Rhapsody, Child of Blood (33 page)

The winter wind blew the hair from her eyes, and Rhapsody nodded. "I know," she said. "So you two remain hidden, follow me, and I'll report back to you if I can."

'And 'ow are we supposed to get you out o' there if some-thin'

'appens?" asked Grunthor. He was growing visibly upset.

'You aren't," she said simply. "It's a matter of survival now. I know this isn't the best way for the two of you, but we have different goals. You plan to stay in this place; I don't. I want to go home, and I'm willing to risk everything for that, but I don't expect you to. Either way, the two of you should be all right. If there are no problems, we will meet up and I can pass what I've learned on to you. And if something happens, well, break camp and get out of here. Drink a toast to me every now and then, if you care to."

'Naw," Grunthor muttered, "too risky. Can you speak that language, Duchess?"

'Not yet," Rhapsody admitted, "but I should be able to get by for a while until I pick it up."

'Just don't slip and talk to them in Bolgish," Achmed warned. "You want to learn about them, not for them to learn about us."

'Right." She smiled at Grunthor, who was still shaking his head. "You realize it might take a while to get the information we need."

Achmed nodded. "Once we assess that you're safe we'll do some broader scouting, get some real information about this place."

'How will we get back together?" Rhapsody asked.

'We set a time and place. If you're not there, we go looking for you."

'And where would we meet? Here?"

'No. I don't want anyone trailing us back to the Root. Closed or not, I don't want anyone knowing where we came from. Agreed?"

Rhapsody rose in the darkness and came to Grunthor. She sat on his knee and wrapped an arm around his massive neck. "Agreed. We'll pick a place near the next village along the road, and, if you decide it's safe to leave, set up to meet in a few weeks. But don't go leaving me until I give you a sign that I think it's safe, too. I don't want to be counting on you to come and rescue me to find that you're twenty leagues away."

Grunthor sighed reluctantly. "All right, that makes sense. What's the sign?"

Rhapsody whistled a simple trill, and the two Bolg smiled. It was a tune she had hummed when they were able to walk upright in the tunnel, a sign that her mood had improved, if only for a while. "That's the all-clear. Now, if you hear this—" She whistled again, an unmistakable sound of distress, couched in the tones of a larksong. "—it meins come if you can and help me."

'Got it, miss."

They laid their plans late into the night. Morning would find them on the road to the next village, a place the two Bolg had determined in their scouting to be larger and more central.

They blazed a marker that was clear and hard to miss, no matter what the weather brought. It would point to their meeting place. Then they settled in to wait. Rhapsody would approach a likely individual and try to make contact while the others watched for a few days or more. If they determined it was safe to leave her, they would meet in a little more than two months' time, under the full moon.

'You realize this is very dangerous," Achmed said as she bade them goodbye. Once she had identified her contact, she would not come back.

Rhapsody turned around and regarded them seriously. "I once was trapped with Michael, the Waste of Breath, for a fort night, completely at his mercy and unable to escape. I survived that. This is nothing."

Achmed and Grunthor both nodded. They had known Michael. She was not exaggerating.

Che thaw had progressed to a stage where the scents of the earth were hinted at in the air again. The snowpack was still deep, and showed little sign of abating, but the wind was a little warmer, and around the bases of the trees a thin ring of ground could be seen. Children were out more frequently, and the townsfolk of the villages along the road could be found making repairs to cottages and barns or gathering additional stores of wood in the forest before the return of bitter weather. The forays of the vil agers into the woods made hiding more difficult.

The three travelers stood in a shaded vale, obscured by thick vines that would be impenetrable in summer when in leaf, not far from the village entrance on the road.

Grunthor had pointed out a number of children who were alone at times, but Rhapsody was uncomfortable approaching any of them for fear she might bring punishment on them. Finally, toward noon, a group of farmers congregated on the road, awaiting something coming from the west. The three moved closer to observe.

As the sun crested the apex of the sky, one of the men looked down the road and pointed. The person approaching on a silver-gray horse was an older man, tall and barrel-chested, with a large, pocked nose and reddish-brown beard that was streaked with white. As he came into view more of the villagers assembled, some running forth to meet him, others hanging back to wait.

