Elegy for a Lost Star (18 page)

Jal'asee cleared his throat. “Forgive me for reiterating anything you already know,” he said. “In the history of this world, the earliest age, before recorded history, was known as the Before-Time. It was in this age that the Firstborn races, those sprung directly from the five elements themselves, came into being. The Seren were the first to evolve, as the element of ether was the first element. Ether came into the world from another place; it is the fire of the stars, and has a natural music to it, the music of light—I assume you know this, yes?” Rhapsody nodded. “Good. And had you ever seen a member of another firstborn race? Had you ever met someone who was Kith, or Mythlin, or a F'dor? Nor wyrm—you had never met a dragon in the old world, had you?”

“No,” Rhapsody said. “Mostly humans. A few of later races descended of the Firstborn—I saw a few Gwadd, and my mother was Lirin. I think I may even have seen a few Nain, though I did not know what they were at the time. But I never saw someone of a Firstborn race. I thought they had all died out, as we had been taught they had.”

“Well, as you can see, we did not.” Jal'asee covered his eyes as the sun rose higher in the sky, brightening the garden with intense light.

“So where were you, then?” the Lady Cymrian asked.

“In hiding,” the Sea Mage ambassador said seriously. “For many ages.”

“Why?”

“Self-preservation,” Jal'asee said. “The Seren were the first race to appear on the Island, but we were not alone for long. In the early days, after the F'dor were imprisoned deep within the world, peace reigned for a time; a long time by your measure. But eventually came the younger races, the Lirin, and the Nain, who did not care for each other's ways. In their day, the Island still saw peace for the most part, because the place each race chose to live was distant from and unlike that of the other race, so there was little conflict.

“But then, after millennia had passed, came man—humans, or half-men, in our language. They were long generations removed from the primordial magic which had brought the Firstborn races into being, and mortal, bent on living short, violent lives. At first it seemed they would come and go more quickly than the wind, snuffing themselves out in their impatience, but we underestimated their strength, their endurance—and their pure bloodthirstiness. They were avaricious, jealous of land and power, and they set about taking it in any and every way they could, through war and murder and genocide.

“And there were many of them. They filled our once-open and spacious land with their settlements and cities, their fortifications and their prisons,
continuing to multiply, until they had all but choked out what had gone before. We had welcomed them as refugees—and now they were poised to eradicate all the civilizations that had come before. Much the way Gwylliam did, ironically, to this land.”

Jal'asee paused for a moment, as if the tale had winded him. Rhapsody looked into his eyes; within the golden irises a dark swirl was dancing, as if he were looking directly back into a painful history. She waited quietly for him to continue, watching the bronze color return to his lanky, hairless forearms after a moment. Finally he shook his head and looked down at her, an awkward smile crooking his wide, thin mouth.

“I beg your forgiveness, m'lady,” he said hastily, mopping beads of sweat from his forehead with a quick motion. “When one is designed to live forever, history sometimes takes on an immediacy that Time strips from it in the eyes of those over whom Time has sway. It is as if a thousand years ago was yesterday.”

Rhapsody nodded, continuing to wait. Finally the Sea Mage shook himself, as if shaking off sleep.

“And that is the way of the world, I have learned over Time. In each era of history a civilization is formed, holds sway for a time, and then is displaced by another, either over centuries, or quickly, brutally, in conquest, until history is but a swirling sea of change, supplanting what had been before, keeping pieces of it, moving on. It is foolishness to hope that what you have built will survive—though we all do.”

The golden-skinned man blinked in the light of the sun, then turned his gaze on her once more.

“When, in the Second Age of history, known to scholars on Gaematria as Zemertzah, literally ‘The Broken World,' it became clear to the Ancient Seren that our culture and in fact our people were facing destruction from the advancement of the human habitation of Serendair, and the conflicts that habitation brought with it, we decided there were but two choices for our people if we were to survive. We could leave the Island, emigrate to a distant and unoccupied land, as Gwylliam later did at the end of the Third Age, or we could go into hiding in the earth, deeper than the mountainous realms where the Nain lived, in catacombs left over from the birth of the world.

