I sighed, not wanting a repeat of what happened with the elves. I knew the basics of musical theory: it was true, and yeah, I had a decent enough singing voice. But what had earned the elves’ attention was the novelty of the songs and sounds of Earth. Not my skill. “I can sing, and I know how to play the piano and a few other instruments. My mother had me in lessons since I was six.” I said. I tried to keep the grumbling at the memories of an angry old woman from my neighborhood giving me extra homework every week from my voice. I haven’t always liked music lessons, but I found that knowing how to play the guitar had won me more than one date before I was whisked away to Ethria. Playing and singing songs together while we ate ice cream in the park was a cheap and fun way to get to know someone else. “So you wanted me to experience your people’s music?”
“Precisely! Only someone who knows a trade can appreciate true skill when its applied.” Zed said. He put his staff under the pew. I reached under and found a long, thin box there that ran the entire length of the pew under the seat. Storage for walking sticks, small bags and the like. I followed suit and placed my staff there, having given my backpack to Ailsa to store in her extra dimensional space. The satchel remained at my side, like it always did. I almost never let go of the thing.
That complete, I looked up and inspected the massive wooden stage at the heart of the pinwheel cathedral. Erected at the center of the wooden stage was an altar protected under what appeared to be a glass casing. The altar was at the center of a circle of ten wooden chairs, five on each side. At the center of the circle next to the protected altar was what looked like a grand piano. Except it had nearly three octaves more keys and was much larger. I suspected magical enchantment was at play somehow, and when I reached my senses out, I found it to be true.
“The enchantment enhances the sound made by the instrument. The pedals there at the bottom…” Zed pointed, and I followed with my eyes. “They control the enchantment. They can make it louder, softer, muffled, whatever the player needs.” I nodded. Pianos on Earth had similar pedals, though they used internal mechanisms rather than magical ones to make adjustments to sound.
“What is it called?” I asked. Before Zedical could respond, a man in a large white cowl, and a funny looking pointed white and gold hat took center stage. Ten musicians all entered the stage behind him dressed in all black. They were an eclectic group of men and women of different skin and hair colors and heights. But they were all human.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Lords and Ladies of the Realm of Tor please find your seats.” The man stood, hands couped, while the rest of the crowd found their seats and quieted. After a few moments, he spoke again. “Thank you all for coming! My name is Cardinal Telik. After enduring so much hardship over the last few years, Dominus has blessed the County himself! The god of laws is also a god of beauty. He has ordained that every five years during the festival of the new year his church will organize a festival of the arts centered here in Harvesters Bounty!” His use of the Harvesters Bounty rather than Sowers Vale felt odd to me. The words in Torish translated to very similar meanings, just a slight change in diction made them sound like one or the other. It was why the upper echelons of Torish society typically used Harvesters Bounty when the peasants, and most of what was essentially the middle class, used Sowers Vale. It had caused me some confusion, but eventually I had figured it out. Here, Telik’s words felt like they had additional meaning. Religious significance I couldn’t really grasp.
Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that they named it the Cathedral of the Harvester? Then again, the idea that the people of the lower classes sowed, and the powerful such as its priests reaped, made a kind of sense. Using the different names of the city that sprang from slight differences in dialect, might just how what side of that equation you are on. Those who reap are not always those who sow.
“Tonight, by the grace of our wondrous Countess acting in her husband’s stead. Is the first night of the new year’s festival!” Telik bowed as low as his funny hat would allow him. The people filling the pews clapped politely, hoping he finished speaking. I know that’s what I was hoping.
I leaned into Zed. “So, I take it the church of the dead god rarely gets a lot of credit for organizing this thing?” the old man scowled deeply and shook his head.