The man was dressed in woolen robes that had been dyed the color of earth, probably with butternut hulls, Rhapsody noted. He carried a knotted wooden staff, and each person who greeted him did so with reverence, most of them bowing their heads as his hand came to rest on them. His arrival had generated a mild excitement that was tempered with warmth and respect; obviously the farmers knew him well. He dismounted slowly, showing some of the signs of age.

It was clear from the brief benedictions he spoke and the blessings he conferred that this man was some sort of priest. His simple clothes and lack of adornment in Serendair would have indicated a cleric of lowly rank, but Rhapsody noted that the deference shown him was more on the level that would be offered to an abbot or another high-ranking clergyman. Her eyes sparkled excitedly.

'He's the one," she whispered to the two Firbolg.

'No," said Achmed. "Listen."

Rhapsody strained to hear the conversation between the wandering priest and one of the men. It was about snowfall levels and augury of forest animals in predicting the growing season; the signs seemed to indicate that winter would return soon, and with a vengeance in a month or so. They also exchanged a few words about a diseased cow and an injury that the farmer's son had sustained.

Then the priest laid his hand on the farmer's head, and spoke his blessing.

Rhapsody's mouth dropped open. Unlike the language they had exchanged in their conversation, the same vernacular she had been hearing all along, the benediction was in the tongue of the Island of Serendair, word for word. It was spoken with a strange accent, with the staccato breaks of a man not using his mother tongue, but clearly and correctly.

'Gods," she said, swallowing hard.

'I don't like it." Achmed's bony hand encircled her upper arm, drawing her back into the thicket.

Rhapsody turned to him in surprise. "Why not? Who would be better to talk to? He speaks our language."

'Perhaps, but I don't want him to know that we do, remember? Bolgish. We speak Bolgish. He's a priest. I don't trust priests."

Rhapsody slid her arm out of his grasp. "Perhaps you've just known bad ones; dark priests, evil gods. One of my favorite people in all the world was a priest, and I knew several kind ones in Easton."

Achmed looked at her in disgust. "First off, all priests have a plan, a design, sometimes their own, sometimes their god's. I am not serving any god's design.

Second, how do you know this man isn't a dark priest?"

Rhapsody blinked in astonishment. "Look at him, for goodness' sake—he's blessing children."

The Dhracian's expression melted into amusement. "And you think evil priests walk the land randomly throwing curses around and smiting waifs with their walking sticks?

Evil priests do the same things that regular priests do. It's the price that's different, and the tender it's paid in, that's all."

'Well, I think this is the best chance I'm going to get to meet someone who might be able to get me to port. I'm going to risk it."

This time Grunthor took her arm. "Don't take a chance, Duchess."

Rhapsody smiled at the giant. "He looks like a nature priest, Grunthor. What does your tie to the Earth say about him?"

Grunthor looked back through the thicket and closed his eyes. A moment later he opened them with a sigh.

'

'E's tied to it, too, in a big way. 'E cares for it, knows about it. You're right, miss, 'e's a nature priest o' some sort."

Rhapsody patted the enormous hand and slid free again. "I've got to chance it. If anything happens, and you can't intervene, I'll understand, and I won't give you away."

Achmed exhaled. "All right. I guess this is as good a time as any. Be careful."

c,'vhaddyr spoke to the head farmer with as much patience as he could muster. "Now, Severhalt, I know poor old Fawn is getting on in years, but surely she is still performing her religious duties to your community." The look in his eye had a tinge of annoyance to it, but his voice was gentle.

The man's hands came to rest on his hips, and he looked down at the ground.

"Services, yes, Father, but we're not get-tin' the kind of support we need with the animals anymore. We need pomeone younger, someone who can handle the winter."

Khaddyr sighed. "Well, I certainly understand your frustration, my son, but these are difficult times. I know Fawn isn't as hale as she once was, but she still performs the rites for the congregation, doesn't she?" "Yes, Father."

'And your village and homesteads are very near the Tree; there are certainly more than enough Filids there to aid you in times of great need if Fawn cannot. The Circle is in a bit of a bind, and unable to spare a new priest at this time. And I'm afraid Llauron granted Fawn the privilege of keeping her congregation here, in proximity to the Tree, as a boon for her years of faithful service. He wants to see her final years be holy ones.

