When she was sure that her friends and the child were all the way inside the earthen bunker with the rock-seal tightly in place she drew Daystar Clarion, whispering a prayer to the unseen stars miles above her that she was doing the right thing.
In the lore-heavy air the flaming blade roared to life, singing its clarion call. It sent a silver thrill ringing through Rhapsody and the cavern around her; for an instant she was certain that the Grandmother had heard the melodic shout, and had taken heart from it. Rhapsody closed her eyes and concentrated, thinking back to another ancient woman, a warrior like the Grandmother, who had stayed, alone and unacknowledged, seeking to protect the world from the F’dor.
I have lived past my time, waiting for a guardian to come and replace me. Now that I have someone to pass my stewardship on to, I will eventually be able to find the peace that I have longed for. I will at long last be reunited with those I love. Immortality in this world is not the only kind, you know, Rhapsody.
The words of ultimate wisdom from the lips of the Sleeping Child.
Light it.
Rhapsody fought to conquer the nausea that was swelling within her. It didn’t matter that she was doing as the Grandmother commanded, or how necessary the imminent act was. She was going to be the agent of the last Dhracian’s death. She would be burning her alive. There was something more to it, something about the act of immolation that tugged at the edge of her memory, but she could not recall what it was, as if it had been removed from her mind. Rhapsody shook her head to clear the thought and concentrated on the sword.
Deep inside her she felt a swell of power, and strengthening of her spirit, radiating from her hands where she gripped the hilt of Daystar Clarion. The doubt and sadness of the Grandmother’s impending death burned off like dew in the blaze of the morning sun. She and the sword were one.
It is you, Rhapsody; I knew it from the moment I saw you. Even if you weren’t one of the Three, I believe in my heart that you are the one to do this; the true Iliachenva’ar.
Rhapsody stared at the gleaming flame of the firewell, listening to its song. Once she had passed through the fire in the Earth’s heart, the same fire that was the source of this flame. The fire had not harmed her; it had seeped into her soul until it was part of her.
It was most of her.
It would not harm her now. It awaited her command.
Rhapsody pointed Daystar Clarion at the well of fire. In the rippling flame she could see her own eyes reflected, eyes burning green, blending into the fire’s many hues.
Light it.
“Vingka jai,” she said, calling on her deepest lore as a Namer. Her voice rang with authority, filling the Loritorium’s cavern. Ignite and spread.
She struggled to keep her eyes open against the fireball that ensued.
The licking flames from Daystar Clarion’s blade leapt forward angrily, righteously, blazing a gleaming arc from the sword to the fountainhead. When the flame from the sword touched the Earth’s fire they melded, forming a ray of light more intense that Rhapsody had ever seen, even in the starfire that had lighted Jo’s funeral pyre. A commingling of the fire with the Earth, the ether of the stars, and the purest of elemental fire’s flames, the burning ray blasted out of the fountainhead and torched the liquid fuse Achmed had made, sending a ferocious sheet of fire crackling to the upper reaches of the vaulted ceiling.
Then, with an earth-shattering roar, the fire and the lampfuel erupted, surging through the tunnel and into the remains of the Colony. As the mammoth fireball billowed forward, it filled the entire space, sending liquid heat and blinding light into every crevasse, expanding until it reached to the edges of the caverns and tunnels. It washed over Rhapsody, filling her with exquisite warmth and joy; in its passing she heard the song of the fire at the Earth’s heart, a song she had carried with her since the first time she heard it. It was like being reborn again, cleansed of the pain and grief she had been carrying for so long.
From within the ruins of the Colony a hideous shrieking issued forth, screams of demonic intensity that tore through the Loritorium, shaking its flame-scorched walls. Rhapsody gripped the sword harder, concentrating with all her strength on directing the fire through the broken tunnels, envisioning it burning the tangled vine into obliteration.
I
“Cerant ori sylviat,” Rhapsody commanded. Burn until all is consumed. The intensity of the flames increased in the distance, raising the moan of the enormous serpent- vine to an earsplitting wail.
Above the fire’s roar Rhapsody began the Lirin Song of Passage, a dirge for the Grandmother. Though she had lived her entire life within the earth, the Dhracian Matriarch was also descended from the Kith, the race of the wind. Perhaps the wind would take her ashes now and set them free to dance across the wild world, a place she had never seen from above. The song cut through the cacophony and melded in harmony with the billowing flames.
And then, suddenly, the flames grew weak and extinguished, taking with them the last of the air in the cavern. A hollow silence thundered through the Loritorium, then diminished into an ominous hiss. Rhapsody fell to her knees, breathless and gasping for air in the lifeless smoke.
The one who heals also will kill.
The enormity of what she had done to the Grandmother overwhelmed her, and, choking, she retched.
Grunthor and Achmed covered their eyes and heads, shielding the Sleeping Child as the backwash of the flame roared up the tunnel past their bunker. Their clothes grew hot from the searing heat that radiated through the solid wall of rock, and their eyes locked. Achmed smiled slightly at the gleam of fear in Grunthor’s eyes.
“She’s all right.”
Grunthor nodded. They waited until the noise abated, but heard nothing.
“We’ll wait,” Achmed said. “She’ll be coming momentarily.”
“How can you be sure?” Grunthor asked.
Achmed leaned back against the rockwall. “I’ve learned a few of her tricks myself. Believe what you want to happen, expect that it will, and somehow, miraculously, it does, at least for her. It worked with singing her back to life. It will work now.”
Grunthor nodded uncertainly and turned his focus to the Earthchild. She lay in his arms in the dark, still for the first time, sleeping so deeply that he could barely see her breathe. He watched her silently take the air in, saw it ever-so-slightly slip back out, over again, and again, utterly mesmerized by the sight.
They had shared one body for a fleeting moment, the Child of Earth and he. From the experience he had gained an understanding of many of the Earth’s secrets, though he would have been at a loss to explain any of them. There was something almost holy about having felt the beating heart of the world pulsing in him, a surpassing vibrancy that left him feeling bereft now that it was gone.
He stared at the Earthchild’s face, roughhewn and coarse like his own, while still strangely smooth and beautiful, visible to him even in the absence of light. He knew there were silent tears running in muddy trickles down her polished cheeks, knew that she was mourning the Grandmother, holding a silent vigil behind her eyes. Now he understood what the Dhracian Matriarch had meant when sh said she had known the child’s heart. Perhaps now he would know it as well.
It was not until Achmed shifted nervously and leaned closer to the rock sealing their bunker that it dawned on him how long Rhapsody had been gone. The king put his ear to the wall, then moved back, shaking his head.
“Anything?” Grunthor inquired hopefully. Achmed shook his head again.
“Can you feel her through the earth?”
Grunthor thought for a moment. “Naw. Everything’s all jumbled, like tt ground is still in shock. Can’t tell anything.”