“Why bring a new foreigner here? Surely there are better ways to introduce him to our culture and the church? Ones that are less jarring.” The Cardinal asked. The confusion in his tone would only have fooled the foolish. He was trying to make himself seem magnanimous, and the magi through Zed seem erratic. It didn’t help that Zed had a reputation for being just that.
Zed nodded sagely. “Yes, but the young man needed a deep dive into our culture. His situation is unique you see. His people have little in the way of a magical tradition of their own, and so in a gesture of humanitarianism, the tower and council has permitted me to teach him some basic theory.” Zed lied. The truth was my master had taken me on without the other members’ approval or even knowledge until I showed up at their doorstep for a war conference. Having already beaten the sorcerer at the duel. Rather publicly. It hadn’t really bothered them, but I could tell it wasn’t the most traditional route to apprenticeship. The crowd seemed to grow more sympathetic at the lie, and cheerful chatter replaced worried whispers.
“What magnanimity!” The cardinal said, lowering his hands and clapping them together. “The Church embraces the teaching of human solidarity. It is good to see it in action among our more magically inclined faithful.” The Cardinal took two steps down from the wooden stage. “I am sure you are doing everything in your power to show him and teach him all he needs to help his people pull themselves out of whatever hidden valley or mudhole they currently live in.”
That is the clearest bait I have ever seen. I just smiled as warmly as I could. Even a small city back home was enormous enough to be considered a national capital here. Its churches, cathedrals, community colleges, and high schools would have made the majesty of this cathedral look average.
Back home, most people didn’t really pay attention to stuff around them. Not really. Particularly if it was a local attraction for tourists. Most people that lived in New York City never visited the Statue of Liberty, for instance. Some never even saw it with their own eyes, although all they had to do was go to a rooftop and glance over at it. I had never been to Lake Powell, for instance, despite living less than a day’s travel to it. It’s part of human nature, what’s easy isn’t valuable if we are not reminded of the blessing. People back on Earth just forgot about how amazing everything we had was, including myself.
I shook myself back into the moment. Zed had said something in response to something that the cardinal had said, and now there was a tense silence while they both looked at me. “I apologize. Master Zed, what do you need? I was thinking about the music.” I lied. Zed grinned a manic grin.
Chapter 19: A Foreign Performance
"If you don't like this, I'll stop writing music" - Antonio Vivaldi
Central Cathedral, City of Sowers Vale, 6th Novos, 2989 AoR
“See? What did I say? The boy has a head for music! I am sure he wouldn’t mind giving us a song from his homeland, something to liven the festivities and give honor to all the gods in question. Uh, before the masters play, of course.” Zed bowed to the assembled black clothed master bards. I looked over at them and spotted two people I knew. Alara and Stagian. I gave both a beaming smile, while internally I wanted to throttle my supposed master.
Tol’geth, chuckling along with Ailsa’s quiet giggling, patted me on the shoulder. “More songs from your homeland. They are always a treat.”
Some in the crowd cheered lightly, eager for the entertainment to continue. Most started talking more excitedly about the strange music and sounds of foreigners. “Well, I believe we might have a little time. But that would depend on the masters. I know there was to be a showcase for a newly minted member of our guild?” The tallest and most severe looking of the black clad Bardic masters cleared his throat before speaking.
“. . . I believe that would be fine. It would delight us to hear something special from the boy’s homeland. Might prove of value.” The rather large ebony skinned man locked eyes with me. “Try to keep it short, please.”
“And where exactly is your homeland foreigner? I and many here are curious.” Telik asked, sweet as honey.
“Far to the east, it is a small group of islands. My people have little in the way of magic, and so we have had to learn other ways to make the world work.” I looked back at the crowd. “Your people’s generous gift of knowledge will be a great boon to mine who toil at things that the Torish seem to do with ease. I would be happy to give back what little I might.” I bowed to the crowd. You’re not the only one who can manipulate a crowd dude. And you’re certainly not the best at it.
