The breeze picked up just before dawn, blowing a shower of fine ice crystals across Rhapsody's face.
She woke with a start and sat up, shaking off her dream to find that she hadn't been dreaming. The air had gained a bitter edge in the night, and the sky was now perfectly clear, the stars beginning to fade but still glimmering, as if reluctant to leave. The dawn was coming, bringing with it a wash of violet light barely visible through the trees.
One of the crude camp blankets they had used for warmth, with minimal success, on the Root had been placed over her. She had been sleeping beside Grunthor, who was still unconscious. They were in a sheltered copse of thick brambles. A small fire crackled a few feet away, overhung with a spitted rabbit, roasting in the flames.
Achmed sat across from her under the bare branches of a forsythia bush, watching her silently. He nodded to her as she pulled off the blanket. Involuntarily she smiled at him in return. Then she turned to the sleeping mountain snoring beside her and checked him over. Grunthor seemed none the worse for his heroic undertaking.
"He's fine," Achmed said over the sounds of the fire.
"Good," she replied, and stood slowly. Her muscles had stiffened in the night, leaving her sore and feeling her age, whatever it now was. "Excuse me a moment."
She walked toward the east, grateful for the ability to sense direction again, and found a clearing from which she could view the coming dawn.
As she had the night before she drew the sword, marveling at the coolness of the hilt below the flames that rippled up the blade, burning more intensely than the campfire. Faint tones of purple and rose touched the fiery weapon, turning the flames the color of the sunrise. Rhapsody could feel the heat on her face as she stared at the sword, entranced by its beauty.
Daystar Clarion, Achmed had called it. It had a musical ring to it, like the sound of a trumpet call at dawn. She held the weapon aloft, closed her eyes, and began her morning song to the sunrise, the aubade with which the people of her mother's family had bade the stars farewell with the coming of day. She sang softly, not wanting to call attention to herself.
Her thoughts cleared; she could see the blazing weapon hovering before her in her mind's eye, could hear its song, and noted in amazement that it changed its pitch, its vibration, to match hers. A surge of power swept through her unlike anything she had ever felt and she panicked, dropping the sword in the snow.
Rhapsody opened her eyes and gasped, sweeping the weapon from the ground. The fire had not been extinguished by its brief contact with the cold, wet earth; in fact, it was glistening even more brilliantly when it came back into her hand. She shuddered and sheathed it quickly, then walked back to the camp, where Grunthor was just coming to consciousness.
Achmed had been watching Rhapsody carefully. She cast a small, lithe shadow, standing at the rise in the clearing, her eyes searching the sky in the east. When the first ray of light crested the horizon it caught in her hair and set it aglow, gleaming brighter than the sun itself would a moment later.
The shimmering gold of her hair crowned her face, rosy in the dawn, emerald eyes sparkling in the morning light. She was sending forth vibrations like nothing he had ever felt before, radiating the intense purity of the fire through which she had walked. It seemed clear that she had absorbed some of that element in the course of passing through it, tying it to herself in song. The compelling call of the flames burned in her now; she was mesmerizing, hypnotic to behold. All imperfections of the flesh now burned away, she had become beautiful beyond compare by human standards. The prospect fascinated him, as did all opportunities to tap or harness power.
After she had finished her devotions she came and bent down next to Grunthor, who was stretching in obvious pain and fighting off wakening. Rhapsody rested her hand lightly on his shoulder and sang softly into his ear.
Eyes still closed, Grunthor broke into a vast, pasty grin at the sound of the Seren children's song. He rubbed his crusted eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, sitting up with a groan.
"Oi smell food," he said, wrapping an arm around Rhapsody.
"I hope you're referring to the coney," Rhapsody said, looking over at the fire. "O' course."
"Well, one can never be certain with you, especially in your grasp. How are you feeling?"
"On top o' the world, miss," he said with a laugh. "Oi certainly likes it a lot better up 'ere than down in its bowels." His enormous eyes took her in. "Duchess, 'ave you done somethin' with your 'air?"
Rhapsody laughed. "Yes. I've smeared it with mudfilth and grime and left it unbrushed for time undetermined. Do you like it?" She jokingly pulled at the edges of a mass of tangles, a flirtatious look of humor on her face.
