Elegy for a Lost Star (48 page)

“How can we get the baby out?” he asked the midwife again.

Krinsel shook her head. “There are roots I have—buckthorn and evening primrose, black lugwort—can open the womb, but it may kill one or the other. You will need to choose which to save.”

“If you are going to resort to such extremes, allow me to help.”

The multiple tones of the draconic voice filled the cave, along with a sudden glow of scattered light that danced over the walls like the evening sun on the moving water of a lake.

Achmed and Ashe turned to see a woman standing behind them, a tall woman, taller than either of them, with skin the color of golden wheat and similarly colored eyes that twinkled with the radiance of the stars. Her hair, silvery white, hung in rippling waves to her knees, and her garment was a filmy gown that seemed woven from fabric more starlight; it cast an ethereal glow around the dark cave.

Achmed looked for the dragon.

She was gone.

Ashe was staring at the woman, a smile lighting his face for the first time since he had entered the cave.

“Thank you, Great-grandmother,” he said.

Rhapsody, half conscious, stirred at the change in the dragon's voice.

“I thought—you had given up your human—form,” she whispered.

The glowing woman smiled broadly and bent to kiss her on the forehead.

“Shhhh,” she said, resting her ethereal hands on Rhapsody's belly. “I have. Bolg woman, open the womb.”

Krinsel was staring, her eyes glazed slightly over. She shook off her reverie and reached into her bag, drawing forth the evening primrose oil, into which she dipped a small piece of cheesecloth and held it to Rhapsody's lips for her to drink.

The two men watched the ministrations of the midwife in silence, uncertain of what they were seeing. From time to time Rhapsody's forehead wrinkled as if in pain, but she made no sound, nor did she open her eyes, but Ashe was certain that she was at least partially awake.

His eyes went from his wife's face to that of his great-grandmother, who in all the elegance of her regal beauty wore the plainly excited, childlike expression he had often seen her wear in dragon form. He continued to watch in a mix of fear and awe until he felt Rhapsody's hand clutch his.

“Sam,” she whispered.

“Yes, Aria?”

She reached up falteringly and rested her hand on his chest.

“I need the light of the star within you. Our child is coming.”

Ashe bent closer to her and rested his hand atop hers.

“Whatever you need,” he said soothingly, though he had no idea what she meant. “How can I give it to you?”

She was struggling for words now, her face contorted in pain.

“Open your heart,” she whispered. “Welcome your child.”

All Ashe could do was nod.

Softly she began to sing the elegy to Seren that Jal'asee had taught her, the baptismal song that she had never had conferred upon her before the Island was lost. As she sang she wept; the midwife and the dragon were moving about her, touching her belly, whispering to one another, but she did not hear them. Rather, she was listening only to the music radiating from within her husband's chest, the pure, elemental song of the lost star.

Come forth, my child
, she sang, her voice strong in the skills of a Namer, quavering in the emotion of a mother.
Come into the world, and live
.

From within her belly she could feel a warmth radiate, the warmth of elemental fire she had carried within her soul for longer than she could count. Blending with it was the cooling rush of seawater, the water she had been steeped in not long before, and lore that came not from within her but from the child's father. She closed her eyes and listened now to the whispered words of the midwives, the deep song of the Earth that came from Ashe as well, and the whistle of the wind from which her own race was descended, a symphony of the elements coming to life from within her, baptized in the light of the star that had been all but lost.

She continued to sing until the pains grew too strong; now she groaned in the contractions of labor, her song the story of the pain she accepted, as all mothers accept it, to bring forth life from within her body.

Elynsynos conferred one last time with Krinsel; when the Bolg midwife signaled her readiness, the dragon in Seren form raised her hands in a gesture of supplication, then reached into Rhapsody's belly from above, her hands passing through as if they were made only of mist and starlight.

Rhapsody moaned aloud, her song faltering, as Krinsel squeezed her hand, but regained it as Elynsynos drew back her hands, and lifted aloft a tiny glowing light, pulling it gently from her body.

