When the darkness swallowed them, Rhapsody went absolutely silent. She gave the gloom a moment to settle, then tried to rip free from Grunthor's hands. It was a futile effort; she could hear the giant chuckle as he tightened his grip slightly on her. Instantly she knew that she was mired to the waist in tepid liquid, something more viscous than water, with tensile strands running through it, supporting her weight.
Seconds later she saw a tiny flame appear, and Achmed's nightmarish face came into the light; it was a sight that caused her to gasp again. Grunthor let go of her with one hand and reached behind him over his head, pulled out a small torch, and gave it to his partner. The smaller man lit it, and held it out to look around.
Above them, disappearing into the darkness, was a tapered shaft, the passage through which they had descended. The shadows from the torch leapt off its black sides.
Around them was a wide, irregular cylinder of softly translucent walls, striated in hues of sunless green, pale yellow, and mottled white. As the light from the weak flame passed over the walls she could see they were thick and fibrous, damming in the murky liquid of similar color which surrounded their legs and hips. Ropey strands twisted through the glutinous muck.
It seemed clear that once long ago the opening in which they now stood had been a tunnel of a sort, an irregular corridor descending through the vast root. Time and nature had filled in the base of the shaft with thick new growth, a crazily woven system of branchlike strands that crisscrossed the air around them and formed the netlike floor on which they now were balanced. The thick liquid had been displaced with the opening of the doorway, but ebbed and surged slightly, rising back through the network of vines below them.
Droplets of water from the dank, vapor-rich air came to rest on her skin, leaving it clammy and cold. Rhapsody looked back up from where they had come. In the torchlight she could see no opening. The walls of the tree trunk were as smooth as if they had never been opened.
She squirmed away from Grunthor—he released her when he saw Achmed nod—reached up, and ran her hands over the smooth wooden surface, looking for the break. There was none.
A knotted fiber close to her hip offered a higher ledge. With great effort she extricated a leg from the gelatinous liquid and brought her foot to rest on the strand. It seemed firm enough to bear her weight, so she felt around for a handhold, then lifted herself out of the fleshy slime.
Her head and shoulders ascended into the shaft, but still she could see no break in the wood of the Tree's core. Rhapsody's hands trembled as she ran them frantically over the shaft around and above her. There was no break, no hole, no tunnel in the Tree. The surface was solid as death.
"Where's the door?" she demanded, trying to keep the panic she felt out of her voice. "What have you done?"
"Closed it," Achmed answered without sarcasm.
Grunthor's hand came to rest on her back as she teetered on her fibrous perch. She was almost on eye level with him, and within those amber eyes, remarkable in their humanity above the rest of the monstrous face, there was a distinct look of sympathy.
"The door is gone, miss; Oi'm sorry. We 'ave to press on, we can't go back."
Rhapsody whirled around and glared down at Achmed, her eyes blazing green in the light of the torch. "What do you mean, we can't go back? We have to go back—you have to let me out."
"We can't. You're stuck. You may as well accept it and come along. We're not going to wait for you."
The air in her lungs grew heavier with each breath. "Come along? You're insane. There's nowhere to go but back through there." She jabbed a finger into the tapering shaft above her.
"You really are given to some amazingly incorrect assumptions." The man she had renamed Achmed the Snake shoved aside some hanging branchlike strands, pushed past her legs, and waded to the farthest side of the cylindrical wall, where the flesh seemed thinnest.
He removed his leather gloves and slowly ran his hands along the surface, probing the semi-flaccid barrier carefully, until he found the weakest spot. He glanced back at Grunthor, who nodded and drew from his back scabbard the strangely sharp, three-bladed weapon he had taken from Karvolt.
The giant assumed the same stance he would if throwing a spear. The muscles of his massive back recoiled, and with a single thrust he drove the triatine deep into the fleshy wall. Then he dragged the weapon down, bringing the bulk of his weight to bear on it, tearing loose a hand-sized piece of semi-solid fiber the consistency of melon. The musical vibration of the Tree, muted once they had entered the passageway in the root, surged around her in a frightening crescendo.
"Gods. Stop," Rhapsody whispered, stepping down off her foothold and back into the mire. "Sagia. You're hurting Sagia." She stumbled blindly toward Grunthor, only to be brought to a halt by the grip of a iron hand.
"Nonsense. This is a trunk root; the Tree has thousands of them." Grunthor ripped away a larger section of the fibrous wall, causing Rhapsody to shudder. "The hole in the root wall will close up once we're outside; this corridor is filling in as we speak. Or hadn't you noticed?" Achmed pointed to the viscous liquid in which they stood. Where once it had leveled off at her waist, the muck now reached almost to her breasts.
Once more the giant twisted the three-bladed weapon. The ripping sound reverberated off the liquid in which they stood. Then Grunthor looked back at them.
"Oi'm through, sir."
Achmed nodded, then turned Rhapsody to face him as Grunthor backed into the hole he had just made.
"Listen carefully; I'm only going to explain this once. We need to leave the inside of this root and follow it along the outside. There is a tunnel of sorts that sheathes the root because its flesh expands and contracts, depending on how much water it is holding. That tunnel will serve as our corridor; we'll find water and air there. With a good deal of luck it will lead us to a new place, somewhere safe from those who pursue us. Somewhere where Michael can never find you. But that is up to you."
"Now, you can come with us, or you can wait in here and drown inside the Tree when the root fills in. Your choice."
Dazed, Rhapsody pulled free of his hands and waded to the hole Grunthor had torn in the root wall. The giant moved aside slightly as she leaned into the rip and stared down. All she could see was endless darkness below. She looked up. Above her was more of the same. The shaft ran, with no visible limit, along the pale root that reached down into the abyss beneath them.
Achmed was checking the bindings on his gear.
"Well? Are you coming?"
The enormity of her situation fell on Rhapsody like an avalanche of mud. She was trapped inside the Tree, with no way out, and nowhere to go but into the endless hole below her; where it led to, the gods only knew. It was bad enough to be exiled from Easton, but the realization of what else she would be leaving behind made Rhapsody break into a cold sweat.
Rhapsody shoved Achmed aside, waded back to where the shaft had been, and pounded wildly on the tree wall above her. As her panic broke loose she began to shout for help, crying out as loudly as she could, hoping the Lirin who guarded the sacred Tree would hear her and pry her free. She waited, listening frantically for the sound of help coming, but heard nothing.
Achmed and Grunthor looked at each other, then returned to watching her. When a few moments passed Rhapsody tried calling out again. She repeated this effort four times before Achmed finally lost patience. He reached out and tapped her shoulder in annoyance.
"If you're done with your temper tantrum, I suggest you come with us. We're leaving now. Your alternative is to spend the rest of your short life screaming at a wall of solid wood; not very productive, but your choice nonetheless, at least until the root fills in the hole."
The finality of his words caused Rhapsody to dissolve into tears. It was not something she did very often; anyone who knew her would recognize it as a sign of utter despair. Achmed's eyelids and skin rippled with searing pain as the vibration of her lamentation passed over him. He grasped her arm, his voice unsympathetic.
"Stop that immediately," he ordered harshly. "I forbid you to do that. If you want to come with us, you had best understand that you are never to do that again. Weeping and wailing is banned from here on out. Now decide. Come if you want to—if you can refrain from that noise."
He stepped through the hole, ignoring the hard look Grunthor cast his way after his tirade. The giant Bolg turned to her and gave her what she had come over the last two weeks to recognize as a smile.
"Aw, come on, miss, it won't be that bad. Think of it as an adventure. 'Oo knows what we're gonna find, and besides, ya won't never have to see the Waste o' Breath again." He and Achmed exchanged a glance and a nod before the smaller man began to climb down the trunk root.
"Nor my family, nor my friends," Rhapsody said, choking back tears.
"Not necessarily, darlin'. Just because ol' Uchmed and Oi don't plan to return to Serendair don't mean you can't. But you can't get back from nowhere if you're not there yet, can you?"
Rhapsody almost smiled in spite of herself. The giant monster was trying to comfort her, while the allegedly more human of the two treated her, as always, with consummate indifference.
This whole event was taking on a surreal quality that made her wonder if she was, in fact, only dreaming. She rubbed the tears out of her eyes and sighed in exhaustion.
"Very well," she said to Grunthor. "I guess there's really no choice. There must be a way out somewhere, some place where the root comes up. Let's go."
"Atta girl," said Grunthor approvingly. "You follow me, sweet'eart. Oi wouldn't wanna take the chance o' fallin' on you." He grabbed hold of the trunk root and began to lower himself into the black hole, which had already swallowed up his companion.
Rhapsody shuddered. "No, we certainly wouldn't want that." She stepped through the rip in the root wall and found the fibrous outgrowth that the two men were using as a rope to lower themselves down, then took hold of it herself. Carefully she began her descent into the flickering darkness of the vast hole that sheathed one of the main lifelines of the Oak of Deep Roots. She was about to discover just how aptly the Tree was named.
Michael walked among the bodies of his men, staring down at a scene of savagery he had never been able to match. True, he had been capable of deeper depravity; there had been no torture or ritual dismemberment in the course of this slaughter, just a ferocious efficiency that rippled the hair on his arms with electricity.
Gammon walked silently behind him, keeping his eyes to the ground. He was afraid to speak, afraid to even meet his leader's glance because his own terror would be readily evident. Gammon had seen greater desolation, larger numbers of broken bodies beneath smoldering skies, but he had never seen so many men dispatched with such obvious indifference. At least Michael enjoyed his work. There was something far more frightening about this brutal nonchalance.
Finally Michael stopped. With a curt nod he directed Gammon to help the others, who were stacking the bodies neatly on the burial mound, then turned in a full circle, surveying the vast meadow where his hunting party had fallen.
He raised a hand to his brow and shielded his eyes, sensitive in their bright blueness, from the hazy afternoon light. There was no cover here, no place that the trap could have been easily laid. As far as his eyes could discern there was nothing but highgrass, brittle in the summer heat, waving silently as the warm breeze whipped through again, bowing in supplication before the sun.
There was only one answer. The Brother.
As the back of his throat tightened dryly, Michael thought about the girl. The sunlit meadow grass rippling in the wind reminded him of her hair, long tresses of golden silk entwined in his hands. How he had loved the feel of it on his chest in the darkness as she lay beneath him. He had carried the sensation with him even as he struggled to put other more erotic thoughts of her out of his mind, fearing the distraction might endanger him.
And now that she was gone, the highgrass would serve as a constant, nagging reminder of what he would never have again. For surely if the Brother had taken her, she was lost to him; the Dhracian had undoubtedly killed her and tossed her body in the sea even before leaving Easton. Not much was known about the mythic assassin, but it was common knowledge that he had no heart, and no vices of the flesh. Those were the only things that would have given Rhapsody a chance.
"Burn the bodies," he directed. "Gather whatever gear is left and saddle up. We're finished here."
Immediately there had been a problem.