"Actually, yeah. Oi guess grime suits you, miss. Maybe more women ought to try it."
She gave him a playful shove and walked over to the fire, where the rabbit flesh was cooking. As she approached, the embers leapt into new flames, charring the outside of the meat. "I think this is done, Achmed; if we don't get it out of there it will be ashes. Here, Grunthor, can I have the Friendmaker for a moment?" Grunthor drew forth the wicked-looking spike and handed it to her. Without a thought she reached into the fire and plucked the meat from the spit with it, then pulled her arm out of the flames and gave the spike to Achmed. Grunthqr whistled. "That was nice."
"What?"
"How does your arm feel?" Achmed asked her. She was looking at Grunthor in confusion.
"Fine. How is it supposed to feel?"
"Well, judging by what you just did, I'd say charred." Rhapsody shrugged. "The fire's not that hot; I was only in there for a moment. Well, come on, are you going to share? Grunthor's hungry, and I have a vested interest in seeing him fed."
Achmed slid the rabbit off the skewer and tore it asunder, handing half to Grunthor, then dividing the remainder between himself and Rhapsody.
They ate in silence, the men watching in amazement as Rhapsody devoured her portion. She had rarely eaten meat in the time they had known her. Perhaps the endless slivers of the Root had given her an appetite for something a little more substantial, or just different.
When the meal was over and the gear repacked, Achmed threw snow onto the fire. Rhapsody stood and cast a glance around, then shouldered her pack. "What's the plan?"
Achmed looked up at her from the ground and smirked. "You seem to have an idea of where you're going."
"Well, I certainly don't want to stay here. I have to find whatever settlement there is in these parts and make my way to the nearest port city."
"You're heading back, then?"
"Of course. I wouldn't have left if I'd had a choice." Her jaw set, but both of the men noticed the flicker of a muscle in her cheek. The journey on the Root had left them with no sense of how much time had passed. It seemed almost as if a century had gone by, though that was not possible given their apparent lack of aging.
The prospect that her friends and members of her family might have died in the intervening time had always been a real one for Rhapsody, but she had not allowed herself to think about it while crawling along the endless tunnel. To contemplate it would have been to become unable to go on.
"All right," said Achmed, "I suppose that's fair enough. Grunthor and I will see you as far as the nearest major town. Then you can determine if you need our help in getting to the port. We owe you that at least."
"Thank you," Rhapsody said sincerely. "I feel safer knowing you'll be traveling with me for a while."
"But if you're going to travel with us, you have to observe the same rules we do. Bolg generally have to abide by a higher standard of caution." She nodded in agreement. "Then let's start with language. We'll speak only in Bolgish. You're proficient in it now. Serendair had some major ports, and the language of men and the Lirin that lived there undoubtedly was used in sea trade, but no one except the Bolg speak Bolgish."
"Very well," Rhapsody said in the language. Grunthor laughed.
"You just told 'im he did a good job," the Sergeant said. Rhapsody shrugged. "It takes a while to get the usage issues of a language, and to learn the idioms if it isn't your native tongue. Most languages are easy to pick up the basics in, if they have a consistent base, which most do. It's like a musical pattern."
"Well, if we're agreed on the language, let's talk strategy. We have no idea where we are, or what lives here. We are obviously not at the base of whatever Root Twin was connected to Sagia; we must have left the main trunk root when we started digging. That's probably a good thing, since we know Sagia was guarded. It's a fairly safe bet that there are people somewhere around here and we don't want to meet them, at least not yet. We want to know as much as possible about them and the area before they even know we're here."
"Agreed," Rhapsody said. Grunthor nodded as well.
"And when we do make contact, let's keep as much information as possible among ourselves until we agree to share any of it. It's safer for all of us that way." The Singer nodded quickly. "Oh, and one more thing: Rhapsody, I suggest you keep that sword of yours under wraps until and unless you really need to draw it, or at least try to be sure no one sees it who doesn't need to. It's a powerful artifact; I don't have any idea how it came to be here, on the other side of the world, wedged in the Earth. I doubt it's a good sign."
