Destiny: Child Of Sky (78 page)

Achmed downed the last of his rum. “He's a clever bastard; F'dor always are. So that's how he circumvented the wind sanctifying the ground. How can we fix it?"

Rhapsody smiled. “I think I know. We had best find Grunthor; we have plans to make."

She was alone in the marketplace buying arrows from the fletcher when Gittleson spotted her. She was hard to miss despite being disguised in the plain brown traveling clothes of a peasant; the smooth golden fall of her hair was neatly tied back in a simple black ribbon, and the afternoon sun reflected off it, drawing the eyes of the handful of townspeople braving the freezing wind of the square. She was lucky; it was only the weather that prevented her from being mobbed by the merchants who instead gazed at her from inside shops and from behind barrel fires next to their wares. Gittleson made careful note of the number and types of arrows she bought, primarily those with silvered points and made to hold flame, taking care not to let her see him.

Her next stop was the spice merchant, whose tents stretched half a city block and were open in the front. Huge burlap sacks of pods, roots, beans, peppercorns, and grains were set out along the street, along with bags of herbs and jars of spicy flakes. Rhapsody spent a great deal of time carefully examining the contents of each bag. Finally she bought several large heads of pungent garlic, two bunches each of horehound, mugwort, and datura, and three dozen long, fat vanilla beans, stuffing her purchases quickly into her sack and looking around hastily. Not satisfied, she gave a final glance to the bell tower rising above the rooftops before heading off into the shadows of the back alleys, losing her human shadow, who slunk off, back to the dark basilica, as dusk began to fall.

How disappointing.“ The robed figure in the vestry paused in front of a silvered mirror and checked his face. The countenance of an older man, a kindly man with sparse white hair and laugh lines around his eyes, looked back at him. It was the face of the quintessential grandfather, or the beloved village priest. "What does she think I am, Gittleson, a nosfemtu? Look in the glass; can you see my reflection?"

'Of course, Your Grace."

'Yes, of course. And if you, Gittleson, even you know that, one would have hoped for more from the Iliachenva'ar. Garlic, mugwort, and silver arrows; really. Oh well, I guess I just expect too much. After two decades one would have thought that Oelendra could have come up with a brighter one, a better trained one, than the last, but alas, it is not to be. This will be far too easy. Are those the only things she acquired?"

Gittleson looked back down at the list he had made in the marketplace. Everything Rhapsody had bought he had already enumerated.

'Yes, Your Grace. Then she left the market and went off to the back alleys."

'Ah, well. At least our little meeting will be brief, and then we can get down to the business of playing with her. Obviously I can't enjoy the full benefit of her—charms, but there's nothing to stop you, now is there, Git-tleson? The Rakshas said she was lightning in a bottle, the eighth wonder of the world. Once she has her instructions, she's yours for the night."

'Thank you, Your Grace."

The benison turned in the vestry and put on his shawl. “Don't drool, Gittleson; it's unbecoming."

The giant Bolg shook his head vigorously. “Oi still don't like it." Rhapsody patted his arm reassuringly. “I know, I know you don't, Grunthor, but it's for the best. Tell him, Achmed."

The mismatched eyes looked at her coolly. "I never tell Grunthor what to think.

You should know that by now."

They had been arguing for the past ten minutes, the Sergeant objecting strenuously to the concept of Rhapsody going in first, alone. She sighed deeply. “You'll be right there, outside the northern door,' and Achmed will be right outside the vestry entrance on the south. I'll be fine." "You'll be alone too long in there—

'What choice do we have?“ she interrupted desperately. "If you don't follow the plan, he'll know you're both here, and he'll put two and two together and get Three, if you take my meaning. I'll tell you what, Grunthor; I will stay on the floor of the nave until you get there. I won't even go near the stairs of the sanctuary until you have him. All right?“ The Bolg regarded her seriously. "Ya promise?“ "I promise."

'Nowhere near 'im? You'll stay far enough away that 'e won't be able to look in your pretty li'le face an' turn you against us?"

Rhapsody stood on her toes while pulling his head down to her. She kissed the great green face. “Nowhere near. I told you, I'll wait until you have him. I'm sure he can't possess me from across the basilica."

