“Yes, but that’s because I’m a woman.”
“I’ll say.”
“Well, men do that—follow women, I mean. It’s their nature. They live constantly primed to mate, and they are almost always, well, ready for it. They can’t help it. It must be a very uncomfortable way to live.”
Ashe swallowed his amusement. “And you think any woman has this effect on any man?”
Rhapsody blinked again. “Well, yes. It’s part of nature, the cycle of propagation, of attraction and mating.”
Ashe couldn’t refrain from laughing. “You are sadly misinformed.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do, if you are under the impression that every woman affects men the way you do. You are judging by your own experience, and it is very different from the way it is for most people.”
The conversation was making her uncomfortable; Ashe could tell because Rhapsody reached for her pack and rummaged until she found her lark’s flute. She occasionally played the tiny instrument in the woods, as it had a sound that blended into the forest air, complementing the birdsong. That was by day; now the birds were silent, and the only music in the forest now was that of the wind. She settled back against a tree and regarded him with a wry look. “And you think you have a better perspective on men and women?” Ashe laughed again. “Well, not than most, but better than yours.” Rhapsody began to play, a tripping series of notes that tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. She pulled the flute away from her lips and smiled. “I think you are as unqualified to judge as I am, maybe more so.” Ashe sat up in interest. “Really? Why?”
“Because you’re a wanderer.”
“And what does that have to do with anything?”
“In my experience, foresters and other wanderers are very different from the majority of men,” she said lightly. Twilight had faded completely into night; her eyes scanned the sky, but she did not seem to find what she sought.
“How so?”
“They seek different things from women, for one. Women they would have on a temporary basis, that is.”
She couldn’t tell if Ashe really was smiling or if she just imagined she heard it in his voice. “And what might that be?”
Rhapsody returned to playing her lark’s flute, lost in thought. The melody was airy but melancholy, and Ashe imagined he could see the colors and textures she was weaving with her notes, patterns of deep, soft swirls in shades of blue and purple, like ocean waves against the darkening sky before a storm. Then the song changed into brighter, longer measures, and the colors lightened and stretched until they wafted like clouds on a warm wind at sunset. Ashe listened, enthralled, until she was done, but held onto the thought she had left unanswered. “Well?”
She jumped a little. It was obvious her mind was far away. “Yes?”
“Sorry. What do most men seek from temporary interaction with women?” Rhapsody smiled. “Release.” Ashe nodded. “And wanderers?” She thought for a moment. “Contact.”
“Contact?”
“Yes. People who walk alone in the wide world all their lives sometimes lose perspective on what is real and what is not, what still remains and what is only memory. What men who wander most of their lives want, when they come upon a woman for a short time, is contact, reaffirmation that they really do exist. At least in my experience, anyway.”
Ashe was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke his voice was soft. “And do they instead find sometimes that they do not exist?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a wanderer, at least not by choice. I hope only to be one for a short while. It’s not a life I find suits me, and I am growing tired of it.”
They sat in silence until her watch began. Ashe rose slowly and made his gear ready for the night, then slipped into the shadows, disappearing on the other side of the fire. Rhapsody watched him lie down, and thought she heard him sigh deeply. Perhaps she was reading her own feelings into the sound, but she felt its music speak of deep loneliness, not unlike her own. She had been wrong about his feelings before and had been taken aback when she tried to comfort or reassure him, only to find he felt no need for it, and was annoyed by her attempt. Rhapsody weighed her options for a moment, then decided to err on the side of being too kind. “Ashe?”
“Hmmm?”
“You do exist, even if you are hard to see sometimes.” The voice from the shadows was noncommittal. “Thank you so very much for telling me.”
Rhapsody cringed. She had chosen wrong again. She sat her watch, scanning the horizon for signs of life, but saw none. The night was quiet except for the crackling of the flames and the occasional sound of the wind. In the silence she heard him speak softly, as if to himself.
“I’m glad you think so.”
At the midnight she woke him for his watch and crawled gratefully into her bedroll, settling down to sleep almost before she was fully reclining. The nightmares came an hour or so later, taking her so violently that Ashe forgot his resolve to stay out of it and shook her awake gently. She sat up abruptly in tears. It took her more than an hour to become calm again.
It was an old dream, a dream that had come to her when she first learned that Serendair was gone, destroyed fourteen centuries before while she and the two Bolg were crawling through the belly of the Earth. In her dream she stood in a village consumed by black fire, while soldiers rode through the streets, slaying everyone in sight. In the distance at the edge of the horizon she saw eyes, tinged in red, laughing at her. And then, as a bloodstained warrior on a black charger with fire in its eyes rode down on her like a man possessed, she was lifted up in the air in the claw of a great copper dragon.
She drew her camp blanket around her shoulders, glancing occasionally out into the darkness beyond the glowing circle of campfire light. Ashe had given her a mug of tea and watched as she held it in both her hands until it was undoubtedly cold, staring into the flames. They sat together in the shadows of the fire, silently. Finally he spoke.
“If the memory of the dream is disturbing to you, I can help you be rid of it.”
Rhapsody barely seemed to hear him. “Hmmm?”
Ashe rose and dug in the folds of his cloak, a moment later pulling out the coin purse Jo had once tried to steal from him on the street in Bethe Corbair. He untied the drawstring and drew forth a small gleaming sphere which he then put in Rhapsody’s hand. Her brows drew together.
“A pearl?”
“Yes. A pearl is layer upon layer of tears from the sea. It is a natural vault of sorts that can hold such ephemeral things as vows and memories—traditionally deals of state or important bargains are sealed in the presence of a large pearl of great value.” Rhapsody nodded vaguely; she knew that brides in the old land wove pearls into their hair or wore them set in jewelry for the same reason. “You’re a Canwr,” Ashe continued. “If you want to be free of the nightmare, speak the true name of the pearl and will it to hold the memory. When the thought has^left your memory and is captured in the pearl, crush the pearl under your heel. It will be gone forever then.”
Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed. Canwr was the Lirin word for Namer. “How do you know that I’m a Canwr?”
Ashe laughed and crossed his arms. “Are you saying you’re not?”
She swallowed hard. Even his question proved he already knew the answer, since it was phrased in a way that would require her to lie if she were to deny it. “No,” she answered angrily. “Actually, I believe I am not saying anything from this moment forward, except to thank you for your offer of the pearl and to decline it.” She lapsed back into silence, staring out into the night once more.
Ashe sat back down by the fire’s edge and poured himself more tea. “Well, my intention was to divert your thoughts from your nightmare. This isn’t exactly the way I had hoped to do it, but at least my attempt was successful. I’m not certain why you are angry. I was trying to help you.”