"All right. Can we go now? The sooner we get on the road the sooner we'll get to port." Rhapsody danced with impatience.
Achmed and Grunthor exchanged a look. They had nothing but time. It was a heady feeling.
After an hour of brisk marching Rhapsody began to shiver. When they left Easton it had been the height of summer, and she had been dressed for it. Now the rags that had once been her clothes were worn thin and full of holes. Even in prime condition they had not been adequate for wintry weather.
Rhapsody had hoped the pace of the walk would keep her warm, but the bitter wind that blew through the forest chilled her as the dampness of the tunnel never had. Despite its continuous state of sogginess, the heart of the Earth was warm for the most part. Here, above, outside its skin, the cold was debilitating.
"'Ere, missy, 'old up," Grunthor commanded.
He unbound two of the wool blankets they had slept beneath the night before, prized possessions they had dragged with them along the Root. Then he drew Lucy, and with a quick slash ripped a hole in the center of each blanket. He tossed one to Achmed, who pulled his head through the hole and draped the blanket around him like a tunic. Then he gave the other to Rhapsody as he sheathed the sword.
Grunthor smirked as she put it on. The makeshift covering was much larger on her, hanging down over her wrists.
"I hope you don't have to fight anything like that," Achmed said in amusement.
"I hope so, too," she said. "Given the sword I'm using, I'd probably light myself on fire."
"Well, then, you wouldn't be cold no more, would ya?" said Grunthor as they took up the trek again.
The snow was deep in places, but Achmed seemed to be able to tell just by looking at the lay of the land what path to take to avoid the drifts. It was almost as if he was following a map laid out in his mind.
Grunthor also seemed to have a natural understanding of the land. He knew where the drifts were unstable, where creeks were hidden under the blanket of snow, and where, far from view, they would find walls of thorns or deadfalls that they needed to avoid. From time to time he would point these things out to Achmed, who would immediately adjust their course. For men who were in unfamiliar territory, Rhapsody noted, they seemed to know the land as if they had traveled it before.
Mid-afternoon the sky began to darken. The day seemed to have been too short, even for the dead of winter. Rhapsody had heard that in the southernmost parts of the Island of Serendair the sky darkened very early and that dawn came quite late during the winter. As a child, she had been told by her grandfather that out at sea, on the few small islands that lay even farther south, the nights were even longer. She began to wonder if in fact they were in some southern land, where the winter nights seemed endless but the summers were blessed with long days.
She was about to comment about this when Grunthor suggested a quick course change due east, which brought them to a narrow roadway that ran north-south. Its age was hinted at by the size of the great oaks and ashes that lined the edge of the road and formed an arch of branches high above, giving it the look of an ancient basilica. It was well maintained, with slight ruts on its rocky surface from wheels of wagons and carts. The snow along the route had been tramped into icy brown mush. They stared in silence at the road for several moments.
"Well, I guess we're not alone," Achmed said at last. Rhapsody felt a momentary glimmer of exhilaration at the realization that a road like this might lead to a city, and that even if it were not a port city, she could likely find her way to one from there. But her excitement was held in check by the understanding that the road also might belong to hostile people, or might be thousands of miles from the sea. Still, it was a start, and would eventually be the first step in finding passage back to Serendair.
After some hours Achmed stopped short.
"What's going on?" Rhapsody asked, only to be silenced by a curt hand motion.
He had heard a noise, a sound that was outside his range of hearing. Unbidden, a picture of the place they stood formed in his mind's eye; a moment later, the scene was moving. His vision was racing down the road at an incredible speed, accelerating. The trees became a blinding blur; the swiftest of the turns and bends in the roadway sent his balance spinning.
He had always been blessed with an unnatural sense of direction, which he had utilized on the Root to find the way through the Earth. The fact that Daystar Clarion, something from Serendair, had been waiting for them on the other side was a paradox he had yet to fathom. But now, since he had passed through the fire, seeking the right passage or path had become the dizzying experience that was now occurring. Grunthor's hand shot out and grasped him by the shoulder, steadying him.
"Ya all right, sir?" Achmed nodded, bending over and resting his hands on his knees, hanging his head down to regain his balance. "Was it like it was on the Root?" He nodded again.
