Rhapsody

  Khaddyr rapped loudly on the door with his walking stick. He waited a moment and was about to knock again when suddenly the door opened.

  In the entranceway stood a middle-aged woman of mixed blood, a half-caste Lirin like Rhapsody herself, though her coloring was more like that of the forest Lirin from the Island. Her skin was dark and sallow, and her eyes and hair the color of the bark of the chestnut tree. Her temples bore a touch of gray.

  She wore a robe of undyed wool, similar to the others Rhapsody had seen, and nodded deferentially to Khaddyr, then turned to look at his guest. Her mouth fell open and she stared blankly. Rhapsody blushed. I must be a horrific sight, she thought, her throat tightening in embarrassment.

  Khaddyr’s eyes darkened in annoyance. “Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat, “Good evening to you, too, Gwen. Is His Grace in?”

  The woman blinked, then colored in abashment. “Forgive me, Father, and you as well, miss; I don’t know what’s come over me. Please come in.” She stepped aside from the door and Khaddyr entered the house, taking Rhapsody by the elbow and leading her inside.

  They followed Gwen through a hallway crafted from polished wood and adorned with carvings and variegated stone floors. At the last door before a spindled stairway Gwen stopped and knocked politely, then opened the door slightly and called inside.

  “Your Grace?”

  “Yes?” The voice that answered was a smooth, cultured baritone.

  “You have guests, sir.” Her eyes returned to Rhapsody.

  “It’s I, Your Grace,” said Khaddyr. He glared at Gwen. “Stop gawking; you’re being rude.” The woman turned hastily away.

  The door opened a moment later and Khaddyr led Rhapsody inside. She looked around at the cozy room, a surprisingly small study with a large, whole-wall hearth on which a fire was burning quietly. As she entered the room the flames blazed in greeting, then settled back down into a steady, insistent incandescence.

  The room was filled with odd objects, maps and scrolls, and bookshelves that lined the three remaining walls. There were several comfortable chairs clustered around a low, round table made from a center slice of a wide tree that had been struck by lightning, a liquor chest, and other pieces of furniture that were hidden in the shadows of the firelight.

  The door closed quietly behind them. Standing there was a thin, elderly man dressed in simple gray robes. His face was kind and wrinkled, with a good many lines around his eyes, his hair silver and white with heavy brows and a matching mustache, neatly trimmed. His build was tall and somewhat slight, though he appeared in good health. The old man’s skin had the weathered look of someone who spent most of his time outdoors.

  “Well, well,” the man said softly. “What have we here?”

  “Your Grace, this woman came to me from out of the forest of Tref-Y-Gwartheg,” Khaddyr answered respectfully. “She doesn’t speak the language, though she seems to understand it somewhat. She sings to the sunrise as well, though she has placed no words to these songs; her voice is otherworldly in its beauty. I thought perhaps she would interest you, as I am at a loss to define what she is. It occurred to me that she might be a dryad or sylph or some other nature spirit with whom you might be familiar, if anyone was.”

  Rhapsody stared at Khaddyr in surprise. Initially it was the name of the town that had caught her interest; Tref-Y-Gwartheg, in the tongue of the Island, meant simply Cattletown.

  It was his final comment, however, that caused her some shock. She had thought when the townspeople first started swarming about her that they had never seen a Lirin woman before, but Gwen was proof that her theory there was incorrect. Why would the priest think she was a nature spirit? Was it her wild appearance, or something more? She thought back to Achmed and Grunthor’s awkward attempts to explain the way the fire had changed the way she looked. Apparently it made her look freakish.

  The old man smiled in amusement. “Thank you, Khaddyr.” He came a few steps closer to her and looked into her face. “My name is Llauron,” he said, directly and pleasantly. “What may I call you, my dear?”

  “Rhapsody,” she answered. Khaddyr jumped at the sound of her voice.

  “I didn’t know she could speak,” he said.

