Destiny: Child Of Sky (93 page)

When the song had been taken up by that contingent she wove into it another, the only Nain song she had ever learned, which was a mining chant that was sung within the caverns as the people of the Night Mountain went about their endless labor, uncovering the treasures of the earth. The chant was picked up instantly by ten thousand Nain voices, voices deep and rich as the earth in which they lived.

Rhapsody had chosen a key that would blend harmoniously with the Gwadd song, and as they sang together their voices resonated through the Moot, echoing through the bones of the gathered Cymrians.

One by one she added the songs of other lands, anthems and hymns, the simple farming songs the Filids sang while working in the fields, the sea chanteys of Serendair, joined by the voices of each group that recognized it as its own. The rhapsody of the Past she had sung in tribute to Anwyn had become a glorious symphony, its movements diverse as the people who stood in the Bowl before her, but beautiful in their unity. The faces of the Cymrians mirrored the brilliance of the afternoon sun that was sinking low beyond the Teeth, and in her heart, for the second time, she felt one with them, and the love she shared with Elynsynos for them as a people. It was like looking for one last time at the Patchworks in her homeland, the fields of grass and grain making a beautiful quilt in the landscape below the sky.

At last the opus was finished, and silence took root in the Bowl as Rhapsody put her harp away. The gleaming aura of hypnotic power that had surrounded her since she braved the Fire at the Earth's core seemed to be gone; now it hovered in the air of the Moot, brightening each of the souls that had heard the song, tying them together in a common bond.

She turned toward the west and began her vespers, singing to the setting sun and the evening star that glimmered above the tallest crag of Achmed's mountains.

The evensong was picked up by tens of thousands of Lirin voices, many from the Tyrian contingent, but others from the various fleets, Roland and the Isle of the Sea Mages. It rang to the evening sky, echoing through the Bowl and over the Orlandan plains, through the Teeth and over the heath and beyond. They sang the sun down as the sky filled with glorious ribbons of orange and red, entwining through the azure blue of the western horizon, which reached out its arms into the fading darkness as if reluctant to leave.

When the echo of the last note had died away, Rhapsody shouldered her pack. “My service to you has now ended," she said to the assemblage. “If you will have me among your ranks, I will be glad to join you now and leave the leadership of this Council to those whom you have chosen from among you."

At the crest of the rising wave of acclamation, Ashe leapt forward from his place in the crowd and signaled to the departing Summoner. “Your Majesty, may I have the floor?"

Rhapsody sighed wearily; she had been standing all day and her feet were sore.

“You certainly may," she said, grateful for the break. She sat down on a carved rock that functioned well as a stool near the back of the Ledge.

Ashe broke from the ranks of the Manossian contingent and ran to the Speaker's Rise. He climbed to the highest crest and looked down at the sea of his fellow Cymrians, the red light of the setting sun making his hair gleam as though crowned with fire.

'As Speaker of the Second Fleet, I ask that we turn our attention at once to the matter of our leadership as a Council. As Anwyn said, with no Lord or Lady, we are not a Council. Gwylliam is dead, and I feel it is clear that though she still lives, Anwyn has proven herself unfit time and again to be our leader."

To this there was a general murmur of consent. Even those present who had voted to keep her as Lady at the end of the war could not now agree to it. Time and Anwyn's earlier behavior had guaranteed it.

'So,“ Ashe continued in a louder voice, "to that end, I nominate Her Majesty, Rhapsody, Queen of the Lirin, as Lady Cymrian!“ He had to shout to be heard over the commotion that erupted. "She is of the First Generation, but sailed with no fleet, and therefore has no preference for any one group over another. She is one of the Three of whom Manwyn spoke. Indeed, she is the Sky in the prophecy, the Liringlas, the one who encompasses all, that cannot be divided; the only means by which peace will come and unity will result. She has killed the F'dor, the ancient enemy of our people and bringer of so much woe since our flight from Serendair.

