Prophecy

  “I hope you won’t,” said Rial. “’Twould be a shame if you became self-conscious about something that might be useful to the people of your blood. You are Liringlas, are you not?”

  “My mother was.”

  “Aye, I thought as much. Well, ’tis an honor to meet you then, Rhapsody. I have only seen Liringlas visitors once before, when some of Cymrian descent came from Manosse to pay homage to the Great White Tree and stopped to pay a visit to Queen Terrell.”

  “Queen Terrell is the ruler here, then?”

  “She was,” said Rial, his dark eyes shining. “She has been dead three hundred years now. Her son’s reign has come and gone as well; he died quite young, leaving no heir.

  “At the moment the Lirin have no sovereign. I serve as Lord Protector. There are three others who serve as liaisons to each of the other Lirin factions that were subject to the queen as well, the Lirinwer of the plains to the southeast, the sea-Lirin to the southwest, and the Manossian contingent. The Manossians have their own government, but see themselves ultimately as subjects of Tyrian, or at least they did when there was a ruler. Now we are a fragmented people, almost as divided as Roland. ’Tis a shame, really.”

  Rhapsody didn’t know what to say. She had expected to be interrogated for the murderous act of pillage that Cedelia quizzed her about, and instead she was receiving a lesson in Tyrian politics from the Lord Protector himself. Her forehead came to rest in her hand, her elbow on the table.

  Rial rose and went to the door. He whistled a strange trill, and a moment later a guard came with a skin of water. Rial thanked him and brought it to her.

  “Here; I can see you are overwhelmed. Why don’t you have a drink and rest for a moment?”

  Rhapsody accepted the skin, smiling. “Thank you. You’re right; I am overwhelmed. I’m horribly sorry to hear about the raid on the Lirin village, but I didn’t have anything to do with it, I really didn’t.”

  Rial nodded. “I didn’t think that you did. These border incursions have been going on for years, Rhapsody; your arrival in Tyrian had unfortunate timing. What can you tell me about your companion?”

  Rhapsody thought for a moment. She was still unsure, after all these months in this new land, whom she should trust. Ashe had asked her to be his ally, and yet if she had inadvertently led him into Tyrian and he was guilty of the raid, she was responsible as well. She owed it to the people of her blood to help them find the aggressor.

  On the other hand, if for some reason Rial and the Lirin were involved in something corrupt, something to do with the demon. Elynsynos spoke of, she might be responsible for delivering an innocent man into evil hands. Lord Stephen had said that his wife had died in a brutal raid at Lirin hands. Achmed’s policy of total isolation, trusting none but themselves, was looking better all the time.

  “Not much that’s accurate, I’m afraid. He calls himself Ashe. He guided me here from Ylorc—er, Canrif. He has done nothing to harm me, or anyone else in my time with him. He always walks hooded and cloaked. I have no plans to see him again.”

  Rial nodded again. “And why is it that you have come to Tyrian now?”

  “I am looking for Oelendra.”

  “Would you mind if I asked the reason?”

  Rhapsody looked at him directly. “No, I don’t mind. I’m hoping she will train me in the sword.”

  Rial leaned back and looked thoughtful. “And how did you come to hear about Oelendra? She does not commonly train those outside of Tyrian anymore.”

  Rhapsody thought of Elynsynos and smiled to herself. “Someone thought she would be the best person to train me in the sword I carry.”

  “You have a unique kind of sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. I am a bit of an aficionado of the sword myself. May I see it?”

  Rhapsody considered the wisdom of fulfilling his request, then decided to grant it. She prepared herself in case she had to fight her way out of the longhouse. Rial looked like a formidable adversary, and she would probably have to unleash all of her fire lore to get by him.

  “Very well,” she said, and drew Daystar Clarion.

  The sword came forth with a blinding flash that filled the cabin with stark white light, then settled into the flames that licked up the glowing blade. Rial’s eyes opened wide in shock and he rose slowly to his feet, unable to take his eyes off the weapon.

  “Daystar Clarion,” he said. His voice was filled with awe.

  “Yes.”