  “Sometimes it’s just a matter of asking questions that one can answer, isn’t it, Rhapsody?” His voice, rich and distinguished, had a gentle, disarming tone to it. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Rhapsody’s brows drew together as she puzzled over how to answer him. She had agreed not to give much information away, and yet she didn’t want to lie, on top of which she was uncertain of her ability to communicate accurately in the dialect. “I don’t know what you would call it,” she said carefully. “It is far away.”

  “Yes, I can imagine,” the Invoker said. “Well, not to worry. Can I get you something to eat, or perhaps a bath?”

  Her face lit up, and with it, the fire; the flames roared in delight. “Yes, a bath would be wonderful,” she said slowly. The desire to be clean outweighed all caution.

  Llauron opened the door of the study. “Gwen?”

  The half-Lirin woman appeared again. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “This is Rhapsody. She is to be our guest, at least for this evening. Please draw her a nice, hot bath with plenty of soap, and set Vera to preparing a supper tray for her.” The woman nodded and left. Llauron turned back to them again. “Now, while that is being undertaken, would the two of you like some tea?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Rhapsody said.

  “I would as well, Your Grace.”

  Llauron gestured to the chairs while he prepared the tea, hanging a pot of water on the hearth. He took three cups out of a cabinet near one of the glass windows and set them before his guests. When the water had boiled he removed it from the fire and poured it into a china teapot with some tea leaves to steep. Then he sat in the chair opposite her.

  “Well, Rhapsody, I do hope Khaddyr has been a good host, aside from failing to offer you a bath.”

  Khaddyr was mortified. “I am sorry, miss,” he said to her in embarrassment, “but I didn’t want to offend any custom your people might have.”

  Llauron looked amused. “Come now, Your Grace, surely you’ve met enough Lirin to know that they bathe.” He poured the tea into the cups and offered them the small honey server.

  “Lirin?” Khaddyr asked in astonishment.

  “Half-Lirin, I would guess. Is that correct, my dear? One of your parents was Liringlas?”

  Rhapsody nodded. “My mother.” She sipped the tea, reveling in its warmth.

  “I thought as much.”

  A knock sounded on the door, then it opened. “The bath is ready, Your Grace.”

  Llauron rose. “I imagine that’s the thing you desire most in the world right now, isn’t it, my dear?”

  “Yes.” The great exhale of breath in her answer made the Invoker chuckle.

  “Well, enjoy your soak. Gwen, please get her anything she needs, and wash her clothes for her while she bathes. I’m sure you can come up with a new robe for her as well, yes?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Excellent.”

  Rhapsody followed Gwen from the room. As they stepped out into the hall and climbed the stairs she could hear the men continuing their conversation.

  “A dryad?” Llauron’s voice barely contained his mirth. “Really, now.”

  “I’ve never seen a Lirin like that,” she heard Khaddyr say defensively.

  “Apparently not, but I’m sorry to say there are no more nature spirits; the last of them perished with the Island centuries ago—”

  The sound of his voice was cut off as Gwen closed the bathroom door.

  The bathroom contained a great porcelain tub which had been filled with steaming water and scented with herbs; fennel and lemon verbena, Rhapsody thought with a sigh. She turned to see Gwen watching her, with no apparent intention of leaving.

&n
bsp; Self-consciously Rhapsody removed her filthy clothing, leaving the locket around her neck, and eased herself into the tub, feeling an ecstatic rush as the heat of the water closed around her body. She looked up to see Gwen bundle her rags and leave the room, closing the door behind her.

  With a deep sigh she slipped even further down into the water, feeling the blissful sensation of shedding the mud that had soaked into the pores of her skin, allowing it to breathe for the first time in as long as she could remember. As she scrubbed the muck from her hair and skin the water lost none of its heat, even as it turned a repulsive gray color. It was as if the tension of the endless time spent in travel was melting off her along with the dirt. She could not bring herself to imagine what the tub would look like when she was finished.

  She was drying herself with one of the thick sheets of cloth that had been left beside the tub when Gwen came back, carrying a white wool robe similar to the ones she had seen among the Filids in the forest glen. The servant left the room, and Rhapsody donned the robe, enjoying the feel of a whole garment on her skin. Then she looked down at the sword; it seemed ludicrous to belt it onto the robe, so she decided to carry it in her hand. There was no place to hide it, anyway.