"There's a herd of animals coming, and a thatched hut down a bit. The road itself forks after that, but then the vision faded. This new ability I seem to have been blessed with will probably prove useful, but it's going to take some getting used to."
The sound of braying could now be heard in the distance. The three travelers scanned the horizon. Grunthor pointed and led them to a well-hidden gully below a deep snow bank that provided good cover and a clear view. They crouched down behind an ice-covered log and waited.
Achmed shrugged the cwellan from his back into his hands and held it at the ready. As his vision had sped down the road he had seen a child traveling with the beasts; now he tried to lock his heartbeat on to the boy's. Like a wild shot, a misspent arrow, he sought in vain, finding nothing. The world darkened in his mind for a moment. He had lost his bond to blood, just as he had feared.
The thought of the lost gift struck him like a missile from his own weapon. His abilities to hit targets at ridiculous distances, to feel the changes in the rhythms of the world were still there, but no longer as intense as they had been.
Where once he had heard the deafening sound of millions of hearts beating, now all he heard was relative silence punctuated by the sound of Grunthor's ferocious, thudding pulse and the slow, steady rhythm of Rhapsody's. His unique ability, his lock on the heartbeat of his prey, had been the price of his freedom. The loss of it was worse than being blinded, being maimed. The implications of his deprivation began to take hold, making him weak with nausea.
The herd came into view on the roadway. Shaggy, thickly built cattle with great arching horns, they plodded the ground with a sound not unlike thunder.
Driving them with a long, flexible stick was a young boy, in his teen years undoubtedly, wearing the simple clothes of any Seren farmboy. He was whistling an odd tune that Rhapsody had never heard before. By his side was a black-and-white herding dog, much like the ones her father had owned while she was growing up.
She turned to Grunthor and nodded at the young man, but the giant shook his head. She returned to watching the child and the animals until they were out of sight.
Once the roadway was clear again, she looked to Achmed. Even with his face partially hidden, she could still see what resembled devastation in his eyes. "What's the matter?"
The Dhracian said nothing, but Grunthor seemed to know at once what was wrong. The two Firbolg had discussed the possible effects leaving the Island might have on Achmed.
When he was the Brother, his gift had been tied to the Island, as the first of his race born there. Child of Blood, the Dhracian sage had said, Brother to all men, akin to none. By the look on his face Grunthor knew what they had feared had come to pass. The bond was broken, the blood lore gone. Brother to none. He rested a hand on Achmed's shoulder. The assassin merely shrugged and, after checking the road again, climbed over the log and back onto the path.
They made their way down the road to the farm Achmed had seen in his vision, an animal barn and a simple hut with a small garden cleared from the forest.
The larger of the two buildings, where the cattle were housed, was little more than a roofed kraal, but the farmhouse was much better built, a design that utilized the least amount of material possible to the greatest effect.
Set above the doorway was a hex sign similar to the ones Rhapsody had seen her whole life. If the pattern of this one was the same as those in Serendair, to which it was strikingly similar, it was set to ward off fire and disease. She passed this information along to the others in a whisper. Again they hid and watched.
A man came out of the house as the boy approached it, and greetings were passed, but none of them understood the words. The two farmers carried on a pleasant exchange as they penned the animals, returning finally to the farmhouse. Once they had gone inside, the three companions relaxed.
"Did you recognize the language?" Rhapsody asked.
"No, but some of the words sounded familiar," Achmed said. Grunthor shrugged. "Did you?"
"No. I don't know how to explain it, but it seems to have the same cadence as our own tongue, only with slightly different rhythms and word patterns."
Grunthor chuckled. "Maybe all you 'umans talk alike," he said.
"Maybe. What do we do now? Shall we knock and ask for shelter?"
The two Firbolg laughed simultaneously.
"Oi don't think so, Yer Ladyship."
Rhapsody looked indignant. "And why is that such a stupid idea?"
Achmed sighed. "Well, in our experience, Firbolg don't generally get the best of receptions when we knock on doors. You might be welcomed. In fact, I'm sure you could get a bed for the night, but I doubt it would be empty, if you take my meaning." Rhapsody shuddered. Achmed chuckled. "Of course, it's really up to you. I don't know how much you're craving a warm night."
