Rhapsody, Child of Blood (22 page)

'Great idea," Rhapsody said as the song came to the end. "Let me guess: you sing tenor, Achmed." She received a surly look in response. Slowly she began unwrapping his wrist. "You know, you both really ought to have more respect for music. It can be a very powerful weapon, as well as whatever else you need it to be."

'That's true; my singin' voice can be quiet good at inflictin' pain. At least that's what the troops use ta tell me."

Rhapsody's smile grew a little brighter. "Go ahead, scoff if you want to. But music of one form or another will probably be what gets us out of this place."

'Only if you annoy me so much with your singing that I use your body as an auger and drill us out of here."

She laughed. "Music is nothing more than the maps through the vibrations that make up all the world. If you have the right map, it will take you wherever you want to go. Here." She stopped unwrapping Achmed's arm and opened her pack, pulling out a dried blossom.

'Remember this? You thought it was a parlor trick, but that was because you don't understand how it works. Even now, after all this time, it can be made new again." She ignored the sarcastic glance that passed between them, and put the flower into Achmed's palm. Quietly she sang its name, and went back to unwrapping his bandage as she waited for his reaction with amusement.

Grunthor leaned over her shoulder and watched as the petals began to swell with moisture and uncurl, stretching to their full length again. Even in the acrid tunnel, the faint fragrance of the primrose was discernible over the stench of stagnant water and the sweat of their bodies.

'But it only works with flowers?"

'No, it works with anything." She pulled the bandage away, and surveyed her handiwork. The wound was closed, and almost gone. What had a moment before been a deep, jagged gash was now a thin line of raised pink skin, and after a moment even that had vanished, leaving the forearm as it had been before the combat.

Even Achmed seemed somewhat impressed. "How does it work?"

'It's part of what a Namer can do. There is no thing, no concept, no law as strong as the power of a given thing's name. Our identities are bound to it. It is the essence of what we are, our own individual story, and sometimes it can even make us what we are again, no matter how much we have been altered."

Achmed gave her a sour look. "That must be profitable in your line of work—how many times have you sold your own virginity? Does it bring a better price each time?"

He watched her wince, and felt a twinge of regret. He didn't like his own reaction, and so filled his voice with sarcasm. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Have I offended you?"

'No," she said shortly. "There is very little you could say that I haven't heard before.

I'm used to men making jackasses out of themselves."

'

'Ey!" said Grunthor in mock offense. "Watch it, sweet'eart, I haven't 'ad a good meal in a good long time."

'Another example," she said patiently. "You see, men have the upper hand in size and strength, and many of them have little compunction about using it when they can't win with their wits. Who do you think came up with the idea of prostitution in the first place—women? Do you think we enjoy being degraded on a daily basis? I find it incredibly ironic; it is a service in great demand, and one that I can assure you few women go into unless they have to." She dabbed a little of the healing tonic onto her own cuts and vermin bites, then offered the phial to Grunthor, who shook his head.

'Men are the ones who want it," she continued. "They often go to great lengths and great expense to obtain it, and then turn around and insult the women who provide the salve for this overwhelming, insistent need of theirs. Then the men act as though such women are somehow to be ashamed for their actions, when it was the man's idea in the first place; that's what I cannot fathom.

'Anyone can understand a starving person resorting to stealing in order to feed his family, but somehow a woman who is forced into that life by the same threat, or that of violence, is less than a person. Never mind the man who is making use of the service.

He has nothing to regret, and in fact it is usually he who expects her to accept the scorn and derision as something she deserves. I say all of you can blow in the wind. I'm going to remain celibate."

'Right," Grunthor chuckled, "sell a bit here, sell a bit there—"

Rhapsody spoke another word, and the giant's leering commentary was choked off in midword. The giant continued to move his mouth, but no sound emerged for a moment. His eyes widened with surprise, and he looked over at Achmed.

Achmed reached over and roughly took hold of her collar. "What did you do to him?

Whatever spell you cast, take it off now,"

Rhapsody didn't blink. "He's under no spell; he can speak if he wants."

'Oi doubt it—oh, Oi guess Oi can at that, now. Sorry, miss. Oi didn't mean to be offensif."

