The Weaver's Lament (9 page)

“We were talking about Death,” Meridion interjected. “These other two horsemen are Death in War and Death of Worlds—”

“I'm sorry to have interrupted, Meridion, but I do believe we all need to be on our way in order for you three to arrive at the guest house in Tref-Y-Gwartheg by nightfall,” Rhapsody said lightly. “You know how much Papa worries when we are on the forest road in the dark.”

Meridion, paused in the middle of an intriguing lecture, exhaled, then nodded quickly.

“Right,” he said. “I will go get my gear—did you ladies already give yours to the quartermaster to put in the coach?”

“Yes, Uncle,” said Cara quickly.

“Very good. All right, I shall return forthwith, and we can be on our way.” He came to Rhapsody and kissed her, then hurried toward the door of the Repository.

Cara and Evannii looked to the Lady Cymrian in relief and smiled gratefully.

Thank you,
Cara mouthed.

Rhapsody bowed slightly, smiling to herself.

Meridion stopped at the door, then turned back in excitement.

“I'll grab some of the manuscripts and folios from my office on the way to the coach,” he said happily. “And then we can finish the discussion on the way to Highmeadow! I can even teach you the songs of Passage for each of the major races, and the dirges of all the cultures in the Alliance. I am
so
glad we will be traveling together.”

Rhapsody waited until Meridion had left the Repository to laugh. She hugged both crestfallen young women.

“Namers,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I'm so sorry. Maybe you can pretend to fall asleep in the coach; I sometimes do. Except I don't have to pretend.”

*   *   *

Once her son and granddaughters were safely packed and on their way to Highmeadow, Rhapsody had her forest roan brought forth, saddled up, and rode north.

She had traveled this road for a thousand years, most often alone, but occasionally with company. The very first time she had undertaken the journey it had been with Ashe, who at the time was unknown to her and her Firbolg friends, neither of whom trusted him. He was still in the throes of physical and spiritual agony, suffering from a wound that left an ugly, festering scar bisecting his chest, where his heart had been torn open and a piece of his soul removed by a F'dor demon at the House of Remembrance, an ancient Cymrian museum similar to the Repository, on midsummer's night long ago.

As she rode through the forest, Rhapsody thought back to those days of suspicion and fear, glad that they were long past. Ashe had been forced for the sake of his safety to hide himself within a cloak of mist generated by Kirsdarke, the elemental sword of water that he bore, remaining out of sight of the F'dor who had seized his soul, and the rest of the world.

It was his initial healing behind the Veil of Hoen that Meridion was referring to when instructing Cara and Evannii.

In spite of the suspicion and the doubt, Ashe had guided her from the Bolglands to this place to which she was traveling now, to the white forest of Gwynwood beyond the Tar'afel River, a place of deep magic, then and now.

The lands of the dragon Elynsynos.

The sun was setting two days afterward by the time she reached Mirror Lake, the beautiful body of water, still as glass, that was the landmark to the entrance of the dragon's lands. There was now, a thousand years after the war that had threatened this place, nothing but peace in the utter absence of birdsong, the deafening silence a sure sign that the dragon was alive and well.

The only voice making a sound she could hear was inside her.

Rhapsody reined her roan to a halt and stared across the lake, letting her hand come to rest on her abdomen.

For a century or more, she had been beset by the voice of a child, calling to her from within, as each of her six children had done prior to his or her conception. It had initially begun as a distant awareness, a realization that a presence was hovering in the ether, waiting to be conceived and born. She had happily shared this news with Ashe, who had blinked, then stared at her. In her mind she recalled his first words in answer.

Not again,
he had said, wincing at the surprise, followed by shock and sadness, that had come over her face, banishing the glow of happiness that had been there a moment before.
Surely you do not want to undertake this again, Rhapsody?

She had been so gobsmacked that she had not brought the subject up to him again.

But that had not quieted the presence she could feel, growing stronger each time it made itself known to her, as it intermittently did.

As the sense grew stronger, a voice emerged, as it also had with each previous child. At first it spoke softly, often in the darkness just as she was falling into slumber, or at quiet times when she was engrossed in her studies, when no one else was around.

Mimen,
it had whispered.

Mama.

She had struggled to quiet the call, but it only grew more insistent, filling her ears and her dreams with its song. She had almost come to regard it as a secret she was keeping from her husband, who would occasionally catch sight of her face, her eyes filled with despair when there was no other reason for it, then sigh and turn away.

The voice had only grown stronger, more plaintive, as if it were standing beyond a doorway in the freezing cold.

Mimen—Mimen. Please. Let me in.

Only to become quiet again as she dissolved into silent tears, unshared.

Often great lengths of time would pass, while silence held sway. It had been so for a long while; she had no idea why it was making its presence known again now.

Rhapsody shook her head to dispel the thoughts, then took up the reins again and allowed the horse to walk the entire way around the lake. Horse and rider came to a gentle halt, and she dismounted near the stream that flowed into the lake from a nearby hillside. She stopped at the stream's edge.

“May I come in, my friend?” she whispered into the wind.

A rustling of leaves answered. A gentle breeze picked up, tousling her hair.

Of course,
came a magnificent voice in the tones of soprano and alto, tenor and bass simultaneously.
You well know how much I love to see you. Come in, Pretty.

Rhapsody chuckled.

She tied the roan to a nearby tree close to the stream, gave her an apple, and made her way across the glistening brook to the cave in the hillside and down into the lair of the dragon, the first wyrm she had ever learned to love.

Now that dragon was the matriarch of her family of them.

HIGHMEADOW

Meridion, Cara, and Evannii had arrived just short of two days after departing from the Circle, their carriage coming through the gates at almost the same time as those belonging to Meridion's brother Joseph, who, with his wife, Caryssa, had brought three large wagons of food, decorations, gifts, and grandchildren, and his sister Elienne, whose retinue was even larger.

