Prophecy

  They sat in silence for a long time, Rhapsody watching the smoke from the fire crackle with sparks and rise, like that of a Lirin funeral pyre, to the dark sky above, where it wafted among the scattered stars and dissipated. Finally Ashe spoke.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Rhapsody looked pointedly over at him across the fire. “I’m not upset,” she said coolly. “I am not worried about anything like that.”

  “Really?” he said, and there was amusement in his tone. “Not even a little?”

  “Not in the least,” she answered softly. “I doubt I will even live to see the end of what is coming now, let alone forever.”

  “Oh?” Ashe’s tone had a controlled steadiness. “What makes you think so?”

  “Just a hunch,” she said, reaching for her cloak. She shook the dirt and leaves from it and wrapped it around herself.

  “I see. So you would rather die than acknowledge the prospect that you might live forever?”

  Rhapsody chuckled. “You really are persistent, Ashe, but not very subtle. Is there actually a point here, other than just trying to determine whether I am what you think I am?”

  Ashe leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m just explaining why I could never be interested in someone like Jo; that she has a completely different life expectancy than I do. And if you are First Generation, you will have a very limited pool of others as long-lived as yourself to make a life with, who won’t die on you before you have even gotten to know them.”

  Rhapsody smiled and set about brushing the mud from her boots. “Well, thank you for your concern, but I wouldn’t worry. First, I don’t plan to marry anyway; I’ll make do with my grandchildren as my family. Second, I’m not afraid of time differences. My mother told me when I was very young that the time you had together was worth the loss because without the acceptance of that pain there would be nothing valuable to lose. And, of course, since you know I am Achmed’s contemporary, there’s always him. Grunthor, of course, is out of the question.”

  Ashe’s voice contained a note of horror. “There’s always Achmed for what?”

  Rhapsody said nothing, but her smile broadened as she continued to scrape her equipment clean.

  “You have to be joking. Please tell me you are—that’s disgusting.”

  “Why?”

  “I would think that is obvious.” Even as far away as he was from her, Rhapsody could feel him shudder.

  “Well, of course, that really is no concern of yours, since you’re already spoken for. By the way,” she said, growing serious, “does she mind that you’re here? You know, for such a long time?”

  “Who?”

  “Your—well—whatever she is. I assume she’s not your wife, since you said you’re not married, I think. Actually, you didn’t say that, did you?” Receiving no reply, she tried lamely to finish the thought. “You know, this woman you’re in love with? Is this journey causing a problem with her?”

  “No.”

  Rhapsody exhaled in relief. “I’m very glad. I do try to make a point of not causing problems with people’s relationships, especially married people. I have great respect for the institution.”

  “Then why don’t you intend to marry?”

  Rhapsody got up again and began to spread out her bed roll. “Well, it isn’t really fair to marry someone unless you have a heart to share with them, to love them with. I don’t have one, you see. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Rhapsody, crawling into the bedroll. “Anyway, thank you for being honest about my sister.”

  “Just out of curiosity, why do you call her that? Obviously you’re not related.”

  Rhapsody sighed. “I can’t believe you don’t understand that, Ashe. There are different ways to make a family. You can be born into it, or you can choose it. Bonds to family you choose to be a part of are often as strong as those you are born into, because you want to be, rather than have to be, part of each other.”

  On the other side of the fire Ashe was unpacking his own gear, settling into his watch. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “Well,” said Rhapsody, lying down and trying to get comfortable, “I guess it depends on who you are. They aren’t mutually exclusive—your love for both can be equally strong. But that’s why I have so much respect for the institution of marriage, because husbands and wives choose each other out of everyone else in the world, and therefore ought to be accorded the acknowledgment that this is the most special relationship of their lives.”

  From across the fire came a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sigh. “You really have led a sheltered life, Rhapsody.”

  Rhapsody thought for a moment about answering, then decided against it. “Good night, Ashe. Wake me when it’s my watch.”

  “Had you ever thought about just doing it the regular way?”

  “Doing what?”

  “The grandchildren process?”

  “Hhmm?” She was almost asleep already.

  “You know, finding a husband, having children, letting them have the grandchildren—is this a concept you’re familiar with?”

  Deep within the bedroll he heard a musical yawn. “I already told you,” came the sleepy voice, “I don’t expect I’ll live that long.”

  In the night he woke her as her watch came due. She felt him shaking her gently.

  “Rhapsody?”

  “Hmmm? Yes?”

  “It’s your watch. Do you want to sleep a little longer?”

  “No,” she said, pulling herself free from the bedroll. “But thank you.”

  “You didn’t mean what you said earlier, did you? About Achmed?”

  She looked at him foggily. “What?”

  “You would never, well, mate with Achmed, would you? The thought has been churning my stomach for the last three hours.”

  Rhapsody was now awake. “You know, Ashe, I really don’t like your attitude. And frankly, it’s none of your concern. Now go to sleep.” She made ready her bow and arrow, and stirred the dying fire, causing it to roar back to life, finding fuel from some unknown source.