A few in the crowd cheered, even more eager for the night’s entertainment to continue. I turned to Zed and bowed slightly, playing the role they gave me for the night. “I ask your leave, master?” Zed bowed slightly. I ascended the stairs, careful not to jostle the Cardinal as I passed him. When I got to the larger-than-life piano, the black-skinned bardic apprentice was still sitting there in confusion.
“May I take this seat, maestro?” I asked, bowing slightly. The man shook himself, stood, and made his way back to his seat. I took his place and stared at something very similar to a piano, but it was off slightly. “If you will all permit me to warm up a little before I share with you?” I asked Stagian. He smiled and looked at the cardinal. Telik motioned for me to continue, a fake smile plastered on his face.
“Be quick boy, we don’t have all night.” One of the other, much shorter and skinnier master with an impressive mustache, hissed at me. Just quiet enough so his voice would not carry.
“Of course,” I responded in kind. I stretched out my fingers, then my shoulders. My winter cloak was in the way so I stood, doffed it, and laid it on the ground, folded next to my seat. I finished stretching and hit a single key. Holding the key, what should have been a middle C, ended up being G. I played with the pedals figuring out which one did what while I examined the keys. There were no black keys, but where there should have been there were full keys with brown marks at the top. This was going to throw off my fingering a bit, but it was still possible. Or so I hoped.
I started by playing something slow, yet beautiful. A simple hymn song that I learned when I was a child “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.” The more I thought about it, the surer I was that it was the perfect song for me to try. The mood of the song, and its lyrics, fit perfectly as a nod of respect to the dead priesthood. I hit a few wrong notes, mainly because of the changes in key structure. I tried the same four measures again, this time slower. Once I got it right, I did it again simply faster, getting my mind used to the new spacing. After about two minutes of practice while holding down the soft pedal, I played through it once without the pedal suppressed. The song was beautiful, slightly haunting, and yet optimistic. It would have gone better with the words, but I did not have the skill that some strange people had to both play the piano and sing at the same time.
“Alright, let me try a warmup song then. Here we go.” I said to the assembled players. Then, I turned to the piano, put my fingers at their right positions, and closed my eyes. It’s how I warmed up. I gave myself to the music I was playing. No matter my mistakes, I just kept playing, feeling it flow.
Until then, I had only been playing the melody. Now I included the left hand and the entire music. I still made some mistakes, hit some wrong keys, but it flowed beautifully. The song rang out through the Cathedral, filling the air with its high notes and the haunting bass. As it reached the climax, the entire place felt a buzz with the music. It resonated through the hall and the acoustics of the solid stone above and below.
When the piece finally came to a close with a set of soft notes that drifted gently off into silence, I breathed out in relief. It hadn’t gone too bad. I opened my eyes and looked over at the masters. “Alright, I think I’m ready to try something a bit harder. There is a song I had been practicing at home by a Master musician and composer named Vivaldi. It’s one song of a four song set called ‘Winter.’ Do you think I could try that?” The ebony skinned Stagian whom
I looked to as the leader of the group of music makers nodded stoically. His expression reminded me of my piano teacher, Ms. Kroftin. She was a harsh, and yet very talented, woman.
Back during my time learning from her I changed Vivaldi’s Seasons so that it was actually playable by anyone not a prodigy with godlike reflexes. She could play the thing at full speed, but that was after an entire lifetime of practice and work. When I first heard her do so, I decided that would be the song I wanted to play for my capstone. I had been sixteen years old at the time and determined to become a true maestro. Though looking back I clearly didn’t have the raw natural talent that was required. Still, I tried.
Ms. Kroftin had tried to dissuade me, of course, but I’m a stubborn dude. Though not totally unreasonable. Ms. Kroftin had quickly talked me into modifying entire sections of the piece. All four Seasons were together considered some of the most difficult piano music ever composed for mortal use. People who have trained their entire lives had trouble with parts of that concerti at full speed. Vivaldi originally wrote it for stringed instruments after all. Still, I had done it, and the memory of the weeks and months I had taken to commit the thing to muscle memory stayed with me. Perfectly, thanks to my Gifts.
