The Weaver's Lament

  “Elynsynos? You went to the dragon’s lair?”

  “I did.”

  “Oh. How is she?”

  “She’s well. Delighted with the world, and all her Cymrian Grands and Greats.” Her eyes grew soft in the firelight with memory. “I needed her perspective. I hope you will forgive me; I didn’t tell her of your—proposal, but I did ask her about being a dragon.”

  Ashe nodded. “And what did you learn?”

  Rhapsody smiled slightly. “That, like every other being in the world, dragons do not know what happens after death.” Her smile faded. “But she still seems as convinced as she was on the day you first brought me to her lair that she and all her kind are without souls, that they are long-lived, but not immortal, except that the blood they leave behind turns into veins of copper or gold or gems, to adorn the empty heads of kings and the breasts of vain women.” She looked at him sharply.

  “And she believes, in great sadness, that what Llauron really sacrificed for his dragon elemental state, for his wyrm longevity, was the human soul he was born with, his immortality, his Afterlife.

  “Just as you are thinking of doing.”

  THE NONALIGNED STATES, THE FORMER EMPIRE OF SORBOLD, TOWN OF DROSSER

  The four commanders rode two abreast down the narrow cobbled Mainway, between the median of horse troughs and the northern side of the street, scouting the pubs and taverns.

  Dusk was coming, and with nightfall it would be more difficult to gauge the logistics and layouts of the places in which they expected to find the Sergeant-Major, so they had split up earlier, each of two pairs taking one side of the cobbled road.

  Reynard and Goodeve, the two generals, had taken the lead, asking around to determine which of the establishments had better reputations for military types, finally narrowing the likely contenders to two, the Cock and Bull and the Serpent’s Egg, which had been closed owing to a death in the family.

  A few well-placed questions to a well-paid barkeep in the Cock and Bull confirmed their research.

  “Well, he’s likely to be here this evening, or somewhere on the street,” the barkeep had told them, never ceasing in his task of drying the tankards. “A great customer, if yer in need of endless stories and tales of war.”

  “Has he been causing trouble in these parts?”

  The barkeep’s eyebrows had lifted.

  “The Sergeant? Nah. There’s occasionally some dustups in any bar, gents, and, beggin’ yer pardon, but any place that serves soldiers knows to expect it. But he’s a gentle giant. No reason fer worries.”

  “Good to know,” said Reynard. “Thank you.”

  He paid for their drinks and led the commanders out of the establishment, leaving the barkeep to his tankards.

  10

  TURF HUT BEYOND THE WATERFALL

  Ashe sighed despondently. “I thought about what I asked of you for almost fifty years before I brought it up to you, Aria. Forgive me if I am disheartened by being asked to wait yet again.”

  “I am not asking you to wait. Are you willing to hear a different proposal?”

  Ashe sat heavily in the chair. Rhapsody could see the internal battle waging, the wyrm in his blood bristling in anger, the man exhausted from battling it. Her heart twisted in pain for her husband, whose face was showing the signs of age.

  She came to him and climbed into his lap, wrapping herself and her warmth around him. Then she laid her head on his shoulder and put her hand over his heart, humming softly against his neck. She sang the soothing song of his name until she felt his heartbeat slow, his breathing become regular again; then she turned and kissed his cheek.

  “Are you ready to hear my idea?”

  Ashe smiled. “I’m listening.”

  “Next year is the third year in the cycle, the year when we will call the Cymrian Council—”

  The Lord Cymrian’s head hit the back of the chair, and he stared up at the ceiling.

  “Are you trying to give me even greater reason to commit suicide, Aria?”

  Rhapsody struggled to keep her voice calm. “I assume you are joking. If you are not, I will stop now.”

  Finally he turned and looked into her eyes. The expression he saw there was mild and loving, but deeper he could tell that his own pain was reflected; she understood the sheer volume of his despair, of his internal struggle.

  “I’m sorry. Please continue; I really am listening.”

  “We have a little under a year if we begin when we get home to Highmeadow,” Rhapsody said, sitting up in his lap and looking down at him. “We have been promising each other for a thousand years that we would give up our positions of responsibility and leadership once others stepped forward to take over.”

