“Well, I’ve had to do a lot of that.” Rhapsody took a deep drink.
“It shows,” Oelendra said. Rhapsody looked for signs of ridicule or sarcasm in the warrior’s expression, but all she saw was honest admiration. “Now ’tis time to learn to listen.to your body, to learn the rhythm that you move to, then learn to read that rhythm in others and match your movements to theirs. You are already a Singer, Rhapsody; now we will make you a Dancer.” Oelendra drew her sword again, and they returned to the lesson.
They spent hours that day going through a basic series of attacks, defenses, and the motions to get between them, until, at the end of the day, Rhapsody could perform the ritual without effort. When the sun was sinking low and the clouds were touched with pink, she ran through the paces with Daystar Clarion, and the moves seemed much more fluid than they had before.
As she swung the sword through the brisk open air the flames of the blade seemed to pick up the soft pastels and touches of crimson that appeared in the sky, the silver hilt glistening gold in the deepening hues of the sun. Rhapsody felt moved by the dance, and as her arm swept through the last of the strikes, a slow slash from above, she felt a comforting sense of balance and strength. She took a deep breath on finishing the routine, and let it out slowly before turning to her teacher for her comments. Oelendra stood with arms crossed, a slight smile on her face.
“’Tis a good start,” she said, “Now, come with me.”
She began to walk out of the clearing and down a forest path. Rhapsody followed, sheathing her sword. The air became more chilly with the promise of night as they passed beneath a series of trees whose ancient boughs stretched above their heads like the arches of a basilica. The bright leaves filtered the light of the setting sun into a peaceful shade of green, broken by the occasional glitter of gold. They walked quickly, and Oelendra did not speak. At last they broke free of the forest, and came to a small bald hill, the sky around them rapidly turning a deep shade of orange, the clouds trimmed in scarlet.
“’Twas your mother that taught you the evening song?” Oelendra asked as she made her way up the hill.
The question and the memory it evoked caught Rhapsody off guard. “Yes, in my childhood, that and the morning aubade and all the other lauds and songs of the Liringlas. My father used to joke that she had a song for every occasion.”
“She probably did,” Oelendra said seriously. “’Twas the way of our people. Would you mind if I joined you in the evening song tonight?”
“No, of course not,” said Rhapsody, a little surprised. “As I told you last night, it will be wonderful to sing with someone who remembers the songs.”
“I remembered them last night for the first time,” Oelendra said, stopping at the rounded top of the hill, where the reddening sun was touching the western forest with the colors of fire and blood. “I had lost them when I came to this place. ’Twas you that brought them back to me, Rhapsody. You are probably the only person in the world who might be able to understand what not having them, and then getting them back, has meant to me.” Rhapsody blinked, then smiled, and the ancient warrior turned away, scanning the horizon. “’Tis time. You should draw Daystar Clarion, and hold it through the song. ’Tis, after all, bound to the stars as well as to fire, and through exposure to the stars that its power grows.”
Rhapsody did as she was told, noting that the fires of the sword now matched the color of the sky. She closed her eyes and felt the sword’s presence, became aware of its increasing power. The sensation tingled through her hands and into her being, as if Daystar Clarion was awakening, and as it did was awakening a piece of herself as well.
Then she heard Oelendra’s voice begin the evening song. It was a voice that had been weathered by age and sorrow, but there was a sympathy to it that moved Rhapsody. It was like the voice of a grandmother singing to a well-loved child, or a widow singing the lament of the husband who had fallen in battle. It was a strange and sad voice, to which Rhapsody softly joined her own.
As they sang, the sun slipped beneath the western hills, the outer reaches of the sky turning from blue to orange to crimson to indigo. Above the western horizon a twinkling light became visible. The sun set, the evenstar appeared fully, and the flames of Daystar Clarion changed from hues that mimicked the sun to a silvery white.
