Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

The door closed behind her, leaving Rhapsody both blissful and bereft.

Q; or the next few nights her sister came to visit. The dream only lasted for a few moments, so Rhapsody became adept at saying whatever was most in need in her heart as soon as her sister came in the door; she was still trying to learn to say goodbye as easily when Jo told her she could not be coming again.

“You know the answers you needed most,” she said as Rhapsody fought back the tears. “I love you; there is nothing to forgive. And, by your definition, I am happy; may you be, too, Rhaps.” She rose, ignoring the Singer’s pleas to stay, and left by the door she had come in.

In spite of the comforting scents from the candles, Rhapsody bowed her head and gave in to grief. It was then that she felt the soft hand on her forehead. Rhapsody looked up in her sleep to see the face so like her own smiling down at her.

“Don’t cry, Emmy.” Her mother’s hands were gentle, caressing the tears from her face.

Finally it was done. One clear day, no different seemingly than any of the others, the Lady met Rhapsody in the forest and extended her hand. In it was a vial of liquid, black as pitch, slender as an arrow shaft, no longer than her palm. When Rhapsody looked at her in confusion the Lady smiled.

“After all you have suffered for it, I would think you would recognize it.”

Rhapsody’s eyes opened wide. “This is it? This is seven years’ worth, from all ten of them?”

“This is all that remains. It has been clarified down to the essence of its demonic nature, evil in pure form.”

A shudder rumbled through the Singer. “Is it safe to carry?”

“For a while. Not for long. I suggest you put it in the hands of the Dhracian as soon as you can.” She opened her palm; in it was another vial, this one made of silvery hematite, a mineral the Lirin called bloodstone. It was shaped like a chevron, an angled rafter of a roof, and the bottom was lined with cork. The Lady Rowan uncorked the hematite vial and gently slid the glass one inside it, then sealed it shut. She extended her hand to Rhapsody.

“This should fit within Daystar Clarion’s sheath at the tip where the sword does not reach. The elemental power of fire and the stars will hold it in stasis until you can give it to the one who will seek the F’dor.”

Rhapsody nodded, still afraid to touch the vial. “I’m to go now, then?”

“Yes.”

“And the children?”

“Any that wish to return with you may go. Those who do not may remain here, if they wish; they have earned the right to eternal peace if they so choose.”

Rhapsody nodded and mustered a smile. “I am forever grateful for your kindness, and that of the Lord.” She reluctantly took the vial.

The Lady looked at her seriously. “Don’t be, Rhapsody. Favors generally come with sacrifice; I don’t think I need to remind you of that.”

She was about to ask if any more was owed on this one when the children spilled out of one of the huts, laughing and calling as they ran to her. The Lady smiled at her once more, growing fainter as the air grew cloudier around her. Rhapsody looked around her anxiously and saw Constantin standing some distance away. She put out her hand to him and he came to her.

“Come with us,” she said, taking his hand in hers.

The gladiator shook his head. “No, I’m going to remain here.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Why?”

“It’s not time.” His voice was gentle, deep as the sea.

Desperation crept into her voice, the Veil of fog was growing thicker. “Please come, Constantin; I’ll never see you again.”

All that remained visible were the clear blue eyes, piercing the fog like sapphire beacons.

“You will, one day.” He closed his eyes, and was lost to her in the mist.

-

She called his name, but the only sound was the wind in the trees of the forest. Rhapsody buried her face in her hands, feeling the icy sting of her own tears.

“Rhapsody, look! The sword!”

She looked up at the word; a few feet away she could see the blade of Daystar Clarion, the flames billowing up it in the wind. It was still embedded in the snow, point down. The falling iceflakes had dusted the hilt, covering it up to the pommel with a thin crust of white. Seven years had passed in the realm of the Rowans; it was as if she had been gone only for less than a day.

She thought of Constantin, of the look in his eyes that night as he held the image of her, of the same eyes disappearing into the fog behind the Veil of Hoen. The Veil of Joy , she mused sadly, remembering the dreamy days there, and the horrific nights. Above nil else, may you know joy , the Patriarch had said. Perhaps now that she was gone Constantin would begin to find some of it.

A blast of wintry wind snapped her out of her reverie. She looked down at the small faces, looking up at her expectantly.

“Where are we going now, Rhapsody?”

She smiled at them. “Home. We’re going home.”

Even in the depth of winter, there were birds here now, Achmed noted. He had left his horse in a clearing outside the area that was tainted the last time he had been in this place. It had not been difficult to find the boundaries of the corruption. This ancient forest grove, dark green stands of old wood stretching for miles across the rolling hills of Navarne, had a central sector newly grown over with white birches, poplars, and pale-barked pines, youngling trees whose sallow trunks made the area appear pasty, blanched, as if it were ill. More than a year had passed since the Rakshas had been routed here, since Achmed and his companions had put an end to the blood sacrifices of children it had been making on behalf of its master, the F’dor, but still there remained a heavy silence in the air, a palpable lack of life.

But at least there were birds, resilient little winterbirds who hopped about on the snow or issued a rare chirp from a tree branch, scavenging for food. If the birds were willing to eat the dried berries and frozen seeds of this place, the corruption, the evil taint that had seeped into the very soil of the forest, must truly be gone. The wildlife had been utterly absent before.

To the west he heard the crackle of the snowcrust breaking, a rustle of twigs, a disturbance caused by something the weight of a man, not a bird.

Rhapsody knew to wait in the courtyard of the House , he thought as the noises continued; the intruder came closer. He could sense her heartbeat farther up ahead; she was where she should be. Achmed sighted his cwellan.

He willed his breathing to slow, standing as silent and motionless as a shadow cast by the setting sun. Inwardly he cursed; in the old world, when he still had his blood lore, he would have been able to sense the heartbeat of this stranger, too, to know within a hairsbreadth where it was, and where it was vulnerable. Now, as he had been since coming to this new land, he was blind, relying only on his fighting skills for his survival.

And Rhapsody’s.

In the distance to his left he caught sight of something moving slowly through the pale trees, taking its time. The pulse in his gloved finger throbbed against the weight of the cwellan’s trigger.

Suddenly, a stone’s throw to his right, the brush of the forest floor parted.

Achmed wheeled, resighting the cwellan with speed born of centuries of experience.

The stag in the brambles ahead of him froze.

For an instant Achmed froze as well. Then, slowly, he lowered the weapon to his side, inhaling deeply.

The animal stared at him for a moment longer, then turned and bounded off into the depths of the forest, snorting furiously. To the west he heard the sounds of its mate crashing through the snowcrust, snapping branches as she fled with him.