Just below the rip Grunthor had torn in the wall of the root was a tiny ledge. It was more than likely a lichenous growth of a size that matched the mammoth proportions of the Tree, jutting out from the root wall. Rhapsody had lowered herself onto it without difficulty and peered over into the tunnel below, where the two men were rapidly disappearing, along with the weak, flickering light of the torch.
"Wait," she called, her voice shaking a little. "You're going too fast." Shadows danced on the tunnel walls around and above her, leaving her dizzy and sweating.
"Funny," replied the sandy voice from below, exaggerated and echoing. "One might rather think you're not going fast enough."
"Please," she called again, choking back the panic that was filling her throat.
There was silence, then the ledge shivered. Two enormous hands appeared at the edge of the bulbous growth, and Grunthor hoisted his upper body into view, his face damp from the moisture of the root. Even in the dark Rhapsody could see him grin.
"What's the matter, Yer Ladyship?"
"I don't think I can do this," she whispered, hating herself for the admission of weakness.
"O' course you can, darlin'. Just take your time."
"I'm Lirin—"
The Firbolg giant chuckled. "'Ey, don't remind me. Oi ain't eaten recently."
"—we don't do well underground."
"Oi can see that. Well, 'ow about Oi give you a lit'le lesson 'ere? Come on, Oi'll show you." He beckoned her forward with the wave of one hand while maintaining his hold on the fibrous rope with the other.
Tentatively Rhapsody crept to the rim of the ledge, swallowed hard, and peered over the side again.
"Now, there's your first mistake. Don't look down. Close your eyes and turn around." Awkwardly she obeyed. The vambraces of Grunthor's armor squeaked as a thick, muscular arm encircled her waist and drew her backward off the ledge. Rhapsody stifled a gasp.
"Right. Now, keep your eyes closed, spread your arms wide, and hug the root. When you're full around it, feel for an 'and'old."
Within the circle of Grunthor's arms Rhapsody reached both hands forward, running them along the surface of the root wall until her chest almost rested against the skin of the root itself. She shuddered as Grunthor shifted his weight to bring her even closer to it, the heavy, metallic odor of armor and sweat and the humid, earthy smell of the root filling her nostrils. After a moment she found a small indentation beneath her left hand, a thick root branch with her right. She gripped both firmly.
"Now the feet. Good. All right, now, open your eyes."
Rhapsody obeyed. Before her loomed the exterior skin of the trunk root, a thick, mottled hide scarred with rhizomes and lichenous growths, as jagged and rough as the interior had been smooth. She rested her ear against it and inhaled, breathing in the rich, sharp scent of it, listening to the humming pulse that vibrated in her skin and the edge of her scalp. There was solace in its song, even here within the dark tomb of earth.
"Ya all right?"
Rhapsody nodded, still resting her head against the root's sunless skin, ghostly pale in the blackness. The last of the feeble shadows fluttered, and the torch in the tunnel below flared out with a hiss.
"Now, ya see, you're doin' just fine. Don't look down, and take your time. Oi'll most likely catch you if you slip." The giant patted her awkwardly, then began to descend once again.
"Thank you," Rhapsody murmured. Carefully she felt for more handholds below. Upon finding them, she cautiously slid her foot down until she found another knot on the root. Her shoulders were on fire, her hands stung, her knees already felt the strain—and she hadn't even started yet.
How long they climbed down into the darkness was impossible to tell—hours, certainly, though it seemed more like days. Each time Rhapsody found another large growth or rhizome on the trunk root's fleshy skin she took the opportunity to stop and rest, allowing the screaming muscles in her shoulders and legs a moment's respite from the grueling routine.
She could no longer see her companions for the darkness and the distance between them. Achmed had staggered the climb so that each of them could take advantage of the resting spots. As he came to each outcropping he called out its location, and she and Grunthor would hang in place, waiting for their turns to descend onto the new ledge.
It was during one of these momentary rests, with her feet wedged into a scarred crevice in the root, her arms entwined in a desperate embrace about it, that the panic resurged.
The tunnel that sheathed the root had been wide at the Tree's base, stretching to unseen edges in the darkness around it. It had been carved out over centuries of the Tree's growth and the swollen rains from hundreds of springtimes, and as a result had seemed a vast and endless cave when they first began the long climb down.
The farther along the root they went, however, the more narrow the tunnel became. The body of the root itself had grown thinner, with more radix and branch rootlets sprouting from it. The Earth itself was closing in around them, and the closer the tunnel walls came in, the louder Rhapsody's heart pounded. She was part Lirin, a child of the sky and open spaces of the world, not made to travel deep within the earth as the Firbolg, Grunthor's race, were. Each breath was bringing dirty heaviness to her lungs and torment to her soul.
Her head began to spin. Separated from the sky, she was buried alive within the Earth, in a living grave so far down that she could never be found. Even in death, Lirin never entombed one of their race within the ground, but rather committed their bodies to the wind and stars through the fire of the funeral pyre. The awareness of the depths to which they had tunneled dawned on her, leaving her terrified. Deep; they had gone so deep. Too deep.
Suddenly it was as if every grain of dirt, every clod of clay in the ground above her had settled on her shoulders, dragging the air from her lungs. Her grip on the trunk root tightened as she grew dizzy and hot.
The song of the Tree, so comforting and ever-present at the onset of the climb, had dwindled to a bare whisper, taking what little courage she had left with it. The sound of her breathing and the painful thudding of her heart filled her ears, making her feel as if she were drowning. She began to gasp for breath. Too deep. It's too deep.
In her memory she heard her father's voice, stern but not angry.
Stop flailing.
Rhapsody closed her eyes, concentrating with the last of her will on her Naming note. Ela, the sixth note of the scale. It was among the first things she had learned when studying to be a Singer, the mental tuning fork that helped her discern the truth of a given vibration. It would help her remember clearly, even in her terror. She took a deep breath and began to softly hum the note.
The water of the pond had been cold and green scum floated on the surface. She could not see the bottom.
Father?
I'm here, child. Move your arms slowly. That's better.
It's so cold, Father. I can't stay above it. It's too deep. Help me.
Be at ease. I'll hold you up.
Rhapsody took another breath, and felt the tightness in her lungs slacken a little. The memory of her father's smiling face, his beard and eyebrows dripping, rivulets of water rolling down his cheeks, rose up before her mind's eye as it had from the surface of the pond so long ago.
The water won't hurt you, it's the panic that will. Stay calm.
She nodded, as she had that day, and could feel the droplets of anxious sweat shake off her hair, much like the pond water had.
It's so deep, Father.
A spray of water as he spat it out. Depth doesn't matter, as long as your head is above it. Can you breathe ?
Ye-e-ss.
Then never mind how deep it is. Concentrate on breathing; you'll be fine. And don't panic. Panic will kill you, even when nothing else wants to.
The next breath was even easier. Memories are the first stories you learn, Heiles, her mentor, had said. They are your own lore. There is more power in them than you will ever find in all your studies, because you wrote them. Draw on them first. Twice now she had reached back into the Past, and it had given her exactly what she needed.
Depth doesn't matter. Concentrate on breathing; you'll be fine. And don't panic. Slowly Rhapsody opened her eyes.
"Miss?"
The voice from below caught her by surprise, and the fear roared back. Rhapsody started, then lost her footing. She made a wild grab for the bark again and stumbled, sliding without purchase along the pale, slippery flesh of the root.
Rootlets and branches snapped beneath her arms as she slid, bruising her body and slapping against her face. The bark of the root's skin bit deep into her neck and hands as she fell along it, plunging down until she was suddenly, violently stopped by Grunthor's enormous mass. His body absorbed the shock of the impact without moving. Rhapsody looked up, her neck throbbing sickeningly, to see the great gray-green face wreathed in a cheerful smile.
"Well, 'allo, Duchess! Oi was 'opin you'd drop in! Care for a spot o' tea?"
The tension she had been lugging with her for a fortnight shattered, and, in spite of herself, Rhapsody laughed. The giant joined in.
"Grunthor." The dry voice from below choked off the merriment. The giant looked down into the darkness. "We'll be changing course here, following a different path."
"Wait 'ere, darlin', eh?" Rhapsody nodded. Grunthor helped her find purchase on the root skin again, after which he took out a small flask and gave her a drink. Then he climbed down to confer with Achmed. A moment later he was back.
"There's a fairly wide shelf in the root down a lit'le ways," he said. "We'll sleep there. If you want to hold on, Oi can carry you down."
Rhapsody shook her head. "No, thank you. If it's not too far I think I can make it."
"Suit yourself," replied the giant. "It's enough just to know that you fell for me." He descended the root, Rhapsody's soft laughter following him out of sight.
They ate their meal in silence and semi-light. Achmed had lit another torch and stuck it into a shallow fissure above them. Rhapsody basked in the illumination and warmth of the small flame. She had been too busy fighting the feeling of the walls caving in to notice the dark and the cold.
Achmed had gathered a number of different mold spores and growths from the skin of the root, and was testing their use as a source of fuel and light. One type of dense, sponge-like fungi held the flame well, and would glow for some time after being extinguished. Satisfied, he harvested a substantial number of them from the skin of the giant root and stored them in his pack.
"Got the light source," he said to Grunthor. "Should provide some minimal heat as well." The Firbolg looked up over a piece of the dried meat he had found in the provisions of Michael's men and nodded. "Water is no problem, obviously." In illustration, he wrung out a corner of his cloak, sodden from the climb along the damp root. A tiny stream of liquid splashed his boot.
Rhapsody finished her rations in silence. Suspended here, safe for the moment, she had had time to think about what they had undertaken. It was taking all of her concentration just to keep from losing the battle against the panic that lurked, ever-present, at the edges of her consciousness. She had not noticed when Achmed held out a sliver of green vegetable matter. He shook it closer to her face, finally drawing her attention.
"Eat."
Rhapsody accepted the food with a withering stare, then took several deep breaths, focusing on staying calm. She took a bite, then made a face. The vegetable was bland, with tough fibers running through it. Rhapsody chewed, then swallowed hard.
"Bleah. What was that?"
"The root." Achmed smiled, then looked away in amusement at the sight of the expression on her face.
"The root? You're eating Sagia?"
"Actually, you're eating Sagia." He held out his forearm to stop her from rising. "Before you vomit it up, consider again. We are down here indefinitely. We don't have enough food to last nearly that long. When the supplies run out, what do you suggest we eat?" He ignored the furious glance that had replaced the first expression in her eyes. "Or would you prefer I put that question to Grunthor?"
"Not to worry, miss," said the Firbolg giant, chewing on his supper. "Oi don't think you'd make much of a meal. You're on the bony side, if you don't mind my sayin' so. Apt to be tough and gamy."
"The amount of root we will take for food in any given place won't even be noticed by the Tree's parasites, let alone the Tree. You won't be doing it any damage, and you may actually live as a result. You'll just be taking that allegory of the Tree being the nurturer of the Lirin a little farther than most."
Rhapsody had opened her mouth to try and explain to the miscreant before her that Sagia was a living entity, it had a soul, but one word choked off her diatribe.