“Name him, Pretty, so that he can form,” the glowing woman said, smiling brighter than the sun in the darkness of the cave.

Rhapsody reached for Ashe with her other hand. When his fingers had entwined with hers, she whispered the Naming intonation.

Welcome, Meridion, Child of Time
.

For a moment, nothing remained in her hands but the glowing light. Then slowly a shape began to form, a tiny head, smaller hands held aloft, then waved about. A soft coo erupted a moment later into a full-blown wail, and suddenly the cave was filled with the ordinary, human music of a crying infant.

Krinsel set about finishing the delivery as Rhapsody's head fell back against the cave floor, spent. Elynsysnos glided over to Ashe, who was still staring in wonder at the entire sight, and gently placed the baby in his arms.

He stared down at the screeching child, transcendent joy twinkling in the vertical pupils of his eyes, eyes that matched the tiny blue ones that were staring up at him now. Then he grinned at his great-grandmother.

“Now, as never before, I understand,” he said to her.

Elynsynos cocked her head to one side, as she was wont to do even in dragon form.

“Understand what?”

Ashe looked down at his son again, unable to take his eyes away for more than a moment. He bent and brushed a kiss again on Rhapsody's brow, then reluctantly turned away again to meet the dragon's eyes.

“Why Merithyn lost his heart to you upon seeing you,” he said simply. “You are truly beautiful, Great-grandmother.”

The glowing woman smiled broadly, then disappeared, replaced a moment later by the ethereal form of the wyrm once more.

“Thank you,” she said as Krinsel indicated that the delivery was complete.

And while they stood, drinking in the miracle, the cave of the Lost Sea resonated with the elegy to the lost star, the intonation of a new name, and the song of life beginning.

In the only dark corner of that cave, Achmed alone remained silent, watching.

I
n the red clay desert of Yarim, outside the city of Yarim Paar, Manwyn, the Seer of the Future, waited in the bitter winter wind.

While she awaited the arrival of her sister, which she knew was imminent, she passed the time crooning a soft melody to herself, and absently tangling the snaggled tresses of her flaming red hair, tinged with streaks of gray at the temples. In her other hand was a tarnished sextant, a relic from the old world given to her mother by the Cymrians of the First Fleet in
memory of her explorer father, who had used it to travel the wide world, but she had no concept of its history, only that it served to help her see into the Future.

From a distance she might have been seen as a handsome, if bedraggled woman; she was tall and slim, with a well-sculpted face and long, slender hands. Additionally, she had a regal bearing, as had all the triplet daughters of Elynsynos. But closer examination would have revealed a single physical characteristic that set her decidedly apart from the ranks of average handsome women. One look into her eyes revealed only the aspect of the person beholding her, for her scleras were silver reflective mirrors, the irises shaped like the tiny hourglass mark a black widow carries on its belly.

Also like her sisters, she was mad. Cursed with the ability to see almost exclusively into the future, she had gained a reputation as a valuable oracle that she did not deserve, because her predictions, while often accurate and always truthful, contained at least a drop of her own madness.

Sometimes more than just a drop.

She had foreseen Anwyn's arrival but did not remember coming out into the night to meet her; the Past was her sister's realm, and it did not hold any sway over her. So she continued to wait, confused and disoriented, and more than a little afraid, as she had always been intimidated by her younger sister. Manwyn had been born first, followed by Rhonwyn, and finally Anwyn, but the sisters of the Present and the Future quickly learned that, while they saw into realms that foretold of what was to come or understood the moment as it was unfolding, it was the Past that held the power of history. Since neither of them could hold on to time save from moment to moment, or as a prediction of what was to come, passing from each of their memories a second later, it made the one who could keep Time the dominant one.

The earth split a stone's throw away, and the dragon appeared, a keen light burning in her searing blue eyes. She was battered, her hide tattered and reeking still, but even a mad oracle knew better than to deny a dragon her due, especially one that had come such a great distance for it.