I cracked my knuckles and began. My fingers, at only 16 years old, couldn’t move physically fast enough to play entire movements, like Autumn, at full speed. The way I had changed it allowed some movements, like Winter, to be played at three quarters speed. Or Autumn with fewer trills. Instead of six trills at once, I had lowered it down to two or three. It played just as beautifully, but was substantially easier. Even so, it seemed far more complex than any of the pieces I had heard today. While my 16-year-old fingers had trouble, my adult sized fingers, on adult sized hands with my perfect muscle memory of the song, all worked to make the piece that much easier for me.
I began with Spring. By far the most recognizable movement back on Earth. It was uplifting, upbeat, and triumphant! The sharp baroque-esq notes of the first few measures filled the Cathedral, as they had countless churches and similar mosaics of faith back home. Only to be quickly replaced by the soft quick trills, and then back to the triumphant powerful notes. At the halfway point, the song took a turn. Deep bass notes and high trills seemed to dance back and forth in an almost melancholy yet energetic play. Followed by peaceful, quiet trills that captivated the mind. Then the finale of the movement, moving back and forth between quiet and triumphant, both slowly building to the final few measures before ending. Almost abruptly, with a quiet, peaceful stillness that was filled with the last soft, triumphant melody.
I waited ten seconds to play Summer. When I hit the first notes I filled them with power and tension, building dread in the music. The entire song moved lower on the keys, yet was filled with more tension with each passing measure. Finally, relief when the soft notes of the melody filled the room. But still the bass from my left hand played the hard tension notes in the background. The opening act was finished. I held down the soft pedal and struck the keys as hard as I could so the sound would still carry, but the notes would be muffled. The effect was soft, melancholy notes again, building the ever building dread I had always associated with the movement.
This continued until almost the halfway point where the song changed to a happier tune, only occasionally revisiting the feeling of dread, as if a half-remembered dream. The music split every few measures between these two extremes, a constantly building tension of always lowering deeper notes, and a peaceful, cheerful tune building to the heights of heaven. The contrast was one of my favorite things about the piece. At some point, I didn’t know when I closed my eyes and had given myself to the music. Just before the piece slowly died off to its ending, I received a prompt.
You have accessed your gift, “Eldritch Knowledge” you can remember perfectly information from Earth and have used this knowledge to access beautiful music. You have been able to remember and play this piece as perfectly as you remember. You have gained the skill “Bardic Music”, current skill level: 1.
I acknowledged the notification and minimized it for later review. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and refocused on the piece at hand. The next was Autumn, the second most difficult movement of the concerto. And by far the longest. Autumn began with immense complexity, then evened out to a rather simple song with only three notes before diving back into deep complexity at the end. And it made liberal use of the various pedals. As I played the first few measures, I received a prompt but despite this my hands kept moving, striking the right keys at the right times almost without me thinking.
Would you like to activate the Vexiphone? Yes or No?
I hit no, stopped playing and turned towards the masters. “I just received a prompt from your instrument telling me that I can activate it? What does it do on a magical level?” I asked, confused.
The tall black-skinned Stagian smiled. His teeth were as white as snow. “Do it, mage apprentice. Let us see what happens.”
“But, I know nothing about it.” I said, confused.
“Do not worry. Play the music, everything else will come.” The other masters all nodded in agreement. I saw tears in some of their eyes, but none had fallen. I nodded and turned back to the Vexiphone. I started the measure from the very beginning, and this time when I received the prompt I mentally selected Yes.
Mana source detected, Vexiphone connected. Mental Connection Established with the audience. Please play.
I did as prompted. I played, and the music flowed. I felt something connect with my mana pool and my will.
Mana requirements exceeded. Would you like to select from the Vexiphone’s special options? Yes or No?
