, and strove for the betterment of their people. Then, as the hearts of the masses were floating in poignant remembrance, their faces transfixed in proud memory, the tune changed again.

It became an insidious melody, secretive and dread, with discordant notes indicating breakdowns of the dreamlike aire that had preceded it. The light in the faces of the Cymrians faded, and their eyes darkened along with the music as she told of the Great War, of the destruction of Tomingorllo and the Lirin stronghold of Haner Til, the rout of the Third Fleet and the slaughter in Canrif and Bethe Corbair, and other stories of devastation and genocide that marked the blackest moments of the seven hundred years of senseless bloodshed. The pain in the song reflected in the faces of the people, and many of the tears turned to shuddering sobs. The tune became grueling, relentless, like the war itself, and just as it was about to break the spirit of the assembled Cymrians it resolved down into stillness, sustained by one long, vibrating note.

From that one note soft harmonics blossomed, then simple strains, building into a concerto countered by a deep chant; the dark, simple mantra played on the harp lent depth to the fresh, springlike descant she sang over it. It was a symphony of rebuilding, of change and vigilance, of assimilation and staunch maintenance of tradition; it was the perfect portrait of the Cymrians as they were now. And as that became apparent, Rhonwyn, the frail sister, began to smile, and spoke.

“We are here,” she said, her eyes focusing for the first time. “It is now.” Rhapsody’s music abruptly ceased. “You’re right,” she said to Rhonwyn with a smile of unsurpassed gentleness. “And so we must stop, for this is not your time, Anwyn.”

“What of the Future?!” a voice from the assemblage cried out. “Tell us! Give us hope!” The cry was taken up by the crowd; tens of thousands of voices calling for the rest of the song. The voices were as an earthquake rocking through the Moot.

“Tarry a moment,” Rhapsody answered them. “That belongs to us, not to her. Give Anwyn her due. She is leaving.”

The hate in Anwyn’s eyes was gone for the moment, replaced by tears of sorrow and marvel. She tried to speak again, but could not. She looked at Rhapsody’s face, a face that contained no gloat, no victory, just peace. The awfulness of her realization that she was no longer the only Cymrian Lady who understood their Past was clear to all who saw her; so was her amazement that the one who did had not lived it. For the first time in the memory of the Cymrian people, she bowed her head.

“My tribute to you is ended. Go now, m’lady of the Past,” Rhapsody said kindly. “Go and sort out your memories. We will be making grand new ones for you to count soon.”

Anwyn looked balefully at Rhapsody once more, then strode out of the Moot and disappeared.

Rhapsody’s eyes searched for Oelendra, and when they found her she smiled. She held her harp aloft like a weapon, and a look of singular under standing passed between them: This is what I meant , she was saying. There are many kinds of weapons, and all of them are powerful in their way and time . Oelendra did not return the smile; she nodded, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

The roar that issued forth from the multitude swept over Rhapsody like a tidal wave. It resonated through her body and her soul, and in that moment, for the first time since she arrived, she felt completely one with them.

She looked out over the crowd for faces she recognized, and her eyes came to rest on Ashe. Sunlight had cracked through the cloud-blanketed sky, illuminating the red-gold hair until it burned like a raging fire. The searing blue eyes were visible even from a great distance, and she could see them focused on her, burning with an intensity that made her flush.

She felt suddenly awkward, suddenly too visible, and she glanced around for a place to recede to. But the stare on Ashe’s face was the same one worn by most of the crowd; everywhere she looked they gazed on her thus, making her long to disappear from the dais.

The clamor grew louder with each of the beats of her heart; they were calling for resumption of her song, pleading to hear the rest, imploring to know the Future. Rhapsody cleared her throat, surreptitiously wiping the perspiration from her palms.

“Don’t pass so quickly over the Present,” she said to the clamoring crowd. “Before you can determine what will be, it is necessary to determine what is now. I was about to answer your question about why you were all called, Your Majesty, when that minor interruption occurred.” A titter of laughter rolled through the noisy throng as she bowed to Faedryth, the Nain king, who smiled and nodded at her in return. “If you put any stock in the prophecy, you know that the death of the demon is the omen of unity and peace being restored to this land and to the Cymrian people. The demon is dead. It is time you put aside your differences and became one people again.”

A voice, filled with sadness, spoke up from the delegation of the Sea Mages. “How can you even hope that we might, after what we have just witnessed? Even before the she-devil came into our midst there was derision and hostility among this gathering. Is it not best that we just live among the people who were here before, become part of them and forget what we once were?” Murmurs of agreement and dissent swelled all around.

“But you have,” Rhapsody said. “The Cymrians do live among the people of their various lands. When you first arrived in this world you were a people set apart, refugees, a kingdom unto yourselves. That is no longer the case. Centuries of war and assimilation have changed all that. Look around you. Almost half of you here today came in answer to a summons you did not understand, unaware of who you were, and yet the power to call you as Cymrians, and the need to do so, is still strong. You—we—are part of the land in which we live, people of different nations, different races, kings and queens, princes and lords, standing here as equals, as Cymrians. If any good came from the horror of Anwyn and Gwylliam’s war, it is that we are no longer refugees but part of this land.”

“And why should we not just stay that way?” asked a small man within the group of Gwadd that stood in front of the Second Fleet. “We have endured so much warfare and bloodshed.”

“That is precisely why,” Rhapsody answered. “The Great War was horrific, but it is not really over. All around there are incursions and murderous raids that have brought this land to the brink of war again, only this time it will be much worse. Instead of fighting for the honor of honorless leaders, you will be fighting out of hate and prejudice; the seeds have been sown for four hundred years or more. You have the opportunity to form a Council now that recognizes the sovereignty of its various member kingdoms, yet works to maintain peaceful relations across the continent. Do you not owe this new land, the land that took you in when you were but storm-tossed refugees, at least that much? After all this place has given you? After all the horror you visited upon it?