Free The Assassin King by Elizabeth Haydon Page A

connectivity. All things, all beings, are threads in the fabric; it is their interconnectivity that weaves what we know as life. Without those ties that the threads have to one another, there is merely void; absence of life.“ Ashe nodded. ”When you told me of this before, you said that in those ties, there is power—that those ties bind soul to soul, on Earth and in the Afterlife. It is the connection that is made in this life that allows one soul to find another in the next. This is the means by which love lasts throughout Time." His hand covered Rhapsody's, and they exchanged a glance that brought smiles to their faces, in spite of the coming threat.
    “I did,” said the Patriarch. “But what I did not tell you was what I noticed in the tapestry she was weaving. In this massive record of history there are millions of threads, woven together into the perfect depiction of the tale of Time. ”In one place, however, there is a flaw—a discrepancy that in a tapestry on this side of the Veil would scarcely be noticed, if it was seen at all, an imperfection in thread or technique. But an imperfection in history that has already occurred should not be possible in the Weaver's tapestry; it is only a record of what has gone before, without variability or equivocation. It is almost as if the threads of Time had been taken apart and rewoven there—as if Time itself had been altered in this one place in the Past." The only sound for a long moment was the crackling of the lantern flame.
    “Time—rewoven?” Ashe asked at last. “How can that be? I thought you said the Weaver does not interdict in history, but just records it.” “Aye,” said the Patriarch. “And as far as I know, she does not. But the split threads, the imperfections in history, appear only once in all of the tapestry, at least from what I could see—and it seems to have happened in the Third Age of history, at the very beginning of the Seren War—centuries before Gwylliam's coronation, or the Cymrian exodus from Serendair.” Gwydion saw the blood leave the faces around the room, most especially that of his guardians. “Be there any clues as to how Time was altered?”
    Rial asked. Constantin shook his head. “Only a prophecy woven into the threads above the flaw, a riddle of sorts that seemed to precede whatever event would have left history marred.” “Do you remember it?” Anborn asked tersely. “Indeed,” replied the Patriarch. "It was a primary object of my studies while I was beyond the Veil, but I never was able to connect it
    to anything else in history. It appears to be the last prophecy uttered in pure Time, before whatever change occurred took place.“ ”Tell us, man, and be quick about it!“ Anborn ordered harshly. The Patriarch shot him a look of displeasure, then turned to the Lady Cymrian, whose face was now pale as milk. ”I speak these words to you as a Lirin Namer, m'lady, in the fervent hope that you might be able to decipher them,“ he said softly, ”To my knowledge they have never been uttered in this world, as they took place in Time before it was changed." He cleared his throat and intoned the words carefully.
    "THE PROPHECY OF THE CHILD OF TIME:
    Brought forth in blood from fire and air
    Sired of earth
    A child of two worlds
    Born free of the bonds of Time.
    Eyes will watch him from upon the earth and within it
    And the earth itself will burn beneath him
    To the song of screams and the wails of the dying
    He shall undo the inevitable
    And in so doing
    Even he himself shall be undone.
    This unnatural child born of an unnatural act
    The mother shall die, but the child shall live
    Until all that has gone before is wiped away
    Like a tear from the eye of Time."
    Rhapsody's back went rigid. Her shoulders stiffened and her arms began to shake. Then she looked down at the sleeping child in her arms. Her lips, until that moment firmly pressed together, responding to neither taunt nor tenderness, fell open as the words