  Ashe stood above her a moment longer, then the shadows on the other side of the fire took him. If she hadn’t been watching, Rhapsody would not even have known where he lay.

  4

  When dawn came the next day they rose in heavy mist that blanketed the forest. It burned off quickly in the light of the rising sun, and they set out on what they knew was the last leg of the journey.

  Midday they came to Tar’afel River, the child of the same waterway that carved the canyons of the Teeth uncounted millennia before. It bisected the forest lands of northern Roland, forming an unofficial boundary between the inhabited and generally uninhabited woodlands.

  The Tar’afel was a strong river, wide as a battlefield, its current swift. Rhapsody walked to the edge of the woods and watched it, roaring in fury and swollen with the rains of early spring. She glanced back at Ashe, who had made a quick camp and was preparing the noonday meal over a small campfire.

  “How much of this is floodplain?” she asked, pointing to the riverbank and the grassy area between it and the forest.

  “Almost all of it,” he replied, not looking up. “It’s over its banks a bit now. By the end of spring the water will be up to where you’re standing.”

  Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened to the music of the rushing river. Her homeland had been bisected by a great river, too, though she had never seen it. She could tell that the current was uneven, faster in some places than others, and by listening to the variations in tonal quality she could almost plot a map through it, finding the sheltered spots. After the meal was over she would put the theory to the test.

  They ate in companionable silence, the noise of the water drowning out the ability to converse in anything but a shout. Rhapsody found herself forgetting several times that
Ashe was there. When she remembered to look she could always see him, as he didn’t move from his spot, but unless she was concentrating he slipped from her focus, and from her view. Whatever magic was bound up in the cloak he always wore, hooded without exception, it was compelling enough to let him disappear from the mind as well as from the eye.

  After they had finished eating they repacked the gear, and Rhapsody set about cleaning up the campsite. She was getting ready to extinguish the fire when Ashe began picking up the equipment in preparation of leaving. Rhapsody was not ready to go yet.

  “Stay here.” Ashe shifted his gear onto one shoulder and hoisted her pack onto the other. Before Rhapsody could protest he had crossed the floodplain and entered the river, wading across effortlessly.

  Within moments the water was up to his waist, but his body mass seemed to be offering no resistance to the racing flow of the river. In fact, he left no wake or disturbance at all—the water flowed around him as though it was moving through him. Halfway across the river he was almost indistinguishable from the water itself.

  Rhapsody was not really surprised, though she made note. He must be tied to water as I am to fire, she thought, although she realized a moment later that it might have been an effect of the sword he carried; perhaps the first was true as a result of the second. That explained many things she had not understood until now, particularly the source of the water to replenish the misty cloak.

  It also explained his obsession about what he suspected was her Cymrian heritage—he must be one too, and probably one of early origin, given the amount of elemental lore he obviously had access to. She felt a tug at her heart. Perhaps he had lived through the war, and whatever deformity he was hiding behind the cloak was from that time.

  And finally, she now understood why they were comfortable around each other and there was no attraction between them—they were comprised of different and opposing elements. She was grateful; with the exception of Achmed and Grunthor, he was the first adult male in her memory she was at ease with. It was much like being around her brothers, and with that realization came a sudden wave of homesickness and grief that she thought she had put long behind her.

  Catching her off guard, the heartache doubled her over, and she struggled to hold back sudden tears. Rhapsody pressed her arms against her stomach and took several quick breaths, the technique she had learned ages before to combat the painful memories, and shook her head violently as if to shake loose the thoughts from her mind.

  “Rhapsody! Rhapsody, are you all right?” She looked up to see Ashe, mid-river, halfway back from offloading the gear. Though she couldn’t see his face, there was alarm in his voice.

  She stood erect again, smiled and waved. “Fine. I’m fine,” she shouted over the roar of the river.

  Ashe had quickened his pace, and moments later he was out of the water and crossing the floodplain until he stood beside her again. He was breathing heavily; he put a hand on her shoulder and looked down into her face.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said absently. She was staring at his hand. It was as dry as if he had never touched the water at all, as was the rest of him. “That’s an interesting trick.”

  “You like that, do you? Well, it does come in handy. Now, let’s get going. Here,” he said, and he opened his arms to her.

  Rhapsody stared at him, not comprehending. “What? You want a hug?”

  “No, I’m going to carry you.”

  “Bugger off.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She coughed. “Sorry, that was rude and ungracious. No, thank you. I can make it on my own.”

  Ashe laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. The water’s up to my waist—it would be over your head. Now, come.”

  Rhapsody’s face lost its natural smile. “First, I may be small of stature, but your waist is not taller than my head. Second, I do not want you to carry me. I said I was capable of making the passage and I meant it. Now, I appreciate your concern and your offer of help, but I can do this on my own. If you want to provide some assistance, you could carry my cloak for me. That would be useful, and I’d be grateful.”