She has united the Lirin and brought peace between them and the principality of Bethany, with whom they were on the verge of war. She has helped the Bolg enter a new age of peace and prosperity. As with the last of the kings of Serendair, she is of mixed blood, signifying a new unity between the races. She is foretold to be our Lady, Anwyn's opposite, the one who can bring us together where Anwyn drove us asunder. And if that is not enough, she has managed to silence my grandmother, which by itself is an act worthy of high praise."

Consternation had come into Rhapsody's eyes at his initial words, but she was unable to interrupt him; she had recognized him and had yielded him the floor. As the throng began to laugh at his final words and cheer his suggestion she leapt to her feet, shock blanching her face.

'Are you out of your—"

'I second the nomination," shouted Anborn, and the groundswell of roaring approval grew louder.

'Wait,“ Rhapsody said, panic setting in. "I object."

'Rhapsody, you are out of order," said Ashe, a humorously wicked look in his eyes.

“A motion has been made and seconded. As Summoner it is your responsibility to make sure that motion is put before the entire Council for a vote; now, kindly do so."

Rhapsody glared at him in fury. Then she turned to the Council, and tried to keep the desperation she felt from showing through in her voice.

'Are there any more nominations?“ The Council resolved into silence. "Any at all?"

The stillness was broken only by a few quiet murmurs and whispered statements.

“What about objections? Doesn't anybody else object?"

'Apparently not, m'lady,“ came Ashe's voice again. "As a Council it seems we are of one mind; united as in the prophecy. Am I right?"

A thunderstrike of assent roared across the valley, and Rhapsody could feel the rock ledge she stood on vibrate with power as the cheering rumbled through the Bowl and up through her feet. She felt a surge, a strengthening of her soul and building of her body the like of which she had not experienced since she had passed through the fires of the earth. It was as though the Moot, responding to the unanimous voice of the Cymrian Council, was granting her the wisdom and fortitude she would need as their leader, a new bond with the people and the land.

She finally understood what it meant to have a granted power: she was the Lady Cymrian. It was not what she had wanted, or expected; only the wisdom she had received from the joy of the assemblage prevented her from bursting into bitter tears. “My friends," roared Edwyn Griffyth, “let us celebrate!" Ashe saw the look on Rhapsody's face and felt his stomach twist. He turned to the crowd again.

'I can see that His Majesty, the Firbolg king, our host, has arranged a banquet on the field,“ he said, pointing outside the Bowl to the tents Ach-med's forces had erected. "Let us break bread and return for the final session of the night when the moon has risen above the Teeth." There was enthusiastic agreement, and the throng began to dissolve into chattering groups, mixing within each of the factions. Old friends met and wept, old enemies clasped hands, all in joyous celebration of the possibilities brought about by the new Cymrian Age, the new Council, the new Lady. He turned to look again at Rhapsody, to gauge how she was accustoming herself to the idea of her new role, but she was gone.

toright torches and dim lanterns had been staked and strung across the wide fields at the foot of the Teeth, bringing a cheery light into the darkness of the early night.

Tables laden with food had been set out, wine was passed around freely, and merry laughter resounded through the mountains and echoed over the heath above. The Cymrians had not gathered together in celebration since the wedding of Anwyn and Gwylliam, and the festive mood was infectious, goodwill roaring through the crowd like a strong wind.

Ashe looked around for Rhapsody at the supper. He could feel her presence there, and just as certainly felt her displeasure at what had transpired. When initially he had decided to make her Lady—it had been confirmed by the Patriarch's ring on Midsummer's Night the previous year, but he had actually determined it long before—he knew that her ingrained belief in an antiquated system of nobility would make it difficult for her to adjust to being royal. He fervently believed she would adapt, as she had to being the Lirin queen, but now, sensing the bile that she was carrying in her stomach and throat made him worry that perhaps he was wrong.

