Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Rhapsody was talking to Constantin under the shade of the towering engilder trees when she felt someone’s intense gaze come to rest on her back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a vertical white line standing totally still, focusing on her. Rhapsody turned to give the image clearer attention and broke into a warm smile; it was Oelendra. The Lirin warrior had discarded the gown she had worn earlier at the wedding and redressed in a white robe of undyed wool, one much like the priests at the Tree wore. Oelendra smiled in return, but there was a look of significance in her eye that made Rhapsody’s other thoughts come to a halt.

“Will you excuse me?” she asked Constantin.

The bright blue eyes in the wrinkled face smiled. “Of course, m’lady.”

Rhapsody lifted the hem of her wedding gown and stepped over the rocks that bordered the forest path on which she stood. As she did, the figure in the distance shook her head and held up her hand, bringing Rhapsody to an abrupt stop. Oelendra waved, and then walked off slowly into the woods, in the direction of the Veil of Hoen. She turned once more and smiled at the bride, bathing her with a loving look of unsurpassed warmth. Then she walked away into the forest and disappeared from view.

“Rhapsody? What’s wrong, darling?” Ashe’s voice spoke warmly next to her ear.

Rhapsody turned to her husband and smiled up at him, unaware of the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Nothing, Sam. Nothing is wrong at all.”

Gwydion looked off into the distance, then closed his eyes for a moment. “Was that Oelendra? I can barely make her out.”

“Yes. Look as well as you can, Sam; I don’t expect you will see her again, at least not it this world.”

Gwydion brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Are you all right?”

Rhapsody nodded. “Of course. How can I help but be happy for her? Tonight she’ll sleep beside Pendaris again.”

Achmed stood under the leafy boughs of an ancient oak tree, uphill from the dance floor that had been cleared in the gardens of the House of Remembrance. The members of a small but skilled orchestra from Navarne had positioned themselves across from where he stood musing, and they had set about filling the air with cheerful music, providing a welcome and appreciated break for the musicians of Tyrian. The Lord and Lady had taken almost immediately to the floor, to be joined by hundreds of their guests, and now, hours later, the forest still rang with the glad sound of celebrating people moving gracefully to the rhythmic strains of the music.

Grunthor came over, grinning, winded from his turn on the dance floor with the bride. “Watch out for ’er, sir, she’s a demon at the waltz,” he said, mopping his gigantic brow. “Oi got the method figgered out, though; you let her stand right on your feet—it don’t ’urt, she don’t weigh no more than a feather—and that way you can avoid trompin’ on ’er gown. She does look most vexed at you if you do that.”

Achmed took a sip of his brandy and smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”

Grunthor tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of his dress uniform, and rubbed the back of his neck as they both turned to watch the dancing. It was hard to miss Rhapsody, small as she was, even in the enormous crowd of revelers. Her face was shining with an ethereal light, and her laughter rang like the bells in the trees of Tyrian and the forest of the White Tree; those dancing within ten or so feet of her routinely stopped just to watch her as if entranced. She was being waltzed around by Rial now, but when, from time to time, her husband managed to steal her for a turn, her face outshone the sun.

“She looks ’appy, eh?”

“Yes, she does.”

Grunthor looked down at his friend. “ ’Ow you ’oldin’ up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” said the Bolg, “Oi always got the impression you had a soft spot for ’er, if you take my point.”

Achmed took another drink, saying nothing.

“Course, it’s none o’ my bizness, sir, but what are you gonna do about it? Oi mean, why did you just let ’er go?”

Achmed smiled as the waltz ended and Rhapsody made a deep bow to her partner, who looked startled for a moment, then joined her in merry laughter. Edwyn Griffyth swept Gwydion aside jokingly and took her into his arms for the next dance as the orchestra shifted into the Lirin pennafar , a traditional dance of celebration. “Who said I am going to just let her go?”

Grunthor’s brow wrinkled as he looked down at the Firbolg king. “Oi think you might be a li’le late, don’t you?”

“No, actually, I’m early.”

“How you figger?”

Achmed leaned against the tree they were standing under. “All this is temporary. Ashe is a dragon, and of Cymrian blood, so he is very long-lived, but he is not immortal like the three of us. And as his longevity stems from his dragon blood, sooner or later he will confront the same problem Llauron did. He will grow more and more wyrmlike, until he eventually turns his back on his humanity, including his beloved wife, and goes off to commune with the elements.”

Understanding was beginning to dawn on Grunthor. “And then she’s yours?”

Achmed glanced up at him. “What none of you understand is that, in a very important way, she is already. She’s the only other one who knows it.”

“She does?”

“Yes.” He drained the last of his brandy. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s my turn to dance with the bride.”

Grunthor shook his head as Achmed made his way down the hill. He was standing beside Rhapsody just as the dance ended, and the Sergeant watched in amusement as she looked up at the Firbolg king and smiled broadly, nodding in delight and taking his hand. He wasn’t sure what was more amusing: the sight of Achmed dancing the mazurka, or the look on Gwydion’s face as Achmed nimbly swept his bride out from in front of him and danced her away.

As the first star appeared it was greeted by a chorus of Lirinsong, then by a tempest of fireworks lighting the heavens around it. Gwydion watched the display from the top of a hilly rise beneath a willow tree, his beautiful, finally official wife leaning on his shoulder and watching the sky with him.

She sighed deeply and looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with the memory of another starry night, another willow tree.

“You know, I’ve decided something, m’lady,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her.

“Yes, m’lord?”

“The only way I intend to watch the stars from now on is by seeing their reflection in your eyes.” He kissed her again as a new shower of sparks went up, lighting her face and gleaming in her hair.

“As you wish.” The clamor from down the hill grew; the wedding guests were growing impatient, waiting for the next round of toasting and music. Rhapsody sighed again. “How much longer is this supposed to go on? We’ve been celebrating all day.”

Gwydion stood and pulled her up with him. “The nice thing about being in charge is that you get to say when you can leave,” he said, smiling down at her and remembering the rose-petal-strewn bed waiting for them in the room behind the waterfall. “Let’s go drink to our collective happiness, and then depart to start experiencing some of our own. Does that sound good to you?”

“Very good.”

Above them a golden shower of sparks ignited, brightening the darkness, to fall a moment later, slowly, drifting to earth on the warm wind. Rhapsody put out her hands with childlike delight and tried to catch some as they fell; tiny star-like embers coming to rest in her palms, gleaming between her fingers, like the dream she had had so long ago, on the other side of the world, and of Time. The light sparkled brilliantly on the diamonds of her wedding ring. The significance of the moment was lost on all but one, the one who had been with her there, under those stars, half a world away, who waited with her now, smiling, as the tiny lights gleamed brightly in her hands before burning out.