“They used to, under old Cardinal Som’nan may the gods welcome him. But not for a long time. Its been nearly two decades now under Telik. He hasn’t given the priesthood of the martyr their proper due. This entire place is their central church, you know. It was, back in the day, called the Cathedral of the Reaper. The Reaper of Souls.” Zed wiggled his fingers at me and made the oooOOOOooooh sound. As if it were a spooky subject. “Now, its named after an aspect of Dominus. Technically, the Dominus priesthood is a guest here, though they act like they own everything. Even under good old Som’nan, they ran most of the religious stuff in the county. But at least they were respectful about it. Now? They’re just jerks.”
When the crowd’s applause died down, Telik spoke again. “We begin this year’s festivities with the display of sound and light! The ten musicians behind me have trained for years for this night. Where they will display their skills on the vexiphone!”
So that’s what it’s called, I thought to myself. I let the old hate-filled Telik talk as my mind and gaze wandered around the room. I found stunning piece after piece of artwork, painstakingly crafted by true masters. I marveled at the craftsmanship. One statue in particular that showed a hooded onyx stone figure kneeling down and applying some healing ointment to another man who had clear boils where the ointment had yet to be spread. Where it had already touched the person’s skin, the bumps and boils receded. Leaving clean and smooth skin at the base of the man’s leg.
One other piece that caught my eye was an old man with a walking stick and a thick beard and robe, helping a mother with a sick child. His hood obscured the man’s face, and his statue was onyx black where the mother’s was marble white. I didn’t know the story these statues told but the mother’s expression of pure joy and sick man’s grimace of pain as the black figure tended to them nearly brought me to tears.
“Ah, yes. The statues of the martyr. The Dead Gods name, can only be spoken during this festival. And then only in a place like this. The dark priests probably already told the story and answered questions from the youth. It’s a, kind of rite of passage for the youth in Tor to hear the story of Holland, the Shepherd of the Dead. The God who sacrificed himself to save all of humanity during our early years here on Tor.” Zed whispered to me. “Guy was a real sport if you ask me. Took one for the team. A sacrifice like that should be remembered and celebrated. Perhaps next year we can be a bit early and you can hear it for yourself. Right now though, were here to celebrate a different art.” I nodded and turned my attention back to the, still speaking, Cardinal.
“...And with that, let us move on to what we all came here tonight to hear. The music of the masters!” Telik gave a bow as if he had just given a performance himself. I watched him with suspicion, there was different about him. Something off. He had more energy, more charisma, than he had last time I met him. But he was more rigid in his movements, more in control of himself. Or perhaps someone else was controlling him. He moved like he was uncomfortable, like he had to think about what to do every time he took a step. He gestured for the first player to take the stand. “But first! Let us allow the local talent to share their gifts with us! Apprentices in the musical arts from all across our fair city!” With that Telik walked off the stage and the first apprentice went up to the piano, vexiphone, thing.
She was maybe 13 or 14 years old, her skin was alabaster white. Her hair was a bright blond, and that stood out all the more against the black trousers and shirt she wore as a uniform. She looked nervous, but resolved. I’ve been there, girl, I thought to myself as I watched her stretch her fingers lightly, preparing to play. She straightened her back and moved her hands to the appropriate starting position. She bent he
r fingers and played.
The song was simple, requiring only one hand, though she used both. There were a few deeper notes that she used her left hand for, but it was hardly complex. It was novel to me though; I had heard nothing like it. The music was joyful, staccato notes supported by a softer base that gave off the impression of light breaking through winter’s gloom. Or dawn breaking and lifting the night’s darkness. Near the peak of the piece when it was at its most complex, I felt a magic touch my mind that seemed to reinforce that image. Just as quickly as it came, it vanished. When the song was over, I clapped along politely and smiled as she took a quick bow and rushed off the stage to sit with her master. I blinked a few times seeing him; it was familiar.
“She was quite skillful!” Zedical said, as the clapping died down. “Its surprising that the girl could fool us earlier into thinking she was a boy.” Tol’geth grunted his agreement.