"Not that much. What do you suggest?"
"Well," Grunthor began, "to the north, there are a number o' farms like this one. To the south the road comes to some kind o' village. It ain't exactly large, but it's pretty well built. Beyond that, the road goes on for some way."
"But Oi'll tell ya what—about 'alf a mile into the woods, just to the southeast, there's a nice lit'le dell, with a tree fallen over it. If we was to throw a few more branches on that tree, we could build a fire, and 'ave a cozy lit'le den that no one could see."
Achmed and Rhapsody stared at him for a moment. They looked at one another, then stared at the Sergeant again.
"Precisely how do you know this?" Achmed asked.
"Oi don't know. Oi just do. Oi got a feelin'."
"I see. Well, let's see how right your feeling is."
Grunthor's "feeling" turned out to be as accurate as a map, or a skilled guide. He seemed to know the terrain and the structures that touched it naturally, as if the Earth had been whispering her secrets in his ear as he slept. He gave them a list of its traits: the land they were now in was a series of hills, made from limestone and clay, pushed together by great underground pressure from the south.
For miles around and as far as he could sense, the land was completely wooded. None of the people who lived on the land had cleared it; instead they kept small subsistence gardens to feed themselves, sometimes trading their wares with each other. Their livestock were forest cattle, and served as barter for the other things they needed; he surmised this by the frequent patterns of transport of the animals to market. There was a small town farther east with no defenses to speak of. It and all the farms had been laid out willy-nilly with no eye to fortification. And there was the Tree.
"The Tree?" Rhapsody asked, unable to contain her excitement. "The Root Twin?"
The Sergeant shrugged. "Oi guess. It's not far from 'ere, a lit'le to the south. It's like the great Lirin Tree we came through, only it roots are everywhere. It's like the 'ole forest is part of it."
Rhapsody drew her sword and held it over an armload of wet kindling she had gathered in the hope of drying it out. "My mother used to say the same thing about Sagia. She called it the Oak of Deep Roots—I had no idea how true a name that was. The Lirin believed Sagia was tied to every living thing. If this is the Root Twin of that tree, I'm sure it's the same."
"Oi don't know about that, but this tree 'ere certainly is tied to all the forest. It was like Oi was standin' in a wide plain, and Oi could see this thing at the edge o' my vision, even though Oi didn't know it was there, ya know?"
"Not really," Rhapsody admitted, setting the fire alight with her sword. The wood blazed up immediately, consuming the wet wood as though it were dry and seasoned.
"I do," Achmed said. "When you see the world vibrationally you can't see forever, but some things stand out like beacons, things of great power."
Grunthor sat up, a look of interest on his face. "You think Oi can see vibrational-like?"
"No, not from your description. It sounds more like an elemental bond. Like you're one with the Earth. Like you know what it knows."
"Yeah, like that."
Achmed tossed a handful of dried burrs onto the fire. "The Ancient Seren, the first people of the Island, were like that. They were each bound to one of the five elements: earth, air, water, fire, or ether, the element they believed the stars were made of."
"Lore," Rhapsody said. "Ancient powers, the elements' stories."
Achmed nodded. "Perhaps by passing along the Root, each of us came to be bound to one of the elements. That would explain my sudden ability with paths and trails. As I found the right path to take, I gradually began to gain the ability to see down those paths to their terminus. I have kept that ability, but now it works not just with roots, but with any path I set my mind to."
"Or perhaps being in the presence of so much power just brought forth natural ties you already had," said Rhapsody, standing more wood up to dry by the fire. "Both of these newfound abilities seem to be based in the earth, which is, after all, where the Firbolg come from, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I think it's more likely that. I haven't been tied to anything—"
Achmed chuckled. "Actually, Rhapsody, I think you've been affected the most of all of us." He stretched out his legs before the bristling fire to warm.
"How so?"
"Well, in case you'd forgotten, you've taken to warming Grunthor's chest at night with your body to stave off your nightmares. They're dreams of the Past and the Future, aren't they?"