  She waited for a few moments, but Gwen did not return. Rhapsody opened the door and peered down the corridor. There was no one in sight. She went down the stairs slowly, her eyes taking in all the angles and details of the marvelous house, from its glowing woodwork to the odd pieces of art that adorned the walls.

  The door to the study was open, and she leaned into the doorway. “Hello?” she called.

  Llauron’s voice answered her, but seemed distant. “Ah, you’re done. Come in, my dear.”

  Rhapsody walked into the study to find the room empty. On the wall that abutted the fireplace was a door she had not seen, standing open. She crossed the room, noting the embers on the hearth leaping in greeting as she walked past, and went into the adjoining room.

  It was very similar to the study except for the central piece of furniture. A messy, ornate desk took up much of the room, covered with papers and scrolls that seemed piled randomly on it. Another hearth, a smaller one, was visible between two paned windows. Glass was a luxury that Rhapsody had seen only rarely in the old world and only in this house since arriving in the new one. Llauron rose from the large chair behind the desk and smiled at her.

  “Well, now, are you feeling better?” She nodded. “Good, good. Did you recognize the herbs?”

  Rhapsody thought for a moment. She did—lavender, fennel, rynlet, lemon verbena, and rosemary—but she was unsure how to say the words in this dialect, and didn’t want to speak them in the old language. “Yes,” she said.

  The Invoker laughed. “Very good. You’re something of an herbalist, then?”

  She shook her head. “No, I know a little about plants, but not much.”

  “Well, if you are interested in learning more, this is the place to do it. Our chief herbalist, Lark, is Lirin also, though not Liringlas.”

  “Perhaps. I’m sure it would be very interesting.”

  “Indeed. Customarily I have Gwen put rock salt in the bath as well. It soothes sore muscles, or at least I hope it did.”

  Rhapsody smiled. “Yes, thank you. I feel worlds better.”

  Llauron opened his hand in the direction of a soft-looking chair. “Khaddyr made his apologies; he is needed at the hospice. Perhaps you’d like to ask me some of the thousand questions you must have, and I admit I have a few of my own. Have a seat by the fire, my dear, and help yourself to the supper tray.”

  Rhapsody complied, breathing deeply to keep the fire from reacting to her nervousness. It was of little use; the flames leapt to life as she sat in the chair. Llauron didn’t seem to notice.

  “What is this place?” she asked carefully, trying to keep within the dialect.

  Llauron smiled. “You are in the home, the keep, of the Invoker—that’s me, of course—of the Filids, the religious order that worships the One-God, the Life-Giver, by tending to the various aspects of nature. My home is at the crest of the Circle, the community where our order lives, trains, and tends the Great White Tree—I imagine you saw it on your way here, it’s difficult to miss.” Rhapsody nodded. “The name of the holy forest in which it grows, and we live, and you presently are, is Gwynwood.”

  Rhapsody sat back in her chair. She had never heard the names of any of those places or things before.

  Llauron saw her disappointment. “Can you read maps?”

  “Fairly well. Mostly sea charts.”

  “Excellent. Then come over here.” The old man rose and led her to a strange orb in the corner suspended from a hinged floorstand. On the orb a map had been painted, showing the landmasses of the known world. He took the round map in his hands and spun it, locating a northern continent with a long, irregular western seacoast.

  “This is where we are,” Llauron said, pointing slightly inland from the coast. Rhapsody blinked but said nothing. She had seen this landmass before in her studies, but it was thought to be uninhabited.

  The Island of Serendair was in the southern hemisphere on the other side of the world. Though she had anticipated this possibility, her throat tightened nonetheless. She was much farther from home than she had hoped.

  “May I see the round map?” she asked hesitantly. Her vocabulary was failing her occasionally.

  “Certainly. It’s called a globe.” Llauron swung it over to her on the stand.

