Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Achmed swallowed heavily.

-

“Shhhh, now,” he whispered in his dry voice, the words barely passing through his lips. The Earthchild was frightened; he could feel it in his skin, in the depths of his bones. The earth around her was thundering with the anvil blows, the shouted orders, the horrific cacophony of the buildup to war.

Achmed crouched down beside her and gently pulled the greatcoat up over the child’s shoulders. He cleared his throat.

“Hrrhhhhrmmmm—er, don’t worry,” he said. His winced at the inadequacy in his own voice, and so bent closer, running a careful finger over the Earthchild’s hand.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the rapidity of her breathing, matching his own to it, and then willing it to slow.

“I know you can feel the earth being rent right now,” he said as gently as he could. “And I’m sure it pains you. But do not be afraid. Do not fear the noise; it is there for your protection. You are safe, I swear it.”

A single tear welled up from under the child’s closed eyelid and crept down her face. Achmed ran a nervous hand through his hair and leaned even closer.

“I will be your guardian,” he said softly, barely giving voice to the words. “Yours, and yours alone.”

He rose and bent over her. His sensitive lips brushed her smooth forehead.

“Sleep now,” he said. “Rest easy. I am standing watch.”

The child sighed in her sleep; her trembling stopped, leaving her as still as a statue amid gentle tides of breath.

Achmed smoothed the greatcoat, afraid to touch her again. He turned and left, heading back to the large pile of rubble he had scaled by the tunnel entrance. As he prepared to ascend, he stopped suddenly and stared at the blackened wall before him.

The soot-marred stone of the wall was permuting, rising like bread dough in places. Achmed drew in a sharp, silent breath as the wall seemed to liquefy, then twist into a convex relief of a left hand.

He looked back at the child, but she had not moved; she had, if anything, fallen into a deeper sleep.

His gaze returned again to the hand on the wall. The stone held the shape for a moment. Then, as he watched, each finger and the thumb elongated, stretched outward, until they formed channels that resembled long, thin tunnels running off in different directions. The palm of the hand relief remained constant, even as the finger tunnels withered away to deep, dark lines, then disappeared.

It was a map, though of what he did not know.

Achmed took off his glove, reached out, and touched the wall. The image was gone; the basalt surface had returned to its former shape without any trace left behind.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He scaled the rubble and hurried back up the tunnel toward the frenzied buildup that was spreading like a brushfire through the mountain and over the Heath to the deepest reaches of the Hidden Realm.

Near Tyrian City, Forest of Tyrian

A birdcall went up from the border watchers of Tyrian as they rode out to meet the chestnut mare and its riders. Oelendra listened to the trill: One rider, with a child . She smiled to hear the code names they were using: It’s the goddess, without Sin . She left the tent and headed out to greet Rhapsody.

A small brown-skinned boy rode before her on the mare, a child with gleaming black hair and enormous dark eyes. He was staring around and above him with the awe of a desert dweller who had never been in a forest before. Rhapsody spoke to him intermittently in a gentle voice that seemed to reassure him. In her arm, hidden from sight behind his back, was a bundle that Oelendra assumed was the infant; a shriek went up a moment later, confirming her guess. Oelendra chuckled as the birdcalls immediately began changing the tally on the number of children arriving with the rider.

Four Lirin guards met her, as they had each time before, at the edge of the Inner Forest border. One took the bridle she threw down to him as the other removed the saddlebags she pointed to, carrying them to Oelendra’s house. The other two border watchers retraced her path to ensure that she was not followed as the first returned the bridle to her. They were all becoming accustomed to this drill; this was the third time Rhapsody had brought children to Oelendra to keep in her care.

It was the first time she had come alone, however. On each previous occasion she had arrived with Achmed, and the Lirin had treated the Firbolg king deferentially, as Rhapsody’s guest, but had not accorded him the royal pomp that they otherwise might have. This was the arrangement they had all agreed to when setting the strategy by which the children of the F’dor would be located and collected. Oelendra was enjoying looking after the growing passel of them until Rhapsody could return to ferry them over to the Lord and Lady Rowan.

As initially hesitant as Oelendra had been to take in the spawn of the demon she hated more than anything, in the end she had relented and been glad of it. Although some were rambunctious, and one in particular was obnoxious in the extreme, she was beginning to acknowledge that, at least on some level, despite the demonic aspect of their makeup, they were just children like any others. In the intervening time between Rhapsody’s visits she had grown quite fond of all of them, even Vincane, who vexed her more than any child she had ever met.

Rhapsody had taken to them as well. Most had been found in dire circumstances, as all were orphans, and she tried to spend at least a few days helping them get comfortable in the forest before she and Achmed left to find the others. It would have been impossible to locate them without his ability to find the blood from the old world, Rhapsody had told Oelendra, and she was right; aside from whatever unseen signature Achmed was aware of, and the occasionally feral look that came into their eyes, they were indistinguishable from other children.

Rhapsody clicked to the horse and the mare walked forward, seeming tired and in need of water. A nanny goat, hidden from sight by the horse, was tied to the saddle and followed behind. Oelendra could see the Singer’s smile brighten as she noticed her standing there. Rhapsody began untying something from around her belt as Oelendra came alongside her.

“I’m glad you’re back; it took longer than we had expected.”

“The weather held me up in Zafhiel. The snowstorm was worse than the one in the Hintervold when we got Anya and Mikita. Did that salve heal their frostbite?”

“Aye, they’re much better.”

“And Aric?”

“He’s still having some trouble with his leg,” Oelendra answered as Rhapsody pulled her sword and scabbard loose from her belt with one hand. “Otherwise, he’s fine.”

“I’ll take a look at it this afternoon, when things settle down. I thought of something else to try on it a day or so ago. And now that we have at least a piece of his real name we may be able to heal it altogether.”

“Marl has stopped stealing food; I believe the ready availability of it has removed his need to do so. And Ellis made something for you.” The Lirin warrior watched her friend’s face as she heard about the children; it was glowing with delight.

Rhapsody held the sword away from the mare. “Here, Oelendra,” she said, passing Daystar Clarion to her in its sheath. “Guard this for me, will you? If I die alone inside Sorbold in the attempt to steal a prized gladiator, I don’t want it to fall into their hands. It might bring war onto Tyrian.”

Oelendra watched her for a moment, then nodded. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then reached for Daystar Clarion.

Rhapsody put the sword in her mentor’s palm. “I had best give it to you now, or I may forget; it’s become an unconscious extension of me.”