Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“Gods!”

“Yes, gods. May they help any Bolg foolish enough to try it again while I’m away; Grunthor’s lying in wait. If you see any body parts decorating the crags of Griwen when you return, you’ll know why.

“In the meantime, put in an appearance on behalf of Ylorc at Tristan’s wedding. You’ll buy us some time, at the very least. You may hear something about their preparations for war as well. Continue to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. I will send word to you when I am ready if you haven’t already returned.”

Rhapsody said nothing. Though the jangling thrum of the harp music in the branches of the young tree masked their words, she was not prepared to give voice to her feelings, knowing that there were ears listening to the winter wind. More than anything, she wanted to tell her friend of the Veil of Hoen, what she had seen, how long she had been away, what she had learned, about the threat to Life and the Afterlife, but she did not dare, not here, not in the open, beneath the sky. Better, as he had said, to wait until they were in the dark of the mountain, hidden away from prying eyes, their voices shielded from the wind.

She looked around at the ruins of the House of Remembrance, the place where their path had first become known to them. This repository of history, this outpost of the First Cymrian wave, had been built fourteen centuries before, with so much hope; it had been desecrated so brutally. The Rakshas had even sought to use the roots of Sagia’s sapling to reach within the Firbolg mountain and snatch the Sleeping Child. Such a horrific turn to what had started out as a story of great promise.

They had chosen this place to meet today, to forge a new beginning, for good or ill. The irony that here, in this place, where the demon had used the blood of children to its ends, she was giving the Dhracian the demon’s own blood, from the veins of its children, to find it, was almost too much for her to bear.

Rhapsody looked back at Achmed. He stood before her now, the reluctant savior, the key to their finding the demon, to its ultimate destruction, returning her gaze unblinkingly. Her stomach turned suddenly, and she felt the world begin to spin; he must have seen it, because he reached out and grasped her arm, bringing solidity again.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, unwilling to leave him now, now that the blood was in hand, and that the die was about to be cast. “I want to get it over with. I want to go home.”

The Firbolg king shrugged. “Can’t. You have to attend to this first. It’s all part of the design.” He leaned forward and spoke into her ear.

“It’s your destiny.”

The windy silence of the courtyard grew even stiller. Destiny—just the sound of the word made her weary. How many times have I heard that since earning to this place, Ms new land of demons and nightmares ? she thought bitterly, biting back her anger. The words of the Grandmother, the Earth-child’s late guardian, came into her mind.

It is your destiny. Deny it, and it would be better to hurl yourselves into the abyss now.

It was a word employed to threaten; Oelendra had made use of it, too.

Your destiny is foretold, and you can shrug at it all you like, but you will kill the F’dor, or die trying. You have no choice.

Kyle hira , the Liringlas said. Life is what it is.

“Balls,” Rhapsody snorted. “Hogwash. We make our own destiny.”

Achmed smiled. Rhapsody laughed.

“You said that just to infuriate me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It worked.”

“I know. So will you go to the wedding?”

Rhapsody threw up her hands in mock disgust. “I have nothing to wear to this event, Achmed. Last I heard it was a formal occasion.”

“You depleted my coffers by an obscene amount to buy the thousands of useless frocks you have stored down in Elysian, and you have nothing to wear? Spare me.”

“If the wedding is in three days I will have to ride directly from here. I didn’t bring any of those useless frocks with me.”

The Bolg king sighed. He reached into his robes again and pulled out a piece of folded leather, which he handed to her.

“Here’s some Orlandan coinage, and a few notes of tender. You can buy something to wear with this. Keep your ears open for anything you might hear about the Bolg or Bolg weapons at the wedding.”

“Somehow I doubt either of those topics will come up.”

“Perhaps not. Just your presence there may distract Tristan enough to delay him, if he’s the one plotting to attack. Try to find the ambassador from Sorbold; I worry much more about it coming from there. Do whatever you need to do, and then come home.”

“I will.”

“Good.” He turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder. “It won’t be long now. All in good time.”

She smiled, her eyes gleaming in the fading light. “I know.”

“Travel well,” he said. He watched as she nodded and disappeared into the forest.

Then, with the loss of her innate musical vibration, the whispering voices returned, scratching at his ears, screaming in his veins.

Achmed pulled the hematite vial from its pocket within the shirt beneath his robes. He held the smooth silver bottle up to his eyes, absently running a finger over the slippery stone.

“All in good time,” he said.

Rhapsody had been to Bethany only once before. Her initial impression was that it was a city under a silent siege. It was a round city, vast in size and in aspiration of design; as far as she had seen, no other of the Cymrian cities still standing had been outfitted with the riches of paving stones, street lanterns, roadways, public baths, marvels of architecture, horse hitchings, and all the other luxuries she had come to associate with wealth. Wealth in Roland seemed to be a sign not so much of successful trade but of the collection of taxes, and the collection of taxes was a sure sign of where power lay. Bethany had all the makings of a royal city, despite the fact that there was still no king on the throne.

The siege aspect came from the plethora of soldiers, both at the city’s outskirts and on its well-manicured streets, constantly patrolling the eight gates and four main thoroughfares, consigning the cattle and animal trade to certain districts, while keeping other streets, notably those around the central palace and its extensive private garden, pristinely clear for genteel foot travel. Markets and mercantile areas were found in the eastern and western sections, while museums and public gardens were located in the northern and southern parts of the city. The prince’s palace and the great circular fire basilica made up the central section. Only the barracks of Bethany’s enormous army were found in every quarter.

By the time she had made it through the western villages that had once been part of the outer ring of the city, it was clear to her that Bethany had changed dramatically in a relatively short time.

When she had first come here, more than a year ago with Achmed, Grunthor, and Jo, the city’s outer ring had been a lively place, an endlessly sprawling ragtag village of peasants and paupers, workmen, tradesmen, and street urchins, people far too poor to live within the confines of the pristine inner city walls, but happy nonetheless to prosper from those who went in and out of its gates to trade. She had once unintentionally caused a riot in these outer villages, intervening with a man who was beating his son. It was only thanks to a speedy rescue by Grunthor and Achmed that she had managed to survive the melee that ensued.

Now, the population of that massive peasant town was gone. In its place were new barracks, most still being built, with additional ramparts being erected around the city wall. It didn’t seem as if the preparations were for a temporary event, but rather were darker and permanent in nature. Rhapsody was in awe at the sight, her heart wrenched in sudden fear. Could all of this be for the wedding ? she wondered as she looked out the carriage window, waiting in line at the newly erected guard post at the western city gate. She pulled the hood of her woolen cloak tightly about her face.