You can understand that, can't you?"

-

Severhalt sighed. "Yes, Father."

Khaddyr smiled. "Let's talk about this again in the spring. I have some acolytes who are spending the winter studying medicine with me. They should, by rights, go on to Gavin to train as foresters next, but perhaps we can reroute them here for a few months to assist with planting and the birthing of the calves. How does that sound?"

The faces of the men who had clustered around lit up, as did Severhalt's.

"Wonderful, Father, thank ya. Can ya come in for a spot of supper—Father?" The delight on the farmer's face disappeared, replaced by concern. The Filidic priest was staring into the forest, his face drained of color.

A woman had walked out of the woods, appearing as if from nowhere. For a moment Khaddyr was not sure whether he was imagining her or not. She was caked in long-dried mud and clothed in filthy rags, but she was without question at the same time the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The hair beneath the clots of clay was as brilliant as the sun, and glistened in the filtered light of the gloomy afternoon. She was slight, but long of line, and walked with a grace that belied her unkempt state. Her eyes, even as far away as she was, were visibly green, deep and dark as a forest glade in the height of summer.

Then she smiled, and it was as if the clouds had cleared suddenly. The warmth in the look she gave him radiated into the coldest places of his heart. Khaddyr feared he might cry for want of her. He instantly began chanting under his breath, throwing himself into his rote religious rituals to ward off whatever spell she had cast on him".

As she approached his heart began to pound, and he leaned on the knotted staff to steady himself. She stopped at a respectful distance and opened her hands in a peaceful gesture of greeting. It was only then that Khaddyr noticed she was armed; a thin, rough-hewn scabbard, seemingly carved from rock, adorned her side. It seemed more decorative than utilitarian, and she was hardly threatening, even equipped as she was.

It took him more than a few moments to find his voice. The farmers with whom he had been conferring were staring, slack-jawed, as well.

'What are you?" he asked. His voice broke, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. "What are you?" he repeated gruffly. The woman merely blinked. "Can you understand me?"

She nodded. "But you don't speak?" She smiled uncomfortably, and shrugged.

Khaddyr's eyes ran up and down her exquisite, if unbathed, figure, causing his breath to come out more shallowly. Until this moment his vow of celibacy, a pledge not required of any Filid priest but him, had seemed an easy sacrifice in exchange for being sworn as Llauron's Tanist, the ancient leader's religious successor. Suddenly, the privilege of being named Invoker himself one day paled in importance. He cleared his throat again.

'I am Khaddyr. I am a Filidic priest and the Tanist of Llauron, the Invoker." What is this? he wondered. A wood nymph? A tree spirit? A dryad? He had heard the legends of forest creatures but did not believe them, at least until now.

The dazzling woman bowed her head. Well, Khaddyr noted, she's respectful, whatever she is. Something else that made her attractive.

'Well," he said finally, "I'm afraid you're a bit beyond my powers of understanding. I have no idea who or what you are, so I suppose I shall have to take you to Llauron and let him have a look at you. Don't be afraid; the Invoker is a kind man. Will you come with me, please?"

The strange woman nodded, and smiled at him again. He held out his hand and allowed it to come to rest, trembling slightly, on her upper arm. Beneath the rotten fabric of the tattered shirt, her skin was deliciously warm. Khaddyr left his hand there long enough to turn her in the appropriate direction, then quickly dropped it down to his side. He turned west
himself as
well, only to find a wall of blank-faced townspeople blocking their path back to the Tree.

'I say," he growled, "do clear the path, please." The farmers didn't'tt move. "Ahem,"

he repeated, glaring at them, "get out of the way."

The woman looked at him, then back at the people obstructing the path, and took a step toward them. Instantly they scattered like leaves, retreating to a safe distance, and continued to stare at her. Khaddyr didn't know how long they would stay at bay, so he took her arm again and led her to the silver-gray horse, lifting her easily off the ground and mounting behind her. He rode away just as the townspeople seemed to recover their wits. A shout went up as a few ran to their own stables, determined to follow him.