Prophecy

  Night was beginning to set in; at the eastern horizon she saw a star appear and vanish behind the gauze of clouds riding the wind across the blackening sky. With the coming of the night came a wintry wind, strange in the waning days of summer, but not unknown in the Teeth. The endless expanse of mountains loomed large around and below her, circling her world in a dismal embrace. Jo turned toward the setting sun and willed it hurry. In darkness the only things visible would be the sky and the flat land; its clawlike underbelly of crags and fissures would disappear like a forgotten nightmare. Perhaps if she stayed here long enough she could disappear with it.

  “Why are you out here?”

  Jo whirled around to see the twilight advancing on the cloaked figure behind her. The wind flapped at his mantle and hood, revealing momentary glimpses of the familiar coppery hair and sea-blue eyes, as well as a look of sympathy and concern.

  A guttural sound of frustrated fury tore loose from Jo. “Gods, not you! Damn! Get out of here, Ashe! Leave me alone!”

  He had to sprint to catch up with her, and grabbed her arm as she made a blind dash back in the direction of the cliff. “Wait! Please wait. Whatever I did to upset you, I’m sorry. Please don’t run off. Talk to me. Please.”

  Jo wrenched her arm loose from his grip and glared at him. “Can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t want to talk to you. Go away!”

  Even beneath the hood Jo could see the hurt look cross his face. He took a step back and dropped his arms to his sides, adopting a posture that would not threaten her. “All right. I’m sorry. I’ll go if you want me to. But for goodness sake, don’t run over the edge for nothing. I was trying to help, not cause you to plummet to your death.”

  Jo waited in sullen silence for him to leave, but instead he stood and watched her.

  “Well? I’m waiting. Go away.”

  The wind shrieked across the heath and around them. Jo had to struggle to keep upright. His reply was nearly lost in its howl.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t leave you alone out here. It isn’t safe.”

  Rage contorted her face again. “I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know that. But you don’t have to. Friends watch each other’s backs, don’t they? We are still friends, aren’t we?”

  Jo turned back toward the setting sun. It was slipping over the outermost rim of the Teeth, casting its final rays in momentary brilliance before disappearing. To Jo it looked like the end of the world.

  “If you were my friend, Ashe, you would leave me alone and not try to force me back where I don’t want to be.”

  He walked around her until he was facing her again. “I would never force you to do anything, and I did not say you had to go anywhere.” He watched her anger cool a few degrees as she looked at him quizzically. “I just don’t want to you to be alone. I’ll stay here with you. As long as you need me to. All night, if necessary.”

  Jo felt her ire evaporate, and the old annoying longing flooded back. She struggled to keep it at bay, but it was all she could do to keep her feelings from showing on her face. “What about Rhapsody?”

  “What about Rhapsody?” he repeated.

  “Well, won’t she be wondering where you are?”

  “Why would she?”

  “Oh, I don’t know; that’s the funny thing about lovers. They have a tendency to expect you to be with them.”

  Beneath the hood she could see him smile. “Don’t worry about Rhapsody. She’ll be fine. She would want me here with you.”

  Rhapsody came back to the large table around which her companions sat and took a chair.

  “I thought we agreed you would leave your pets behind when you came to visit,” said Achmed, still not looking up from his reading.

  Rhapsody ignored the slight. “Do you already know why I’m here? Can we skip the formalities and go straight to the answer?”

  Amusement crossed the Firbolg king’s face, and he stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s see, why are you here? The fine wine, the excellent service, the ambiance—”

  Rhapsody sighed. “All right. Since you’re going to make this difficult, let’s start over. I’ve come to ask, as you damn well know, for your help in killing the Rakshas.”

  Achmed put down his papers. “For all you damn well know, it could have just left the room.”

  “No,” said Rhapsody. “It’s a separate entity; it just looks like Ashe. Please, Achmed, don’t torture me.”

  Grunthor’s face lit up. “There ya go; Oi knew she liked me best. Oh, can Oi do it, please, sir? Oi can be back in a jiffy with my thumb screws.”