“She must be excellent at stealth. I did not suspect until just now myself.” My tall friend said, his bass voice dying off as the clapping petered out.
I nodded agreement. “She was good. I’d never heard that song before so I can’t judge her on the technical aspects but it sounded wonderful. Simple, but beautiful. I’m glad we didn’t get her into too much trouble with her uncle.”
“Simple? What do you mean?” Zed asked, curious eyes meeting mine.
“Just that. It required mainly the use of only one hand as she played. It was slow paced, maybe a full four beats a measure? Still, simple and slow can be beautiful. It was nice. Even if she tried to steal my coin purse earlier.”
“I would expect her to be finishing her apprenticeship and beginning work as a journeyman soon.” Zed said, a little taken aback. “By the next festival I would expect to see her up there with the other masters.”
“She obviously has the skill. I’m just saying the song was simple is all. There is more to a piano piece and skill then speed and complexity. Knowing when to let off, when to hit the keys a little harder or softer, or when to speed up the tempo a little more than the notes tell you too is all important. Reading the mood of a crowd? Even more so, or so I’ve been told. My younger brother Aaron is by far the better musician and artist. He took to it like a fish to water.”
Zed looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, another apprentice started playing. His music was harsh. Brutal. It evoked images in my mind of battle and bloodshed. Of mighty deeds being done in the name of king and country. More than once that same magic as before touched my mind. But it never fully connected with me. When he finished, he stood, bowed, and the crowd erupted in applause. I wonder if my resistances are buffering the effect whatever magic they are using has on most people.
I clapped along politely, but honestly; I didn’t understand. This man wasn’t actually all that skilled compared to some players I had met just while walking around in the music labs during my undergrad. “I don’t get it Zed, why are they so enthusiastic? He was good, but not that good. What am I missing?”
Again, Zed opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of whatever he was going to say. Instead, he patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry. Just keep listening, we can talk after.” I accepted that and settled in to listen to the rest of the apprentices.
Only three of the remaining eight touched my mind with that magic. It was only the last one that felt like it fully connected. As he played a much more complex song than most I had heard, the powerful base almost drowned the melody. Yet it rose to the surface to string the story along each time I thought I had lost it. After the first measure, the magic nearly assaulted my mind.
I felt the emotions of the music connect with me on a deeper, more fundamental level than I had ever felt before. I cried a little, a few stray tears falling down my face as I listened. It was beautiful, almost as much so as the elven balled in Lo’sar had been. But where that felt like a choir singing, this felt like a solo. A single note ringing in my mind, the singer plucking the strings of my very soul to play his tune.
I cried, and I couldn’t seem to stop the tears as they streaked from my eyes. I had never felt such forceful beauty in my life. Even standing before the Crystal Matriarch in all her power and majesty, I did not feel it as deeply as I did this. Where that was a subtle shifting of the pieces of my soul, this was like the cracking of a boulder. The only thing that came close to it was witnessing the elven song of restoration. But that was more like hearing. This was pure feeling.
Yes, the notes reached my ears, and they were beautiful and played skillfully. Not particularly so, but more than was adequate. This was more like someone walked up to me and punched me in the gut. That person then tied me to a chair and forced me to watch the saddest, sweetest, most beautiful movie ever made. Every second was a riot of emotions.
And just as quickly as it came, it ended. I was not the only one openly crying, but far more eyes were dry than I thought would be. “What the hell was that!” I cried out as I frantically whipped my eyes of the tears that only now were slowly ebbing. I felt a hand on my back and I looked up to see concern on Zeds wizened face.
“Are you alright boy? What happened? What’s wrong? You’re making a scene.” That coming from him made my face burn hot with embarrassment. When I looked to Tol’geths face, I felt worlds better. The man’s eyes were red and puffy as tears openly fell from his eyes. If he could cry without embarrassment or making a scene, then so could I.
“What the hell was that?!” I asked again, this time softer and quieter so only Zed could hear me.
