Rhapsody looked pointedly over at him across the fire. “I’m not upset,” she said coolly. “I am not worried about anything like that.”
“Really?” he said, and there was amusement in his tone. “Not even a little?”
“Not in the least,” she answered softly. “I doubt I will even live to see the end of what is coming now, let alone forever.”
“Ohr” Ashe’s tone had a controlled steadiness. “What makes you think so?”
“Just a hunch,” she said, reaching for her cloak. She shook the dirt and leaves from it and wrapped it around herself.
“I see. So you would rather die than acknowledge the prospect that you might live forever?”
Rhapsody chuckled. “You really are persistent, Ashe, but not very subtle. Is there actually a point here, other than just trying to determine whether I am what you think I am?”
Ashe leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m just explaining why I could never be interested in someone like Jo; that she has a completely different life expectancy than I do. And if you are First Generation, you will have a very limited pool of others as long-lived as yourself to make a life with, who won’t die on you before you have even gotten to know them.”
Rhapsody smiled and set about brushing the mud from her boots. “Well, thank you for your concern, but I wouldn’t worry. First, I don’t plan to marry anyway; I’ll make do with my grandchildren as my family. Second, I’m not afraid of time differences. My mother told me when I was very young that the time you had together was worth the loss because without the acceptance of that pain there would be nothing valuable to lose. And, of course, since you know I am Achmed’s contemporary, there’s always him. Grunthor, of course, is out of the question.”
Ashe’s voice contained a note of horror. “There’s always Achmed for what?”
Rhapsody said nothing, but her smile broadened as she continued to scrape her equipment clean.
“You have to be joking. Please tell me you are—that’s disgusting.”
“Why?”
“I would think that is obvious.” Even as far away as he was from her, Rhapsody could feel him snudder.
“Well, of course, that really is no concern of yours, since you’re already spoken for. By the way,” she said, growing serious, “does she mind that you’re here? You know, for such a long time?”
“Who?”
“Your—well—whatever she is. I assume she’s not your wife, since you said you’re not married, I think. Actually, you didn’t say that, did you?” Receiving no reply, she tried lamely to finish the thought. “You know, this woman you’re in love with? Is this journey causing a problem with her?”
“No.”
Rhapsody exhaled in relief. “I’m very glad. I do try to make a point of not causing problems with people’s relationships, especially married people. I have great respect for the institution.”
“Then why don’t you intend to marry?”
Rhapsody got up again and began to spread out her bed roll. “Well, it isn’t really fair to marry someone unless you have a heart to share with them, to love them with. I don’t have one, you see. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Suit yourself,” said Rhapsody, crawling into the bedroll. “Anyway, thank you for being honest about my sister.”
“Just out of curiosity, why do you call her that? Obviously you’re not related.”
Rhapsody sighed. “I can’t believe you don’t understand that, Ashe. There are different ways to make a family. You can be born into it, or you can choose it. Bonds to family you choose to be a part of are often as strong as those you are born into, because you want to be, rather than have to be, part of each other.”
On the other side of the fire Ashe was unpacking his own gear, settling into his watch. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Well,” said Rhapsody, lying down and trying to get comfortable, “I guess it depends on who you are. They aren’t mutually exclusive—your love for both can be equally strong. But that’s why I have so much respect for the institution of marriage, because husbands and wives choose each other out of everyone else in the world, and therefore ought to be accorded the acknowledgment that this is the most special relationship of their lives.”
From across the fire came a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sigh. “You really have led a sheltered life, Rhapsody.”
Rhapsody thought for a moment about answering, then decided against it. “Good night, Ashe. Wake me when it’s my watch.”
“Had you ever thought about just doing it the regular way?”
“Doing what?”
“The grandchildren process?”
“Hhmm?” She was almost asleep already.
“You know, finding a husband, having children, letting them have the grandchildren—is this a concept you’re familiar with?”
Deep within the bedroll he heard a musical yawn. “I already told you,” came the sleepy voice, “I don’t expect I’ll live that long.” f)n the night he woke her as her watch came due. She felt him shaking her gently.
“Rhapsody?”
“Hmmm? Yes?”
“It’s your watch. Do you want to sleep a little longer?”
“No,” she said, pulling herself free from the bedroll. “But thank you.”
“You didn’t mean what you said earlier, did you? About Achmed?”
She looked at him foggily. “What?”
“You would never, well, mate with Achmed, would you? The thought has been churning my stomach for the last three hours.”
Rhapsody was now awake. “You know, Ashe, I really don’t like your attitude. And frankly, it’s none of your concern. Now go to sleep.” She made ready her bow and arrow, and stirred the dying fire, causing it to roar back to life, finding fuel from some unknown source.
Ashe stood above her a moment longer, then the shadows on the other side of the fire took him. If she hadn’t been watching, Rhapsody would not even have known where he lay.
4
When dawn came the next day they rose in heavy mist that blanketed the forest. It burned off quickly in the light of the rising sun, and they set out on what they knew was the last leg of the journey.
Midday they came to Tar’afel River, the child of the same waterway that carved the canyons of the Teeth uncounted millennia before. It bisected the forest lands of northern Roland, forming an unofficial boundary between the inhabited and generally uninhabited woodlands.
The Tar’afel was a strong river, wide as a battlefield, its current swift. Rhapsody walked to the edge of the woods and watched it, roaring in fury and swollen with the rains of early spring. She glanced back at Ashe, who had made a quick camp and was preparing the noonday meal over a small campfire.
“How much of this is floodplain?” she asked, pointing to the riverbank and the grassy area between it and the forest.
“Almost all of it,” he replied, not looking up. “It’s over its banks a bit now. By the end of spring the water will be up to where you’re standing.”
Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened to the music of the rushing river. Her homeland had been bisected by a great river, too, though she had never seen it. She could tell that the current was uneven, faster in some places than others, and by listening to the variations in tonal quality she could almost plot a map through it, finding the sheltered spots. After the meal was over she would put the theory to the test.
They ate in companionable silence, the noise of the water drowning out the ability to converse in anything but a shout. Rhapsody found herself forgetting
“My refusal wasn’t clear to you?”
“No. I mean yes. There’s no excuse, except, well, perhaps it’s just a natural impulse, you know—I mean—I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.” His words ground to a sheepish halt, under the fury of her eyes. They were blazing, green as the grass, and they held none of the ready forgiveness she had so easily extended for other rudenesses she had suffered in the past.