  “I’m going to carry all of you. Gods, you don’t stand a chance in that current. You don’t weigh enough.”

  Rhapsody looked at him as directly as she could, hoping she was making eye contact. “No. Thank you.” She walked to the campfire, crouched down and extinguished it, then she stood and began to adjust her clothing and belongings for the trip across the river.

  The current was growing steadily, and Ashe was tired of waiting. He checked the integrity of the bindings on his gear, then went up behind her and effortlessly swept her off her feet. He began carrying her to the river, picking his way carefully among the rocks on the floodplain.

  The blow that snapped his head back felt like it was delivered by a man twice her size. Ashe staggered back a few paces, dropping her to the ground. He watched in detached admiration, and more than a little pain, as she executed a fairly impressive horseman’s rollout and came up crouched in defensive position, dagger and sword fully drawn. The intensity of the anger on her face amazed him.

  “I’m sorry.” He took a step toward her and stopped as she slashed at the air between them, a murderous look on her face. “Rhapsody, forgive me, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “My refusal wasn’t clear to you?”

  “No. I mean yes. There’s no excuse, except, well, perhaps it’s just a natural impulse, you know—I mean—I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.” His words ground to a sheepish halt, under the fury of her eyes. They were blazing, green as the grass, and they held none of the ready forgiveness she had so easily extended for other rudenesses she had suffered in the past.

  “Men have used the excuse of natural impulse to justify many things they did and wanted to do to me. Make no mistake, Ashe—I swear by whatever is holy in this unholy place that before you or anyone else takes me anywhere or in any way against my will, one of us will be dead. This time I think it would have been you.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said, rubbing his chin.

  “But it wouldn’t matter even if it is me who dies. I’ll not be taken in any way against my will. Not by you; not by anyone.”

  “I understand,” he said, but he didn’t, not fully. The degree to which she was upset flabbergasted him; her face was as red had he had ever seen it, and she was angry to a degree she had never been, even in battle.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Tell me what to do to make amends.”

  “Just stay away from me.” Her face began to cool, but still she glared at him as she walked to the water’s edge, looking across. He could tell she was calculating something. Then she sheathed her weapons, turned and left the riverbank and began to walk south again in the direction they had just come. She paused at the edge of the floodplain.

  “Well, you’ve cost me some valuable gear.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Ashe said. “It hasn’t been injured—you can see for yourself when we get to the other side.”

  “I won’t be going on with you. We part company here.”

  “Wait—”

  “You can sell it when you get back to Bethany, or wherever it is you’re going,” she said, walking away. “Perhaps it will pay for your time serving as guide. Goodbye.”

  Ashe was dumbfounded. Surely she was not so offended by this that she would abandon her quest and her musical instruments over it—yet there she was, rapidly disappearing into the forest. He ran after her, struggling to catch up.

  “Rhapsody, wait—please, wait.”

  She drew her sword again and turned to face him. She no longer looked annoyed, just guarded. And there was a look of resignation on her face that he had never seen before; it twisted his heart, though he had no idea why.

  He stopped, leaving a respectable distance between them, and pondered the extremity of her reaction. Men have used the excuse of natural i
mpulse to justify many things they did and wanted to do to me. Dismay knotted his stomach as he began to suspect what she might have meant. He felt sick as he contemplated it.

  Never in his life before had he been at such a loss for words, so unsure of what to do. She had a way of unbalancing him, and had from the moment he had first met her in Bethe Corbair. He cursed his own stupidity and tried to think of what he could say to win back her trust.

  Ashe got down on one knee on the ground before her. “Rhapsody, please forgive me. What I did was stupid and thoughtless, and you have every right to be angry. If you’ll just come back I swear to you that I will never touch you again against your will. Please. What you are looking for is too important to give up just because you have an idiot for a traveling companion.”

  Rhapsody looked at him with no real expression on her face, saying nothing. For the first time Ashe could not read her thoughts by looking into her eyes; they were closed to him. Anxiety was beginning to choke him, and though he displayed no outward sign, he felt that if she were to abandon him and her mission that he might die right there for lack of a good reason to go on. He knew that she had no personal investment in this undertaking, that her motives were altruistic, that walking away would be easy; her obnoxious sovereign back in Ylorc would be thrilled. At the edge of his consciousness the dragon in his blood berated him mercilessly, but it was no worse than what he was saying to himself.

  Finally she dropped her eyes and sheathed her sword again. She made no gesture toward him, but located a large stick the size of a quarterstaff and walked directly back to the river. She tested the depth of the first area she had guessed was sheltered by the rocks of the riverbed and the pattern of the current, and found that it was, in fact, shallower. She turned and gave Ashe a measured look.

  “Don’t distract me.”

  Ashe nodded.

  Rhapsody closed her eyes and spoke the river’s name. She began to hum a tune that matched the music of the current. When she finally located the right pitch and note pattern she could see the river in her mind as a tremendous continuous flow of power, racing along the space before her eyes.