While I looked at the options, my body kept playing and nothing special happened except the fact that I felt my body was on automatic. I selected Yes and found a list of hundreds of options. I scrolled to the bottom where it said Exit, and selected that. I don’t have time to go through all of those and I don’t want to accidentally hurt anyone; I thought. My mind reconnected with my body.
I was through the burgeoning complexity and the movement had moved on to a slower, easier, softer melody. Playing the easier notes, I looked around at the audience briefly. Nearly everyone there had their eyes closed. Their eyes still moved back and forth, as if in some kind of trance. I closed my eyes and again lost myself in the music, opening them only when I needed to double check my fingering or the distance between keys. When I hit the second complex portion of the measure, I struggled to play it. It was so fast. The keys were farther apart here, and unavoidably I missed several notes. And more than a couple of the trills the piece called for.
I felt myself straining to keep up with the blistering pace until blissfully I passed through it and hit the very end of the movement. When I hit the last few notes, I leaned back, exhausted. My hands ached in ways I had not remembered that they could. I looked at my mana and it was nearly a quarter depleted. I realized as I massaged my sprained fingers that there was no way I could ever play Winter on such an instrument. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I looked up.
“That was remarkable young player.” It was Stagian. “My name is Master Stagian,” he said, smiling. “Perhaps we should offer an intermission?” He asked as he pointed at the crowd. I followed and found that many of the members of the crowd were exhausted. Some wiped at tears, others looked like they had run a marathon heaving deep breaths. All of them seemed content, just exhausted. A few of them had fallen asleep. I nodded, and the large man raised both hands above his head, turning towards the crowd.
“Ladies, gentlemen and good folk of Tor. You have our thanks for such an eventful night! The bardic guild’s masters shall all play for you tonight to show our thanks!” The crowed, those still with energy anyway, erupted in shouts of excitement. Clapping, cheers, and calls of thanks filled the air and slowly died down as the large black man raised his hands again. “We will now offer a . . .” he paused as he looked through the crowd as if assessing how much rest they all need
ed. “Twenty-minute intermission. So that the masters can prepare. For those who must leave because of the event running longer than listed. Please do not fear doing so. Go with our thanks, and a promise of our return next year!” Some in the crowd gave an audible sigh of relief at his statement, others clapped or yelled their excitement.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a rockstar; I thought. The firm hands of the bardic masters who lifted me to my feet, while I was disoriented. Someone in the front row actually raised a hand as if to ask a question. I realized it was Zed and fought the urge to facepalm at my friend’s antics. “Yes, Master Mage? Why don’t you join us in the side rooms as we prepare ourselves? I’d be happy to answer your questions.”
Zed nodded, as Tol’geth, Ailsa, and he all started after us. I was lifted off my feet, my cloak and gear gathered by apprentices. As we walked down a set of stairs I had not seen, into rooms I did not know were directly under the stage.
---
“So, you’re saying your people have no magical bardic tradition at all? That hard to believe. Even this backwater could produce at least one person of talent worthy of our notice. If barely.” Said the short, skinny, spindly dusky skinned man with an impressive mustache. He was one of the bardic masters, and clearly he had decided I was some kind of threat. Also that he really didn’t like Alara. The much taller Alara glared at him as the other masters listened to the conversation.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. My people use music as an expressive art form. But we don’t really have a lot of magic. Mixing mental magic with something as common as good music would be, well? My people wouldn’t take to it very well. Like, burn every music lover’s house down for messing with their minds kinda not well.” That caused several snorts and looks of confusion. Even Zed tilted his head, though it was hard to tell if it was in confusion, or he was trying to hear what Ailsa was whispering in his ear. “Trust me, Americans freaked out when they realized energy drinks might give them bad dreams. They freaking burned down a guy’s house and everything. There is no way they’d be cool with someone controlling their thoughts and emotions using magic. Thats burning at the stake territory.” I looked at their expressions and hurriedly added, “Not that I share that view.”
Ethria 3: The Liberator Page 21