It was friction, the heat of contact, of violence, that roared through his body, that caressed his spirit nature now, the power of heat that so recalled the fire from which he had come. All nature of actions generated it, but the place it was most surely found was the fierce combat of murder, heinous and ferocious and utterly stimulating. He felt arousal building in his human flesh, flesh denied satisfaction in most other ways due to age and the other restraints of dual nature.
The patrol was efficient; too efficient—they weren’t taking their time. He grunted in frustration, willing the guards to slow their efforts, to stab more rather than decapitate, to leave the children until the end. His hopes for the heat of the gore building to an invigorating climax grew dim; he had not committed enough of his own essence when he had enthralled the group. A shame, really. A mistake he would not make again.
There was no need to conserve his power anymore. He was now powerful enough to spare more of his life essence, that which would have been a soul if F’dor had such a thing. The next time he had the opportunity to make a[...]
5
[...]feet high. There was no question that this was the place; she could feel power emanating from the cave that made her shiver internally.
As they walked down the long path Rhapsody thought she heard the sound of whispered voices on the wind, but when she stopped to listen, no words were there; all she heard was the rustling of the budding branches in the early spring breeze. She had the distinct feeling that they were being watched. Ashe did not speak, and she could discern no reaction beneath the hood of his cloak.
Finally they came to the mouth of the cave. A warm breeze flowed from it in rhythmic patterns; the breath of the dragon, Rhapsody thought. Doubt rose in her mind as to the wisdom of coming here. She was considering taking hasty leave when the peace of the forest was broken by a voice that could only have been that of Elynsynos.
“You interest me,” the voice said, sounding in multiple tones, at once bass, baritone, tenor, alto and soprano. Its resonance contained an elemental intimacy that even Rhapsody’s fireborn heart could not fathom. It spoke to the deepest levels of her soul, and for a moment she could not tell if she had actually heard the words, or merely felt them. “Come in.”
Rhapsody swallowed hard and started slowly into the mouth of the cave. She stopped to examine a carved rune on the outside edge of the cave wall, brushing away the lichens and overgrown ivy. The words were suddenly familiar.
Cyme we inne frið, fram the grip of deaþ to lif inne ðis smylte land
A gentle vibration tingled beneath the tips of her fingers as she touched the ancient inscription, the feeling of lore lying dormant for centuries, and she was filled with a sudden wonder, a sense of discovery and more—the sensation of excitement, the heart-squeezing thrill of a first passion. She recognized it instantly, and it was unmistakable, despite having felt it herself only once in her life before.
The lore, old as it was, hung in the very air of the place, was extant in the stone of the cave wall. This must have been where Merithyn had come„ where he had first inscribed the pledge of his king. In a way, then, this was the birthplace of the Cymrian people, and as such it held an almost magical air about it. Even more, there had been love here once, great love, and a fragment of it still remained. Rhapsody felt she could stay for a long time, just gazing at the runes.
“Rhapsody.” Ashe’s voice rang out from behind her, causing her to jump. “Don’t look into her eyes.”
She shook off her trancelike state and nodded. She checked the integrity of her gear, then turned to him.
“I’ll be careful. Goodbye, Ashe,” she said softly. “Thank you for everything. May your travels home be safe.”
“Rhapsody, tarry a moment.” Ashe reached out his hand to her. She turned around and took it, allowing him to bring her off the rocks and back onto the ground again.
“Yes?” She was standing before him, looking up into the darkness of his hood.
Slowly he reached up and took hold of the hood, then pulled it down suddenly, revealing his face. Rhapsody gasped
Jo had been right. He was not scarred or deformed. His face was beautiful, and it had an uncertain smile on it as he looked down at her.
Like her sister, the first thing Rhapsody noticed was his hair. It shone like burnished copper, and as it caught the light of the afternoon sun, Rhapsody thought it looked as though it had been crafted by a smith. She had seen nothing like it in this land or that of her birth, and wondered if it was gossamer-soft, as the delicacy of its strands suggested, or hard and wiry, as its metallic sheen insisted. The puzzle fascinated her; she could have spent the rest of the day standing there, staring at it, trying to resist the urge to touch it.
It took a moment for her eyes to note the rest of his face. It was classically handsome, and like her own, showed mixed human and Lirin descent. His skin was fair and smooth, and his chiseled jaw was covered by a scraggly, half-grown beard. In a pure human it would have suggested a month without shaving, but Rhapsody knew that in a half-blood it probably was a year’s growth at least. If he was a human, he would have been in his mid-twenties, but as a half-Lirin, possibly of Cymrian ancestry, Rhapsody had no way to judge his real age.
And then she looked into his eyes, eyes that were beautiful and alien. They were startlingly blue, and set about the iris were tiny stars of an amber hue. It took her a moment to discern what seemed so alien about them, until she took a second look. Their humanity was broken by their pupils, which were vertical slits, like that of a serpent, yet they held no reptilian horror; rather they spoke of an antiquity and power that was ancient and enduring. She felt drawn to them as by the power of a flooded river rushing over a waterfall, or the tranquillity of a calm lagoon. Then he closed them, only for a moment, an extended blink, and she caught her breath.
As she began to breathe once more she could feel her cheeks, wet with tears she did not know she had shed. Like a slap across the face she was aware now, understood many things she hadn’t before, about why he hid beneath the cloak, why he pushed her away.
He was hunted. It could be the only reason.
She struggled to speak, but the emotion was too strong. Ashe looked down into her eyes, as if dreading her words and needing to hear them despite that dread. Finally she felt them come to her lips.
“Ashe?”
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath.
“You should shave off that beard, it’s awful.”
He stared at her blankly as the comment registered, then laughed. Rhapsody exhaled in relief, and as he looked away for a moment, still chuckling, she reached up and hugged him. She didn’t want him to see the tears continue to well in her eyes.
Ashe pulled her closer in a warm embrace, holding her gently, but as he did she felt him wince. Somehow her action had caused him pain, and she let go of him, trying to keep from making it worse. It seemed centered in his chest, but she couldn’t be sure. He released her as well, with a sigh.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I know that was a difficult thing for you, and I’m honored that you did it. If you hadn’t shown me, I always would have wondered.”
“Be careful in there,” he said, nodding toward the cave.
“You be careful on your way back,” she answered, turning to go. She bent and picked up a stick of dry wood lying at the mouth of the cave. “Thank you again. Godspeed.” She blew him a kiss, then climbed onto the wet stone and into the cave entrance.
The mouth of the cave widened into a dark tunnel, with a glowing light pulsing deep within it. At the outer edge, starlike lichen grew on the cave walls, reaching out into the light of day, to grow thinner and eventually disappear in the darkness as the tunnel went deeper in.