Rhapsody, Child of Blood (83 page)

Jo was quiet again. Finally she pulled a dagger out from beneath her pillow and began balancing it, tip first, on the fingers of her outstretched hand. "You must have loved her a lot."

Rhapsody looked into the candles burning brightly near her. "Yes."

'And she probably loved you too, right? Well, didn't you just have the nicest life."

Rhapsody made note of the bitterness in her voice, and took no offense at her words. "Yes, Jo, I guess I did. But that didn't stop me from throwing it all away."

'Yeah? That sounds pretty stupid."

'It was," Rhapsody agreed.

'Then why did you?"

Rhapsody's hand came to rest on the locket at her throat again. She stared into the light of the new candles, trying to force the words out that had never been spoken to another soul.

'It was for a boy."

'Oh." Jo switched hands. "Was he your first?"

'Yes. And my last. I've never loved anyone like that since. I never will."

The dagger whirled between her fingers. "And you ran away with him?"

Rhapsody wrapped her arms more tightly around her knees, the shadows from the firelight dimming. "No. I ran away to find him. Never did. He got what he wanted from me, and then he was gone."

'Why didn't you just go back home?"

'That's a question I ask myself every day."

'And now you can't?"

'No. Now I can't."

Jo listened in silence, but her sister said nothing more. Rhapsody continued to watch the candleflames, lost in memory. Finally Jo sat up and began running the dagger along the edge of her boot.

'So what's it like? You know, the mother thing."

'Hmm? Oh. Wonderful. At least mine was. Some of my friends and their mothers hated each other; I'm convinced that was why so many of them married early, just to get away from home. But my mother was extraordinary. She had to be; she was the only one of her kind in the whole village."

'Kind?"

'Yes; she was Lirin, the only survivor of the destruction of her longhouse. When she first married my father I'm sure she had to put up with a lot of nonsense, but she undoubtedly bore it as she did everything, with gentility and grace. I don't believe I ever heard her say anything unkind about anyone, even those who had been unkind to her. Indeed, when people were cruel to my brothers, she never let them give in to anger over it. By the time I came along—I was the sixth child and the only girl—everyone in the village loved her."

'She sounds special." Jo's voice was noncommittal.

'She was to me. The favorite memories of my whole life are of how we would sit, after dinner, in front of the fire, just she and I. She would brush my hair and sing me the old Lirin songs, and tell me the old tales so they wouldn't be forgotten when she was gone. We could talk about anything. I think of her now every time I sit in front of a fire; in a way, it comforts me. Of all the things I miss in my life, I think I miss her the most." Rhapsody fell silent, and around the room the candles flickered for a moment.

Jo stared at the wavering shadows on the ceiling. "Well, at least you had a mother who wanted you. It could have been worse."

Rhapsody came out of her reverie. "Tell me about your mother, Jo," she said gently.

'What's to tell? I never knew her." Jo manipulated the dagger over the back of the knuckles of one hand, then the other.

'So how do you know she didn't want you?"

Jo dropped the dagger on the floor, then bent to retrieve it.

'Is this a trick question? If she had wanted me, if she had loved me at all, don't you think I would at least be able to look all weepy like you and say nice things about her?

Don't you think I'd at least be able to remember what she looked like?" With an angry stabbing motion she slid the dagger back under the pillow and lay down again, hands beneath her head once more.

Rhapsody rose and came across the room. She sat down on the bed at Jo's feet.

"Not necessarily," she said, trying not to catch Jo's eye. "You have no idea why you were separated. Maybe she had no choice."

Jo sat bolt upright. "Or maybe I was more trouble than I was worth to her; maybe she couldn't wait to be rid of me. You have no idea either, Rhapsody. It's great that you had a wonderful mother who loved you; I'm happy for you. But do me a favor—spare me the nice thoughts, all right? It doesn't help.

'Besides, it's easier to believe she didn't love me; then I can just hate her and not feel bad about it. What's the point of believing otherwise? One way or the other I've been alone as long as I can remember, and it's not going to change. In the end it doesn't make any difference whether she loved me or not." Angry tears spilled out of her eyes.