"Some," she admitted, "but that's nothing new. I've always had dreams like that." She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her arms to keep warm.
"They certainly seemed more intense on the Root, miss, than out in the field when we first got you," Grunthor said.
"Perhaps, but that may have had something to do with the place we were trapped within, and the company, no offense."
"That gift, that lore, if you will, is called prescience, the ability to see the Future, or the Past, and to absorb images and memories from objects or places. You've had it happen once or twice, if I'm not mistaken."
"Yes, but Namers have the ability to do that, too, in a way. We can attune ourselves to a specific note that picks up vibrations, at least occasionally anyway. It's a skill."
Achmed smiled. "Well, that may be, but it doesn't explain the fire."
Rhapsody looked up at him from her curled position. "What about the fire?"
"You haven't noticed the fire?"
She was beginning to grow irritated. "Of course I have; I built it, you numbskull."
Achmed rose and held out his hand to her. "Come here."
Reluctantly she gave him her hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He led her several yards away, then pointed at a large flat stone that jutted up at an angle from the snow.
"Take off your scabbard and leave it there," he said.
Rhapsody unbelted the thin stone sheath that held Daystar Clarion and placed it carefully down on the stone, then turned to face the Dhracian, trying to contain her annoyance. "There. So what?"
"Now have a look at the fire."
"I see it," she said. The wood had caught fairly well, and was burning quietly, snapping occasionally as a wet ember splintered in the heat.
"Good. Now walk slowly toward it."
Curiosity was beginning to replace her displeasure. She made her way carefully back to the camp, watching as the fire grew in intensity, rising as if to greet her. The emerald eyes opened in amazement; the flames leapt, roaring higher. Rhapsody backed away, and they settled down again.
"Gods," she whispered as her heart began to race, "what's happening?"
"It's you, miss," said Grunthor.
At his words she panicked, and the fire burst from its circle and crackled skyward, roaring to the height of the branches some ten feet above. The wood she had fed it a moment before dissolved into white-hot ash.
The giant laughed aloud. "See? But if you don't stop it, you're gonna burn up my lit'le den 'ere, maybe set the whole forest ablaze."
Rhapsody glanced at him, and then at the bonfire that was flaming in front of her. "Calm down," she directed, but the fire only grew more intense, reflecting her excitement. She took a deep breath and concentrated as she did before attempting something with her music. The fire responded immediately, settling down into a merry blaze again.
Rhapsody closed her eyes and focused her mind on calm thoughts. A moment later she opened them to find that the campfire had diminished to a flicker no brighter than candlelight. She broke her concentration and set the fire free, watching it climb back to the level of a normal campfire, then tossed another pile of wood onto it to replace the fuel that had burned into dust a moment before. Rhapsody turned to Achmed again. "Do you think this is a factor of the sword?" she asked.
"No, but it may be why the sword started to blaze when you touched it."
"The sword was glowing before I touched it. It almost blinded Grunthor."
Grunthor patted her back. "That might be because it was callin' you, miss; it recognized its own element in you."
Rhapsody was beginning to tremble, partly from the significance of what they were saying, partly because, in her heart, she knew they were right. "And you think the sword tied me to the element of fire?"
"I don't know," Achmed said. "I don't know enough about this sword. I still don't understand what it's doing here on this side of the world. And I don't know what causes it to burn as it does. When I knew of it, it glowed with starlight, but not flames. I'm fairly certain your tie to fire came when you sang us through the inferno at the Earth's core. I think that's when each of us changed. Certainly our bodies did."
"Maybe the fire just prepared us for the change," Rhapsody suggested. "Or maybe it was from eating the Root; I often wondered if it was a good idea to be ingesting something so powerful. It's possible that it changed us, made us susceptible to these elements. Perhaps you gained this—this path lore, or whatever it's called, when you sought out the way along the Root. And Grunthor tied himself to the element of earth when he threw himself into smashing through the rock, and me when I picked up the sword."
"No," Achmed said. "As soon as you stepped back through that fire you had changed. It was clearly visible, you had changed physically."
"'E's right, miss," Grunthor agreed. "You sure look different than when we first met you."
