Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“If I have one message for you it is this: The Past is gone. Learn from it and let it go.” Rhapsody swallowed hard to quell the knot that was constricting her throat and the tears that were filling her eyes; she was learning this lesson herself as she spoke to the people gathered below her.

She looked down at Anborn, smiling broadly at her from the center of the Bowl, a look of encouragement shining on his weathered face. “We must forgive each other. We must forgive ourselves. Only then will there be a true peace.” She glanced around for Oelendra but could not find her in the multitude; instead her gaze came to rest on Ashe, staring at her with an intensity that caused her heart to pound. “I know I am not one of you; I did not sail with any of the fleets, I left Serendair before a war there and arrived here after one. I have not suffered as you have, but even I have borne more than I can endure anymore. The Lirin have taken me in, made me at home, and I am honored to represent them to you.

“This Council can be a place where the nations of Tyrian and Sorbold and Roland can meet and confer, under the guidance of a Lord and Lady who recognize their independence, but have their sworn allegiance as High King and Queen. It would be their responsibility to guard a lasting peace. As it is, each of those countries is ruled by Cymrian stock now, as are the realm of the Nain, Manosse, and the Isle of the Sea Mages.

“I propose to you this: Keep your lands under their present stewardship, and unite as a Cymrian empire under a High Lord and Lady. Meet in Council to avoid war, promote peace, and make the nations great once more. Be one people, diverse in your makeup while united in your goals again as you were when you came to this land, but live up to Gwylliam’s words this time. If you will do this, I vow that the Lirin will fulfill the words of Queen Terrell and join you as another loyal nation-state in the next Cymrian Age.”

Again the roar of the throng swept over her; she struggled to bear up under it as though standing in the face of the winds of a hurricane. The assemblage was cheering now, applauding and calling out in assent. The rock ledge below her feet hummed as if alive with power, and in her soul she felt the collective agreement of the Cymrians confirmed by the earth itself from which the Bowl was carved. She laughed aloud in amazement; the Moot was a device by which the wisdom of the people was made obvious to the person chairing the Council, channeled up through the Summoner’s Ledge. The entire assemblage could make a choice without the need for ballots to be cast or counting to take place. A more sobering thought wiped the smile from her face a moment later; Anwyn and Gwylliam must have known when they stood on the Ledge the desires and wishes of their people. Apparently they were willing to subvert what they knew in order to get what they wanted. It was one more betrayal, and one that turned her stomach.

The assemblage had dissolved into excited chatter as the Cymrians began debating among themselves the next actions to take. Rhapsody held her hand aloft, blinking in shock at the complete and instantaneous silence that ensued.

“I am finished here now,” she said. “I have called you together; now you must work on your goals under more appropriate leadership. Is there one among you, or several, who are willing to take over the responsibility for chairing the Council now?” A hundred thousand pairs of eyes blinked at her words. “Come now,” Rhapsody said, a little more anxiously, “you have much work to do, many differences to resolve, and you can’t do it one hundred thousand at a time. Please; will someone at least take on the roles of speakers for each of the Three Fleets? And perhaps the regents of each principality or the sovereigns of the different countries can step forward and take the helm now? Those people can remain behind after the general session is complete and work on the specifics of the new alliance.”

The Cymrians in the assembled throng looked at each other. Achmed stepped forward.

“I will speak for the Firbolg,” he said, “both those of Cymrian descent, and the entire nation, as a potential member of the alliance.”

“And I for the Nain,” said Faedryth. Voices began to rise in agreement.

“I will represent the principalities of Roland,” came the voice of Tristan Steward, and there was general acclaim to his statement.

One by one, speakers stepped forward to represent various lands, races, and historical assemblies. Rhapsody looked around, trying to find Oelendra, but she was nowhere to be seen. Finally she nominated Rial to speak for the Lirin, citing his knowledge of the details of the war and his current status as viceroy of Tyrian. Ashe, as Chief of the House of Newland, was chosen to speak for the Second Fleet and the Cymrians of Manosse.

At last speakers had been nominated and confirmed for all groups but the other two Cymrian fleets. The cry went up from the Third Fleet.

“Anborn! We nominate Anborn ap Gwylliam!” The Bowl resonated with the agreement of the members of the fleet, though many from the First Fleet stared on in stony silence.

“Do you agree to this?” Rhapsody asked the Third Fleet as a point of procedure.

“We do,” came the answer in unison. The Lord Marshal stepped forward without a trace of his usual arrogance. As had each of the speakers before him, he bowed to the Summoner, but as he stood erect again Rhapsody saw him wink surreptitiously at her, and the reluctance she had felt about their impending marriage began to fade. Their relationship would be enjoyable, and uncomplicated. She was, in fact, growing to like him a great deal. She had not met Ashe’s eye when it had been his turn.

Finally came the last and most difficult question: who would speak for the First Fleet, the Cymrians who had fought for Anwyn, and their descendants? The largest number of survivors of the war were part of this group, though many had chosen to define themselves in other manners with other groups, as citizens of a specific country, or by race. There were many whispers and much muttering as the question was debated on the floor of the Bowl. Rhapsody stood patiently and waited for an answer, all the while wishing she had chosen more comfortable shoes. Then a shout came forth from a group of humans.

“I put forward Gwydion ap Llauron as speaker of the First Fleet as well.” The multitude began to clamor among itself again, the nomination attracting much discussion and support. Rhapsody stepped forward to ask the same confirming question of the First Fleet as she had of the Third, when Anborn interrupted in a voice that silenced the throng.

“I object,” he said.

Anborn turned to Ashe as the crowd began to rumble with voices again.

“Sorry, boy; I don’t mean it as a personal attack. It’s a little more complicated than that, I’m afraid.” Ashe nodded brusquely, and looked to Rhapsody again. Far more complicated ,” he thought ruefully.

Arguments began to break out, not the violent threats of before, but debate as to who was the appropriate leader of the First Fleet. An occasional voice could be heard above the rabble.

“The right to the First Fleet belongs to Edwyn Griffyth, as Anwyn’s eldest son,” said Hyllion, a Lirin noble who had put forth a suit for Rhapsody’s hand. The First Fleet began to call for him.

“Lead us, Edwyn Griffyth!”

“Leave me out of this,” snarled Edwyn Griffyth, and the crowd grew silent for a moment. It was the first time the assemblage had heard him speak. “I would be far too tempted to lead you to the end of the Earth and push you off. A moment ago I almost believed, however foolishly, that there was hope for you all. But you are doing it again, the same blind servitude that led you to follow my mother to your devastation in the first place! Choose someone who speaks for you, not to whom you were sworn because of which ship your bloody ancestors crossed on! Save your oath of allegiance for the new Lord and Lady.” The assembled Cymrians began to murmur again.