  After a long moment he tore his eyes away from the sword and stared at her. “You are the Iliachenva’ar.”

  “I believe so, if that’s what this sword’s bearer is called,” Rhapsody said, trying not to sound flippant.

  Rial lapsed into amazed silence again. Finally, he spoke.

  “I will take you to Oelendra now.”

  20

  Rhapsody’s new guide was a man named Clovis, whose hair and eye color were so close to that of Cedelia that they could have been twins. He had a readier smile, however, and Rhapsody felt slightly more at ease with him as she was led from the longhouse and onto a southerly path. Rial touched her arm as she prepared to go.

  “Rhapsody, I hope you know that you are welcome here in Tyrian. The forest itself has made that abundantly clear, and I hope I have as well.”

  “Thank you,” she answered, smiling up at the Lord Protector. “Now let’s see if Oelendra agrees with you.”

  “She will, no doubt. Oelendra has her eccentricities and her temper, but she is a wise woman. She wants more than anything to see the world safe and at peace; remember that.”

  Rhapsody tried to keep her smile from fading as Rial bent over her hand and turned to leave. She remembered Ashe’s comments about his friends finding Oelendra to be a harsh, humorless taskmaster, but decided that whatever lack of humor she possessed, it could not be as bad as Achmed’s. She watched as Rial faded into the trees, then followed Clovis down the forest path.

  After an hour’s walk they came to the edge of a large clearing. It was a vast garden, almost a park, with sparsely spaced ornamental trees, tall grasses, and wildflowers giving it a feel that was more akin to a wild land than a formal garden. But here and there were touches that showed the work of Lirin hands. A well-manicured path, a bed of flowers whose colors were too perfectly suited to be the haphazard choice of nature, the lack of any underbrush all pointed to guidance and intervention rather than random growth.

  Off the neatly trimmed path, not far into the garden, stood a group of children, all with wooden swords, laughing at a joke by the sole adult crouched in their midst. Rhapsody turned to Clovis, who had stopped. He gestured toward the children.

  They were gathered around an older woman with long silver-blond hair touched with streaks of gray and white. She wore no armor and bore no weapon, and was dressed in a simple white shirt and brushed leather trousers that looked as if they had seen much wear. The woman spoke in soft tones to the children, patiently adjusting one child’s hold on his toy sword. Then she stopped as if she had heard something.

  The woman stood, saying something in a low voice to the children before she began to approach Rhapsody. Rhapsody caught her breath as the woman crossed the garden, struck by the sight of her. She had shoulders almost as broad as Achmed or Ashe did, and coloring that made Rhapsody’s hands grow clammy; the silver-blond hair, the rosy-gold skin, the long, thin limbs: She was Liringlas, one of the People of the Fields, a Skysinger, the same kindred as Rhapsody’s own mother, a breed of Lirin that Rhapsody had seen no other traces of since long before she left the Island.

  “Mhivra evet liathua tyderae. Itahn veriata.”

  Rhapsody felt her heart miss a beat. Spoken in Ancient Lirin, the words were from another time: In you two rivers meet. How appropriate. The accent, the dialect, were exactly as Rhapsody’s own mother would have spoken, and the metaphor of joining rivers was one from Serendair used to describe those Lirin of mixed blood.

  “Welcome,” the woman said as sh
e came close, smiling. Rhapsody found herself unable to move or answer, as a tangle of old emotions rose up in her heart. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came forth. Her eyes met the eyes of the woman and found the memory of a time long forgotten in them. A look of wonder spread slowly over her face, following the path of a tear that fell, unnoticed. “I am Oelendra.” The woman placed her hand on Rhapsody’s shoulder in a gesture of tenderness. “I am most happy to see you.”

  She finally found her voice. “Rhapsody. I am Rhapsody,” she said. “Oelendra, like the fallen star.” An infinitesimal musical sound danced in the air as she spoke the word, whirling like an invisible funnel cloud until it shattered lightly, unseen, on the wind. “They didn’t tell me you were Liringlas.” She smiled, oblivious to her own tears.