Rhapsody took Jo into her arms and cradled her as she wept, shuddering with painful, ugly sobs. She caressed her sister's hair as she cried, whispering a song of comfort so low that Jo couldn't hear it above the sound of her own misery.

After a moment the tune had its effect and Jo grew calm, but she left her face buried in Rhapsody's shoulder until the Singer pulled her away gently, and took her tearstained face in her hands.

'Now you listen to me, Josephine the Unnamed. It has changed; you are not alone, and you never will be again. I love you. We belong to each other now, and I am here to make it better for you."

Jo sniffed. "Make what better?"

'Anything. Everything. Whatever needs to be made better. And it does make a difference. Your mother loved you; how could she possibly help it? Who wouldn't? Go ahead, give me all the nasty faces you want; it doesn't change the truth. I can't explain it to you, but I am sure of it. She loved you. Now she's not the only one anymore."

Jo watched her a moment more, then smiled. She pulled Rhapsody's hands from her face and pushed back on the bed.

'Well, you certainly have a good opinion of yourself," she said jokingly. "I never said nobody loved me." A wicked smile crept over her face.

Interest came into Rhapsody's eyes. "Oh? And who might we be referring to, hmm?

Is there something you haven't told me?"

'No," said Jo, sighing. "Not yet, at least. I'm hoping, though."

'And who might this lucky person be?"

Jo sat cross-legged, picked up a cushion and held it tight to her stomach. "Ashe."

'Who?"

'Ashe. You know. Ashe"

'Who's Ashe?"

'Gods, Rhapsody, are you dead or something? Ashe. You know, the one with the beautiful hair, from Bethe Corbair."

Rhapsody was utterly perplexed. "Jo, I have literally no idea who, or what, you're talking about. Who is Ashe?"

-

Jo rolled her eyes. "You know; the guy with the—well, you know—" Her face turned red with embarrassment.

Rhapsody looked at her quizzically again, and then the memory returned of their encounter with the cloaked stranger in the street market.

'Oh! Him." Amusement began to sparkle in her eyes, and she leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "Jo, I have it on pretty good authority that just about every man has 'y°u know.'

'

'Brat." Jo belted her with the cushion, laughing, but still looking embarrassed.

Rhapsody saw her begin to turn self-conscious, and she artlessly changed her tone from teasing to encouraging.

'How do you know he has beautiful hair?" she asked. "If I recall correctly, we didn't see his face at all; he had a hood on."

'Tow didn't see his face," Jo corrected. "My angle was a little different—"

'I'll say," laughed Rhapsody, earning herself another belt with the cushion.

'I caught a glimpse of him under his hood when he lifted me off the ground. His hair is the color of copper; not dull like copper coins, but like the shiny pots that hang in the tinker's booth in the market. And his eyes are the most incredible shade of blue. That's about all I saw, coppery hair and crystal-blue eyes, but it was enough." She let out an exaggerated sigh.

'Gods, Jo, what if that's all of him there is?" Rhapsody said in mock concern. "I mean, what if that's all there is under there—hair and eyes and nothing else? Bbbrrrrrr.

Not a pleasant thought. Don't you think you ought to at least see all of him before you pick out your wedding china?"

Jo crossed her arms in annoyance and fell into a petulant silence. Rhapsody hastened to make peace.

'I'm sorry, Jo; I'm being ridiculous. I'm glad you met someone you like. But if I recall, wasn't he trying to cut your hand off?"

'No, you were trying to cut his hand off," Jo said, still annoyed. "He was nice to me, that's all. Let's just forget it, all right?"

Rhapsody sighed. "You really have been ill-used, my girl, if that's what you call someone being nice to you. But who knows; sometimes first impressions are the most accurate. So what do you think your chances are of ever meeting up with him again?"

'Probably none," said Jo, uncrossing her legs and putting her feet on the floor. "He did say he'd come to visit, though." She reached under the bed for the chamber pot.

Rhapsody took her cue. "We'll see," she said, rising from the bed and heading for the door. "You never know, Jo; stranger things have happened. In the meantime, get some sleep. Maybe this time if you're more rested you can actually pick his pocket successfully." She gave Jo a playful wink and opened the door.

'Good night, sis," Jo answered, laughing.