Achmed smiled sourly. “I had no idea you were such an expert on demons and their range of possession, Rhapsody. Let's hope your knowledge is more accurate than those arrows will be." The two Bolg stepped into the shadows that had swallowed the cobbled alleys, checking the direction of the wind before heading up the streets to the center of the city, where the basilica stood, waiting for them in the night.

'Why? What's wrong with my arrows?" Rhapsody hurried to catch up, but her friends did not answer; they were as silent as the darkness into which they had melted.

When they reached the northern side of the basilica where the sexton routinely dumped the rubbish for the ashman, Rhapsody reached out and grabbed Grunthor by the elbow.'

'There's something I have to tell you, Grunthor."

The Sergeant looked down into the diminutive face and smiled broadly. He could tell what she was going to say by the look in her eyes; Rhapsody was as transparent to him as Canderian crystal.

'Nope,“ he said gruffly, pulling his arm away. "Ya 'ad your chance; it'll 'ave to wait till afterwards."

'It can't,“ she said anxiously. "It's important, Grunthor."

He smirked. “Oi guess you'll just have to live through this, then, and tell me when we're done, eh, miss?" He ignored her tug on his sleeve and walked away, pausing long enough next to Achmed to allow a look to pass between them. As always, their communication transcended the spoken word. Then he strode away into the shadows that surrounded the pile of sand and ashes.

Rhapsody stared after him in dismay. For a moment she could pick him out, standing in front of the enormous mound of waste from the fires of the basilica.

Then she was no longer sure she could discern in the dark what was earth and what was Grunthor. She blinked, and any vestige of differentiation was lost. He had blended into the dirt and ash as easily as he had into the darkness a moment before.

Grunthor's feet toed the line just outside the border of the tainted ground. He waited until he was securely standing on earth that had not been desecrated by the demon, and then became one with it, breathing in slow, measured breaths until even his body heat cooled to match the temperature of the street. He could feel the heartbeat of the Earth echoing through him, becoming his own.

Moments later two men hurried by, arguing in a congenial manner. They walked right past the giant Firbolg in front of the waste pile but did not give him as much as a glance. Rhapsody and Achmed turned to each other and smiled; that was a first, their shared grin seemed to say. Then he extended his hand, and she took it.

Together they headed around the west end of the building, skirting the line of defilement that Grunthor had pointed out to them.

As they reached the southwestern corner of the basilica, Rhapsody pulled Achmed to a stop.

'Well, are you going to refuse to hear me out, too?"

A gloved hand came to rest on her face, then moved to her lips to silence her.

Rhapsody marveled at the sensitivity of his touch, even through the thin leather sheath. No wonder he can feel the vibrations of the wind and hide, undetected, within them, she thought, smiling. His answer was soft.

'The time for words is past. We can't keep the bastard waiting."

'All right, then I won't talk." Her hand met his, and rested there; he looked at it, and then down at her, where their eyes met as well. Finally their lips met, softly; it was a first, too, as in the previous moment, a first that Rhapsody prayed did not also portend a last.

Her mouth clung to his a moment more, sharing a final breath; then she moved away. Achmed was already pulling up the hood of his cloak; it was the signal for her to round the corner.

She, in turn, pulled her hood down, and looked about the street. It was deserted, the night wind having picked up to a strong gale, blowing flecks of snow and debris in sheets of icy air across the dark city. Rhapsody turned the corner and walked quickly down the street along the southern side of the basilica, passing the vestry window, then turned the southeastern corner, heading for the main entrance into the eastern vestibule.

Littleson watched out the small vestry window, unseen behind the heavy drape, his pale hands slick with nervous sweat, pallid in the half-light cast by the dimly glowing candles.

'She's coming, Your Grace."

The benison was standing in the nave, the central part of the basilica amid the benches where the faithful sat. His elderly hands lovingly caressed the back of a lustrous wooden pew, his smile glittering in the half-light of the candles that burned in the chandeliers above him.

'Good,“ he said softly. "I'm ready."