'No offense taken. As I told you, there's very little you can say to insult me that I haven't heard before."

'Well, no one here will sit in judgment of you. We have sort of a 'live and let live'

philosophy, wouldn't you say, Grunthor?"

Grunthor snickered, then nodded. "Oh, yes, miss. Live and let live. Or, pe'raps 'kill and eat' might be more like it. You got to remember, Oi'm a Sergeant Major by trade; Oi kills and eats folks as part of my job. Well, actually, just kills 'em; the eatin' part is actually what you might call a side benefit. Countin' coo, as it were." Rhapsody just nodded and went back to rewrapping the bandages.

'So how did you take away his voice, then, if it wasn't a spell?"

'I spoke the name of silence," she said, "and it came, for a moment, anyway. It was the most powerful thing in this, well, this space, because it was in the presence of its name. How's your wrist feeling?"

'Fine. Thank you."

'You're more than welcome."

'Oi 'ate to break up this lit'le love festival, but we ought to get movin', eh?"

'You're right," said Achmed, rising from the taproot and brushing off the dead vermin that remained around them. "I'm running out of disks. We'll have to make the best use we can of them from here on out if the vermin return."

Rhapsody shuddered as the carcasses fell around her, covering her head to keep the pieces out of her hair. She repacked the flower and healing herbs, and followed Achmed back off of the outcropping and onto the root, to begin once more the seemingly endless climb to nowhere.

,'2 ou're the dirt of the ground Oi walk on, You're pond scum under my heel. Just try disobeyin' my orders, Oi'll feed ya three feet o' black steel.

It's a crime to despise the Sergeant, No matter what 'e thinks o' you Be sure not to spread your opinion Or you'll wind up for sure in the stew.

Rhapsody smiled to herself as Grunthor's ringing bass died away below her. The Bolg Sergeant clearly missed the troops that had been under his command, though he had not elaborated much about who they were, or what had happened to them. His marching cadences helped him pass the time, and gave her an interesting window into Bolg military life. More than anything, it made her appreciate that she had not yet become part of the menu.

-

A small thicket of rootlets offered a moment's respite from the climb, and she took the opportunity to stop, trying to find warmth. As she rubbed her hands furiously up and down her arms, Rhapsody endeavored to stop her heart from pounding in the anticipation she could not control. The sickening feeling in her stomach from too many disappointments did little to quash the hope that was now lodged in her throat.

Finally, after an interminable amount of time, they were almost to the tunnel's break. Above them in the darkness stretched a vast ceiling, too far to see the top, where Rhapsody hoped they might soon see sky. Perhaps it's dark outside, she thought, but in the pit of her stomach she knew they had been traveling for far more than the span of a single night since the opening had come into view.

'Wait there," Achmed called down to them as he approached the opening. Grunthor came to a halt as well and waited as the dark figure climbed the rest of the distance up the thickening root tower.

As the taproot grew closer to the opening of the tunnel it widened dramatically, and seeing the outside edges became impossible. Grunthor and Rhapsody watched as Achmed faded from view, scaling the enormous root trunk above them and disappearing over its edge.

While they waited, Rhapsody looked over at Grunthor. During their interminable journey she had grown quite fond of him, and grudgingly friendly with his comrade as well, though she still had not forgiven him or determined his motives. Now that it seemed as if they might be near the end, she had come to realize how the giant Bolg was more a man than many she had met, not at all the monster she had been told of in childhood horror stories.

'Grunthor?"

The amber-eyed Sergeant looked over at her. "Yes, miss?"

'In case I don't get a chance to thank you after we get out, I want you to know how much I've appreciated your kindness, in spite of, well, the way we ended up together."

Grunthor looked up to where Achmed had disappeared and smiled. "Don't mention it, Duchess."

'And I apologize if I hurt your feelings in any way, back in the meadows when we first met, by my comments about thinking of Firbolg as monsters."

Grunthor's smile brightened noticeably. "Well, that's awful nice o' you, Yer Ladyship, but Oi got a pretty thick 'ide; Oi didn't take no offense by it. And you're not so bad yourself, you know, for one o' them glass-Lirin. They're the worst-tastin'

o' the lot."