Well met, sister
. The beast's voice was smooth with an undertone of desperation.

Manwyn shrugged. “You will find her,” she said absently, ignoring the forced pleasantries and jumping to the question she knew was coming. “But you may not want to.”

The beast's eyes narrowed into glowing azure slits. She slithered forth from the ground, her enormous form dwarfing her sister in the empty desert. Manwyn pulled the thin silk of her tattered green gown closer around her shoulders.

What do you mean by that?
The wyrm's wind-spun voice held more than a hint of menace.

Manwyn blinked; whatever she had uttered was now gone from her memory.

Curls of angry smoke began to issue forth from the dragon's nostrils.

Tell me where the woman I seek will be in the near Future
, the draconic voice in the wind insisted.
At a time when I might be able to meet her, not more than one turn of the moon. I wish it to be soon, but I will need time to travel
.

The question was phrased in precisely the manner that Manwyn could understand. The clouds in her silver eyes cleared; she raised the ancient sextant and peered through it at the night sky.

“Today, until four days hence this night, she will be in the lair of our mother.”

The dragon's heart burned at the words, hatred rising without the memory of where it had come from.

And where is the lair?

Manwyn lowered the sextant, pondering the words.

“Deep in the forest of Gwynwood, on the western coast, beyond the Tar'afel River.”

Hot flames shot forth from the dragon's mouth, and the air roared with her fury.

The sea is more than a thousand miles to the west! I cannot travel through the earth in that time! Do not play with me, Manwyn; sister or no, I will burn you to smoldering cinders—

“You can be in Gwywood in a heart's beat if you travel along the roots of the Great White Tree,” the mad Seer whispered, shaking in the wind. “The taproots run throughout the whole of the world, and tie in to the main root of the tree, which is bound to the Axis Mundi, the centerline of the earth. Those of dragon blood can travel along those roots in ethereal form, because the earth is ours. The roots lead directly to the Great White Tree in the center of the forest. From there the lair is only a few days' travel for man, less for beast.”

The wyrm inhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart.

Where will I find a taproot
? she asked casually, noting that the Oracle's skin had gone gray and her eyes were clouding over again.
Read the stars for me, sweet sister
.

Manwyn looked into the sextant again.

“You will burrow into the desert sand here, following the clay until it turns brown in the north, to the dry bed of the Blood River. It is there that you will find the taproot you seek.”

The dragon's eyes gleamed with victory.

Thank you, sister
, she said distantly, her mind already turning to her path. She slid back into the rip in the clay from whence she had emerged and disappeared into the earth's crust while the Oracle watched in confusion.

The earth had barely settled into peace in the dragon's absence when Manwyn spoke again.

“You will kill your own progeny in pursuit of her,” she said vaguely.

Anwyn was already too far away to hear her.

The Seer stared up into the starry night, watching the southern tip of the aurora blazing in abundant color; the pulsing lights caught her fancy, and she watched until the wind became too chill.

Then she drew her filmy silk tatters around her and made her way slowly back to her decaying temple, having forgotten why and how she had come to leave it.

W
hen the song of Meridion's birth had finally faded, when the warmth of the cave had begun to dim, and the afterbirth and blood had been cleared away, Krinsel took the baby from Ashe's arms, scowling at him as much as she could get away with, and carried him to his mother to be fed. Ashe motioned to Achmed, who had remained in a quiet corner of the cave, and came forth reluctantly. Both men traveled a way up the tunnel to be out of earshot of the women.

“Thank you for your help,” the Lord Cymrian said, offering his hand.

The Firbolg king snorted. “I don't think observing from the corner counts as ‘help,' ” he said sourly. “You might wish to consider thanking my midwife, however; she's the one with the blood on her hands.”

The warmth in Ashe's eyes dissipated.

“Well, in some way we all have blood on our hands, Achmed,” he said evenly, trying to force the wyrm in his blood from rising in ire. “At least hers comes about for a happy purpose. And I do thank you for saving my wife.”