  Rhapsody glared at him. “You shut up. I’m still not speaking to you.” The jocular look on the monstrous face turned into one of embarrassment.

  Achmed’s smile was wry. “Funny about that. Refusing to talk is what torture is designed to change. If you’re not speaking, I guess we really aren’t torturing you.”

  “No, you’re doing a mighty fine job of it. Please, will you help me? I don’t want Ashe to hunt it. If it finds him, the F’dor will know where he is, and try to take the rest of his soul. The demon has no hold on us; we can probably kill the Rakshas easily of we work together. This has been on our list to do since the House of Remembrance, anyway. I just want to make it a priority. Please. Help me kill the Rakshas.”

  Achmed leaned back in his chair and sighed. “All right, let’s review. Do you know for certain where it is, or who it is, or what it is?”

  “Where it is, no. But I brought back some dried blood from the wounds it took in our combat. The Rakshas was made from the F’dor’s blood, and it’s from the old world. I thought you might be able to use the blood to track it.” Achmed didn’t respond. “Who it is, you know this already. What you really mean is who it’s not—it’s not Ashe, Achmed. I’m sure of it.”

  “’Ow can you be so sure?” Grunthor asked.

  “Do you want the list, or will you just take my word for it?”

  Achmed and Grunthor glanced at each other. “Give us the list.”

  “Well, let’s see. Ashe has the eyes of a dragon. They are very different from the Rakshas’s—his pupils are slit vertically, while the Rakshas’s are round, the same as ours.”

  “Why would that be? I thought they were identical.”

  Rhapsody struggled to keep calm beneath the jeering tone in Achmed’s voice. “The piece of Ashe’s soul was ripped from him when the dragon within his blood was still dormant. When the Lord and Lady Rowan put the piece of a star in his chest, that pure, unbridled elemental power brought the dragon nature out, making it more dominant. I suspect his eyes were normal, like Llauron’s, before he was wounded.”

  “He told you this?”

  “No,” Rhapsody admitted. “We don’t talk about the Past.”

  “No? You talk about the Future, then?”

  “Not really. That’s a painful subject, too; we don’t have one together.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Oi don’t think so,” Grunthor interjected merrily. “If they’re not talking much, what do you think they’re doin’?” Rhapsody’s brow blackened with anger, and he hurried to deflect the coming assault. “Is that the whole list? What else is different about ’em?”

  “Well, when I fought the Rakshas I cut off one of its thumbs. Ashe has both his thumbs—”

  “He’s all thumbs. He probably had an extra. That proves nothing.”

  Rhapsody had had enough. “Look, this is stupid. If you don’t want to help me, I’ll, go after it myself.” She pushed back the heavy chair and rose to leave.

  “Oi would have to object to that, Yer Ladyship,” said Grunthor gently. “No disrespect intended, but Oi think he might just boot your charmin’ little arse if you’re alone.”

  “Never mind.” She stepped around the chair and pushed it up to the table.

  “Show me its blood.”

  Rhapsody regarded Achmed for a moment, trying to gauge his intent. Finally she reached into her pack
and pulled forth the clothes she had worn in Sepulvarta when she and the Rakshas fought in the basilica. They were soaked in a considerable amount of blood, though much of it had been obliterated by burned patches ivhere it had ignited on contact.

  Grunthor sat forward, looking impressed. “Is that all from ’im?” She nodded. “Well, then, Oi stand corrected; actually, Oi sit corrected. You musta been payin’ attention to the sword lessons, darlin’.”

  Achmed turned the garments over in his hands, concentrating on the stains. Rhapsody could feel a strange vibration emit from him, one she did not remember feeling before. There was a scratchiness to it, not unlike the sound a cricket made in the dark. Finally he looked up at her again.

  “Do you have any of Ashe’s blood?”

  “No.”

  “Oi could get some,” Grunthor offered helpfully.

  “No. That’s two, Grunthor. One more and you’re out of the will.”

