Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Achmed nodded curtly, and continued to truss Vincane to a tree in a position where the demon-spawn could be seen at all times, but still have access to food and warmth. He already knew she was there; he had followed the ancient Lirin warrior’s heartbeat to this place. She was one of a few thousand living souls born on the Island of Serendair he could still track with his blood lore.

“She’s near enough. Perhaps you should go to meet her.”

He glanced back over his shoulder. Rhapsody was already gone.

The glade of trees in which they were encamped grew thinner to the east, stretching up the side of the large hill. Rhapsody ran to the top, ignoring the slippage of snowy dead leaves underfoot, the crumbling rock and roots of the hillside, spurred on by an urgency deep within her heart.

At the crest of the hill she stopped, frozen by the sight of her mentor singing, arms outstretched before her, palms up in supplication to the stars. The tears of excitement blurred into ones of poignant fondness; in the gray light of dusk, and from the side, Oelendra looked for all the world like her own mother, singing the lauds she had taught her a lifetime ago. Rhapsody had not been able to see her mother in her dreams for a long time; she swallowed and joined in singing the lauds, blending her voice in a high harmony.

Oelendra turned as the devotions ended and smiled. Rhapsody no longer saw her mother but her friend and mentor, the Lirin champion, still in fighter’s trim with shoulders as broad as Achmed’s. Her long, thin braid of gray hair was tied neatly up at the nape of her neck, and her large silver eyes lit up with a fond light as soon as she saw Rhapsody.

The two women, the present Iliachenva’ar and one who had carried Day-star Clarion a lifetime before, embraced on the windy hilltop.

“You are tired,” the Lirin champion observed, brushing a lock of golden hair out of Rhapsody’s eyes.

Rhapsody smiled. “I am also late,” she replied, smiling. “And sorry for it.”

Oelendra nodded. “What delayed you?”

Rhapsody put her arm around her mentor’s waist. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

Achmed had his back to the women as they approached. Night had come into its fullness, and the sky was dark as they sheltered Oelendra’s mounts, two roan mares, beneath a small copse of trees near Rhapsody and Achmed’s horses.

Rhapsody’s eyes were shining as she brought her mentor over to the fire to meet her friend.

“Achmed, this is Oelendra. Oelendra, His Majesty, King Achmed, Warlord of the realm of Ylorc.”

Achmed rose slowly and turned in the fireshadows, his two-colored gaze coming to rest fully upon the Lirin champion, who met it serenely. A moment later the look in her eyes hardened somewhat, then relaxed again, keeping an aspect of reservation.

For his part the Firbolg king looked the Lirin champion over cursorily, then turned away. He reached down with his gloved hand and pulled a pot from the campfire.

“Hungry?”

Oelendra continued to study him. Rhapsody’s glance traveled from one to the other as the silence deepened. Finally she took Oelendra’s hand.

“Well, I am. Why don’t you ladle it out, Achmed?” She led her mentor to the other side of the fire, where the young Lirin boy cowered, and bent down beside him. “This is Aric, Oelendra. Aric, Oelendra is my friend—she won’t hurt you.”

She turned to the Lirin champion, who was staring intensely at the boy. “Yes,” Rhapsody said, reading her thoughts. “His mother was obviously Liringlas.”

“Aye.” Oelendra ran a hand over her mouth. “Do you understand what this means?”

“That there are other Liringlas here on the continent that you and Rial were not aware of?”

“Perhaps.” Oelendra stared into the fire for a moment. “Or it could mean that the Rakshas crossed the sea to Manosse, or perhaps Gaematria, the Isle of the Sea Mages—there are Liringlas there, or at least there were. If that’s the case, who knows how many women he has impregnated?”

Rhapsody shuddered, but shook her head. “No—Rhonwyn said that there were but nine living, and only one yet to be born. And the Rakshas was dead by the time we asked her.”

Oelendra exhaled. “Good. I’d forgotten that. Good.” A slow smile came over her face and she looked thoughtfully at the child. “Hello, Aric,” she said in the Liringlas tongue. “Have they treated you well?”

The child was trembling. “Aye,” he whispered in return.

Oelendra turned to Rhapsody. “He knows the language of our people, and yet he was obviously not raised by Liringlas. What does that tell you?”

Rhapsody patted the child’s head. “Do you think he is a natural Singer?”

-

Achmed handed both women tankards of soup, and a battered steel mug to Aric. Oelendra nodded her thanks, then lifted it to her lips. She took a long sip, then studied the child again.

“You would know better than I,” she said at last. “But it seems the likeliest answer.”

“Well, there’s one way to find out,” Rhapsody said. She sat down, cross-legged, next to the child. “Aric, would you please pull down your stocking and show Oelendra your leg? She won’t touch it, I promise,” she said hurriedly, watching the panic come over the child’s face. Oelendra nodded in agreement.

Slowly, with faltering hands, the boy pulled back the knit sock. In the firelight the festering leg was black, with healing skin visible around the outer edges, and smelled faintly of thyme.

“I’ve been applying herbs since we got him, so it’s beginning to improve; it was gangrenous at first,” Rhapsody said to Oelendra. She turned back to the boy. “Can you sing your name for me, Aric?”

“Pardon, miss?” the young child asked nervously.

“Pick any note that sounds right to you, and sing your name, like this.” Rhapsody intoned his name: Aric .

The boy swallowed, then complied. Aric , he sang softly.

Rhapsody looked at Oelendra. “Sol,” she said. “His Naming note is sol , the fifth note of the scale. He probably has older siblings somewhere. If he were firstborn, like you are, Oelendra, the natural note for him would have been ut. She did not glance back at Achmed, who was also a firstborn. Oelendra nodded grimly.

“So somewhere on this continent there are other Liringlas children, now motherless.”

Rhapsody exhaled. “Yes.” She looked closely at the leg; it had not changed. “Try again, please, Aric. Just think about wanting your leg to be better.”

The child sang the note again, to no noticeable avail. Oelendra shrugged. Rhapsody sighed silently; then a thought occurred.

“His mother probably didn’t live to see him,” she said quietly to Oelendra. “The children of the Rakshas are all orphans, their mothers died at their births. Perhaps Aric isn’t his true name.”

“Perhaps. But how can you know what the true name is?”

Rhapsody patted the boy and sat back, letting the fire warm her shoulders.

“Discovery of such a thing is a long and arduous process if the person doesn’t know what name they were given,” she said, musing. “It would take far more time than we have, and involves a good deal of trial and error. I’m not even certain the mother would have named her baby—she may have given birth alone, or died before she could name him.”

“Alas, you are probably right. He may have been named by a Filidic priest, or a Liringlas Namer, if there are indeed any still alive. Or a passing stranger, even an enemy, since he ended up a slave.”

The heat that radiated across Rhapsody’s back reminded her of childhood baths before the roaring hearth. She closed her eyes, trying to picture her mother’s face, failing.