Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“Come, child,” said the woman, smiling. She held out her hand again. Rhapsody took it once more, and followed the Lady Rowan deeper into the peaceful forest.

The realm of the Rowans was a serene one by all appearances. The children ran about, playing in the sunshine, their joyful voices shrieking and laughing through the forest, breaking the stillness. Rhapsody did not see the gladiator, but all the other children were there, frolicking in between the trees, even Quan Li, the oldest girl, who up until that point had been serious and reserved. The sight gladdened her heart. She felt a hand touch her elbow, and she turned. The Lady was beckoning to her.

They walked over the rise of a hill and came to a stop under a stand of white birch trees. In the valley at the foot of the hill was a large wood building without ornament except for a thin wooden steeple crowned with a silver star. She followed the Lady down the hill and into the building.

Inside it was dark and cool, with a rotunda off which were a number of doors. The Lady opened one across the rotunda from the door they had entered by and stepped back, allowing Rhapsody to go in.

The room was dark as well, with a wealth of beeswax candles in boxes and the minty smell of pipsissewa, a herb used for easing the pain of the dying. Open bags of other medicinal herbs, juniper puffballs and shepherd’s purse, lay on the table, their contents scattered across its top. In the center of the room was a plain cot with short legs, close to the floor, and several tables with strange-looking implements and containers. The Lady offered her a candle, and she took it. The beeswax was soft and fragrant; there was something hypnotic about holding it. She extended a finger to light it, but the Lady shook her head.

“Not yet.” Rhapsody curled her finger back into her fist quickly. The Lady smiled reassuringly. “Before you light the candle, you must understand that it is a promise.”

“A promise?”

“Yes, and one you may not be willing to make.”

Rhapsody blinked. “What is the promise?”

“Come, and I will show you.” The Lady walked through the door of the room and went to the next door, which she opened as before. Rhapsody looked in to see an identical room, except that on the cot was the gladiator, asleep. She turned and looked questioningly at the Lady, who nodded at the demon’s oldest child. Rhapsody looked back at him again.

“Stay here.” The Lady Rowan entered the room and bent next to the cot, touching the gladiator’s forehead gently. Behind her Rhapsody could hear the door of the building open. The two young men entered and joined the Lady by Constantin’s bedside. They were carrying a crystal beaker and several sharp metal implements and glass tubes that Rhapsody did not like the look of. She opened her mouth to speak but her question was choked off before she could utter it by a sharp look from the Lady Rowan.

A moment later, the Lady took the instruments from the men and arranged them on the table next to the cot. The men took hold of the gladiator’s feet and wrists. The Lady Rowan nodded to her assistants and turned back to him, a long awl-like needle in her hand. As Rhapsody watched in horror she plunged the needle into Constantin’s chest. He awoke in agony, screaming.

—

Rhapsody tried to run into the room but found her way barred by an unseen force. She struggled against it futilely and banged on the doorframe, producing no sound; she cried out, but her voice was silent as well. She could only stare in dismay as Constantin writhed in pain, pleading with his tormentors to stop. The tears that ran down his face were mirrored on Rhapsody’s own.

The procedure seemed to last forever. Finally the Lady held up a thin glass tube filled with red liquid, a slash of black in the middle. She nodded to the assistants and removed the implement from the gladiator’s chest, causing him to shudder in anguish once more. Then she handed the tube to one of the men and carefully bandaged the chest wound, speaking softly to Constantin as he lay on the cot, weeping. Rhapsody’s heart wrung in sorrow. Pain great enough to reduce the gladiator to sobbing must truly be unbearable, given what she knew about Constantin’s life and profession. The Lady Rowan bent to kiss his forehead; his shuddering stopped and he fell back asleep immediately. The Lady came out of the room and took Rhapsody’s elbow, leading her back to the empty room. The Singer was shaking.

“This is the procedure that we will have to perform every day, on each child, to separate them from their father’s blood,” the Lady Rowan said simply, ignoring the Singer’s tears. “It must be removed directly from the heart. As you can see, it’s extremely painful.”

Rhapsody choked. “Even the baby?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Rhapsody stammered, fighting nausea. “Please.”

“The alternative is far worse, isn’t it?”

Rhapsody stared at the Lady in silence, then bowed her head. “Yes.” The Lady Rowan watched her intently; Rhapsody could feel the woman’s eyes on her. “For how long?”

“Years. At least five; probably seven. To do it faster would mean to take more heart’s blood, and that might prove fatal. If they die before the separation procedure is complete, they will join their father in the Vault of the Underworld, for eternity.”

“Gods,” Rhapsody whispered. She looked over at the table, at the instruments identical to those that had been used on Constantin. “Please, tell me there is another way.”

“There is no other way to separate out the blood,” said the Lady Rowan directly. “There is, however, something you can do, if you choose to.”

“Whatever it is, I will do it,” said Rhapsody quickly. “Please tell me how I can help.”

The Lady Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “You are rash, child; that is not good. The children will need you to tend to their daily needs for love and comfort; you should not be agreeing to something you have not heard yet.”

“I’m sorry,” said Rhapsody humbly. “Please tell me what I can do.”

The Lady looked at her evenly. “You can take the pain for one or two of them, if you should so choose.”

“Take the pain?”

“Yes. You are a Singer, a Narner; you can make their namesong your own, and keep the pain for yourself. It is much to ask, and much more to give. If you should choose not to do so, no one would blame you. I know you seek to be a healer; it will teach you much. It will make you empathetic, make you able to heal others by taking their injuries yourself. But you will feel the pain in its fullness, sparing one or two of the children the daily suffering you have just witnessed. It will be agony for you.”

Rhapsody stared at the floor. “One or two? How on earth could I ever choose?”

A sympathetic smile crossed the Lady’s face. “That will not be easy, either. It may seem to make sense to choose the smallest ones, but suffering is suffering, no matter who experiences it, as you have just seen.”

Rhapsody considered her words. “And will it do me damage physically?”

“No. It is only the pain you may take, not the procedure; you will not have a wound or a scar.”

Rhapsody’s eyes cleared. “I’m not concerned about any scarring except that which the pain will inflict on those children’s souls,” she said. “And if I light the candle, is that the promise to sit vigil for a child, to take his or her pain?”

“Yes.” The Lady smiled at her. “Are you going to do so?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Shall I set aside one candle, or two?”

Rhapsody smiled back at her, and took two candles out of the nearest box. She set them on the table. “Here?”

“Yes. You are very brave.”

“Do I light them now?”