"Parasites?"
Grunthor snorted. "Come on, now, 'aven't you noticed the 'oles?"
Rhapsody's eyes darted around the darkness. She had been too busy trying to keep from plummeting down into the abyss below her to look for details in the scenery, and even now all she saw was the great, shaggy green-white wall behind them and the rocky tunnel around them. The size of the root and the cavern that sheathed it was monstrous, and had succeeded in intimidating her completely.
"No."
"You're in the ground, Rhapsody," said Achmed, his voice unnaturally patient. "Worms and insects live in the ground as well. They feed off roots—you have managed to notice that there are roots here, haven't you?" He saw the panic glazing her intense green eyes once more, and took her by the shoulders.
"Listen to me. Grunthor and I know what we are doing, at least for the most part. If you stay up with us, and follow directions, you may make it out of here. If you panic, you'll die. Do you understand?" She nodded. "Well, that's a start. Now, if I recall, one of the things you told us you could do as a Singer was to prolong sleep, is that correct?"
"Sometimes."
"That may prove to be important. Now, after we've rested, we're changing course. The root branches out on the other side, goes horizontal for a bit. We'll be following that. Get some sleep." He settled back against the root wall, his pocked face disappearing into the darkness of his hood.
Rhapsody moved closer to the torch, hoping the light would last at least until she fell asleep. She closed her eyes, but still could not escape the image of being covered with the unseen vermin that fed off Sagia's root.
The song of the Tree, so distant while they were traveling, swelled in the silence and filled her ears, then her heart, gently lulling her to sleep. With her last conscious thought, she hummed her Naming note, attuning herself to Sagia's song. It would sustain her in this place of living nightmares.
Far away, in a realm even deeper than Rhapsody had fallen in her darkest dreams, the great sleeping serpent stretched infinitesimally, immense coils unspooling in its slumber. Wound around the vestigial roots of the great Tree within ancient tunnels from the Before-Time, the beast lay in frozen darkness in the bowels of the Earth, awaiting the call. Soon war would rage, the door to the upworld would be opened, and its long-awaited feed would begin.
Achmed awoke in the darkness, shaking off the fragments of the dream that had been invading his repose. He knew instinctively, upon regaining consciousness, that Grunthor was already awake. The Sergeant was staring down at the girl, a look of consternation on his broad face, watching her toss and whimper in the throes of a nightmare.
"Poor thing." The Bolg leaned back against the root. "Think we should wake 'er?"
Achmed shook his head. "Definitely not. She's a Singer; she may be prescient."
"She certainly is, cute lit'le thing. Oi like 'er."
Within his hood Achmed smiled slightly. "She may have the gift of prescience, the ability to see into the Future, or the Past. Some Singers do, being in tune with the vibrations of the world. The nightmares may hold important knowledge."
Rhapsody began to sob in her sleep, and Grunthor shook his head. "Not much of a gift, if you ask me. She ought to give it back."
Achmed closed his eyes, trying to discern the heartbeats around him. There was his own, of course, and Grunthor's, the strong, steady thudding he knew almost as well. Then there was the girl's, flickering and racing anxiously. And all around them was the beating heart of the Earth, rich and vibrant, calling from far away but pulsing in its veins, the roots of the Great Tree. In his mind he set these rhythms aside, looking past them for something else. Something slower, and deeper. Something ancient.
After a moment he still could feel nothing solid. The hum from the Tree was loud enough to drown out everything but their three heartbeats. The Earth itself was masking all other sound except for the occasional dripping of water, the cracking of the tunnel walls as they crumbled imperceptibly. He couldn't hear it yet, but he would.
His musings at an end, he looked back up and studied his friend. Grunthor was still watching the Singer keenly, interposing his foot between her and the end of the ledge.
"We're going to have to lash her to the root with a rope when we start climbing, especially when she's asleep." Grunthor nodded, and Achmed rose smoothly to a stand, then looked over the deep ledge into the endless chasm below. It was growing narrower as the root tapered away to thin hairs. Achmed folded his arms and turned around again.
"How noble are you feeling, Grunthor?"
The Bolg looked up questioningly, then smiled. "Oi'm always noble, sir; it's in my blood. 'As been ever since Oi ate that knight a few years back. Why?"
"I think we're going to make a bit of a side trip."
The sensation of warmth on her face drew Rhapsody out of the dream that had been plaguing her. As the nightmare evaporated she opened her eyes.
Achmed crouched before her, a burning spore in his hand. His face was hidden deep within his hood. In the back of her mind, Rhapsody pondered sleepily if this was the first time she could definitely assign an act of kindness to him. He had roused her in the light, and had sought to keep his frightening face from being the first thing she saw upon awakening. She choked back the seething dislike she had felt for him ever since he had dragged her into the Tree. "Good morning," she said.
The cloaked figure shrugged. "If you say so. It still looks like night to me." He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. Rhapsody shuddered as she looked past him to the edge of their makeshift landing on the giant fungus. Tall shadows whispered across the face of the vast tunnel above them. The giant was nowhere in sight. "Where's Grunthor?"
"On the other side of the root. We're going to be taking a different path. You may like this a little more; we have to make a short climb up, but then it should be a horizontal journey, at least for a while."
She handed him back the rough camp blanket she had woken beneath, trying to keep her voice under control. "How do you know this path will lead us out of here? What if you are just getting us lost deeper within the Earth?"
Achmed ignored her question. He went to the root wall and grasped the rope that Grunthor had secured, then began to inch around to the far side of the root. "This way."
It was more difficult navigating the root sideways than it had been to climb down. Grunthor had secured a rope to the root on his way around it, pegging it in place. Rhapsody clung to the guideline and struggled not to look down as the muscles in her legs and arms shuddered from the new strain. The endless darkness below her loomed, frigid and menacing. The air was growing colder.
"Come on, miss, Oi got the rope. Take your time." Rhapsody took in a deep breath. She knew the giant still could not see her; he had been calling out routinely since she had started around, encouraging her. There was a note of uncertainty in the rich bass voice this time. The musical fluctuation told her that she hadn't moved recently, and the Bolg was wondering if she had fallen. She steadied herself.
"I'm coming," she called, amazed at how fragile her voice sounded. The weakness annoyed her, strengthening her resolve. She cleared her throat, and shouted.
"I'm almost to the bend, Grunthor."
A few moments later she crested the edge and looked around. The giant was standing there, grinning, his hand outstretched, at the mouth of a small horizontal tunnel. The root itself branched off, like a many-tubered vegetable, into the walls of the main shaft they had been descending, some above her, some below.
"Don't 'urry," warned Grunthor. "Take your time."
Rhapsody nodded, and closed her eyes. She clutched the rope and concentrated on finding the last footholds, listening to the rhythm of her racing heart. One by one, slowly. As she had the night before, she began to whisper her musical name in tune with the song of the Tree, and felt its music fill her, sustaining her, giving her strength.
After what seemed like an eternity she felt the grip of massive hands on her arm and waist, and the sickening rush of air as she was torn loose from the rope, then placed gently on solid ground. Rhapsody opened her eyes to find herself in a tunnel not much taller than Grunthor, the root's tributary running horizontally next to her. A choked laugh escaped her as she fell to her knees, reveling in the feel of firm earth. The giant laughed in turn.
"You like that, do you?" He offered her a hand. "Well, then, shall we be on our way, Duchess? We gotta catch up."
The exhaustion she had been fighting every moment since the climb began claimed her. Rhapsody shook her head, lay down and stretched out on her back. "I can't. I need to rest. I'm sorry." She ran her hand up the side of the narrow tunnel wall, staring at the crumbling ceiling above her.
The Bolg Sergeant's face lost its smile. "Oi'll give you a moment, Duchess, but then we're gone. You don't want to be where the ceilin' can cave in one bit longer than you have to be." His voice carried the quiet ring of authority that commanded armies.
Rhapsody sighed, then took his hand. "All right," she acquiesced. "Let's go."
They walked erect until the tunnel grew smaller, then squeezed through the small opening that sheathed the now-horizontal root. The ceiling was too low for Grunthor even to crouch, so they crawled along for some distance until the earth-tunnel widened into a broader vertical space once again. In the distance there was light, and Rhapsody's heart leapt. They must be near the surface.
Finally they came to the opening, struggling to hurry. When she emerged from the tunnel and stood upright, Rhapsody gasped.
They were standing next to a vast bulbous tower that loomed above them, with spidery flaccid branches sprouting from it, long thin trails of radix hanging next to it from the darkness above. By comparison, the root they had descended was nothing more than a branch of this one.
The giant root reached up into the vertical tunnel high above them out of sight. Unlike the absolute darkness of their descent, there was a faint red glow within this shaft, a dark light that held no radiance, just heat. There were no other horizontal tunnels, just more of this new root twisting into the chasm below.
The strangling disappointment of not being at the surface gave way to fearful amazement. "Gods, what is this?" Rhapsody said, thinking aloud.
"Oi believe it's the taproot, the one what connects the tree to the main line," Grunthor offered.
"Main line? What are you talking about?" A disgusted snort came from the darkness in front of her, and her weary eyes made out Achmed at the edge of the tunnel. Until that moment she had not seen him; he had blended completely into the darkness.
"One would think you would know your Lirin lore a little better. Had you thought this was the end? We haven't even made it to the real Root yet."
Fighting the devastation that threatened to consume her, Rhapsody thought back to the stories her mother had told her about Sagia. It is the Oak of Deep Roots, she had said, its veins and arteries are lifelines that spread throughout the earth and are shared by other holy trees, called Root Twins, around the world. She had spoken of its massive girth, but the outsize impressions of childhood perspective had led Rhapsody to expect a trunk of great heft, not a tree the size of the town square.
The main roots of the holy trees ran along something her mother had called the Axis Mundi, the centerline of the Earth, which the Lirin people believed to be round, contrary to the opinions of their neighbors. This main axle on which the Earth spun, reputed to be an invisible line of power, and the root of Sagia had melded together. That was the reason the Tree resonated with the wisdom of the ages, that it had grown to such an unbelievable height and breadth. It was tied into the very soul of the world, her mother had said. That might be the main line to which Grunthor had referred.
"You mean the Axis Mundi?"
"The one and only." Achmed spat on his hands, then took hold of one of the flaccid vestigial roots, called a radix. He pulled himself awkwardly off the ground, swinging slightly as the radix flexed, then positioned his foot in the crotch where an outsize knob was attached to the giant root.
He was able to scale the taproot slowly, compensating for the weakness in the smaller roots by keeping one arm wrapped around the vast green-white flesh of the main trunk. When he was ten or so feet from the ground in the tunnel he looked down.
"Saddle up, Grunthor," he said in the strange, fricative voice that had first caught Rhapsody's attention in the market. He looked at her now with an expression that hovered between contempt and indifference. "Are you coming?"
"How far up does it go?"
"No telling. There's nothing but this for as far as I can see, and my underground sight is good. What's your alternative?"
