focus.
She felt a great exhalation of air come out of her, breath she had not known she had been holding.
'Nay,“ she said softly. "Hamimen." Grandmother.
'Hamimen?"
'Aye,“ she replied, louder, a little more clearly, still in the ancient tongue of the Liringlas. "What be your name, child?"
'Aric." The outline of the head vibrated in the dark.
'May I bring the light, Aric? Dimmer this time?"
A scuffling sound; the head retreated.
'Nay! Nay!"
Beyond him, in the tunnel ahead, a rustle of movement.
'Aric, wait! I've come to take you out of the darkness—all of you."
Silence.
Desperation was beginning to claw at her throat. “Aric?"
There was no reply.
Rhapsody slid her hand over the hilt of the sword. She gripped it tightly, then gently pulled, loosing the blade from the scabbard just a little. She exhaled slowly, gathering control of herself; with the return of her calm, the sword burned evenly, and only the slightest of flickers issued forth from the scabbard.
The nightmares of the tunnel receded, leaving just the tiled aqueduct once more in dimmer light than before. Up ahead at the edge of the glow, two even smaller tunnels branched out, no doubt the area in which Achmed had said the children were sleeping.
She inched forward slowly, keeping the sword by her side, and peered into the branching tunnels. They ended in alcoves, where dirt)' scraps of cloth, perhaps used at one time for blankets, now floated in the filthy water. Rhapsody tried not to recoil from the overwhelming stench of sewage.
Huddled at the end of the alcove was a yellow-haired child, long of bone and translucent of skin, trembling in fear. Rhapsody's throat went dry in memory; it was the same ethereal complexion, the same slender angles that had once graced her mother's face. And yet there was something more, something almost feral, a hint of his inhuman father.
'Aric,“ she said gently, "come to me."
The child shook his head and turned his face toward the wall.
Rhapsody crept forward another few paces, then looked down at her arms. The water on the floor of the tunnel was now up to her elbows.
Impatience, spurred by fear, took over. “Aric, come now!" The child only quivered more violently.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. She pulled back out of the alcove and began to move backward on her hands and knees; once she was a short way away she began to sing a children's song from Serendair, a tune with which she had once jokingly serenaded Grunthor.
Wake, Little Man
Let the sun fill your eyes
The day beckons you to come and play
She continued to back away, weaving her call into the lyrics and tones of the traditional song.
Come hither, come whither, come follow! Come hither, come whither, come follow!
At the edge of the tiny sword flame's glow, Rhapsody could hear movement, could see a few faces appear. She nodded slightly and kept backing away, still singing.
Run, Little Man,
To the end of the skies
Where the night meets the cusp of the day
Come hither, come whither, come follow! Come hither, come whither, come follow!
-
Deeper down the tunnel more faces appeared, haggard, like the wraiths that sometimes stalked her dreams, blinking in the weak light. She continued to crawl backward, singing her song of summoning.
Play, Little Man,
Before you grow wise,
Chasing your dreams while you may
Come hither, come thither, come follow! Come hither, come thither, come follow!
By the time Rhapsody reached the well shaft, a small herd, perhaps a score in all, of ragged boys, all heights, all thin, had crawled along after her, filling the tunnel until she could not see anything past them, just more heads, more faces, sallow beneath their smeared masks of red dirt, bulging, cloudy eyes, all but naked—human rats, Achmed had called them. She had had no idea how apt the name was.
A ramp of a sort had been constructed in the well shaft to take the place of the hook—she wouldn't find out until later that it hid the body of the
She felt a great exhalation of air come out of her, breath she had not known she had been holding.
'Nay,“ she said softly. "Hamimen." Grandmother.
'Hamimen?"
'Aye,“ she replied, louder, a little more clearly, still in the ancient tongue of the Liringlas. "What be your name, child?"
'Aric." The outline of the head vibrated in the dark.
'May I bring the light, Aric? Dimmer this time?"
A scuffling sound; the head retreated.
'Nay! Nay!"
Beyond him, in the tunnel ahead, a rustle of movement.
'Aric, wait! I've come to take you out of the darkness—all of you."
Silence.
Desperation was beginning to claw at her throat. “Aric?"
There was no reply.
Rhapsody slid her hand over the hilt of the sword. She gripped it tightly, then gently pulled, loosing the blade from the scabbard just a little. She exhaled slowly, gathering control of herself; with the return of her calm, the sword burned evenly, and only the slightest of flickers issued forth from the scabbard.
The nightmares of the tunnel receded, leaving just the tiled aqueduct once more in dimmer light than before. Up ahead at the edge of the glow, two even smaller tunnels branched out, no doubt the area in which Achmed had said the children were sleeping.
She inched forward slowly, keeping the sword by her side, and peered into the branching tunnels. They ended in alcoves, where dirt)' scraps of cloth, perhaps used at one time for blankets, now floated in the filthy water. Rhapsody tried not to recoil from the overwhelming stench of sewage.
Huddled at the end of the alcove was a yellow-haired child, long of bone and translucent of skin, trembling in fear. Rhapsody's throat went dry in memory; it was the same ethereal complexion, the same slender angles that had once graced her mother's face. And yet there was something more, something almost feral, a hint of his inhuman father.
'Aric,“ she said gently, "come to me."
The child shook his head and turned his face toward the wall.
Rhapsody crept forward another few paces, then looked down at her arms. The water on the floor of the tunnel was now up to her elbows.
Impatience, spurred by fear, took over. “Aric, come now!" The child only quivered more violently.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. She pulled back out of the alcove and began to move backward on her hands and knees; once she was a short way away she began to sing a children's song from Serendair, a tune with which she had once jokingly serenaded Grunthor.
Wake, Little Man
Let the sun fill your eyes
The day beckons you to come and play
She continued to back away, weaving her call into the lyrics and tones of the traditional song.
Come hither, come whither, come follow! Come hither, come whither, come follow!
At the edge of the tiny sword flame's glow, Rhapsody could hear movement, could see a few faces appear. She nodded slightly and kept backing away, still singing.
Run, Little Man,
To the end of the skies
Where the night meets the cusp of the day
Come hither, come whither, come follow! Come hither, come whither, come follow!
-
Deeper down the tunnel more faces appeared, haggard, like the wraiths that sometimes stalked her dreams, blinking in the weak light. She continued to crawl backward, singing her song of summoning.
Play, Little Man,
Before you grow wise,
Chasing your dreams while you may
Come hither, come thither, come follow! Come hither, come thither, come follow!
By the time Rhapsody reached the well shaft, a small herd, perhaps a score in all, of ragged boys, all heights, all thin, had crawled along after her, filling the tunnel until she could not see anything past them, just more heads, more faces, sallow beneath their smeared masks of red dirt, bulging, cloudy eyes, all but naked—human rats, Achmed had called them. She had had no idea how apt the name was.
A ramp of a sort had been constructed in the well shaft to take the place of the hook—she wouldn't find out until later that it hid the body of the
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