  Achmed looked at Rhapsody for a few moments. Finally he spoke.

  “If I help you kill the Rakshas, can I expect your help in addressing whatever needs to be done in the Colony?”

  She eyed him seriously. “You can expect it even if you don’t.”

  “You may be required to fight.”

  “I know.”

  The Firbolg king nodded. “We’ll make plans for the first day of winter, then.”

  Rhapsody’s face began to glow. “You’ll do it, then? You’ll help Ashe? Help me kill the Rakshas?”

  “Yes. No. And yes,” Achmed stated flatly. “I told you before, my help is only for you. I’m also willing to do this because it needs to be done. Now get the map.”

  The only sound on the heath for the longest time was the unrelenting whine of the wind. Jo sat in staunch silence, casting the occasional sidelong glance at her uninvited chaperone, who sat patiently at a respectful distance, watching her. The awkwardness and embarrassment she felt was making it impossible to maintain her anger, and finally she worked up the courage to address him civilly.

  “Look,” she said, trying to sound like an adult, “why don’t you just go back to the meeting? I promise to go inside in a few minutes.”

  His answer was nearly lost in the wail across the billowing highgrass. “Nope.”

  Jo sprang to her feet. “Damn you, Ashe, I’m not a child! I have been taking care of myself my whole life; poor, stupid Jo doesn’t need you to protect her from the dark! You’re probably missing something important. Just go.”

  She watched him rise and begin to walk toward her, and her knees turned to water. As much as she wanted to hate him, at that moment all she could feel was the same wondrous, sickening cramp in her stomach that she had felt the first time she’d seen him in Bethe Corbair. She wanted to run from him, too, but she stood frozen to the spot as he stopped in front of her.

  His voice was gentle as he reached out and brushed the whipping strands of hair out of her eyes. “What could possibly be more important than making sure you’re safe?”

  “How about convincing Achmed to help Rhapsody kill the Rakshas?”

  Jo couldn’t see the his reaction, but the tone of his answer was solemn. “Achmed will do whatever he thinks is in his best interest, regardless of anything I might say. Besides, being with you is more important to me.”

  Her question slipped out before she could stop it. “Why?”

  He came a little closer, and his fingers moved from the flying strands of hair to caress her cheek. They stood, looking at each other, and Jo thought she could see the blue eyes twinkle inside the dark hood, like stars in the now-black sky above. There was a warmth in his voice that made her skin tingle.

  “Do you really need to ask me that, Jo?”

  The swirling wind spun all around her, and the blood rushed from Jo’s head, leaving her dizzy. The revulsion she felt at the craving that had descended on her body quickly succumbed to the craving itself, and she dropped her eyes in the useless hope that they would not betray her. She could feel the blood pounding in places she wished it wouldn’t.

  “Let’s go back,” she said.

  “Not yet; tarry a moment,” he replied, and his hand moved from her cheek to her chin. He lifted her face, and with the other hand took hold of his hood.

  Jo’s voice was a panicked whisper. “I want to go in now.”

  “So do I,” he said, and pulled back the hood. Even in the dark, the features that had originally stolen her heart—hair the color of burnished copper, eyes as blue as the center of the sky—had the same effect on her now. They were set in a face more handsome than even her insistent dreams had imagined. Jo felt her stomach melt, and the flesh between her legs began to burn with unwelcome desire. She watched, half in giddiness, half in horror, as he untied the mantle of his cloak and threw it on the ground. It was lined with brindled fur, and with the toe of his boot he spread it out until it covered the patchy grass next to them.

  Jo began to shake. “Ashe, what are you doing?”

  His second hand joined the first at her cheek, and he cradled her face as his eyes, even more beautiful in the dark than she had remembered, roamed over her. “Nothing that you don’t want,” he said, smiling down at her, his voice as warm as a crackling fire. “I told you I would never force you to do anything, didn’t I, Jo?”

  “Yes,” she whispered weakly.