She was without one, and he knew it. Rhapsody was still unsure as to whether Achmed had been her deliverer or her kidnapper, but whatever he had intended, he was now her captor. He had dragged her in here, trapping her inside the Tree with no exit except through the root, and even that was looking more and more unlikely. She tried to keep the seething hatred out of her voice.
"Thanks to you, I have none. I'm coming."
The climb was arduous, with repeated episodes of slipping and a few almost-tragic falls. Initially it had been a little like climbing a ladder, and almost as easy. There were more knobs and lichenous growths on the taproot to serve as foot and handholds than there had been on the first root they had descended, the root of Sagia's trunk.
But as the first few minutes passed into an hour, the dull ache in Rhapsody's shoulders roared into full-blown agony. She tried to make better use of her legs to give her arms some respite, but even that did little to ease the searing pain and bone-deep exhaustion. The men had quickly outdistanced her, having far greater strength in their arms and upper bodies than she did, but even they were slowing slightly, remaining in view above her. At least Grunthor was; she could see nothing past him, except for the never-ending pale wall of the root.
Once they had been climbing for more than an hour Rhapsody could no longer see anything that even vaguely resembled the ground below them, just perpetual darkness. It was like being suspended in the sky among the stars, hovering above the world miles below.
The thought of the stars made her choke up, but she held back the tears, remembering her abductor's harsh warning about crying. Her mother's race, the Liringlas, the Skysingers, believed that all of life was part of their God. They held the heavens to be holy, the sheltering sky that touched its children, making them part of the collective soul of the universe. This was the reason they greeted the daily celestial changes with song, honoring the rising and setting of the sun, as well as the appearance of the stars, with chanted devotions.
The pain she had suffered in her life was her own fault. She had run away, abandoned her family as a teenager, but still had longed for the day when she might return, repentant, to the fold. The daily devotions, particularly the songs to the stars, were her way of comforting herself until that occurred. She would faithfully sing her morning aubades and evening vespers each day, thinking of her mother, knowing she, too, was chanting the ancient tunes of her people, thinking of the child she had lost. And now that child was trapped in the Earth, miles below the surface, possibly never to see the sky again.
"Ya all right down there, miss?" Grunthor's deep voice shattered her thoughts; the other two were many yards above her. The Sergeant was leaning away from the taproot, trying to discern what was delaying her in the darkness.
Rhapsody sighed. "I'm fine," she called, then began the laborious task of hauling herself up the towering root once more.
Finally Achmed found a ledge large enough for the two men to rest, with a smaller indentation in the root below it for her. Rhapsody settled into the pit, her body numb from the pain and exertion. Grunthor leaned over the ledge and handed her down a flask of water he had collected from the radix around him while he was waiting for her to catch up.
"'Ere ya go, Yer Ladyship. Ya all right?"
Too tired to answer, she managed a weak smile and a nod, then drank gratefully. A moment later Achmed's rope landed in her lap.
"Tie yourself to that outcropping of branches there," he directed from above. "We're going to sleep here. You should make sure you never sleep without it." Rhapsody looked up and met his glance, and in the fog of her exhaustion understanding came over her. There was no end in sight. There might never be.
They continued to climb. Any sense of time vanished. There seemed to be nothing at all in time or space but the root, the three of them, and the endless climb. How long it had been was impossible to tell; Rhapsody was rarely hungry, and the other two felt compelled to eat even less frequently than she did, so keeping track of the passing of hours or meals or breaths they took didn't serve to mark the passage of time. Eventually they gave up altogether, becoming resigned to the eternal journey, with the ever-dwindling hope that there would one day be an end to it.
Achmed and Grunthor had become accustomed to traveling with their hostage. She never complained, and rarely spoke, though she had some trouble staying on the root. She was small, and the trunk was too vast for her arms to gain any purchase, so as a result she slipped more frequently than they did, on occasion necessitating that Grunthor make an adjustment in pace to keep from losing her.
The most troublesome aspect to her company was the nightmares. The three companions endeavored to find sleeping places as close to each other as possible, Achmed in the lead, Grunthor next, and the girl bringing up the rear. Rhapsody never passed a sleeping session in peace, always awakening in a cold sweat or a panic, gasping wildly.
Being within the Earth intensified her dreams, changing them dramatically. They now began as distant visions, inexplicable sights that had no bearing on any real experience. Rhapsody dreamt often of Sagia, sometimes walking around it in the darkness of the silent glade, touching its gleaming bark in wonder, unable to find the hole through which they'd entered.
One night, in a particularly disturbing dream, she saw a star fall into the sea, and the waves around it erupting in fire, swirling into a towering wall of water that enveloped the Island, swallowing it. She saw Sagia, its boughs filled with thousands of Lirin singers, dressed in green, chains of wildflowers entwined in their hair and about their necks, singing sweetly as it vanished beneath the ocean surface.
She had moaned in her sleep, turning over in the ropes by which she had bound herself to the root. Achmed had been on watch, and tore off one of the millions of bulbous growths that disfigured the root, dropping it on her from above in hope of making her stop whining. It had the desired effect; she grew quiet again as her dream changed into an old one, one that recalled her past.
It was a dream of the bordello she had worked in a few years back. She could see the bedchamber again clearly in her mind's eye, the tawdry red furniture that was the decorating staple of every brothel, the extra-large bed. She shuddered in her sleep at the memory that unspooled itself against her best efforts to keep it in check.
Michael had been sprawled lazily across the bed, the mud from his boots soiling the linens.
"Well, there you are, Rhapsody, my dear," he said, his eyes opening wide in delight. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."
"I wasn't," she answered tersely. "Why are you here? What did you say to Nana? Why does she look so upset?"
"I merely requested an appointment with my favorite girl. Surely there's no harm in that?"
"And surely she told you that I have declined to accept any more appointments with you, Michael. So why, then, are you still here?"
Michael sat up, the dirty boots shoving the bedspread onto the floor as they stepped down. "I was hoping you would change your mind, darling, when you saw how truly devastated your rebuff has made me." He took off his boots and nodded to one of his henchmen. The man closed the door behind her.
Her eyes narrowed, and her face set in anger. "You don't look too upset to me, Michael. Please leave. I don't want you here."
Michael looked at her in obvious admiration. She was tiny, but powerful, and he could feel her spirit coursing through his veins. She was the only one who not only stood up to him, but seemed to have no fear in doing so. While fear was arousing to him, this was even more so, especially when he knew he would win.
"Now, now, don't be so hasty, Rhapsody. I've come a very long way. Can't you at least let me tell you what I want?"
"No. I don't care what you want. Now get out."
"Ouch," he said, clutching his chest as though wounded. "You are so insolent, my dear. That's not something I tolerate in my men, but in you it's strangely stirring. And speaking of things that ought to be stirring in you, why don't you just come and sit down over here." He patted the bed next to him, and then began to unlace his trousers.
Rhapsody turned to leave. "I'm sorry, Michael. As I've told you, I'm not interested. I'm sure there are any number of others who are more than happy to serve you."
"You are so right," he said, as the henchman stepped in front of the door. "Though I am crushed by your lack of interest, I am prepared in case you are unwilling to change your mind. Would you like to meet her?"
"No," Rhapsody said, glaring at the grinning lackey. She was not intimidated in the least by the presence of the henchmen; surely Michael was aware that Nana's guards were the best in Easton, and far outnumbered these two. Nana had an arrangement with the town guard as well.
She could feel the frost in Michael's smile even behind her back. "All right, Rhapsody. Have it your way. I'm sorry we couldn't come to an understanding. Let her pass, Karvolt." The guard opened the door and made a sweeping gesture toward it, the cruel smile growing a little more radiant.
As the door opened, a third guard came into the room, bringing with him a child of no more than seven, trembling violently. She was Liringlas, like Rhapsody's mother, and the shawl that was draped around her shoulders had obviously belonged at one time to an adult. It was dirty and bloodstained, and as she came into the room the child's eyes went immediately to Rhapsody. The look of abject terror was barely held in check by the stoic face that the race naturally granted its members.
Rhapsody's eyes opened wide in horror, and she turned back to Michael, who was smiling broadly as he removed his pants.
"What's she doing here?"
"Nothing yet, obviously," he answered smugly, and the guards exchanged amused glances. "Goodbye, my dear."
"Wait," Rhapsody said, as Michael pulled his shirt over his head and settled back, naked, onto the bed. "What do you think you're doing, Michael? Where did this girl come from?"
"Oh, you mean her?" he asked innocently, pointing at the child. "That's Petunia, my dear ward. A very sad story, really. Her entire family perished when an unfortunate accident befell their longhouse. Tragic. But don't worry, Rhapsody; I plan to take very good care of her. You can leave now, darling."
Rhapsody pulled loose from the grip of the guard who had taken her arm and crouched down, opening her arms to the child. The little girl ran to her and buried her face in Rhapsody's shoulder.
"No, Michael. You can't do this. Gods, you really are the most repulsive thing I have ever encountered."
Michael laughed in amusement, his arousal becoming more intense. "No? And why not, Rhapsody? She belongs to me; she doesn't work here. We're just staying here tonight. I don't want the guests at the inn to be kept up too late tonight by any, er, noises; now, isn't that considerate of me? No one will notice here. In fact, it may even excite some of your customers more."
Rhapsody stared into his crystalline blue eyes; she saw no sign of a soul in them. The smile on his face was triumphant; he knew he had her. She looked back into the face of the little girl. Tears were brimming in the child's eyes. She trembled with fear and clutched Rhapsody tighter. Rhapsody closed her eyes and sighed.
"Let her go."
"Don't be ridiculous, she needs me."
Rhapsody cursed him in her mother's tongue. "Let her go," she repeated.
"Why, Rhapsody, what are you saying? You're jealous! Have you had a change of heart suddenly? Whatever brought that on? Was it, perhaps, the sight of me in all my splendor?"
"Hardly," she replied angrily, running her hand down the child's hair, whispering words of comfort into her ear in their common language. "All right, Michael, what exactly do you want?"
"Well, first I would like some privacy."
"I can certainly accommodate that request," Rhapsody replied, rising and taking the child's hand. "We will be more than happy to leave you alone."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Don't waste my time, Rhapsody; this game is only fun for a short while. I will send the men away as soon as I have your word that you will meet my wishes upon delivering the child to Nana. I'm sure that's what you had in mind, isn't it? And I know I can trust you, darling. Your reputation precedes you."
"Well, that's one thing we have in common," she retorted. "All right, you sick bastard. I'll be back momentarily." She turned and led the child to the door.
"Wait," said Michael, and his tone had a frightening ring of victory to it that caused her to look at him again. "We haven't discussed my terms yet."
"Terms? Are you expecting something different this time, Michael? Sewing lessons, perhaps?"
He laughed. "You really are amazing, my dear. Impertinent even in the face of very real danger." He rolled onto his belly and crawled to the end of the bed, his muscles moving like those of a cat stalking its prey.
