Destiny: Child Of Sky (81 page)

The silent voice in her mind laughed, and the sound echoed off her brain, making her head pound. Her stomach heaved as the memory of Jo's last night swam before her eyes, the shrieking wind on the mountain pass in the impenetrable dark, her blind climb up the crags to the sheltered arch.

It's probably just that my first time was a little, well, a little rough, a little violent.

The blood drained from her face as she remembered her desperate, almost violent lovemaking with Ashe that night against the mountain face, the usual tenderness lost to ferocious intensity and fierce pain. It was Ashe. Or was it? It can't be, she thought in panic, but the laughter in her mind grew louder as she realized she hadn't seen his face, and even if she had she might not have been able to discern the difference anyway in her despair and the howling wind.

What happened to Jo was not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it's me.

He had come to her from the darkness, after Ashe had left. Maybe he had been stalking the Teeth as he had been when he found Jo.

Khaddyr's smile was sickeningly knowing as he pointed at her abdomen.

Well, time will tell. We will see who is the whore of the demon.

The subsonic voice of the demon laughed once more. “And to think, all this time you didn't know you were pregnant. Well, I suppose that's fair; the seed was planted a long time ago, but it was the word I just spoke that made it begin to grow. Surely you didn't think you were the only one with the ability of Naming, did you? No, certainly not—you're far too modest, aren't you, my dear? So charming. You will be a wonderful mother, Rhapsody, at least while the child is in your womb. It's a shame that you won't live through the delivery."

The voice her in mind was replaced for a moment by Manwyn's voice in her memory.

,' Me an unnatural child born of an unnatural act. Rhapsody, you should beware of childbirth: the mother shall die, but the child shall live.

Her hands grew clammy, her grip on the sword loosened.

'Yes, my dear, it's true. You are carrying my child, like the others. Only yours will favor his father more, I think; having been held as a dormant seed for so long, it has had the chance to steep in my blood, like the tea here on the altar. The more time that passes before the mother's blood takes hold, the more its demonic nature gestates."

Rhapsody began to tremble. Her time at the Rowans had been almost seven years; if there was any truth to the F'dor's words, the child would be totally demonic.

'And isn't it just a splendid irony: the beautiful star-mother, savior of lost children, patron saint of the demon-spawn, the Sky in the prophecy of the Three who comes from the Past itself to unite and heal the wounds of this orphaned population; you, Rhapsody, you will give birth to me again! It is you that will bring the F'dor back into this world. You are the doorway through which I will return, the one who will keep the evil alive. Oh, isn't this rich! What could be more perfect?"

The sword clattered to the floor.

Grunthor stared at her; Rhapsody's face was colorless, her eyes wide and staring blindly, almost the way Jo's had looked in the moment of her death. She shook uncontrollably, her hands moving to her abdomen.

He could feel the demon's strength growing as each second passed. He looked wildly over at Achmed, who was beginning to sweat from the exertion of maintaining the Thrall ritual. No sound came from the benison, but a smile was creeping over his elderly face, a face with eyes that burned like the fires of the Underworld, staring maniacally now at Rhapsody.

Beneath his feet the Earth began to tremble; when it began to scream Grunthor could feel it, its pain running like acid through his veins. He knew instinctually that something was very wrong; the tide was turning against them, and he didn't have any idea why.

The sleeves on his arms began to feel warm; within seconds they were on the verge on igniting into flame. Agony seared him, burning his skin where it was touching the monster. The old man had begun to thicken, it seemed; the fragile elderly body was becoming more tensile and ferociously strong as each second passed. The stench of the grave issued forth from the benison's mouth, choking him, burning his eyes.

Grunthor's heart was pounding loudly, its rhythm counterbalanced by a fear he had never experienced. He knew in a moment the beast would shatter his arms.

And then be free.

He grunted in pain as the cloth of his shirt began to smolder, trying to keep his eyes clear of the acrid smoke. He looked over at Achmed and gasped.