He walked down the side aisle to the polished marble steps that led up to the sanctuary where the stone altar stood and began to climb the stairs. Halfway up he turned and looked back at the vestry and the figure in the doorway, silhouetted against the light of the tiny dressing room.

'Close the door, Gittleson; you're letting the light in."

A gloved hand reached out and shut the door.

The benison turned back once more and climbed the rest of the steps, smiling to himself.

Rhapsody pulled on the handle of the main basilica doors, finding a stubborn resistance; it was heavily wrought iron, engraved with the holy symbols she had seen in Sepulvarta. Panic coursed through her, starting at the roots of her hair. The possibility that the basilica might be locked had not figured into her plan.

She tugged a second time and the door opened easily, as if held by an unseen butler. She looked about the vestibule but saw nothing except the poor boxes and rows of intention candles, a few of which flickered in the wind when the door opened. She stepped inside.

The air in the basilica was heavy and menacing, as if it objected to her presence.

She took a step and felt a burning sensation within the toe of her boot; the defiled ground did not want her on it any more than she wanted to be there. Even moving through the air itself was a struggle. Rhapsody steeled herself and pressed on, heading for the portals that led into the main section of the basilica. The central sanctuary was visible at the edge of her vision through the doors. She walked silently to the end of the vestibule and stopped before entering the nave.

The figure in the dark red robe at the altar did not turn. “Come in, Your Majesty,"

he said, a slight chuckle in his voice.

The air around her changed ever so slightly with the demon's invitation. It was as if the invisible bonds that were holding her back had been released, the tainted ground suddenly willing to accept her footsteps. Rhapsody hesitated, unsure about walking on the desecrated ground that was the benison's domain, then, in the absence of an alternative, stepped into the main part of the basilica.

It was vast and dark. Chandeliers of brass-bound oak hung from the towering ceiling, burning with the light of thousands of small, ineffectual candles. The basilica was austere, with benches of unadorned wood lining the nave. It was also windowless; the only aperture was the great opening in the ceiling beneath the lofty bell tower, the access to the wind that spiraled around the carillon. It rose in the darkness above the central altar.

A long balcony lined each of the four sides of the elevated section, led to by a circular staircase at each corner. The benches there were padded with dark fabric cushions, probably for the comfort of the hindquarters of the wealthier contributors among Bethe Corbair's faithful.

Rhapsody stopped midway down the aisle and looked up to the sanctuary where the benison stood, still with his back to her. The slate floor of the basilica led up to polished marble steps, similar to the ones in Sepulvarta but dark, with veins of white and silver running through the stone. The steps ended in the semicircular apse at their top, the back wall of which was carved from ancient mahogany in rising columns lined with carefully placed holes, a natural pipe organ. Rhapsody could tell that the wind had not reached the back of the sanctuary in many years.

Finally the benison turned away from the plain stone altar and looked out across the basilica at her. She could see his eyes, even as far away as she was, gleaming in the half-light.

'Welcome, my dear, don't stand on ceremony; approach, by all means. I have tea steeping for you here on the altar. When your two friends come they can share the pot as well.“ He laughed softly at the look on her face. "Of course I was expecting you. I haven't entertained one of Oelendra's trainees in several decades, so this is a rare treat for me." He turned away for a moment, then turned back, holding a teacup, which he extended to her, just as he had in her dream about the Patriarch.

In response she drew her sword. The blade flashed in the darkness of the church; the flames burned angrily, billowing up the length of Daystar Clarion like a brushfire.

The benison laughed. “Ah, yes, Daystar Clarion. Well, I am suitably impressed. I have to admit to being a little shocked at seeing you with it in Sepulvarta that night. None of Oelendra's other young champions were ever entrusted with it. How ever did you pry it loose from her craven grip? None of the others knew who or where I was, either, until it was too late. Is that why? Did she give it to you because you were able to discern my identity?" He fixed his gaze on her, the whites of his eyes darkening to red around the edges. “Well, no matter. I assume you are aware that none of the four score or so of her noble knights ever returned to her, hmmm? They are some of my most prized possessions, if you will forgive the play on words."