"Karvolt, take the child into the hall." His eyes glittered as the guard obeyed. Rhapsody patted the little girl comfortingly as she released her hand.
"Now listen, my dear. Here is the bargain: my men and I are here for a fortnight, after which we will be leaving for the foreseeable future. I will miss you very much while I'm gone; it will probably be years before we see each other again, though I promise I will come back for you. You're in my blood, Rhapsody. I dream about you almost every night. And I know you feel the same way about me." He smiled at the look of disgust that came over her face.
"Now, this is the first of the terms: I will have you to myself, whenever I want you, until I leave. Nana has graciously agreed to let me rent this room for the entire time. If you perform up to my expectations, which you always do, I will leave the child with you when I go. If you make this difficult, I will take her with me, and you will be left to imagine what is happening to her for the rest of your life."
"Now, the second term. You will want me, too, and tell me so. I expect you to be very demonstrative of the affection and desire I know is pounding through you right now."
"Well, desire anyway," Rhapsody said, trying not to let the seething anger she felt take over her voice. "I would be more than happy to demonstrate what I desire to do to you right now. Give me your belt."
"Karvolt? Is Petunia well?" An anguished cry of pain issued forth from the hallway, turning Rhapsody's blood to ice. "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't hear you. Now, what was it you were saying?" Michael laughed aloud at the murderous rage that burned in her eyes. "Why, Rhapsody, I do believe you're angry. Whatever is wrong?" His own eyes became wild, and the calm amusement that had been playing there moments before vanished before the oncoming storm.
"Now, back to the terms. You will not only meet my needs, you will engage in their succor willingly, with relish. You will make love to me with your words, as well as all your other attributes. I expect to leave here with your heart in my pocket, having placed one of my organs in yours repeatedly. Now, can you do that? Can you promise me a reciprocal situation?"
"No. I'm sorry. I agree to the first condition, but, as you've already said, my reputation precedes me. I can't lie about this, Michael. You would know it was false anyway."
Michael pushed up on his strong forearms. "Karvolt, bring Petunia back in here and put her directly under me."
Rhapsody wheeled as the guard dragged the little girl back into the room. "No, Michael, please. Please."
The child began to sob, and Rhapsody stepped in front of the guard, positioning herself between them and the bed. The guard lifted the little girl off the floor, and as she began to scream Rhapsody grabbed her, pulling her away. She turned and looked at Michael again. His eyes were gleaming with a frightening intensity.
"All right, Michael, I'll say whatever you want. Let her go."
"Show me, Rhapsody. Show me why I should believe you."
Rhapsody glared at the guards, whose smiles glittered brighter than the flickering light from the candelabra. Quickly she walked the child to the door, and bustled her into the hallway.
"Nana," she called down over the balcony railing, "please take her out of here and get her something to eat." She gave the child a brave smile and pointed down the stairs, where Nana and the others were waiting. After the girl had descended, Rhapsody sighed and went back into the room.
Michael was plumping the pillows when she returned.
"Well, Rhapsody? Tell me what you want." His voice dropped to a warm whisper, erotic, threatening.
Rhapsody met his gaze. Then, with a practiced hand, she slid her fingers into her shirt and, ever so slowly, began to unbutton it.
"Leave us," she said to the guards. "We want to be alone." His smile broadened. "Yes, leave us," he echoed. "This beautiful woman wants to be left alone to pleasure her lover. Isn't that right, Rhapsody?"
Rhapsody's eyes never dropped. "Yes," she said, staring at him. She removed her blouse and let it fall to the floor, causing his pulse to beat faster and his breathing to quicken. "Leave me alone with my lover."
Rhapsody's forehead furrowed, and she lurched to one side in the throes of the nightmare. She began to mutter in her sleep, and Achmed, perched on a trunk root higher up, tapped Grunthor with his foot.
Grunthor stirred and woke without a sound to full awareness. He followed the downward angle of Achmed's glance and saw the girl, eyes closed, murmuring, swearing epithets softly under her breath. Then she began to whimper, and her body rocked back and forth, trying to loose the bonds of the rope that bound her to the root.
Grunthor took hold of a long vine and rappelled backward, leaning out to reach the girl, who was now sweating, crying in her sleep. She struggled to break free, and just as Grunthor came within reach of her, she did.
Rhapsody began to fall into the endless darkness, waking as the world rushed by above her. She gasped and clutched wildly at the root, feeling her hands burn as they stripped along the radix. A huge hand grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her aloft, disorienting her totally.
"There, now, Yer Ladyship, plannin' to drop in on someone else now, are ya?"
Rhapsody fought for purchase, then to regain her perspective, and found herself upright against Grunthor's chest, his enormous arm wrapped tightly around her torso. She leaned back and looked up at him. His grisly features spread into a broad grin.
"Thank you," she said, her brows knitting together. She looked around the endless tunnel in the dark light, then back to his face. "Thank you very much."
"My pleasure, darlin'. If Oi might be so bold as to suggest it, you best sleep on the root between us, eh?"
"Bad idea," came the voice from above. "You can't be certain that a falling body, even one that small, wouldn't catch you off guard and unbalance you, Grunthor."
"'E's right, miss; sorry," Grunthor said, looking at Rhapsody with what she swore was sympathy.
"I understand," she replied, taking hold of the root once more. She started to climb down, but her foot slipped against the slime on the main vine. Grunthor's hand shot out to steady her again.
"'Ere, missy, come on up 'ere," he said as he lifted her effortlessly from below him. He carried her like a child back up to his perch, then stretched out again, positioning himself horizontally between the trunk root and its tributary branch. Gently he pulled her down onto his chest and slung an enormous arm around her.
"Why don't you just sleep 'ere, Yer Ladyship?" he asked, patting her awkwardly on the head. "Oi'll keep you safe, darlin'."
Rhapsody looked up into the monstrous face, and decided that what she saw there was kindness, not appetite. Despite his monstrous appearance, and what she knew he was capable of, he had been kind to her. She could trust him, at least.
"Thank you," she said softly, giving him a shy smile. "I will." She put her head down on his chest and closed her eyes.
Grunthor shivered. "Oooooh. Beware the smile, sir; it's a killer."
"Thanks for the warning," came the voice from the root above. "Somehow I think I'll manage."
"I see a break in the tunnel."
Rhapsody and Grunthor awoke to the strange voice echoing slightly in the tunnel around them. The earth generally absorbed the sound, so the reverberation caught them off guard.
Rhapsody sat up, her hair blanketing the wide chest of the Firbolg Sergeant whom she had been using as a mattress.
Grunthor looked up. High above, barely in sight, he could see an infinitesimal change in the red glow, as if there was airspace above it. He nodded in agreement.
"Right, then, let's make for it in all due 'aste," he said, helping Rhapsody back onto the root above him.
They resumed their climb. It seemed to Rhapsody that the journey was less difficult now that the end might be in sight. She found new strength in her limbs and a more sure footing in her step just imagining being above the ground in the air again. She had tried hard to suppress thoughts of escape while climbing in the endless darkness; it caused feelings of panic and frustration to set in, making her abandon hope and crushing her spirit. Even now she exercised caution about being too excited.
It proved to be a wise move. Even with them climbing as long as they could without stopping to rest, the break in the tunnel seemed no closer. They made a sleeping camp, as was their custom when they had exhausted their ability to climb, and doled out the remains of the stores Achmed carried.
As she swallowed the dried beans and the pieces of Sagia's root Achmed had harvested, followed by a cup of water droplets collected from one of the tiny, hairlike rootlets that were the tributaries of the taproot, Rhapsody felt a sense of desolation creep over her. She had been able to avoid thinking about her dream from the previous night, distracted by the prospect of the end being near and comforting herself with the knowledge that Michael would never find her now. Unbidden, her mind wandered back to the horrible memory.
The most disturbing thing about Michael's behavior during those nightmarish two weeks was not the depth of its depravity, but its wild unpredictability. He would go for days sometimes, locking her alone in the room with him, refusing to let her leave, demanding constant attention. Then, for no apparent reason, he would drag her down to the dining room and take her on the breakfast table amid the cutlery and startled expressions of his lieutenants, who had little option but to watch or look away while their meal grew cold and congealed.
Sometimes his jealousy ruled him. She had seen him bloody one of his lackeys for looking in her direction. On other occasions he would force her service as many of his men as he could find, one after another. She had wished for death, but it had not come, and instead she comforted herself with the thought that at least the child was safe.
Finally the day had come when he was to leave. Rhapsody stood and watched him pack his horse; his mood was surprisingly jovial for once. His smile was broad as he took her face in his hands, kissing her goodbye with great care.
"Well, now, Rhapsody, it certainly has been wonderful to see you again. I can't wait until this assignment is over. Will you miss me?"
"Of course," she had said. The lies no longer made her choke.
"That's my girl. All right, then, Karvolt, get Petunia and let's be on our way, shall we?"
Rhapsody had felt shock ripple through her. "What? No, Michael, she's mine; that was the bargain."
"Yours? Don't be ridiculous. I promised her dear father, right after I sliced his head through, that I would take care of her myself. You can't expect me to go back on my word, now, can you?" Screams could be heard inside the house, and Karvolt emerged, carrying the girl.
Rhapsody began to panic. She knew it was certainly within the makeup of Michael's character to have abused her under the terms of the agreement, and then break his word; the prospect was too awful to bear. He was grinning from ear to ear, watching the tears run down her face as he blocked her attempts to reach the girl. Finally, against her will, she gave in to sobbing.
"Please, Michael, no. Don't break your word. Give her to me. Please."
"Why should I, my dear? I have just had the most satisfying two weeks of my life; in fact, I think all the pleasure I have ever had put together could not compare to this time. I'm used to regular sexual exercise now; someone has to satisfy me. Petunia will do as a temporary substitute."
Rhapsody grabbed his arm as he turned. "Take me, then, Michael; leave the girl." She knew what his last words meant: the child was expendable. He would use her horribly and then kill her.
Michael's face glowed with triumph. "How touching. Now, who would have believed you are the same girl that refused me before my men a fortnight ago? I guess my attention was enough to change your mind, eh, my dear?"
"Yes." Rhapsody thought bitterly how true this was. Many things she had believed in had died in the intervening time.
"Well, what do you know? I'm even better than I thought. I'm sorry, Rhapsody, but I can't help you. I doubt you will wait for me in the meantime, so I can't very well be expected to wait for you. Saddle up, Karvolt." He turned to go.
In a last act of desperation, Rhapsody pulled him back into her arms and kissed him. She could feel his heart beat faster as his surprise wore off, and he began to grope her enthusiastically. She drew him as near as she could stomach to and whispered into his ear.
"Please, Michael; would you do this to a woman who loved you?" She knew he would take her words as she meant him to, even though there was none of that meaning in them for her. It was a purely rhetorical question.
Michael pushed her away and looked into her face. "You love me? You, Rhapsody? Swear it, and I will leave her with you." Behind him she could see Karvolt watching her with interest from the saddle, the screaming child tied roughly behind him.