“The first choice was unimaginable—our race, few in numbers as it was, had been spawned from the very light of the stars, sprung from the clay of the Island where the starlight touched. Even in the face of war, of death, we could not abandon our birthplace, our home. So instead we disappeared from the sight of the world, the bulk of our population slipping away to those undercrofts, those vaults deep in the earth, leaving a few of our number in the air of the upworld to watch out for us, to wait for a time when it might be safe to return.

“The races of men, the Nain, the Lirin, the humans, and their like, barely noticed we were gone. They were busy in their own racial wars, and when the dust settled, the humans emerged victorious, as your history must have taught you. Each racial kingdom maintained its sovereignty under the human High King, the line which eventually ended with Gwylliam. That confederation of kingdoms shaped the Island to their will. So it was when you were born, and until the time that the fleets left it was still so. All that remained, in the eyes of the world, of my race was a handful of upworld Seren, Graal, the king's vizier, as you mentioned, myself, and a few others numbering less than would need two hands to count. Eventually only Graal remained; when one of our remaining number of upworld brethren was brutally killed, the rest of us save for Graal quit the air and sought refuge in the catacombs with our people.

“And there we remained, until the Sleeping Child began to signal it would arise. Then we came up into the world again, those of us who chose to leave Serendair for life elsewhere beyond the Cataclysm.”

“I had no idea,” Rhapsody murmured.

Jal'asee smiled. “Had you remained, rather than leaving the Island with your friends, you might have known it. But it happened while you were traveling through the Earth, along the root of Sagia. And yes, m'lady, I know that you entered the World Tree with a key of Living Stone, in the company of he who is now the Bolg king, and his Sergeant-Major, because when you were climbing down into the darkness, along the Tree's taproot, I looked out from the catacomb entrance that the Tree guarded and saw you myself.”

The memory of the journey within the Earth roared back in Rhapsody's mind, the suffocating feeling of being underground, disconnected from the sheltering sky, and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to fight back the fear that she could still taste, even four years later, though the journey within the world had been timeless. When they had emerged, they discovered that fourteen centuries had passed without them; all they had known in the world was gone. It was a loss she no longer thought about consciously, but still felt keenly when it was recalled.

“What did you see?” she asked haltingly.

The smile left Jal'asee's eyes, and he regarded her seriously.

“I saw a girl, fearful and yet brave, an unwilling captive who struggled futilely but did not give in. I saw a creature, half Bolg, half Bengard, I would wager by the height of him, who seemed intent both on holding her captive and helping her along at the same time. And I saw someone else, someone I thought I recognized.” His forehead wrinkled deeply, but otherwise his face did not change. “I may know your friend, the Bolg king, but I will not be certain until I see him again.

“Those of us who lived beneath the surface of the world were in a state of half-sleep, m'lady. Had I been able to aid you, and had I been certain you were in need of such aid, I would have tried. But all that I saw, all that I relate to you now, was like a very intense dream; for a long time thereafter I was not even certain if it had been real or only a prescient vision, which the Ancient Seren were prone to. I apologize for not being able to help you, but it seems as if you have come out the better for surviving whatever hand Fate has dealt you.”

The Lady Cymrian smiled slightly.
“Ryle hira,”
she said softly, intoning the old Liringlas adage. “Life is what it is.”

“Indeed,” Jal'asee agreed. “I know that your path has not been one that followed a predictable pattern, but it has led you to places you might never have lived to see, and inspired in you powers that you might never have known had you followed a more traditional route. You say that your mentor disappeared before you had finished your study of Naming, and that you had to complete your training alone. Forgive me when I say this, but it shows. I have had the privilege of knowing many Lirin Namers, both on Serendair and Gaematria, and it is evident that you missed out on the final step of the process of becoming one—the baptism in the light of
Aria
, the Namer's guiding star.”