The Dhracian had sunk to his knees; blood was pouring from his nose and ears. His normally swarthy skin was pale as death, and his limbs trembled violently in the effort to maintain the Thrall ritual. He was gasping for air, the sounds from his shredded throats coming out gargled and unsteady. The veins in his neck vibrated, ready to explode. As panic began to consume him, his eyes darted back to Rhapsody.

She was staring at the benison, her face shiny with sweat, her eyes soulless, staring into another place.

Gods, he thought, the bastard's enthralling 'er.

'Yer Ladyship?" he choked, trying to catch her eye. Rhapsody stared right past him, her eyes locked with the demon's. The metallic taste of blood was in his mouth.

He could feel his strength waning, knew that any second the demon would break free. His head was pounding with the sounds of dark voices chanting and the pressure of his own blood.

A thud and the sound of metal against stone; Achmed had fallen to the ground, prone, blood pooling beneath his chin. His chant had grown almost too weak to hear, his upraised hand trembled, threatening to close. His forehead was creased in chasms that throbbed visibly, ready to burst.

His last sight of Achmed vanished in a curtain of black as his own blood came to a boil; with the impact of a battering ram the demon broke free, tossing him across the basilica and slamming him into the sanctuary wall.

Woozily he put his hand to his head, trying to stanch the agony. He fought the unconsciousness that was threatening to close in, letting fury take its place.

Grunthor reached into the part of his soul that was tied to the earth. The marble floor and the ground beneath it, so recently tainted, hummed in response.

'Old 'im for me, he thought.

Even from across the sanctuary he could feel the earth below the demon's feet soften. The pain in his head ebbed at the sight of the benison, now sinking into the mud that a moment before was marble, struggling to maintain his own concentration now. The maniacal gleam in his eye faltered, and the smile dimmed as he tried to pull free.

Grunthor inhaled deeply as the earth hardened again, trapping the demon. He could see that Achmed had only a few more moments in which he would be able to maintain the Thrall ritual.

He turned on his knees and crawled to a stand, using the wall, stained with his own blood, as support, then lumbered back to the inner sanctuary and grasped the benison's arms again.

-

The demon didn't even struggle. It turned its full gaze onto Rhapsody, its eyes boring holes in her soul.

The voice in her ear grew louder.

'Ah, Rhapsody, I can see you're happy; you've always loved children, haven't you?

And to think you feared that you were barren, didn't you? I know what's in your heart, you know; I can see your deepest secrets, because I am in there, too. You really should be more careful for whom you spread your legs, my dear; sometimes what they leave behind is more than the momentary pleasure is worth."

The warm voice sank even deeper into her ears.

Now, come to me.

Against her will, she took a step forward.

Her mind began to scream in agony. She fought the sound of the sweet voice, blinking to drive the words out from behind her eyes, but found her hands frozen.

Involuntarily she took another step forward.

That's right, the benison's voice encouraged gently. Come to me, Rhapsody.

Within her heart the words resonated. There was a comfort there, a security. The benison would not harm her. She longed to obey his command. A desire, primal, almost sexual in nature, flushed through her, heating her blood. She took another step.

Come to me, dear one, the voice encouraged; the tone like that of a lover. Warmth surrounded her, like the darkness of a mutual bed. Rhapsody felt a thrill run up her spine, leaving her skin tingling.

Come to me, the father of your child, indeed, your child itself. I am both, your child and, your child's father, and you love me. Together we have made this child.

You would never hurt your own child, would you?

She shook her head.

No, of course not. Come, bring me the sword—

!“ Grunthor bellowed, shattering the benison's words. "Get your pretty 'ead out o'

your arse and pay attention, or Oi'll rip it off and stick it on my poleaxe!" voice of her first trainer was like a beacon in the deepening darkness; it brought Rhapsody out of her trance and drove the silent utterances of the demon from her mind. An older, far more entrenched loyalty roared through her, evaporating the momentary possession the demon's words had anchored in her mind. The voice of the Sergeant rang through her clearly.

She was sworn to him. She had named him long ago.

The Lord of Deadly Weapons.

Her friend.

The Ultimate Authority, to Be Obeyed at All Costs.

She shook her head as if shaking off sleep, then looked to the floor next to her where Daystar Clarion lay, smoldering impotently. She bent and picked up the sword, then rose and strode purposefully across the marble floor of the sanctuary.