He had been unable to reach her during the meal. His fellow Manossians, and many members of the other fleets and the courts of Roland, stopped him at every turn, exclaiming with joy in the knowledge that he was still alive, welcoming him back. Comrades in arms from the battles he had fought in, as well as friends from long ago, and especially Lord Stephen, expected him to regale him with his exploits and fill in the gaps of the past twenty years for them. Rhapsody herself was swarmed with admirers; leaders of every principality, the nation of Sorbold, and the Nonaligned States sought a moment with her to establish ties even before she was coronated. Her face was serene and pleasant on the rare occasions when Ashe could catch a glimpse of it, but he knew her calm countenance belied the building agitation she was really feeling. Her eyes bore the signs of a deer in thrall or a cornered rabbit.

Finally the moon crested the tallest crag of the Teeth, and the horn sounded, summoning the Cymrians back to the business at hand. It took almost an hour for the assemblage to be called to order again, so insistent was the merriment.

Rhapsody looked out over the Cymrian populace, the sea of diverse faces shining up at her in the glow of the full moon ascendant now above them. When the sun had risen on this day she had hoped to become one of them, this refugee population from her homeland, and now she was their sovereign; it was surreal to the point of bordering on the absurd.

She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, willing herself to remain calm. She was addressing them now not as the Summoner but as their Lady; as a result when she moved forward to speak, silence fell like a curtain almost instantaneously.

'What shall we address first?" she asked the crowd. The question roared forth in many different phrasings, but the intention was universally the same.

'Who, then, shall be our Lord?"

Her selection and confirmation as the Cymrian's choice of Lady had given Rhapsody a new understanding of the Cymrian people, and as a result she could discern their comments more clearly than she had before. Previously their shouts had seemed nothing more than the noise of a rabble; now they came forth as the spoken thoughts of individuals, crashing on her brain like waves on a beach. This must be a little like having dragon sense, she thought. Ashe had described it as being acutely aware of the minutiae around him all the time; in a way she felt the same thing.

'The real question is, who holds the right?" asked a Nain warrior named Gar.

'The right lies with each of us; anyone can be Lord," answered someone from the First Wave.

'But the Lord Cymrian was Gwylliam, a descendent of the ancient Seren kings.

Should we not choose again from that House? It was the House that led us safely from the Island," said Calthrop, another of the Nain contingent.

'And it was also that line that led us into warfare," said Harklerode, one of the soldiers in the army of Canderre.

'The mistakes of one man should not condemn his descendants."

'Nor should the glory of one's ancestors decide one's worthiness."

'The Lady is First Generation. Should not the Lord have been born in these lands?

With the blood of these people in his veins? Is that not why we chose to follow the Lord and Lady before? Because he was of the old line and she of the new?"

'But they were married, should not we have the Lord and Lady married once more?"

'The Lord and Lady were married to ensure a reunification and alliance."

'It was the marriage that caused the war, if you remember."

'We must have a married Lady and Lord. No one with the wisdom necessary to be selected Lord by this Council would be fool enough to strike our chosen Lady, as Gwylliam did; he'd have the entire population demanding his blood."

'Besides, she's the Iliachenva'ar. If she can take down the demon, it seems likely she can defend herself."

'Well said. It makes sense that they be married, then, particularly because it solves the issue of succession."

'Hold."

The voice of the newly named Lady rang throughout the Moot. It had deserted her in the tumult that had led to her being confirmed into a position she felt unqualified for; now it had returned with a vengeance as her blood boiled.

'Aren't you all very presumptuous. How dare you speak about me as if I were a brood mare? Do you think that you own me now, that you suddenly have the right to decide my destiny in all aspects of my life? I find it extremely offensive that you would instinctively assume that I am even available for an arranged marriage. How do you know that I am not married now? No one asked my marital status. And even if you had, how do you know whether or not I have promised myself already?

For all your potential, you can be a most infuriating people. If you feel the need to make this choice for your Lady, she will not be me. I gladly will yield my title before any more discussion of this nature ensues."

Rhapsody strode to the end of the Summoner's Ledge and tried to climb down. As before, when Anwyn was attacking Oelendra, she found herself unable to leave the rock ledge as shouts of dissent rose all around her.

'No!" came the cry from the Moot; the repeated calls modulated on the wind, resembling the sound of booing at the Sorboldian arena. The clamor receded as Anborn hurried to the top of the Speaker's Rise.