Rhapsody flushed red with embarrassment. “I—I don't even know what you are referring to,” she said nervously.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of, and not surprising that you do not know of it,” said Jal'asee soothingly. “It is a ceremony that marks the end of a Namer's studies, and is not revealed to him until it is upon him. If your mentor was not with you at the end of your training, it is not surprising that you did not benefit from the baptism. As you are undoubtedly aware, each Lirin soul is tied to the star he or she was born beneath—and each day and each night of the year is dedicated to a different one. That is what you think of as
Aria
, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Rhapsody. “I was born beneath Seren itself. My aubades have always been to Her.”

Jal'asee nodded. “And they have no doubt drawn power from that star, even half a world away. So while you are self-taught, while you have not had the advantage of the final baptism in the light of your guiding star, you have undoubtedly gained other strengths, other insights, because you have had to make your own road, rather than following the prescribed path, much as you and your companions found your way within the Earth. If anything, your link to the star may be even stronger than it would have otherwise been, because you have kept vigil for it, lost as it is to you. It is a special celestial body, you know, an old star by the way the universe reckons. Your husband carries a piece of it within his chest—how it came to be there, I do not know, but I sense its song within him.”

A chill ran through Rhapsody's blood again. It was as if Jal'asee knew not only all of her secrets, but those of the people she loved as well. The Sea Mage ambassador noted the change in her eyes and took her hand in his long, articulated one.

“Your child will be blessed, and cursed, with the power of all the elements, Rhapsody,” he said in a voice as warm as Midsummer's Day. “You walked through the fire at the heart of the earth—do not fear; of course I know this, because you clearly absorbed it. In what the rest of the world mistakes for mere beauty, one such as myself, who has seen the primordial elements in their raw form, can recognize them. You and your child were cradled in the arms of the sea during your recent captivity—I know this too, not by seeing it, but because the waves told me of it during my journey here from Gaematria. Your husband is the Kirsdarkenva'ar, the master of the element, so there is a tie to water in both parents. The earth is in you both as well—you because you have traveled through Her heart, your husband because he is descended of the wyrm Elynsynos, and thus linked to it, as you are both linked to the star Seren. And finally, as the Lirin Queen you are a Child of the Sky, a daughter of the air. So your child will have all of the elements nascent within his blood. Do you know what all of those elements add up to?”

“Tell me,” Rhapsody said. Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

Jal'asee smiled broadly. “Time,” he answered. “He will have the power of Time. I hope you will do me the honor of allowing me, when the child is old enough and the occasion permits, to help teach your child how to use it.”

The child within her belly lurched. Rhapsody flinched; the song of the fountain's splashing had come to an end, and with it her nausea returned. She stood slowly, trying to maintain her balance, and put a hand over her brow to shield her eyes from the ascending sun.

“Thank you,” she said noncommittally. “I will discuss that with Ashe when the time is right. I thank you for all the lessons you have imparted to me today, and hope that you will convey my thanks to Edwyn Griffyth for the walking machine he sent to Anborn.” She sighed regretfully. “I hope he will deign to make use of it. I confess that it strangles my heart to see him so impaired.”

The Ancient Seren ambassador rose as well and looked down at her, his shadow blocking the sun.

“Why?” he asked, taking her arm and leading her back up the garden path to the keep.

“Because he was injured in battle saving me, as I assume you know,” Rhapsody said, struggling to walk steadily. “I tried to employ my skills as a Singer and Namer to heal him at the time, but as you can see, the hapless
state of my training and the limits of my abilities kept him from healing completely. Perhaps that is because, lacking a baptism in my guiding star's light, I am only fooling myself into believing I can draw on its power.”

Jal'asee continued walking, but his voice moved closer to her ear, as if he could cause it to sink on the air.