  “And they didn’t tell me you were the Canwr that we heard filling the forest with music, but that makes sense. You must have traveled very far, and I can see you are weary. Come with me and I will get you something to drink and a place to rest yourself.”

  Rhapsody considered the woman’s statement. She had not rested for more than two hours at a time since she had entered the woods of Tyrian; by her best recollection that had been eight days ago. The call of the woods and the deepening magic all around her had lulled her, as if in a dream, and she had not felt the need for rest until now. Now it was as if she could finally let down a burden she had been carrying for a long time, in a place where it would be safe. Exhaustion roared through her, unchecked.

  “I am a little tired,” she admitted.

  “Thank you, Clovis.” Rhapsody’s guide nodded, and walked back up the path, disappearing, as Rial had, into the woods. Oelendra took Rhapsody’s arm. “Come along; you’re exhausted, no doubt.” She led Rhapsody across the meadow and through an arbor of flowering trees, until they came to the edge of a field near the hollow of a hill. There a small turf-roofed house stood, close to the steepest part of the hillside. It had white plastered walls which revealed the wooden framework of the building, glass windows with heavy shutters, and a stone chimney which presently produced little smoke. Oelendra led her inside through the sunken front door.

  “Please, sit down, make yourself at home.” She crossed over to a rather large fireplace, where a small pot hung over the low embers. “Sit anywhere.”

  Once inside, Rhapsody saw that much of the house was also sunken, built at a level below the ground, which made it far larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. They had entered through a small foyer into a much larger room which seemed to make up almost half of the house.

  Like Oelendra herself, the furniture was not what Rhapsody would have expected. The house was starkly decorated, with little in the way of comfort or ornamentation. Two hard-backed chairs were positioned before the large stone hearth which served as the inside wall of the room. A sofa was placed nearby, and in the corner was a simple willow rocking chair. At the other end of the room was a solidly built dark pine table, with two long benches and two thick chairs. Aside from this, a series of large pillows, none of which appeared to match, seemed to serve as the rest of the furniture. The weapons rack near the door held a battered steel sword, without ornamentation, and a strange curved bow made of white wood.

  Rhapsody sank gratefully into the willow rocking chair and sighed in relief. Her feet burned from all the walking she had done. She looked about the room as her host busied herself at the hearth. The room had a high ceiling open to roof, along the edge of which ran a balcony. The large fireplace had several iron doors that seemed to be ovens for baking, and a central hearth in which a small set of logs presently burned in low embers.

  The walls inside the house were like those of the exterior, whitewashed with wooden framework exposed. A ladder led up to a loft, which overlooked the large room. The floors were bare except for a single rug woven in a complex geometric design. Rhapsody smiled. Without knowing why, here at last she felt at ease and at home. Oelendra turned around and walked over to her.

  “Here, this may warm your heart a little,” she said as she handed Rhapsody a large ceramic mug. It was hot to the touch, but Rhapsody welcomed the warmth in the cool spring air. The mug was filled with a golden-red liquid from which the rich smell of spice wafted forth. Rhapsody took a sip, and her mouth was at once filled with the sweet taste of a gentle mead and oranges mixed with a medley of hibiscus, rosehips, cloves, and cinnamon blended with other subtler spices. The flavor brought back a wealth of memories she had all but forgotten.

  “Dol mwl,” she said softly, closing her eyes and smiling sadly. “My mother used to give this to us after we came in from playing on a cold day.”

  “Aye, I thought perhaps you knew it,” Oelendra replied, “though I would hazard that your mother used honey rather than mead. Mine did.”

  “I haven’t had this since I was a child.”

  “Humans just don’t appreciate it. Even the Gwenen and Lirin of the wood couldn’t make it. They always used sickly sweet mead rather than the mellow, lighter variety. The only good dol mwl I could get outside of the longhouses was at the Crossroads Inn in the old land, and that was a long time ago. Now I’m afraid it has faded from our culture, swallowed by the sea along with countless other treasures. Alas, I am the only one who seems to enjoy it, or at least I was until you came.”

  “They don’t know what they’re missing,” Rhapsody said. She opened her eyes and looked at the woman in front of her. Oelendra sat on the arm of one of the chairs with an air of ease that made Rhapsody relax. Her gray eyes gleamed as she waited comfortably through the silence that might have seemed awkward in other company.