Rhapsody laughed. "What kinds of Lirin have you known, besides Liringlas?"

'Oh, all kinds. Oi've seen Lirin from the cities, and Lirin that live in the dark 'ills, and Lirin from the sea. They all look somethin' the same, you know, all angles, skinny lit'le buggers with pointy faces and big wide eyes. Come in all different colors, mind you.

You're not a full-blood, are ya?"

She shook her head. "No, half. I guess I'm a mongrel among Lirin."

'Aw, well, mutts make the best dogs, they say, miss. Don't feel bad. It makes for a nicer appearance, Oi think. You're a pretty lit'le thing, as Lirin go, not so sharp-lookin'

and fragile."

'Thank you." She smiled at the odd compliment. "You're the nicest Firbolg I've ever met, but, as you noted, I've only ever met one."

'Two." The voice from the root above her caused her to jump a little. Achmed had returned.

'No, I've never met any but Grunthor."

Achmed's expression turned into something more resembling a sneer than a smile.

"Well, far be it from me to correct the facts of the All-Knowledgeable, but you've met two."

Rhapsody looked puzzled. "Are you saying you are also Firbolg?"

'Perhaps we shouldn't use her for food, Grunthor; she shows a glimmer of intelligence." The giant made a mock sound of disappointment.

She looked from one to the other, vastly different in appearance. Grunthor was at least a foot taller than Achmed, and where the giant was broad and muscular, with massive arms and hands that ended in claws, Achmed, from what she could see beneath the covering of robes, was wiry and of thinner build, with bony human hands.

She turned to the giant.

'Are you a full-blooded Firbolg?"

'Naw."

The robed man snorted. "Did you think you're the only half-breed in the world?"

Color flooded Rhapsody's face, visible even in the darklight. "Of course not. I just thought Grunthor was Firbolg."

-

'Grunthor is half Bengard"

aonSe°dr "^V^ Bengardian race was a little-known one, reputedly from a distant desert.

They were said t be«er nor v for one° be on our way?

' e me^,oned, but had been USh to know when it was l she ^plied. "I don't want to stay

'haVC tO'" She Stood> stret* f . She did' then secured her be and followed the two Bolg up the vast root once more.

up.

'give,me your 'and and Oi'u fli;y.t00,k h°ld °f the massive P «d al-0 h™ her K

off Ae ridge of the

taproot up her eyes K "whl

^^ "^ The ground bdow ?h C ±e r?0t they had climbed' b« glowing h mguPUlSe She Could feel behind her eye!

tire Keing JUSt aS ±e taPr°0t had dwa^d was mnusc &*' Y C°^ison> the size of the taproot luscule in contrast to this Grunthor whistled. The endless glowing ground that '

r nrh H of Serendair. This colossal "" d^°™, each of which was " and radix' hansm§ and her d-ppomtment. "Gods,

this is the reai R°ot what we d™bed She fought back the tears she had been forbidden to shed. "I can't go any further," she said, her voice coming out in a whisper.

The robed figure took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. "Listen! Can't you hear the music around you? How can a Singer, a Namer, particularly a Lirin one, not be awed by the music of this place? Even I can hear it, I can feel it in my skin. Listen"

Over the beating of her sorrowful heart Rhapsody could hear the hum, a great vibration modulating in the endless cavern around them. Against her will she closed her eyes and drank it in. It was a rich sound, full of wisdom and power, unlike any she had ever heard. Achmed was right, as much as she hated to admit it. There was something magical here, something unique in all the world, a melody that moved slowly, changing tones almost infinitesimally, unhurried by the need to keep pace with anything. It was the voice of the Earth, singing from its soul.

Rhapsody let the music flow through her, washing over the pain and the anger, healing the wounds from their combat with the vermin. She attuned her own note, the tone that was her musical name, to the voice of the Root, as once she had to the song of Sagia, and felt it fill her with its power. A moment later she opened her eyes to see the men conferring, pointing to the different pathways that extended out from this juncture. It was as if they were at a crossroads, trying to decide which way to go.