  “And no one has.”

  “No, of course no one has. What we inherited was daunting, and after those issues were resolved it was easier to spare anyone else the need to take on our positions, especially after everyone we thought worthy refused,” Rhapsody went on. “But I am ready—more than ready, Sam. Our children are certainly qualified and able to either take over some of our roles or serve in them in transition to other leaders. It’s time to let all that sort itself out. Stephen is well suited to take on the lordship if the Council elects him, or at least to serve as regent until they choose someone else. You have been training Allegra with Kirsdarke, as I have been training Joseph with Daystar Clarion. I have been encouraging Elienne to make use of her innate connection with Tyrian to consider attempting to take the crown; I left the diadem in its case in Tomingorllo before I left.”

  Ashe blinked. “You did?”

  Rhapsody grinned. “Do you not think that if I had it with me I would have added it to my dragon-distracting anniversary outfit? I know how much your inner sense likes the whirling lights of the crown.” Her husband squeezed her and chuckled. “Meridion is now a far better Namer than I could ever hope to be; he can take on whatever role he chooses, perhaps taking over the healing centers or continuing to advise the new lord and lady as he has done for us if he doesn’t want to rule himself, as he continuously says he does not. The only thing I cannot pass off to someone for certain is my stewardship of the Earthchild, but that is minimal, and I hope that Laurelyn would consider taking on that responsibility. The Earthchild loves her; you can tell by the way her gardens bloom with winter flowers. She’s the Invoker; it would be well within her oath and vow.”

  “And then I suppose you will be wanting me to finally build you the goat hut I promised you a thousand years ago, arthritic and aged as I am now?”

  Rhapsody took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  “You have built or provided me—us—with a dozen goat huts over the centuries, Sam,” she said as she looked around the small turf hut. “This being the very first one.”

  “This?”

  “Yes, this. I know it was yours to begin with, your hiding place, your disgusting hovel—” His laugh unbalanced her on his lap. “And I’m sorry if it was presumptuous to clean it out so brutally, but it has served well as a simple, hidden room with everything you and I have ever really needed—a bed, a fireplace, water, privacy, peace. Just like Elysian, or the beach shack in Gria Tres, or the cistern behind the wall of thorns in Bethany, or Oelendra’s house in Tyrian, or any of the other small, hidden places we have had over the years to steal away from court and be alone in together. That was all I wanted, really—I didn’t need any actual goats.”

  The Lord Cymrian laughed and kissed her. “So your proposal is to finally doff our leadership roles?”

  “That’s only the first part of it. I learned something at the first Council when Edwyn Griffyth refused the lordship outright; I had no idea that was possible. I, of course, had already been named Lady, and so it was too late to try that myself anyway, but I think we should warn those I mentioned of what is coming ahead of time, giving them the better part of a year to prepare, and then announce our resignations when the Council meets. We can still chair the session, so it’s not the leaderless rabbl
e it would be otherwise, but when the Council is over we will be done, at least with the lord- and ladyships.

  “The roles of Kirsdarkenvar and Iliachenva’ar are a little more difficult. Who carries the swords is not our decision to make, that is the purview of the weapons themselves. But if you return Kirsdarke to the altar behind the basilica in Avonderre, we can see if it allows Elienne or Allegra to pick it up, or Meridion—he has a natural bond to the sea that may speak to its magic.” Ashe nodded. “And I can take Daystar Clarion to the Altar of Fire in Bethany and try the same thing with Joseph or Stephen. It may be vain to assume that ancient weapons of epic history will want to remain in our family, but there is no reason not to try, at least, to pass them on to someone who has trained with them.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And then, having ‘doffed,’ as you put it, our all-consuming responsibilities—pay attention, because this is the part I hope you will like—I will be yours exclusively, night into day, for the rest of our lives. Everything that has taken me away from you, and to which you do not desire to travel, I will give up.”

  Ashe sat up with interest. “Really? Everything?”

  Rhapsody exhaled. “Everything except our children, the Grands and the Greats. But I can’t imagine you would ask that of me.”