Rhapsody smiled and Jo felt warmth surround her, like an embrace. "Good night, Jo." She closed the door quietly, and leaned up against the wall, hugging herself with joy. After a moment, she returned to the darkness of her own chamber, made somehow brighter now.

they're coming.

'I know."

Saltar rose from his stone chair, running his fingers over the granite arms, worn smooth by centuries of hands other than his own gripping them. It was one of the treasures from the old time, grabbed when the great Willum village-beneath-the-ground had been conquered, along with other relics that remained locked within the depths of the Hidden Realm. But it was not the most significant one.

His army comes, but the one I seek is not with them.

Fire-Eye swallowed but said nothing. The Spirit had been of great assistance, had given him a terrifying invulnerability, an invaluable asset in his rise to power, but it was obsessed, not easily distracted.

He took the chain from around his neck, staring absently into the eye amid the golden fire, the symbol that had given him his shaman name. Fire-Eye. It was the name by which the Bolg called him, generally whispered when spoken.

The fire-eye had lain in the bottom of a great chest for centuries before him, the Bolg of the Hidden Realm too frightened to touch it, let alone put it on. Even the fiercest hunters in the Fist-and-Fire, his own clan, had shied away from it. Only he had been able to summon the courage to lift the golden symbol from its casket, to wear it on his chest. He reveled in watching the other Bolg of his clan recoil in abject fear.

It had never occurred to him to wonder why the Willums would have buried such a powerful item away, had left it under a pile of rags along with a small pair of alabaster lions and a brooch made of mother-of-pearl, baubles that no one had wanted to touch but that had instantly disappeared once he took the fire-eye out of the crate. Twenty season-cycles had passed since that day.

The Spirit had made itself known to him almost immediately. It had come to him in darkness, reflecting his own image back to him, frightening him into shaking fits. When it spoke its words were hard to hear clearly, though he had gotten more used to the silent voice over time. It had given him his name, Saltar.

Saltar?

Fire-Eye looked up again, searching the darkness for the all-but-invisible Ghost. That was what the other clans called the Spirit. They were almost as terrified of it as he was.

It spoke to him now, just as it had then. A thought occurred to him.

'I know how to draw him out," he said to the air around him.

Silence.

'You must fight this time," Saltar said, fingering the fire-eye, then slipping the chain around his neck again. "Then he will come."

The air bristled, a whiff of heat rising in Saltar's dismal chamber.

Yes.

Tears welled beneath Rhapsody's eyelids at the sound of her mother's voice, a voice she heard in her heart. Dreaming, but still clinging to the last fragments of awareness, she struggled to keep the vision at bay. Too often the nightmares began like this, catching her off-guard and vulnerable.

'No," she whispered in her sleep. "Please."

A gentle hand came to rest on her head.

Don't cry, Emmy. Her mother's smiling face, swimming before her, blurred by her own tears.

She surrendered to sleep with one last sigh. "Mama."

,' like your house, Emmy, especially the candles. Her mother's eyes cast an appreciative glance around at the tiny glimmering lights that appeared, as she spoke, in the darkness. Even the simplest house is a palace in candlelight. "Mama—"

Come over here and let me brush your hair by the fire the way we once did.

Rhapsody felt the heat radiate over her face. She rose and followed her mother to the hearth. Flames twisted and danced, burning insistently.

The caress of smooth hands running down her hair, the bite of the comb.

Do you remember this, child'?

'Yes," she whispered, choking on the tears. "Mama—Shhh. Her mother reached into the fire. Here, child, put your hand in; I can't get it for you. It won't let me pick it up.

Tou'll have to do it.

She reached into the roaring flames, feeling their heat but no pain. Her hand grasped something smooth and cold, and she drew it forth from the fire. Instantly all the flames died away except for the ones licking up the blade of the sword in her hand.

'Daystar Clarion," she murmured.

As it was in the Past, before it was taken from our la-nd, away from the light of Seren. See how it looked then.

Rhapsody turned the weapon over in her hands, running her fingers along the silvery blade. "It looks the same." Look harder.

She turned it over again. In the hilt, just above the tang, a small light burned blue-white, more brilliant than the sun, held in place by silvery prongs.