Rhapsody Read online

  “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 demi-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.

  9

  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 feelin
g, 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 darklight 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.