"Take her down first, and give her to Nana, and I will swear it."
"It will need to be a sincere oath, Rhapsody. I don't intend to be toyed with."
"It will be, I swear it."
Michael motioned to Karvolt, and he untied the girl, swung her down, and led her to Nana, who rushed her back inside. Michael watched until they were out of sight, then turned to Rhapsody again.
"All right, my dear, what was it you wanted to say?" Rhapsody took a deep breath. "I swear by the Star, that my heart will love no other man until this world comes to an end. There; is that enough for you now, Michael?" His smile of victory made her sick. Michael bent and kissed her gently.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I love you as well, and there will be no other in my heart either; my bed, perhaps, but not my heart. I will be back for you, Rhapsody, and when I return we will be together always."
She nodded dumbly, knowing that what she had just sacrificed had meant less than he thought. She had no heart to compromise, anyway. She had given it away long before, and it had died with the one who took it.
Rhapsody watched, her arms clutching her waist, as the contingent rode off, Michael's broad smile glinting brilliantly in the sun as he waved to her. She waited until they were out of sight, then went behind the bushes and retched.
"Vermin."
Rhapsody sat up in shock. Achmed must have been reading her mind. My sentiments exactly, she thought ruefully. Then she followed his extended finger in the direction he was pointing and gasped. Spilling down the root above them was a moving wall of pale, wriggling shapes, larger than her forearm, making their way toward the heat exuded by the three of them.
Trembling, Rhapsody nicked her wrist to draw forth her dagger. The length of the blade was only as long as her palm, with a hilt of half the size. These wormlike creatures were easily three times as long, which would mean that even while she was attacking them they would be on her.
Suddenly the wind was knocked out of her by a tight grip around her waist. Grunthor seized her around the middle and dragged her off the root, lowering her down to a position behind him. Then he climbed a little higher until he found a spot with a wide crevice in the root shaft where he could perch. Rhapsody followed his lead, locating a patch of thin roots that formed an outcropping sufficient to secure herself.
Above her she could hear the air being rent with the whispering sound of the disks from Achmed's cwellan. She prayed he didn't misfire; the missiles would fall on her or Grunthor.
"Draw," he said in a warning voice to Grunthor. The vermin had moved at an astonishing speed, slithering down the root, over every surface and irregularity without a perceptible delay. They swarmed over him, covering his robes. As his hands slashed, lightning-fast, with a blade she could not see, the bodies began to fall, some of them contacting her as they pitched into the darkness below.
The vermin were larvae the color of the pale root, but with thin purple veins that scored their surfaces, and similarly colored heads engorged with blood. One fell into her hair, biting at her scalp with small, sharp teeth that were set in rows within its head. It was all she could do to refrain from screaming.
Grunthor had drawn an enormous sword, thin and long with a pointed tip, and was knocking scores of them off the root above him, precipitating another shower of writhing bodies.
With her reaction speed, born and nurtured on the streets of Easton, she quickly parried the falling larvae and turned her attention to the sluglike vermin that had swelled past Grunthor and were coming down the root at her. There were scores of them; she knew if this many had made it to her, the men above her must be engaging hundreds, if not thousands of them.
In between delivering sweeping blows to the tide of parasites, Grunthor cast a glance her way.
"'Ere, you can't fight with that lit'le thing," he said, kicking an enormous mound of wriggling flesh off the root next to him. Rhapsody barely had time to dodge out of the way of the falling lump. "'Elp yourself to one o' my long weapons." He shifted his body slightly to allow her to grab any one of the many handles that jutted out from behind his pack.
Rhapsody shook her head, attacking the two worms that were clinging to the root above her. "I don't know how to use anything but a dagger," she said, slashing off their heads and pushing their bodies off the taproot with two swipes of the knife. A third larva sank its teeth into her upper arm, causing her to cry out in surprise. She shook her arm violently, trying to dislodge it.
"Turn," Grunthor ordered. Rhapsody obeyed. The giant Bolg leaned back and stretched his arm down, skewering the larva on the tip of his sword. He wrenched it off her with a twist of the weapon and she cried out in pain again as it took a small piece of flesh with it into the tunnel below. "We'll 'ave to give you some lessons after all this, miss," he said as he turned back to the larvae on him.
"If I live through this," she muttered, striking the next batch of vermin off the root.
"All mine are dead," called Achmed from above, turning and rappelling down the root to where Grunthor was perched.
"Oionly got this patch o' little buggers; 'elp 'er Ladyship," said Grunthor, stabbing at the last mass above him.
"Lie flat," Achmed ordered. Rhapsody complied, pressing herself against the root, squashing a larva beneath her chest in the process. She closed her eyes as the cwellan disks whizzed by her, slicing through the vermin around her.
"You can open them now," the voice, thin and sandy as river silt, said from above. She did, and drew in a breath at the face staring at her in the dark.
It had been a very long time since she had seen Achmed's face. He generally traveled in the lead, while she took up the rear, and so she had forgotten how startling his visage was, especially in the dark.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice coming out like the croak of a crone. Then she noticed his forearm. "You're bleeding," she said.
Achmed didn't look at the wound. "I suppose." He looked up at Grunthor. The Sergeant nodded. Achmed started to climb back up into his position at the lead.
"Well, let me dress it before you go. Who knows if they have some sort of venom." She spoke steadily, her voice belying the pounding of her heart as the reality of the attack caught up with her. Rhapsody had always found that in situations of great danger she was able to function calmly, almost detachedly, until the danger had passed. It was afterward that the symptoms of panic set in.
"I'll live," the robed man responded. Grunthor shook his head.
"She might be right, Sir. 'Oo knows where them worms came from. They might be servants of our lit'le friend."
Achmed seemed to consider for a moment, then slid back down the root until he was positioned across from her in the outcropping. "All right, but don't take forever about it."
"You're late for an appointment?" Rhapsody retorted as she opened her pack and drew forth her waterskin. She took Achmed's forearm and turned it over in her hand. The wound was deep and bloody. Gently she poured some water onto it, feeling him tense but observing no reaction on his face.
Grunthor moved closer to watch as she opened a phial with a pungent smell of spice and vinegar. Rhapsody soaked a clean linen handkerchief with the witch-hazel-and-thyme mixture and applied it directly to the wound, wrapping it in filmy wool. Achmed twisted away.
"Hold still; I've never done this before," she chided.
"Well, that's reassuring." He winced as the spice-soaked bandage began to drench the wound with its vile-smelling liquid, a dismal burning sensation beginning under the skin. "I hope you realize I don't need both hands to kill you, if it was your intent to deprive me of one."
Rhapsody looked up at him and smiled. Her face was bruised and bloody from the fight, but her eyes sparkled in the darkness. She was beginning to take to his sense of humor, and against his will Achmed felt an inner tug. Grunthor was right; she had a powerful smile. He made note of it for future reference.
She returned to her work, humming a tune that made his ears buzz. He imagined that the slight vibrating sensation was mirrored on his wounded wrist, which no longer stung.
"Stop that noise," he instructed harshly. "You're making my ears ring."
She laughed. "It won't work if I stop the noise, that's the most important part. It's a song of healing."
Achmed looked her over as she continued to hum, and after a moment the wordless tune grew into a song. She sang in words he didn't recognize.
"Oh, 'ow pretty," said Grunthor from behind her. "Well, sir, if we can't find work when we get out o' this stinkin' 'ole, maybe 'Er Ladyship 'ere will teach us some tunes and we can go on the road as a team of wanderin' troubadours. Oi can see it now: Doctor Uchmed's Travelin' Snake Show."
"Great idea," Rhapsody said as the song came to the end. "Let me guess: you sing tenor, Achmed." She received a surly look in response. Slowly she began unwrapping his wrist. "You know, you both really ought to have more respect for music. It can be a very powerful weapon, as well as whatever else you need it to be."
"That's true; my singin' voice can be quite good at inflictin' pain. At least that's what the troops use ta tell me."
Rhapsody's smile grew a little brighter. "Go ahead, scoff if you want to. But music of one form or another will probably be what gets us out of this place."
"Only if you annoy me so much with your singing that I use your body as an auger and drill us out of here."
She laughed. "Music is nothing more than the maps through the vibrations that make up all the world. If you have the right map, it will take you wherever you want to go. Here." She stopped unwrapping Achmed's arm and opened her pack, pulling out a dried blossom.
"Remember this? You thought it was a parlor trick, but that was because you don't understand how it works. Even now, after all this time, it can be made new again." She ignored the sarcastic glance that passed between them, and put the flower into Achmed's palm. Quietly she sang its name, and went back to unwrapping his bandage as she waited for his reaction with amusement.
Grunthor leaned over her shoulder and watched as the petals began to swell with moisture and uncurl, stretching to their full length again. Even in the acrid tunnel, the faint fragrance of the primrose was discernible over the stench of stagnant water and the sweat of their bodies.
"But it only works with flowers?"
"No, it works with anything." She pulled the bandage away, and surveyed her handiwork. The wound was closed, and almost gone. What had a moment before been a deep, jagged gash was now a thin line of raised pink skin, and after a moment even that had vanished, leaving the forearm as it had been before the combat.
Even Achmed seemed somewhat impressed. "How does it work?"
"It's part of what a Namer can do. There is no thing, no concept, no law as strong as the power of a given thing's name. Our identities are bound to it. It is the essence of what we are, our own individual story, and sometimes it can even make us what we are again, no matter how much we have been altered."
Achmed gave her a sour look. "That must be profitable in your line of work—how many times have you sold your own virginity? Does it bring a better price each time?" He watched her wince, and felt a twinge of regret. He didn't like his own reaction, and so filled his voice with sarcasm. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Have I offended you?"
"No," she said shortly. "There is very little you could say that I haven't heard before. I'm used to men making jackasses out of themselves."
"'Ey!" said Grunthor in mock offense. "Watch it, sweet'eart, I haven't 'ad a good meal in a good long time."
"Another example," she said patiently. "You see, men have the upper hand in size and strength, and many of them have little compunction about using it when they can't win with their wits. Who do you think came up with the idea of prostitution in the first place—women? Do you think we enjoy being degraded on a daily basis? I find it incredibly ironic; it is a service in great demand, and one that I can assure you few women go into unless they have to." She dabbed a little of the healing tonic onto her own cuts and vermin bites, then offered the phial to Grunthor, who shook his head.
"Men are the ones who want it," she continued. "They often go to great lengths and great expense to obtain it, and then turn around and insult the women who provide the salve for this overwhelming, insistent need of theirs. Then the men act as though such women are somehow to be ashamed for their actions, when it was the man's idea in the first place; that's what I cannot fathom."
"Anyone can understand a starving person resorting to stealing in order to feed his family, but somehow a woman who is forced into that life by the same threat, or that of violence, is less than a person. Never mind the man who is making use of the service. He has nothing to regret, and in fact it is usually he who expects her to accept the scorn and derision as something she deserves. I say all of you can blow in the wind. I'm going to remain celibate."