The eyes of the benison widened in fear.

The blade of the sword sprang to life in her hand, and the shimmering flame leapt as she doubled her grip. Rhapsody raised the sword over her head, point down. The demon struggled against the bonds of Grunthor's massive arms, but it was a futile effort. Next to her, Rhapsody could hear the strange music of Achmed's Thrall ritual grow louder, and Grunthor's voice emerged from behind the benison.

'

'At's a girl; Oi got 'im, Yer Ladyship. A good clean blow, now."

The demon looked into her face and saw no fear there, just a serene, deadly calm.

As their eyes met, understanding passed between them.

I will see you soon, the benison said in her mind.

'Perhaps sooner than you think," Rhapsody replied.

She drove the ancient sword, the weapon of kings and champions, the blade that had slain invincible enemies and united a nation, deep into the heart of the demon, and pulled it down with all her strength to split the chest and sever the base of the spine. The noxious, caustic stench of the F'dor billowed out of the benison's body as burning blood splashed the sanctuary steps.

Lying prone on the marble floor of the sanctuary, Achmed slowly raised his head.

His upstretched hand, around which the net of the four winds was anchored, began to smoke as a spray of the burning, black-red blood spattered the palm. His thin lips pulled back in a grin despite his agony. A gurgling laugh mixed with the sound of the Thrall ritual.

Just as I have your blood on my hands now, one day I will have it so again.

The demon screamed; it sounded more of fury than pain, and it clawed wildly at Rhapsody as she twisted Daystar Clarion in its abdominal cavity and pulled it free.

Grunthor strained from the exertion of holding it in place; the benison managed only to look up into Rhapsody's eyes with a glare of blistering cold before the giant Firbolg hoisted its bleeding body out of the marble floor of the basilica. He looked at her and they exchanged a nod. Then, with all his strength, Grunthor heaved the twitching carcass onto the altar beneath the opening in the ceiling.

At the same moment Rhapsody summoned starfire from the heavens through the open bell tower.

With a ferocious roar the ethereal flames descended onto the altar, blasting the Three back out of the sanctuary and consuming it. The screams of the demon were inaudible over the noise of the firestrike, but Rhapsody could feel them in her mind. The human form twisted and shriveled for a moment before disappearing in the blinding fire. Then, seconds later, everything was as it had been before, albeit blackened from the flame.

Rhapsody stared at the burned-out sanctuary, seeking any sign of survival, any piece that might have been spared by the starfire, but saw nothing but smoke and ash. In the distance the bells of the town began tolling urgently, and panicked voices could be heard in the night.

Grunthor opened his arms, and Rhapsody ran into his embrace, holding on to him with all her remaining strength. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she gasped.

'Why? You did great, darlin', just like Oi taught you. You lost focus for a moment, but that 'appens to the best o' us, eh, sir?"

From the floor where he lay Achmed weakly raised his head. “It certainly does."

He was watching her closely, even as Grunthor pulled him to a stand, then wrapped a supportive arm around him.

'Come on, Yer Ladyship," Grunthor urged, putting her down. He took her gently but insistently by the arm. Rhapsody stopped long enough to wipe the blood from the floor and the wall with her cloak, then followed them through the vestry, stepping over Gittleson's body and into the street, where they waited in the darkness to join the throng of townspeople hurrying to see what had happened in the basilica.

hours later, when the sexton had finally cleared the basilica and locked the doors, the Three emerged from the shadows to examine the sanctuary again. Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened for the music of the bells, which still tolled the all-clear that had been ringing for almost an hour. It was sweet and in tune, with a clarity she knew indicated that the wind was passing through the bell tower freely again.

'It's clear,“ she said to her companions. "The ground is being resanctified. How does it feel, Grunthor?"

'It's 'ard to tell yet, but the taint is definitely dissipatin,' .“ he said, bending to touch the floor. "Oi'd say it's gettin' there; guess those bells need the clappers back to fix it totally proper. Now, you, miss; 'ow are you doin'? You 'ad me worried for a moment, you know."