“You act as though you have never experienced a bard before.” Someone from behind me chided. Their rebuke echoed slightly in the hushed building. I gritted my teeth and shook my head in answer. “Oh.” He said quieter. The surprised noble sat back and nodded his understanding as finished drying my eyes.
“You told me your people are not potent magically. I didn’t realize that included bards.” Zed whispered as the next player took their position. “I assumed their accomplishments with music translated… Bah, here sit back in the pew. I’ll shield you from the worst of it until you get a bit more used to it.” The old man handed me a clean handkerchief that I used to dab at my now red and puffy eyes, along with an apple. I felt ravenous and crunched in it. Somehow, the sound didn’t carry and when I met Zeds eyes, he winked mischievously. “Being a mage has its perks. Like eating snacks without bothering anyone.”
When I could see properly again after blinking a few times, I looked up at the stage and found the piano player still sitting there. Waiting for the crowd, including me, to finish collecting ourselves. The man was one of the few black-skinned Torish I had seen marking him as originally from the southern portion of the country. Next to where the young player sat at his instrument stood the Cardinal. His expression quickly went from false concern to one of mild derision as he saw who I was. Rage for just a moment flashed across his face. One Dreadknight who had been sitting beside us stood behind the Cardinal now, head bowed and avoiding my eyes. He watched Telik’s movements with suspicion, but his sword stayed where it was on his hip.
I might have an opening there, I thought as I observed the suspicious glares that not just this Knight gave Telik, but every other black armor-clad warrior in the multi-faith building did. I’ll try to speak to that priest again on my way out.
“It is always a treat to see foreigners and younglings encounter the love of Dominus through our talented artists for the first time. Is it not?” Telik asked, holding his hands high over the crowd. “Even the ministrations of the apprentices and local talent have done very well to cause such reactions from our foreign friends.” The crowd seemed to ease from a tension I had not noticed building. People had been staring at me as I sniffed, and choked back sobs of pure emotion, as if I were sick or suffering from some kind of episode.
Before I could say or do anything, Zed stood with his staff in hand. His staff, I remembered him telling me, served both as a magical tool and proof of his station as a member of
the Masters Council. one of the few in the entire northern duchy of Tor. His words carried much weight in places of power, even if publicly he was seen as odd.
“Though he is foreign, he is human. And he is my apprentice.” Zed bowed only slightly towards the Cardinal. I recognized it as a bow one gives to an equal rather than a superior.
My lessons with Traser are finally paying off, I thought happily as I watched the interaction. The Cardinal returned the gesture. Torish customs and laws about how the church interacted with the mage council and towers were esoteric and deeply complex. But according to how Zed had explained it earlier, a Cardinal was roughly equal in station to that of a recognized Master Mage. Which is why I recognized the gesture as Telik, only giving what respect was required of him. Just enough to prevent the mages council and the tower of the magi from becoming his political enemies.
From my understanding of the situation, Telik was already on pretty thin ice. His faction, on his explicit instruction, had subverted the magi’s licensing requirements for his pet sorcerer. Add to that the fact that very pet had, supposedly, gone rouge defying the will of the regional mage’s council. Telik had few friends left in the city. The Count had already thrown Telik’s faction under the bus. In the last few days my team and I had gone knocking on noble houses kicking up dust and threatening people. Those nobles had spread the word of Telik’s disfavor with the count, and the mages council to their brothers, sisters, and friends in the city’s clergy. This had caused most of the other powerful priests to either abandoned or opposed him publicly. Removing Telik’s patina of church protection despite being the ostensible head of it locally. Telik and his minions still loyal to him, were now a faction on their own. The tension between that heavily ostracized group, and the magi was palpable. Telik and his brood had laid low, trying to let everything blow over. But it hadn’t really worked. Even if there wasn’t technically outright hostility in the streets, many seemed to think it was all but inevitable.
Ethria 3: The Liberator Page 20