"Right," Grunthor chuckled, "sell a bit here, sell a bit there—"
Rhapsody spoke another word, and the giant's leering commentary was choked off in midword. The giant continued to move his mouth, but no sound emerged for a moment. His eyes widened with surprise, and he looked over at Achmed.
Achmed reached over and roughly took hold of her collar. "What did you do to him? Whatever spell you cast, take it off now."
Rhapsody didn't blink. "He's under no spell; he can speak if he wants."
"Oi doubt it—oh, Oi guess Oi can at that, now. Sorry, miss. Oi didn't mean to be offensif."
"No offense taken. As I told you, there's very little you can say to insult me that I haven't heard before."
"Well, no one here will sit in judgment of you. We have sort of a 'live and let live' philosophy, wouldn't you say, Grunthor?"
Grunthor snickered, then nodded. "Oh, yes, miss. Live and let live. Or, pe'raps 'kill and eat' might be more like it. You got to remember, Oi'm a Sergeant Major by trade; Oi kills and eats folks as part of my job. Well, actually, just kills 'em; the eatin' part is actually what you might call a side benefit. Countin' coo, as it were." Rhapsody just nodded and went back to rewrapping the bandages.
"So how did you take away his voice, then, if it wasn't a spell?"
"I spoke the name of silence," she said, "and it came, for a moment, anyway. It was the most powerful thing in this, well, this space, because it was in the presence of its name. How's your wrist feeling?"
"Fine. Thank you."
"You're more than welcome."
"Oi 'ate to break up this lit'le love festival, but we ought to get movin', eh?"
"You're right," said Achmed, rising from the taproot and brushing off the dead vermin that remained around them. "I'm running out of disks. We'll have to make the best use we can of them from here on out if the vermin return."
Rhapsody shuddered as the carcasses fell around her, covering her head to keep the pieces out of her hair. She repacked the flower and healing herbs, and followed Achmed back off of the outcropping and onto the root, to begin once more the seemingly endless climb to nowhere.
Rhapsody smiled to herself as Grunthor's ringing bass died away below her. The Bolg Sergeant clearly missed the troops that had been under his command, though he had not elaborated much about who they were, or what had happened to them. His marching cadences helped him pass the time, and gave her an interesting window into Bolg military life. More than anything, it made her appreciate that she had not yet become part of the menu.
A small thicket of rootlets offered a moment's respite from the climb, and she took the opportunity to stop, trying to find warmth. As she rubbed her hands furiously up and down her arms, Rhapsody endeavored to stop her heart from pounding in the anticipation she could not control. The sickening feeling in her stomach from too many disappointments did little to quash the hope that was now lodged in her throat.
Finally, after an interminable amount of time, they were almost to the tunnel's break. Above them in the darkness stretched a vast ceiling, too far to see the top, where Rhapsody hoped they might soon see sky. Perhaps it's dark outside, she thought, but in the pit of her stomach she knew they had been traveling for far more than the span of a single night since the opening had come into view.
"Wait there," Achmed called down to them as he approached the opening. Grunthor came to a halt as well and waited as the dark figure climbed the rest of the distance up the thickening root tower.
As the taproot grew closer to the opening of the tunnel it widened dramatically, and seeing the outside edges became impossible. Grunthor and Rhapsody watched as Achmed faded from view, scaling the enormous root trunk above them and disappearing over its edge.
While they waited, Rhapsody looked over at Grunthor. During their interminable journey she had grown quite fond of him, and grudgingly friendly with his comrade as well, though she still had not forgiven him or determined his motives. Now that it seemed as if they might be near the end, she had come to realize how the giant Bolg was more a man than many she had met, not at all the monster she had been told of in childhood horror stories.
"Grunthor?"
The amber-eyed Sergeant looked over at her. "Yes, miss?"
"In case I don't get a chance to thank you after we get out, I want you to know how much I've appreciated your kindness, in spite of, well, the way we ended up together."
Grunthor looked up to where Achmed had disappeared and smiled. "Don't mention it, Duchess."
"And I apologize if I hurt your feelings in any way, back in the meadows when we first met, by my comments about thinking of Firbolg as monsters."
Grunthor's smile brightened noticeably. "Well, that's awful nice o' you, Yer Ladyship, but Oi got a pretty thick 'ide; Oi didn't take no offense by it. And you're not so bad yourself, you know, for one o' them glass-Lirin. They're the worst-tastin' o' the lot."
Rhapsody laughed. "What kinds of Lirin have you known, besides Liringlas?"
"Oh, all kinds. Oi've seen Lirin from the cities, and Lirin that live in the dark 'ills, and Lirin from the sea. They all look somethin' the same, you know, all angles, skinny lit'le buggers with pointy faces and big wide eyes. Come in all different colors, mind you. You're not a full-blood, are ya?"
She shook her head. "No, half. I guess I'm a mongrel among Lirin."
"Aw, well, mutts make the best dogs, they say, miss. Don't feel bad. It makes for a nicer appearance, Oi think. You're a pretty lit'le thing, as Lirin go, not so sharp-lookin' and fragile."
"Thank you." She smiled at the odd compliment. "You're the nicest Firbolg I've ever met, but, as you noted, I've only ever met one."
"Two." The voice from the root above her caused her to jump a little. Achmed had returned.
"No, I've never met any but Grunthor."
Achmed's expression turned into something more resembling a sneer than a smile. "Well, far be it from me to correct the facts of the All-Knowledgeable, but you've met two."
Rhapsody looked puzzled. "Are you saying you are also Firbolg?"
"Perhaps we shouldn't use her for food, Grunthor; she shows a glimmer of intelligence." The giant made a mock sound of disappointment.
She looked from one to the other, vastly different in appearance. Grunthor was at least a foot taller than Achmed, and where the giant was broad and muscular, with massive arms and hands that ended in claws, Achmed, from what she could see beneath the covering of robes, was wiry and of thinner build, with bony human hands. She turned to the giant.
"Are you a full-blooded Firbolg?"
"Naw."
The robed man snorted. "Did you think you're the only half-breed in the world?"
Color flooded Rhapsody's face, visible even in the dark light. "Of course not. I just thought Grunthor was Firbolg."
"Grunthor is half Bengard"
The Bengardian race was a little-known one, reputedly from a distant desert. They were said [Garbled]
[here comes the piece of Russian text in replacement of missing English piece]
Бенгарды были малоизвестным народом. Их племена обитали где-то в далеких пустынях. Про них говорили, что они ужасно высокие, а их тела покрыты шкурой, похожей на змеиную. Она немного знала их фольклор и несколько песен.
— А ты?
Ее спутники переглянулись, прежде чем Акмед ответил:
— Я наполовину дракианин. Так что мы все тут дворняжки… Ну что, в путь?
Рапсодия уже достаточно хорошо изучила своих спутников, чтобы знать, когда следует задавать вопросы, а когда лучше помолчать.
— Разумеется, — ответила она. — Я совсем не хочу здесь задерживаться.
Она встала и потянулась, чтобы немного размять затекшие ноги, а потом последовала за двумя друзьями вверх по огромному корню.
— Сюда, мисси, давай ручку, и Ой тебя вытащит.
Рапсодия с благодарностью вцепилась в протянутую лапищу Грунтора. Он легко поднял ее с уступа, на котором она остановилась, и поставил у выхода из туннеля. Не в силах справиться с собой, она опустила ресницы, моля всех святых, чтобы черное пятно у них над головой оказалось ночным небом, усыпанным звездами. Но когда она вновь открыла глаза, черное пятно осталось черным пятном, уходящим в бесконечность.
Однако перед Рапсодией открылось поразительное зрелище. Земля у них под ногами была белого цвета — совсем как корень, по которому они карабкались. Только она едва заметно светилась и пульсировала, и ее голос торжественным гимном отзывался в душе Рапсодии.
Грунтор присвистнул от удивления. Бесконечная мерцающая поверхность земли, которую переполняла могучая, пульсирующая сила, оказалась шире Великой реки, рассекавшей остров Серендаир на две части. Эта поражающая воображение дорога имела множество ответвлений.
Рапсодия едва сдерживала разочарование:
— Боги, что это такое?
— Истинный Корень. Тот, по которому мы взбирались, был всего лишь боковым отростком, возможно, соединяющим Сагию с Осью Мира. Неужели ты думала, что мы добрались до конца нашего путешествия? Мы, считай, еще и не начинали его. [/Russian replacement]
She fought back the tears she had been forbidden to shed. "I can't go any further," she said, her voice coming out in a whisper.
The robed figure took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. "Listen! Can't you hear the music around you? How can a Singer, a Namer, particularly a Lirin one, not be awed by the music of this place? Even I can hear it, I can feel it in my skin. Listen!"
Over the beating of her sorrowful heart Rhapsody could hear the hum, a great vibration modulating in the endless cavern around them. Against her will she closed her eyes and drank it in. It was a rich sound, full of wisdom and power, unlike any she had ever heard. Achmed was right, as much as she hated to admit it. There was something magical here, something unique in all the world, a melody that moved slowly, changing tones almost infinitesimally, unhurried by the need to keep pace with anything. It was the voice of the Earth, singing from its soul.
Rhapsody let the music flow through her, washing over the pain and the anger, healing the wounds from their combat with the vermin. She attuned her own note, the tone that was her musical name, to the voice of the Root, as once she had to the song of Sagia, and felt it fill her with its power. A moment later she opened her eyes to see the men conferring, pointing to the different pathways that extended out from this juncture. It was as if they were at a crossroads, trying to decide which way to go.
Finally Achmed turned to her. "Well, are you over your crisis? Are you coming, or are you staying here forever?"
She shot him a look of hatred. "I'm coming. And don't speak to me in that tone. It wasn't exactly my idea to come in the first place." She rubbed her hands, beaded with moisture. At first she thought it was from her anxiety, but a moment later noticed that she was similarly damp on her clothes and boots. The moisture in the air hung heavy here; it was a dank place.
"At least we don't have to climb anymore, darlin', eh? That's for the better, anyway." Grunthor winked at her as he shouldered his pack.
"This way," Achmed said, pointing to a path leading off the left side of the Root.
"Why?"
"Because it feels right," he said without rancor. "You, however, are welcome to go whichever way you please." He and Grunthor climbed over a thick rise in the ground and began following the enormously wide, glowing path into the darkness of the cavern. Rhapsody sighed, shouldered her gear, and followed them.
They made camp when they could walk no longer. The ceiling of the cavern was now in sight, visible in the dark light as they approached the place where the Root seemed to pass through a tunnel in the Earth.
"Since this Root runs through the Earth, there will probably be extremes in the space around it," Achmed observed as they made ready to eat and get some sleep. "Right now we're in a cavernous place, probably because so many of the Root's tributaries meet here. Soon I fear we will be in very close quarters. That tunnel ahead may be the normal space the Root has around it, and if that's the case I think we will be doing a good deal of crawling. In addition, the air is unlikely to be very pleasant. Perhaps if Grunthor is going to train you in the sword, he'd be best do it here, while we still have some space. After we've had a rest, of course."