  Rhapsody turned the globe slowly, making note of some of the places she had seen before, and many more that she hadn’t. Carefully she examined each part of the world, trying not to be obvious, her heart pounding. The language with which it was labeled was similar to that of her homeland, but with a few characters she didn’t recognize. Finally she was able to turn it to the place where Serendair was, and found the Island in the correct place, on the opposite side of the Earth and sea. But instead of being labeled by its actual name, it was rendered in gray and annotated as The Lost Island.

  Her hands grew cold. The Lost Island? It didn’t surprise her that the mapmakers of this place were unfamiliar with the geography on the other side of the world, just as the Seren cartographers had been unaware that this place was inhabited. But why call it lost?

  Her eyes scanned the globe quickly. She noticed that in addition to its strange appellation, Serendair was also the only landmass colored in gray. She swung the map back to the place Llauron had indicated they now were.

  The Invoker was watching her in interest. “Here, let me show you a little of the geography.” He went to the high pile of maps on the sideboard and rummaged through them until he came to the one he was looking for, unrolling it for her to see.

  “The Tree is here, in the central forest region near the southeastern border of the forest. Gwynwood itself is a religious state, and as such is not aligned with Roland, our neighbor on the southern and eastern sides.”

  Rhapsody followed his finger, and saw that the seaside province to the south of the forest was labeled Avonderre, and the eastern one Navarne. Across the wide ocean to the left was an area depicted in green, as the areas he was now showing her all were. Part of the mainland across the sea, the other green area was labeled Manosse.

  “Avonderre and Navarne are part of Roland?”

  “Yes, as are the provinces of Canderre, to the northeast, Yarim, east of that, Bethany, due east of Navarne, which is the Regency seat, and Bethe Corbair, east of Bethany.”

  Rhapsody studied the map with interest. Avonderre, Navarne, Bethany, Canderre, Yarim, and Bethe Corbair were the provinces of the country of Roland, but were not the only lands depicted in green. The color was used only in the section of the world Llauron was indicating, and nowhere else on the globe.

  From the map it appeared that Roland encompassed part of the western seacoast, great rolling hills to the south of Gwynwood, and spread eastward into a vast, wide plain that was labeled The Orlandan Plateau.

  It s
tretched further eastward to the foothills of a sharply broken mountain range, cut by a deep valley. The mountain range was labeled The Manteids. At one time the land around the Manteids had been noted as Canrif, but that had been neatly crossed out and replaced by the hand-written word Firbolg. Rhapsody swallowed hard upon reading the word.

  She pointed to a country to the south that bordered on Bethany and Bethe Corbair. It seemed to be mostly composed of the same mountain chain as the Manteids, stretching south into a wide, high desert. This land was also depicted in green. “Is this part of Roland, too?”

  “That’s Sorbold. It is not part of Roland, but a nation unto itself.”

  “And this?” She indicated the area labeled Firbolg.

  Llauron laughed. “Goodness, no. Those are the Firbolg lands. That’s a dark and treacherous place, if ever there was one.”

  Rhapsody nodded; she could believe that of a land occupied by Firbolg. Her finger traced along the southern edge of the country of Roland, the final area shaded green, unlabeled. “Why does this area seem to have no name?”

  Llauron uncurled a corner of the map as it rolled closed. “These are the nonaligned states that were once part of the Cymrian lands.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but he watched her intently as he said the word.

  Rhapsody’s face was blank. The word meant nothing to her. “Cymrian lands? The green ones?”

  “Yes, all of Roland and Sorbold, as well as those states that are currently nonaligned, Manosse, on the other continent, and the Firbolg Waste were once part of the lands settled by the Cymrians, spelled with a ‘y,’ though pronounced as a ‘u.’”

  “Who were the Cymrians?”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Llauron’s face. “You’ve never heard of the Cymrians?”

  “No.” Her hands began to tremble slightly. Llauron noticed, and patted one comfortingly.

  “The Cymrians were the refugees who fled the Island of Serendair prior to its destruction.”

  23