As if in answer, Oelendra began to sing a new song, one with which Rhapsody was intimately familiar. It was a song to the star called Seren, the star that the Lirin of the old world believed had watched over their home, the Island that was no more. Rhapsody tried to join her, but quickly choked; Seren was the star she had been born beneath, the one Ashe had heard her call Aria. She could hear again, as clearly as if the memory were the Present, her mother’s voice singing the laud, teaching her the song of her guiding star. Her eyes swam with forbidden tears, and Rhapsody’s face became hot with the effort to hold them back.
Unwelcome images from the Past, the memories she had fought to keep in abeyance, flooded her mind; pictures of the last time she had seen Barney and Dee at the Hat and Feathers, Pilam the baker and the other townspeople in her daily life from the old times. She thought of the children she had played for at the fountain in the town square, Analise and Carli and Ali and Meridion, who used to ask her for the same tune over and over.
The roaring flood of memories came more quickly now, thoughts of childhood friends dead a thousand years; images of her brothers, her father, her mother. As the picture of her mother’s face formed, unbidden, in her mind, she looked up and saw Oelendra singing to the sky, her lined face silvery in the light of the stars.
The serendipity was too much for her. The tune was quickly abandoned; she lost her struggle as tears flowed freely down her face, and her body began to shake. Achmed’s mandate to her drowned in the sorrow she had held behind the dam that his harsh words had created in her soul their first night on the Root, a barrier that had withstood the loss of everyone she loved, the world she had known, the life she had been taken away from that night. Rhapsody bent over and clutched her waist, trying to invoke the fail-safe that had always been able to drive the tears back before, but the attempt was useless. She sank to the ground and dissolved into wracking sobs.
Darkness swallowed the hillside as she felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder. Words were spoken in a kind tone near her ear, but she didn’t hear them. She looked up into Oelendra’s face, and the warrior spoke the words again.
“I know.”
Tears from an even deeper well of sorrow came forth. Oelendra took Rhapsody into her arms and drew the young Singer’s head to her strong shoulder as she wept. The younger woman choked out words that were meaningless to anyone but herself. Oelendra slowly rocked her back and forth, gently stroking the shining hair that gleamed in the starlight.
“Let it come, darling, let it all come. This—this is where we begin.”
They sat thus all through the night, Rhapsody cradled in Oelendra’s arms. At times she would grow silent, only to return to crying so hard that she thought she would die. All the while Oelendra spoke words of comfort that were not meant to stop the mourning, but to ease and encourage its passing, as one might hope to ease the pain of childbirth.
The morning found them still on the hillside. Rhapsody awoke to the soft singing of her mentor, who was greeting the rising of the daystar and the sun with the ancient song of their people. Her head cloudy from tears, Rhapsody joined in, her voice breaking sporadically. Her hand shook as she pulled the sword from its black ivory scabbard and held it beneath the heavenly bodies rising in the sky, its rippling flames reflecting soft tones of blue and rose and gold as the sun crested the horizon.
When the sun stood clear in the sky and the evenstar was no longer visible through the morning light, Oelendra rose from the ground and helped Rhapsody to stand. They returned to Oelendra’s house and Rhapsody settled into the pillows on the floor with the cup of tea her mentor put gently into her hands. Over breakfast they reminisced about the old world, speaki
ng fondly of people and things that they missed and knew they would not see again. There was healing laughter, a few tears, and much plain talk. Finally, when Rhapsody was feeling better, Oelendra gave her a discerning look.
“You have not really mourned your loss until now, have you?”
Rhapsody drained her mug of tea. “No.”
Oelendra nodded. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
“I was forbidden to.”
“By whom?”
She smiled. “The leader of the expedition here. My sovereign, I guess. Someone I hated at the time, but have come to trust implicitly. One of my dearest friends.”
“Why did he forbid you to cry?”
Rhapsody thought for a moment. “I’m not entirely certain; I think it offends his ears. He’s rather sensitive to vibrations, that might be part of it. But he was very clear about it. I was not to cry ever again.”