"You think he needs to?" Rhapsody asked anxiously.
"No, I think you have need for him to," said Achmed tersely. "Those worms came from somewhere. I doubt they were just on the taproot. I would guess we will see them again. It's your choice."
Rhapsody turned to the grinning Firbolg giant. "If you're willing to train me, I would be grateful," she said, "but I don't have a sword."
"Oi can loan you one, darlin'. Actually, it's just a longknife for me, but for you it'll serve as a sword." Grunthor plucked a long dagger from behind the small of his back and presented it to her with a deep bow.
Rhapsody took it shyly. The blade was longer than her thigh, and sharp. It made her nervous even to hold it.
"I'm not sure," she said hesitantly.
"Listen, miss, them worms are gonna eventually get you if you don't keep a better distance," the Bolg Sergeant said. "Ol' Lucy there will 'elp ya."
"Lucy?"
"Yep, that's 'er name."
Rhapsody looked down at the short sword. "Hello, Lucy. Do you name all your weapons, Grunthor?"
"O' course. It's tradition."
Rhapsody nodded, understanding coming into her eyes. "That makes perfect sense. Do you find that you fight better with a weapon you've named?"
"Yep."
Her eyes began to sparkle with excitement. "Why, Grunthor, in a way, you're a Namer, too!"
The giant broke into a pleased grin. "Well, whaddaya know. Should Oi sing a lit'le song?"
"No," said Rhapsody and Achmed in unison.
"Get on with the lessons," added Achmed. "I'm only willing to wait for so long before pressing on."
Grunthor was feeling about his back, trying to decide on a weapon with which to spar. He pulled two more of his blades out. The first one was a long thin sword he called Lopper. Rhapsody shuddered at the imagery, remembering the night in the fields with Michael's men. The other was a thick, three-sided spike he introduced as the Friendmaker. He must have decided to use this one, because a moment later he slid Lopper back into its place behind him.
"Why do you call it 'the Friendmaker'?" Rhapsody asked nervously.
"Well, you may 'ave somethin' there, with all that name and power stuff," said Grunthor as he took his position. "Take the Friendmaker, for instance. Oi called 'im that, and now, when people see 'im, they instantly want to be my friend. Those that live, o' course."
"Of course." Rhapsody smiled sickly. "I know I do."
"Well, that goes without sayin', miss. Oi should 'ope we're friends, we been sleepin' together and all."
Rhapsody smiled in spite of herself. "All right, friend. Let's have at it."
The sound of clashing steel rang through the cavern around the Root. The giant Firbolg had swept Rhapsody off her feet repeatedly. She was beginning to tire of getting up, only to find herself on her back a few moments later. Most disheartening was that she knew he was holding back, taking it easy on her as a beginner.
Grunthor had left many openings for her that she had tried to follow through on, only to find herself disarmed or compromised in some other way. Finally she took to seeking the openings he had not made obvious, and his approval was growing.
"That's it, Duchess, keep at it, now." He parried her blow. She stripped Lucy the sword down the side of the Friendmaker, only to find him in defensive position again. "Come on, don't give in, sweet'eart. Oi know you can do it. Knock me off the bloody Root. Do it."
Rhapsody swung twice more, futilely. Grunthor was too fast for her. She stepped back and took a deep breath.
"STRIKE!" Grunthor bellowed, causing her to jump away even farther. "Get your pretty 'ead out o' yer arse and pay attention, or Oi'll rip it off and stick it on my poleax!" Rhapsody stared at him in astonishment. The giant's eyes opened in surprise as well. He regarded her sheepishly.
"Sorry, miss, sometimes Oi slip back into my Sergeant Major role."
Rhapsody bent over at the waist, trying to catch her breath. When she stood back up she was still laughing.
"I'm sorry, Grunthor. I guess I just wasn't cut out to fight with a sword."
"Perhaps," came Achmed's dry voice behind her. "But you should learn anyway. What you need to change is your attitude."
Rhapsody regarded him between breaths. "Really? And what new attitude do you suggest I adopt?"
The robed man came and stood beside her, taking her hand and turning it over. "First, however you initially grasp the sword, change your grip a little, so that you focus on how you're holding it. Don't take your weapon for granted. Second, and far more important: tuck your chin. You're going to get hurt, so expect it and be ready. You may as well see it coming."
"You're spending too much time trying to avoid the pain instead of minimizing it and taking out the source of what will injure you further or kill you. If Grunthor weren't holding back you would have been dead in the first exchange of blows. You should accept that you will be injured and decide to pay him back in spades. Learn to hate; it will keep you alive."
Rhapsody threw her sword onto the Root. "I'd rather not live at all than live that way."
"Well, if that's your attitude, you won't have to worry long."
"I don't want to act like that. I like Grunthor."
The giant Bolg rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, the feelin's mutual, miss, but if you don't learn to take care of yourself, you're worm-meat."
The sense of irony that came over Rhapsody she had felt before, each time she considered her situation and realized that she was indeed in the company of two strange men of monster lineage, stuck within the Earth, crawling along a giant root. The sweet one, the one that looked at her from time to time in a wistful manner she could only interpret as thwarted appetite, was trying to convince her to attack him in order to save herself. The more human of the two, proving the deception of looks, was still treating her with consummate indifference. She picked up Lucy again.
"All right, Grunthor, let's give it a few more passes and then we'll stop."
The Sergeant broke into a wide grin. "That's it, miss, 'it me just once, and make it a good clean blow, now."
When Grunthor was finally satisfied with her performance Rhapsody sank down to the ground, bruised, disheveled, and hungry. She rummaged through her pack, looking for the small sack in which she kept the remains of the loaf of bread Pilam had given her. She gripped the bag a little tighter and began to sing, chanting the name of the bread, as she had since the day the baker had given it to her. In her song she described it in music the best she could, flat bread, barley loaf, soft.
When the namesong was over she opened the sack and took out the bread, breaking off a sizable piece for herself, then offering the remainder to the men. After all this time there was still not a speck of mold on it, even in this humid place, and it was still able to be chewed. By rights it should be harder than a lump of coal by now.
"What was that, now, miss, a blessin' o' some sort?" asked Grunthor, taking the piece she held out to him.
"In a way. I called it by its name." Rhapsody smiled at him, then proceeded to eat her portion. Achmed said nothing. "And is that 'ow you got it to stay fresh?"
"Yes. It remains as it was when it was first baked."
Achmed stretched out on the thick smooth flesh of the enormous Root. "Well, when we wake up, why don't you call it something else? I've always liked the name 'Sausage and Biscuits,'" he said. It was the first joke Rhapsody ever remembered him making.
"I can recall its original state, but I can't change its nature," she said, chewing her bread. "If I had that power, you would be a good deal more pleasant, and I would be home."
Perhaps it was the pulsing power of the Axis Mundi beneath her head as she slept, but Rhapsody was now plagued incessantly with even more vivid nightmares.
The dreams that night were especially intense. Clearest among them were repeated visions of a man, drowning in darkness, smothering in endless pain. All around him was a blanket of mist. She tried to brush the vapor away, but it hung in the air, unwilling to be dismissed. Rhapsody struggled to wake, but the exhaustion was too great.
She moaned and wrenched from side to side, falling off Grunthor's massive chest as the image changed. It was the picture of another man, his face formless except for eyes, rimmed in the color of blood. He was digging about in the darkness, passing his hands through the air, grasping after something that he could not find. Words formed in her mind, and unconsciously she whispered them aloud.
The chain has snapped, she said.
Achmed, lying on his back and staring into the darkness above him, heard her and sat up. He looked down at her face, contorted in the struggle with the torturous dreams; she looked like she was losing the fight. He tapped Grunthor, who sat up as well.
The man with the blood-rimmed eyes looked up at her, and the image of his amorphous face filled her mind. The eyes, the only identifiable feature, stared at her as though memorizing her face. She knew she should look away, but something held her in an iron-fast grip. Then, as she watched in horror, each of the eyes began to divide, replicating itself, multiplying over and over, until there were dozens, then scores, then hundreds in the formless face. All staring at her.
The Lord of a Thousand Eyes, she whispered.
One by one the eyes broke off the misty face, independent but identical. A cold wind blew in, catching each of them, carrying them across the wide world. And still they stared, unblinking, focused on her.
On the surface of the world above, war is raging, she murmured.
"What's she on about?" Grunthor asked softly.
Achmed waved him into silence. He had heard her name the F'dor.
In her dream a handsome face appeared, gleaming with the patina of youth and moonlight. His cheek grazed her own as he embraced her, nuzzling her ear.
This is all I have; it's not much of a gift, but I want you to have something from me tonight, he said. Then the gentle hands tightened their grip, and muscular legs forced hers apart as the soft breathing turned to the heightened panting of lust.
No, she moaned. Stop. It's all a lie.
He laughed, and the clutching hands on her arms squeezed painfully. Iwould never, never hurt you on purpose; I hope you know that.
Stop, she sobbed. I want to go home.
Home? You have no home. You gave all that up, remember? You gave it up for me. Everything. Everything you loved. And I never even told you I loved you.
Gasping in the throes of the nightmare, Rhapsody began to choke on her tears. Grunthor, who had grown visibly more upset with each passing moment, reached over to help her. Achmed caught his arm.
"She might be prescient," he said warningly. "She may be seeing the Future, or the Past. The information might be important."
"Don't you think keepin' 'er from a fatal fit might be a lit'le more so, sir?" Achmed saw the angry look in the giant's eye, and moved aside. Gently Grunthor took her arm and shook her awake.
"Miss?"
With a violent lurch Rhapsody sat up; then she recoiled and belted him in the eye. It was a beautiful shot, innately aimed, with her entire weight behind it, and carried with it the impact of a blow from a man twice her size. Grunthor fell back on his rump with a thud.
Achmed chuckled. "See what being a considerate fellow buys you?"
Rhapsody, now awake, blinked back the tears and stumbled over to the giant, who was gingerly touching his eye as it began to swell.
"Gods, Grunthor, I'm sorry," she gasped. "I didn't know it was you."
The Bolg looked up at her and grimaced with an expression that might, under different circumstances, have been a smile.
"That's all right, miss. Quite a nice right cross you got there. Where'd you learn it?"
She was rummaging in her pack for her waterskin. "My brothers."
"Oi see. Well, Oi guess since we adopted you, perhaps you would do me the favor of thinkin' o' me as one o' your brothers, and don't 'it me with that lovely right cross again, eh?"
A hint of a smile crossed her face as she dabbed his eye. "Who do you think I used it on the most?"
"Oh."
"I'm so sorry."
"No need to be, darlin'. 'Ere, put that away. Oi'm all right. Come and lie back down, and perhaps we can get a lit'le more rest." Rhapsody obeyed sheepishly.
When they woke they gathered their gear and moved into the endless low tunnel before them.