  She’s beautiful, Rhapsody thought, but the warrior’s build was far from the traditional feminine figure. Her shoulders were broad and well muscled, her skin, though rosy, was not the skin of youth, but carried the fine lines of age and years in the wilderness. Each movement showed a gentleness of spirit and an easy confidence that held no trace of arrogance. In her silver eyes Rhapsody thought she saw a nostalgic sadness. She tried to imagine how many generations those eyes had watched be born and die.

  “You must have a million questions,” Oelendra said, bringing Rhapsody back from her musings. “Let’s start answering some. I am Oelendra Andaris, the last Iliachenva’ar before you. I’ve been expecting you.”

  “You have? How did you know I was coming?”

  “’Twas more a matter of hoping than knowing, Rhapsody. I’ve been waiting for two decades for the sword to return. Sooner or later I knew it would come back, and that meant the Iliachenva’ar would come with it. I have to say, that she is a woman, Cymrian, and most especially Liringlas does my heart good.”

  “How did you know I was from the old world?”

  Oelendra smiled. “’Tis written all over you, dear, but besides that, I have not seen another Liringlas since I landed here myself. There were some that sailed with the Second Fleet that landed in Manosse, I’ve been told, but other than that, ’tis you and me. We’re all that is left of what was once a vast and noble line, some of the greatest warriors and scholars the world has ever seen.”

  Rhapsody looked uncomfortable. “You are, Oelendra, but please don’t ascribe those things to me. I’m a peasant, and my mother was a farm wife.”

  “Nobility has nothing whatsoever to do with social class or family lineage, Rhapsody, it has to do with the heart. Tell me why you’re here.”

  “I came to learn the sword, if you will teach me,” Rhapsody said, taking another sip of dol mwl. “I don’t really deserve to be carrying such a weapon unless I can use it well.”

  “The first characteristic: a desire to be worthy of the weapon,” said Oelendra, more to herself than to Rhapsody. Her gray eyes began to shine with a distant light. “And what do you intend to do with this new knowledge, should I agree to impart it to you?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly; I know that sounds inane, but I believe Daystar Clarion came to me for a purpose. Perhaps I can help mend the rift between the Cymrians, or
the Lirin, and help put a stop to these terrible border incursions.”

  “An aspiration to serve a higher cause,” murmured Oelendra. “And what if you die in the attempt?”

  “I expect to, actually,” Rhapsody said, smiling slightly. “I have a sense my time is limited, despite everything I’ve heard about Cymrian immortality. I hope to go down doing something worthwhile that will leave this place a little better than it was when I arrived here.”

  “The acknowledgment that there are things greater than one’s self, and a willingness to give one’s life for them,” said Oelendra softly. Her voice grew stronger as she put one last question to Rhapsody. “And what if you decide to use this power against the Lirin?”

  “You have my permission to dispatch me immediately, and without argument. I would never betray my own people.”

  “A loyalty and devotion to cause and kin,” said Oelendra. Her eyes cleared and she smiled finally. “Nay, Rhapsody, I’m afraid you’re wrong. You are no peasant, you are definitely Liringlas in your soul, whatever your father may have been. And you were born to be the Iliachenva’ar. I will be honored to train you.”

  “Perhaps you had best tell me what it means to be the Iliachenva’ar,” Rhapsody said awkwardly. “I don’t want to promise to be something I don’t even understand.”

  “Fair enough,” said Oelendra, settling back with her mug in the chair. “Iliachen; how would you translate that?”

  “Light into darkness, or from darkness.”

  “And of course you are familiar with the suffix ‘var’?”

  “Bringer, bearer.”

  “Aye. So, obviously, the word means “bringer of light into a dark place.”

  “Or from one.”

  “Exactly.” Oelendra looked pleased. “In the old world, Daystar Clarion had two other names, Ilia, meaning Light, and Firestar. I’m sure you’ve noticed why that second appellation came about. So do you now understand the role of the Iliachenva’ar?”