“An unwise order, if I have ever heard one. Rhapsody, the rules I am teaching you as your mentor in the use of Daystar Clarion are essential to your survival, but there is more to life than just surviving. This one is offered as your friend and one who has lost what you have, and so understands what it has cost you. If the first rule is listen to your body, the second is listen to your heart.
“You have a remarkable ability to keep going when both parts of you are desperately in need of rest and renewal. Take the time to attend to yourself better, not just your body, but your soul as well. The cost of not doing so is too great to endure. Grieve if you need to. Carrying that much pain will defeat you eventually as surely as going into battle overwrought physically. Look after yourself. If you don’t, you will never be able to look after anyone else.”
Rhapsody smiled. “I will. Thank you, Oelendra, thank you for all you’ve done. Now, if you’re ready, I think I’d like to get back to work.” She rinsed her mug in the water barrel and went to the sword rack, belting her sword as her mentor smiled.
23
Steel clashed against steel as the two Liringlas women sparred in the courtyard of Oelendra’s garden. Blow after blow Rhapsody landed, and blow after blow Oelendra parried with little effort. Now and again the Lirin warrior would lash out with the flat of her blade, smacking Rhapsody in the calf, thigh, or occasionally on her side, but most of the blows to the vital areas the Singer managed to block or dodge.
In her mind she could hear Grunthor bellowing at her.
STRIKE! Get your pretty ’ead out o’yer arse and pay attention, or Oi’ll rip it off and stick it on my poleaxe!
Rhapsody grasped Daystar Clarion with both hands and pressed forward. She mustered all her strength and brought the sword down hard on the warrior.
Oelendra held up her sword with her left hand and parried the blow with ease. Then she punched out with her right fist, landing a jab on Rhapsody’s chin. The world vanished as white pain flashed before her eyes.
She stumbled and fell to the ground three feet back, hardly able to believe she could have received a harder blow from Grunthor. Rhapsody blinked the spots away from her eyes as she lay sprawled on the ground, uncertain where, or even who, she was for a moment. A time-weathered face appeared above her.
“You are not a Bolg, Rhapsody,” Oelendra said as she stood over her student. “If you try to fight like one, you will be killed. I’ve told you before your physical strength is not your strongest point, you shouldn’t rely on it so much. If you have need of strength, you can draw on it from the sword, but you shouldn’t rely on it alone. You won’t live long as the Iliachenva’ar if you let the sword wield you. Now, are you all right?”
“Yes,” Rhapsody said as her bloodied lip began to swell. “Just a little dizzy.”
“Very well, we’ll rest a moment before we give it another try.”
“No, I’m all right.” Rhapsody gingerly touched her bruised chin as she came to her feet. She assumed a ready position, and the two returned to sparring. This time Rhapsody’s movements were more carefully considered, and at the end of the match Oelendra nodded in approval.
Finally the rhythm became intrinsic, and Rhapsody began to land more blows, driving her instructor back and occasionally unbalancing her. She breathed deeply and concentrated on the music she could feel in her body, and how it matched with the vibrational blur that was her opponent and friend. With her eyes nearly closed, she waited for the moment when Oelendra’s hand swung up, sword poised, then slashed her across the side, following her stroke with a blazingly fast blow to her teacher’s wrist. She opened her eyes in alarm when she heard Oelendra’s sword clatter on the cobblestones of the courtyard.
Oelendra was uninjured and smiling broadly; it was the most delight Rhapsody had ever seen on her mentor’s face. The warrior extended her hand. Rhapsody took it and received a congratulatory handshake.
“Good work. Now we’ll stop fooling around and get serious.”
Rhapsody looked at her in dismay. “That wasn’t serious?”
The smile faded from Oelendra’s face. “I’m afraid not, dear. With what you have to face, what you just accomplished was enough to keep you alive long enough to see it kill you.”
“Wonderful.”
“Well, ’tis an improvement. Before, you wouldn’t have even known what hit you.”