  “So your travels and work as a Namer, your healing responsibilities—”

  “I’ve trained others. I can’t imagine I will be needed.”

  “What about Tyrian?”

  “If Elienne is chosen by the crown, I will have no need to be there.” Her face darkened, and Ashe could feel traces of water enter the corners of her eyes, but her face and voice remained calm. “You like Tyrian, and once you are no longer Lord Cymrian you will also no longer be bound to Highmeadow. We could live there in peace, at least part of the time. If Elienne is not chosen, you could come with me until I am able to find a new viceroy or Lord Protector, but if you’re not willing, I believe the realm will be safe without me. They lived sovereignless for more than two hundred years before I came; they will not miss me.”

  Ashe took hold of one of the waves of golden hair that had become unbound on the floor in lovemaking. “I thought Namers were required to speak only the Truth.”

  “I don’t mean the friendships, I mean the running of the government. Rial has really been in charge of that all along; he’s just humored me.”

  “I see. All your commissions and councils, all your boards and healing centers, the Repository, the international Loritorium, everything?”

  The Namer’s tone of True-Speaking was in her reply.

  “Everything.”

  Ashe nodded thoughtfully, then his eyes narrowed.

  “What about the Bolg?”

  Rhapsody’s face lost the last remnants of its smile, but her eyes remained placid.

  “The Bolg haven’t needed me for centuries. They never did, really; Achmed and Grunthor were just humoring me as well. My music helped them gain the mountains, but it was never necessary. Everything they have accomplished they could have done easily without me—I tend to think it would be a less civilized place than it is with my contribution, less educated, less healthy—but it would still be a remarkable renaissance if only Achmed and Grunthor had been in charge. As long as there is an amelystik to tend to the Sleeping Child, I don’t need to go back to Ylorc again. I will miss Elysian, but only a little.”

  “I see.”

  Rhapsody took a breath to cleanse her mouth of the dismal words.

  “I would at least like to see Achmed and Grunthor every so often; I miss them when we go too long between visits. But now that Achmed can travel the wind, it’s easier to see him outside of Ylorc. And Grunthor has such an immense structure in place in the army that he can wander the continent without having to confine himself to the Bolglands.”

  “I am aware. He is causing me no end of trouble, by the way, including skirmishes that are undoing years of diplomacy. I would appreciate it if you would speak to him about reining in his boredom before war breaks out.”

  “I have. I saw him outside of southeastern Tyrian before Meridion and I began making our way home and requested specifically that he refrain from breaking treaties and crossing you.

  “Back to my proposal: Then, when all that is accomplished, I can be with you. We can do whatever we want to do, go wherever we want to go, see the things we always said we would, although in truth, we already have done that for the most part. Whatever it is about me that brings you peace and comfort will never be away from you; I will sing your arthritic knuckles back to flexibility. I will, in fact, sing your namesong to you as often as I can, and see if that helps restore your youth somewhat. I will make it my life’s goal to keep you free from pain and happy; I already thought I was doing it, but clearly you need more of my attention now, and I am ready, delighted, in fact, to give it to you. And, having interviewed Elynsynos intensely on the topic, and knowing a bit about it myself, I will undertake to do all the things that might keep the dragon happy as well.”

  “A generous offer; fascinating, in fact,” Ashe murmured. “Fascinating, and appalling at the same time.”

  Rhapsody sat back, stung.

  “Appalling?”

  Ashe caressed her cheek to take away a little of the offense, but she pulled away. “Yes, Aria—appalling. I’m trying to imagine you ever expecting me to sacrifice all the works I’ve undertaken in my life that I thought were noble or important to wait on you hand and foot, night into day, for eternity. I cannot form a picture in my head of you ever asking or in fact allowing me to do that.”