  “And I meant every word, Jo. I would never compromise you in any way.” His lips lightly brushed her mouth, his tongue teasing the rim of her lips. “You do believe me, don’t you, Jo?”

  Her reply was barely audible. “Yes.”

  “I thought so. I’m glad you trust me,” he said, and then his lips took hers deeply, passionately—almost harshly.

  The heat of his kiss made Jo tremble violently. A rush of ardor surged up from the depths of her soul, from painful places that had been stunted by the life she had led, seeking solace, seeking acceptance. Her body grew clammy as the biting wind chilled the places soaked with sweat, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss, beseeching his body for warmth. He pulled her closer, and the crush of her body to his made Jo suddenly, painfully aware of the intensity of his arousal, and the disproportionate amount of strength between them.

  Now she was frightened. But more than that, she was jolted by the sudden thought of Rhapsody. With a sickening thud the reality of what was happening hit her, and she squirmed away, breaking free from his embrace.

  “Gods, what are we doing?” she moaned. “Ashe, please, let’s go back now.” She wheeled around and started back toward the path to the Cauldron.

  His hands closed on her shoulders from behind, gently but decisively. He held her stationary as his lips brushed her ear and cheek. His voice was warm and toneless above the howling wind.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve displeased you, Jo,” he murmured, gently nuzzling her neck beneath the straw-colored hair. “That was the last thing I wanted.” He turned her carefully around and looked down at her again.

  There was a decided look of sympathy in his eyes—perhaps that’s what makes them look so much more human, she thought. The brightness of his smile made her (heart quiver again, and guilt fought with desire within her once more.

  “You didn’t,” she answered, haltingly. “I just don’t want to hurt Rhapsody.”

  “Ah, yes, Rhapsody,” he said. “She’s lucky to have you for a friend, you know; being so concerned about her feelings. But who guards your feelings, Jo? Who appreciates you for all that is special about you?”

  Jo hung her head. “Don’t make fun of me, Ashe.”

  He knelt down on one knee before her and looked up at her face from below. “I’m not—I swear I’m not. Why would you think that?”

  “Because you know as well as I do that there is nothing special about me,” she replied fiercely, choking back tears.

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really? How would you know? I hate to tell you this, but some of us don’t throw power around like it was bread crumbs or carry sword
s of solid water; we don’t smile and have flowers bloom at our feet. Some of us were born in a back alley and will die on a trash heap somewhere, and no one will notice.”

  Tears were flowing freely now. He took her hand and kissed it. Her wet face stung as the frigid wind blasted through again, and he drew her down to the ground where he knelt and cradled her head against his chest.

  “Jo, Jo, what’s the matter with you? You are full of hidden treasures—you just have to be willing to let someone mine them.” Jo lifted her face, and he kissed her again. Desire won its battle and guilt was abandoned as she responded with all the want and hurt and need that had flooded her soul.

  In the distance a wolf howled, a long, high, sustained lament that blended discordantly with the moaning of the wind. A pale moon rose, casting eerie white shadows over the swirling landscape. Jo felt the sensation of falling as he laid her down on the fur of his cloak. She opened her eyes and saw gleaming blue light reflecting back at her; she saw an eagerness in those eyes that unnerved her. But she was too far gone to care.

  And then his hands were ripping at her vest and roughly pulling open her shirt. She heard an intake of breath and an exhale of admiration.

  “You see, Jo—hidden treasures. Waiting for plunder.” She gasped as his mouth went to her breasts; its liquid warmth whirled around her nipples, drawing them into aching points as his hands moved to the laces of her pants. The force with which he tore them open exposed her suddenly to the cold wind, and, grabbing hold of his head, she clung to him and shivered as she welcomed the heat of his fingers between her legs.

  His coarse exploration left her pulsing with unmet need as his hands set about unbinding his own trousers. She moaned aloud in frustration, surprising them both. He laughed, an unpleasant, barking laugh, and his mouth went to her abdomen and moved lower, his tongue tracing the line leading to where his fingers had been.