Rhapsody grimaced. “And you think seeing it is an improvement, given that choice? No wonder they think you’re insane, Oelendra.”
The warrior wrapped an arm around the Singer and led her home, laughing.
Their days soon settled into a quiet routine. Each morning, after devotions, Rhapsody meditated, clearing her mind of thoughts, trying to feel the rhythm of her own body and the world around her. This exercise complete, Oelendra would have her run through her sword routines, practicing her movements slowly and carefully until they seemed second nature to her. This would be followed by a sparring session, in which the two would enter mock combat, with Oelendra stopping to point out faults or where improvements could be made.
They would spend the afternoons wandering the woods or the city, talking of the history of the new world or telling stories of personal events, getting to know each other well. Rhapsody felt Oelendra to be a kindred soul, someone who understood where she had come from often better then she did herself. Though she kept some of the details of her exploits with Achmed and Grunthor, and all of her knowledge of Ashe, to herself, she found herself confiding her fears and dreams to the Lirin champion, trusting her as she had not anyone else for as long as she could remember. Oelendra was a perfect listener; she answered questions forthrightly and shared parts of her own heart and past as well. These times were as strengthening to the growth of Rhapsody’s soul as the physical exercises were to her body and ability as a sword bearer.
The evenings were filled with mental exercises, aimed at enhancing Rhapsody’s bond with the sword, as well as her own natural talents.
“As a Singer, you already know the world is made up of vibrations, waves of color, of light, of sound,” Oelendra said as they entered her chambers one evening not long after Rhapsody had arrived. “The world is full of constant motion which most people never see, and ’tis through such motion, such vibrations, that you are able to effect the world through music. This will be true of the use of Daystar Clarion as well. If you concentrate, focus on the patterns you can already see as a Namer, you can discover weaknesses in armor, areas of injury or vulnerability. When you have had more experience with this kind of concentration in combat, I will ask some of the Lirin soldiers to spar with you, especially those who have technique that is not perfect. Then you can practice finding your opponent’s weaknesses in combat.”
Rhapsody looked perplexed. “Isn’t this what we’re doing now?”
Oelendra smiled. “Do you do it blindfolded?”
“Oh.”
“At first I will have them go easy on you.”
“There’s really no point to that,” said Rhapsody, smiling. “My Bolg friends never do, and I tend to doubt my enemies will either, so you may as well l
et them at me without holding back. If I survive, I’ll be better for it.”
Oelendra returned her smile. Rhapsody’s matter-of-fact nature and simple honesty reminded the warrior of herself when she was younger. The young Singer was different in her outlook on life than she had been, however. Probably because she had grown up among humans, she lacked the natural reserve of the Lirin, and instead plunged into life with an eagerness that touched Oelendra’s heart in its recklessness.
It was an intense desire to celebrate the joy she saw around her, an insistence on believing there was good in situations where Oelendra herself saw none. Age and experience had taught her this was a life philosophy that guaranteed hurt, but it was scintillating to be around, exciting to be part of. She hoped Rhapsody’s need to burn brightly would more reflect her tie to the stars and their enduring, steady light, than the momentary glory of the fire to which she was also tied, which roared with passion and died quickly as the fuel that sustained it was consumed.
The lack of caution that was evident in almost every move Rhapsody made did not apply to the commitment of her heart, however. That she guarded with diligent wariness. Oelendra had noticed that she was willing to smile at the young Lirin men who handed her flowers in the street when they were out on their walks, or who left small gifts on Oelendra’s doorstep for her, but was unwilling to fulfill their requests for meetings in the glen or walks in the moonlight.
Whenever a man got his courage up to ask her to her face, she would either arrange for him to join the two of them for a meal, knowing how intimidating dining with the Lirin champion could be, or beg off, citing her need to train. Oelendra respected her privacy about it but wondered all the same. She was wise enough to know that she could train Rhapsody’s body but not her spirit. Ryle hira, she thought. Life is what it is, the old Liringlas expression. All she could do was give her tools and pray for the best.