Rhapsody looked up at the sky. The stars were shrouded in mist from the smoke of the fire.
“Perhaps it is because, while I respect your desire not to share details about your life and your past, you seem to be insistent on worming very personal and meaningful information out of me,” she said. “To Lirin, Naming is not a casual topic of discussion, it is a religious belief.”
There was silence for a moment. When Ashe spoke again, his tone was soft. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You are also relentless about determining whether or not I’m Cymrian. From what Lord Stephen tells me, in many places the fact that you think I am Cymrian would be considered a grave insult.”
“Right again.” He watched for a long while as she stared into the night at nothing in particular. Finally, unwilling to be the cause of her silent consternation, he made one more attempt at friendly conversation. “Maybe it’s best if we try to avoid talking about the Past. Bargain?”
“Agreed,” she said, her eyes still searching for something in the darkness.
“Then why don’t we talk about something you enjoy instead. Perhaps that will help drive the memory of the dreams away. You choose the topic, and I may even answer questions.”
Rhapsody snapped out of her reverie. She looked over to him and smiled.
“All right.” She thought for a moment until her mind settled on her adopted grandchildren, Gwydion and Melisande, and the dozen little Firbolg. They were her touchstone, the things she thought about when she was brooding, when her mind was filled with unpleasant thoughts.
“Do you have any children?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“Well, I am always looking for grandchildren to adopt.”
“Grandchildren?”
“Yes,” Rhapsody answered, ignoring the almost-rude tone in his voice. “Grandchildren. You see, you can spoil an adopted grandchild while you’re around, but you don’t have the responsibility of raising it all the time. This works for me because it gives me children to love, even though I don’t have the time to be with them always. I have twelve Firbolg grandchildren, and two human, and they are very dear to me.”
“Well, I don’t have any children. I’m sorry I couldn’t accommodate you! Perhaps we could work something out. How important is it to you, and how long are you willing to wait?” She could almost hear him smirk.
Rhapsody ignored the odd flirtation. “Are you married?”
Laughter.
“I’m sorry—why is that a funny question?”
“Most women don’t like me. In fact, most people don’t like me; but that’s fine—the feeling’s mutual.”
“My, what a cranky attitude. Well, I can tell you confidentially but with absolute certainty that you are not without feminine admirers in Ylorc.”
“You are not talking about one of the Firbolg midwives, are you?”
“Goodness, no. Bbbrrrr.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“No; my sister is somewhat enamored of you.”
Ashe nodded awkwardly. “Oh. Yes.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. But it won’t come to anything.”
Rhapsody felt a twinge of sadness. “Really? I certainly believe you, but do you mind if I ask why?”
“Well, for one thing, I happen to be in love with someone else, if that’s all right with you.” His tone was annoyed.
Rhapsody turned crimson with embarrassment. “I’m very sorry,” she said sheepishly. “How stupid of me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Ashe poured himself more tea. “Why not? I am, and I offer no apologies for it. Another prominent reason is that she is a child.”
“Yes. You’re right.”
“She is also a human.”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“No. But the racial makeup of my blood is much longer lived than that, like your own.”
“You’re Lirin, then?” The thought had never occurred to her.
“Partly, like you.”
I see. Well, that makes sense. But is it really all that important? My parents vere Lirin and human, as some in your family obviously were as well. It didn’t stop them.”
“Some diverse life expectancies are closer than others. For instance, if you illy are Cymrian, as I believe you are but won’t admit, you will have a major problem facing you.”
“Why?”
“Because even the extended life span of the Lirin will still be no match for yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ashe got up and threw another handful of twigs on the fire, then looked over at her. Rhapsody caught a glimpse of what she thought was a scruffily bearded chin, but in the flickering shadows it was impossible to tell.
“When the First Generation Cymrians came, it was as if time had stopped for them,” he said. “I’m not sure what caused it to happen. Perhaps it had something to do with completing an arc across the world, across the Prime Meridian; I have no idea. But for whatever reason, the Cymrians did not seem to be affected by the ravages of time. They didn’t age, and as years, then centuries, passed, it became evident that they weren’t going to. They had essentially become immortal. And as they reproduced, their offspring, while not completely immortal, were extraordinarily long-lived. Of course, the farther the generations move away from the first, the shorter the life span becomes until it will finally blend into the way it should be. But that doesn’t affect the immortals. There are still First Generation Cymrians alive today; mostly in hiding.”
“Why? Why do they hide?”
“Many of them are insane; driven mad by the ‘blessing’ of immortality. You see, Rhapsody, if they had been immortal from the beginning, it probably wouldn’t have affected them so much, but they were humans and Lirin and Nain and the like, extraordinary only in the journey they made. They had already embarked on a life cycle that had a certain course, and it was interrupted, wherever they were in it, and frozen there.
“So imagine being a human who had lived seventy or eighty years, and had passed through all the stages of infancy, childhood, youth, adulthood, middle age, and then finally old age, preparing to meet death soon, to discover that you were going to live forever that way, elderly and infirm.” He poured yet another cup of tea and offered the pot to Rhapsody, who had grown quiet in the firelight. She shook her head, lost in thought.
“Children continued to grow and mature, until they reached adulthood, but they never got any older. Some of them are alive still, looking no older than you do. But far more of them died in the war, or at their own hands, just to avoid facing an eternity they couldn’t accept, sometimes with powers they didn’t understand. Virtually every First Generation Cymrian took at least a small piece of elemental lore away from the Island with him, whether he knew it or not.
“So that’s why I say you may have a problem. If you are a later-generation Cymrian, you will be extraordinarily long-lived, and you will undoubtedly face what others did: the prospect of watching those you love grow old and die in what seems like a brief moment in your life. And if you are a First Generation Cymrian, it will be even worse, because unless you are killed outright you will never die. Imagine losing people over and over, your lovers, your spouse, your children—”
“Stop it,” Rhapsody said. Her voice was terse. She rose from the ground and walked to the edge of the firelight, then tossed the remainder of her cold tea out into the darkness. When she came back she took a different seat, far her away from him, so that he did not have as good a view of her face.
They sat in silence for a long time, Rhapsody watching the smoke from the fire crackle with sparks and rise, like that of a Lirin funeral pyre, to the dark kv above, where it wafted among the scattered stars and dissipated. Finally
Ashe spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”