“I am so excited for this gathering,” Evannii had said, peering out the window, her face glowing. “I haven't seen most of these family members since our wedding.”

“I do believe Mimen said everyone is coming,” Meridion observed, peering out the window at the guards and house servants assisting in the unloading of goods and little people. “This is certain to be fun.”

His father, Lord Gwydion, appeared at the carriage window.

“Well met, beloved ones,” Ashe said, his face shining. “I trust your trip was safe and easy?”

All three family members nodded.

“Excellent! Well, I don't mean to give you and the others short shrift, but I have an appointment with an extraordinarily beautiful woman to the north of here. I am leaving momentarily—I do hope you will forgive me. We will be back in a couple of days.”

“Oh, absolutely, Papa,” Cara said, mischief in her eyes. “Hamimen talked of nothing else the whole time we were with her in Tyrian. I do hope you have rested up and that your back isn't bothering you. She's really quite excited. I imagine you'll both be smiling, and tired, and perhaps bowlegged, when we see you again.”

Ashe's mouth fell open, then he laughed aloud.

“One thing that can never be said about this family is that it is shy when talking about sex,” he said, his face coloring. “I just had a conversation with Laurelyn yesterday about the evils of celibacy from which I may never recover.”

“Tosh,” said Cara, kissing her grandfather's cheek. “I've always been grateful to have grown up in a family where candor is the order of the day, and a healthy attitude about all things natural is to be expected. Mimen says it comes from farming origins; what do you think, Papa?”

“I think your grandmother is always right,” Ashe said, patting Evannii's face. “And any man who doesn't have the same belief about his wife is a damned fool. Enjoy the gathering, and I will see you both the day after the day after tomorrow.”

He disappeared from the window, whistling.

 

8

GWYNWOOD, BELOW THE WATERFALL

A day later, Ashe finished tying his mount to a slender tree next to Rhapsody's waiting roan and sighed.

The black gelding had been watered downstream from the thundering falls, swollen with the rains of approaching autumn, fed and picked of knots. Ashe was fighting the long-ago instructions from his father, Llauron, and his uncle, Anborn, both of whom had been his instructors in horsemanship centuries before.

You shall not eat, nor sleep, nor piss until you have taken your mount through all its steps of care,
Anborn had told him as an eleven-year-old, along with his friends and the rest of the youth brigade of which he was a part.
If I find any horse insufficiently cooled down and tended to, you will experience the same treatment yourself the following night.

Satisfied that his uncle and father would approve of his gelding's condition, he untied its saddlebag and drew forth the bouquet of nymph's hair, airy wildflowers he had gathered for his love at the mouth of the stream. He inhaled their scent, remembering his brief time in the old world, where he and Rhapsody had first met, and how he had spied a clump of those very flowers on the morning after their first night together, her birthday, and had planned to make a gift of them to her.

That was just before he had been torn away from her, back to his own time, an event that had shattered his soul.

But now the only thing that separated him from her was the waterfall.

Ashe stowed the bouquet in his bandolier and started to climb.

The ascent was far more difficult than he had remembered it from the year before, and all the previous ones. By the time he reached the place where the waterfall shed away from the shale, Ashe was puffing, red in the face.

He bent over and put his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

A sense of despair washed over him, leaving him weak and vulnerable to the muttering of the draconic voice within him.

Dying, you know,
it muttered.
You're dying. This is what it looks like.

Abandoning his dignity, Ashe sat on the slippery rock bed that led down to the falls. He listened to the music of the wind ruffling the green leaves of the crabapple glen, the place in the spring of their first journey together that had most enchanted the woman who would be his wife.

If he closed his eyes, he could see her still, as she had been on that first journey, staring in wonder at the pink blossoms of the trees, holding out her hands in the heavy golden shafts of dusty sunlight.

It was a memory of light he had always kept in times of pain or sorrow, just to lift his spirits.

They had met in this place for centuries uncounted afterward, away from the family and the trappings of court, to be completely alone together. It was one of the only places he had felt safe during his time in hiding; now, it was a place of treasured memories and privacy.

A nagging thought from the dragon in his blood dulled the happy mood.

It was a conversation, resurrected from a hundred years before, when he had first had difficulty summiting the hillside that led to their meeting place, a small turf hut beside the waterfall.

Prior to that time, they had happily chased each other up the hill, climbing eagerly through the forest, frequently succumbing to passion among the trees or in the sweet moss beneath them, making love in time to the song of the waterfall. The surging dance of the element of water laughing over the rocks had refreshed his soul almost as much as the coupling had, the ebb and flow of both, the sense of freedom and eternity that the endless rush had engendered.

But on that first time when his stamina had failed him, when he needed to gasp for breath, bending over at the waist, Rhapsody had waited patiently for him to get his wind again, then put out her hand.

Come, my love,
she had said.
Our bower awaits.

He had looked up from his panting, this time from the exertion of the climb rather than the recovery from a glorious climax, and had glowered at her.

Look at me. You don't see me as I am again, do you Rhapsody? I am an old man.

She had smiled.
I see the boy in the meadow.

You have always seen what you wanted to see,
he had grumbled, still overexerted.

There was a time you believed that was a good thing.

I still believe that,
he said, finally able to stand erect.
But we've been at this eight centuries now. How long are we supposed to live happily ever after?

Rhapsody's smile had faded, but her eyes had still met his, looking as if into his soul.

Given that I didn't think I would survive the first year after I came, I suppose everything else is a gift, a blessing.

A blessing,
the dragon whispered sarcastically.
Certainly, frailty and decrepit existence can be a blessing.