The conversation was causing Rhapsody's head to pound. She looked around at the coming night, inhaling the sharp scent of the fire inside the shelter Grunthor had built. "Well, being unable to bathe for what seems like years, wallowing in the mudfilth, has not exactly made any of us more alluring. Trust me, you two don't want to be presented at court any time soon."
"But that's just it," said Achmed, growing impatient, "you do appear more alluring, more intense. You radiate something that captures the attention." He turned to the Bolg Sergeant. "Do you still have that signaling mirror?"
Grunthor sat up straight, pulled his pack over, and began rummaging through it. "O' course, sir, but don't kid yourself. 'Tain't for signaling. Oi only carries it so Oi can do my 'air."
Rhapsody laughed. Achmed took the small piece of silvered metal from Grunthor and handed it to her.
"Here," he said. "Take a look."
Rhapsody took the jagged metal scrap carefully. As with almost everything Grunthor owned, it had been sharpened to an edge that could be utilized as a razor.
In the fading light of the sky she saw her image dimly reflected in the mirror, smeared with dried mud, clumps of dirt in her hair, which had darkened slightly, as it generally did in winter. Her lips looked chapped and sore from the bitter wind they had been walking into. She handed the mirror back in disgust.
"Very funny."
Achmed left the glass in her hand. "I'm serious, Rhapsody; look again."
She sighed aloud, then gave it a final attempt. The detail available from the crude mirror in the dark was negligible. She could see a redness in her cheeks, but little else. Rhapsody shrugged, and gave the mirror to Grunthor. Then a smile of understanding came over her face.
"I've got it now," she said, humor returning to her voice. "No wonder you think I'm more attractive. I look like a Firbolg."
Achmed and Grunthor looked at one another, one thought passing unspoken between them. She has no understanding —it's beyond her. Grunthor shrugged.
Rhapsody scraped some of the dirt off her cheek with her fingernail. "I think I'll melt some snow and try to wash my face tomorrow, and at least get one or two layers of grime off."
"Get some sleep," Achmed said. A smile slipped across his uneven mouth as she settled into the back of the den for the night. She would have to learn the same way she had about the fire. She would have to see the results for herself. There was no question that, sooner or later, she would.
The following morning found the three of them lurking in a well-hidden copse of trees, spying on the villagers in the nearest settlement. The day was warm for winter, perhaps portending a thaw, and the farmers seemed out in force, exchanging conversation and sacks of grain and roots. Rhapsody remembered how temperate weather had brought the farmers of the villages around Easton into town more for human contact than commerce. This seemed to be the case here, as well.
To their surprise they found that many common words, notably tree, grain, and marriage, were the same as the words' counterparts in their own tongue. Rhapsody seemed to pick up the rhythms of the language, growing more excited the longer she listened. By the time noon had arrived, Achmed and Grunthor drew her away into a more distant thicket and conferred with her for fear she would give them away.
"It's a form of our language, I'm sure of it," she said when they were far enough away and certain there was no one nearby. "The main rhythms and cadences are exactly the same, and the word patterns are very similar."
"Well, Serenne is a ship-trade language. I guess it's not surprising that they speak it here as well. Or perhaps the farmers here are descended of settlers from a colony that had its roots on the same mainland as the people who colonized Serendair in the Second Age."
Rhapsody nodded. "Whatever the reason, we should look on this as a blessing. It means we may have a chance to understand the language eventually."
The chance came on their fifth day out of the Root. Grunthor and Achmed had gone about the task of procuring food, often by outright theft, and seeking information about the layout of the village and the surrounding settlements. While they were gone, Rhapsody had positioned herself in a hidden place on the outskirts of the town where she could hear the conversations of the travelers coming and going. On this particular morning, in addition to a few farmers consulting about their tactics in an upcoming haggle and a few women gossiping and cursing, she heard a song.
It was by no means the first song she had heard in this place; the farmers commonly sang as a method of herding cattle or to make long, mind-numbing tasks seem to go more quickly. But this day the singer was a child, a young boy who was walking home with a stick in his hand, dragging it so that it drew a line in the snow. It was a simple country folk-tune, sung slightly off-key, but the melody struck her immediately, because it was the same song that she and countless other children in Serendair had sung in their youth.