  “I said nothing about waiting on you,” Rhapsody said, rising from his lap and turning away from the fire, which had already signaled her shock and rising fury in twisting blue and orange flames, snapping and hissing. “You aren’t even going to get out of dish-drying duty tonight after this infernal conversation ends. I offered to be with you at all times, which is what I would gladly choose to do, given any opportunity. You once asked me how long we should expect to live happily ever after, Ashe—here’s my answer: as long as God, the One, the All, keeps a spark of life in one of our bodies. I love you, dammit; fiercely—deeply—with everything that I am, Ashe, everything. Aside from one of our children, my greatest terror is the idea of the loss of you. I thought you knew that by now.”

  Ashe’s mouth dropped open. “Of course—of course I do.”

  “Then you should know what that means, that I would do anything—anything I could to make you happy, to give you what you need, to keep you healthy, to bring you peace.”

  “Anything except what I have asked you to do.”

  Rhapsody stared at him in silence, her eyes gleaming either from unspent tears or anger; Ashe wasn’t sure. Finally words formed on her lips.

  “Perhaps that is because you are asking me to kill you, risk killing you, or feel as if I am.”

  Ashe exhaled silently.

  “You know the first part of that is not true.”

  “I do not.” Her gaze hardened. “Do you doubt my word now as well?”

  He threw up his hands in annoyance and turned away. “You well know Llauron survived it.”

  “You are not Llauron. Llauron prepared for his immolation for Time uncounted, researching in texts that burned a thousand years ago. Neither of us knows what he might have done to offset the damage, or what a strike of starfire will do to you.”

  “I am willing to take that chance—should that not be sufficient?” Ashe turned back to her, his own eyes gleaming now. “Should I not be the one to make decisions about my own destiny, my own life?”

  “Strange,” Rhapsody said coolly. “I have always believed that our lives were shared, not strictly our own—I still recall vows to that effect, made twice and renewed endlessly. And while I acknowledge your right to make those decisions ultimately, what you are asking of me is dually awful—to risk ending your human existence in favor of a vaporous wyrmdom, which separates us physically in this world, or ending your actu
al life, separating us on both sides of Life and the Afterlife, leaving me haunted for the rest of my supposedly endless days. Forgive me if I’m resistant to both of those things; contemplating the loss of you, my soul mate, the man I’ve loved across Time and for all of my life, in either case by my own hand, is breaking my heart.”

  Both of the spouses fell into heavy silence.

  “The dragon is growing stronger,” Ashe said finally, his voice low and soft. “The struggle to contain it grows more intense with each beat of my heart.”

  “I know.”

  “And do you also know how much I fear for you, Rhapsody—for our children? For the continent?”

  The Lady Cymrian sighed. After a long pause, she spoke. “I do.”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t believe you really do,” the Lord Cymrian said, the ring of pained gravel in his voice. “You fear killing me with the starfire strike, at my request, which you know freed my father from his torment when his human body was dying and his dragon nature sought release—do you not see that I am tortured by the same possibility that I might destroy you, our children, the people I love beyond description—but against my will and without the possibility of their transformation?”

  “Because you scratched me while making love?”

  “Because I dream of it,” Ashe spat. “Respect me enough to believe me when I tell you that I have seen grisly images in my mind for decades, of your blood on my hands, your flesh in my teeth—”

  “I am well aware,” Rhapsody interrupted, her voice now steady with an undertone of sympathy. She had woken many times at the end of those terrible dreams, unable to breathe in the clutch of Ashe’s strong arms. The gentling and reassuring of her trembling husband, sweating and cold in the throes of his nightmares, had been among the more heartbreaking things she had undertaken in the course of their marriage. Now, as never before, she finally understood the sadness and despair her own nightmares had inflicted on him long ago.

  “If you are aware, then help me, for the love of God, Aria,” Ashe whispered. “Do you think I want to keep asking this of you? Do you think for one moment that I want to leave my humanity behind, to lose the ability to hold you, to make love to you, to share everyday life, a bed, a goat hut with you? This would be very much a death for me, even if I continue to exist in another form. There is nothing in this universe—I mean that without hyperbole, Rhapsody—nothing that I hate more than the thought of being separated from you and our family. But I don’t know what else to do; the only thing that could be worse than that would be if I were to cause you or them harm when—not if, but when—I lose control of that element of my nature, and rampage. That tragedy grows closer with each passing hour.”