She listened intently, her stomach growing cold. The words of his song were about a milkweed seed from which the clouds had grown, just as they had been when she sang it as a child. The lyrics were in a strange but recognizable dialect, and as she listened to him sing, like breaking a code, she now understood the mutations and patterns of the language.
Keeping to the tree line, Rhapsody shadowed the boy until he met up with a woman on the road, then listened to their conversation, understanding almost all of it. Her palms grew moist with excitement. She listened as long as she dared, then ran back to camp to tell Achmed and Grunthor.
The next day the two Bolg joined her at the listening post, acquiring a little of the tongue under her tutelage. She translated three conversations before Achmed nodded in the direction of their shelter. They made for the camp with haste.
"So what do you want to do, Rhapsody?" Achmed asked. "I can see you're up to something."
"I think it's time I met one or two and tried to talk to them. There's no way to find a city unless we get directions. We can lurk in the woods forever, but if I don't find a port city, I'll never get home."
"The ramifications of a possible mistake are deadly for the two of us."
The winter wind blew the hair from her eyes, and Rhapsody nodded. "I know," she said. "So you two remain hidden, follow me, and I'll report back to you if I can."
"And 'ow are we supposed to get you out o' there if somethin' 'appens?" asked Grunthor. He was growing visibly upset.
"You aren't," she said simply. "It's a matter of survival now. I know this isn't the best way for the two of you, but we have different goals. You plan to stay in this place; I don't. I want to go home, and I'm willing to risk everything for that, but I don't expect you to. Either way, the two of you should be all right. If there are no problems, we will meet up and I can pass what I've learned on to you. And if something happens, well, break camp and get out of here. Drink a toast to me every now and then, if you care to."
"Naw," Grunthor muttered, "too risky. Can you speak that language, Duchess?"
"Not yet," Rhapsody admitted, "but I should be able to get by for a while until I pick it up."
"Just don't slip and talk to them in Bolgish," Achmed warned. "You want to learn about them, not for them to learn about us."
"Right." She smiled at Grunthor, who was still shaking his head. "You realize it might take a while to get the information we need."
Achmed nodded. "Once we assess that you're safe we'll do some broader scouting, get some real information about this place."
"How will we get back together?" Rhapsody asked.
"We set a time and place. If you're not there, we go looking for you."
"And where would we meet? Here?"
"No. I don't want anyone trailing us back to the Root. Closed or not, I don't want anyone knowing where we came from. Agreed?"
Rhapsody rose in the darkness and came to Grunthor. She sat on his knee and wrapped an arm around his massive neck. "Agreed. We'll pick a place near the next village along the road, and, if you decide it's safe to leave, set up to meet in a few weeks. But don't go leaving me until I give you a sign that I think it's safe, too. I don't want to be counting on you to come and rescue me to find that you're twenty leagues away."
Grunthor sighed reluctantly. "All right, that makes sense. What's the sign?"
Rhapsody whistled a simple trill, and the two Bolg smiled. It was a tune she had hummed when they were able to walk upright in the tunnel, a sign that her mood had improved, if only for a while. "That's the all-clear. Now, if you hear this—" She whistled again, an unmistakable sound of distress, couched in the tones of a larksong. "—it means come if you can and help me."
"Got it, miss."
They laid their plans late into the night. Morning would find them on the road to the next village, a place the two Bolg had determined in their scouting to be larger and more central.
They blazed a marker that was clear and hard to miss, no matter what the weather brought. It would point to their meeting place. Then they settled in to wait. Rhapsody would approach a likely individual and try to make contact while the others watched for a few days or more. If they determined it was safe to leave her, they would meet in a little more than two months' time, under the full moon.
"You realize this is very dangerous," Achmed said as she bade them goodbye. Once she had identified her contact, she would not come back.
Rhapsody turned around and regarded them seriously. "I once was trapped with Michael, the Waste of Breath, for a fortnight, completely at his mercy and unable to escape. I survived that. This is nothing."
Achmed and Grunthor both nodded. They had known Michael. She was not exaggerating.