A Piper's Song: The Pied Piper Tales

by C. K. Johnson

  The music flowed around me. The tones were so sweet and true that I worried I couldn’t compete. If I failed, I wouldn’t just make a fool of myself, I’d let Malcolm down, and he deserved so much more.

  A flight attendant entered the main cabin with a simpering smile on her face, “Dinner will be served shortly. Would anyone care for some refreshment?” She leaned close to one of the Masters, resting her hand on his bicep as he spoke his order. The only other woman on the plane, and she might as well be under a call.

  The thought made me pause; were the captain and crew legitimately acquired or had they been nudged to take passengers?

  She returned a plate full of food and a drink for each Master. I could barely see Malcolm’s, but from the mouthwatering smell of seasoned meat wafting back, I guessed they were having some kind of steak. My stomach growled.

  I studied my lap with the intent to distract myself. The jeans I wore were still muddy and needed a good washing. A small hole unraveled near the bottom of my shirt. Next to the velvet, silk, and pantaloons, I felt scraggly.

  One of the benefits of being a piper’s apprentice was that we all had to keep quiet. They couldn’t insult my unkempt state aloud. There is a blessing to be found in people pretending you don’t exist. I decided to be grateful I didn’t have to explain my story without sounding like the dumbest piper ever.

  The attendant came back and plopped down glasses of water in front of each of us. I took a sip and almost gagged.

  Had the water been dredged from the bottom of the toilet? Were there black flakes floating around in it? No one else seemed to notice anything wrong and continued to drink.

  About an hour later, she returned with a loaf of sliced bread. The guys divided it up amongst themselves before one of them handed me two slices. I gave a brief nod of appreciation and took a bite.

  The bread crunched, like I had decided to chew on a piece of rock. I expected one or more of my teeth to chip. Why hadn’t I heard the chainsaw they must have used to slice this sucker in the back?

  I started to choke on the single piece I managed to break off. Without thinking, I took a big gulp of water. Tears streamed down my face as I searched for some way to expel the inedible garbage in my mouth. I grabbed the glass and spit the food into it, then wiped my tongue down with a napkin. Were they trying to kill us?

  Malcolm looked back and glared again. I resisted the urge to glare right back. Instead, I handed the second piece of bread back to the other boys and rolled on my side.

  I started to drift off into peaceful oblivion when a stinging blow landed on my face. I jolted awake and would have stood up had the seatbelt not jerked me to a stop, painfully squeezing my middle.

  Another Master stood before me. “Are you not grateful to your Master for the food he provided?” he hissed.

  I wanted to yell No, but I kept silent. No matter what I did, I would lose.

  “Derick, she is mine. I gave her permission not to eat. I had her do some heavy work for her level the other day that might have put off her appetite,” Malcolm said with such authority, Derick took a step back from me.

  “I apologize, Malcolm. I was unaware,” he said, looking slightly more contrite.

  The moment they looked away, I dropped my ringing head down. It could use a healing song now. I wanted to play it to myself even if it only brought comfort. This flight could not end soon enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Fields

  WE SPLIT FROM THE GROUP TO purchase my own piper outfit shortly after the plane landed. I hoped the piper attire for women was better than what the guys were wearing. No such luck.

  Malcolm borrowed a set of clothes that was three sizes too big for me. If not for the leather belt, my poufy brown peasant skirt would have fallen off. It also tightened the chartreuse shirt, making the extra cloth manageable. The one thing he couldn’t borrow were boots. My bright green tennis shoes peeked out from underneath my dragging skirt. This outfit was more insulting than my previous one.

  I felt like a little girl playing dress-up in my mother’s clothes as I pushed the sleeves up so they wouldn’t dangle past my hands. I started to appreciate outsiders not being allowed into the competition. I swore that if someone took a picture of me in this getup and posted it on Instagram, I’d never live it down. The thought of failing was bad enough, but dying in this getup was ridiculous.

  My costume made the guys I had been riding with look downright amazing, and I bit my tongue thinking about how hard I had wanted to laugh earlier. Malcolm thanked the owner of the clothes profusely, got back in the car, and floored it all the way to The Fields. My only comfort came when Malcolm handed my pipe back. I held onto it tightly, let out a deep breath, and tried to relax.

  I grimaced as we stepped out of the car, convinced everyone would be looking at me. For the most part, those watching stared with rapt attention at the battles waging before them. People were crammed shoulder to shoulder, three levels deep around each field, either watching the contenders strutting back and forth before the beginning note was played, or cheering on those already competing.

  The smell of roasting meat permeated the air, almost masking the scent of sweat from the crowds. The vendors were tucked away in small shacks, paying more attention to the activity than the line of customers waiting. The customers didn’t seem to mind either. Everyone focused on The Fields.

  The crowd gasped and a little girl propped up on her father’s shoulders started to cry. I risked being noticed and tried to lean in to catch what had happened, but everyone else had already tilted in as far as they could to gawk.

  “Make way,” a dark-skinned piper boomed. The crowd parted as two pipers carried a slumped man between them off the field. His face looked like someone had taken a frying pan to it. My eyes widened as they got closer. A frying pan was the wrong analogy. A steamroller would be more correct.

  His eyes fluttered opened and the pain in them made my stomach roll. What was I doing here? Why did Malcolm think this was a good idea? The Piper’s eye started twitching and he groaned. My stomach rolled but I could not look away. They were coming right at me.

  “Make way,” the piper boomed again. His voice made my bones vibrate and yet I did not move, frozen in place, still staring at the poor man.

  Malcolm grabbed me by the back of my shirt and jarred me into movement. I stumbled back. I was secretly relieved to see a handful of people behind me scatter, making me feel like I wasn’t the only stupid one.

  “It’s a Master Field,” he said as he waved me to follow him.

  “What?” I asked, hurrying to catch up.

  “He was competing on a field with Master Pipers. You, for the most part, will be competing on a field with other apprentices.”

  We started passing empty fields; the edge of each was marked with a white line, reminding me of a soccer field, although I had never seen a soccer game leaving someone looking like that. The only marks found were the letter X in the middle.

  All the fields I could see were lush and green, and not one was completely flat. They had each been left as nature had made them. I guess I hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been this.

  I tried to distract myself from my growing fear by looking at the flying banners. They were caught up by a stiff wind that seemed to be blowing everywhere but on The Fields themselves. It was as if an invisible barrier protected the pitch.

  Malcolm passed several fields, taking me to the furthest one from the elevated judges’ table and found an open spot. He looked around, making sure several people were watching before saying, “You are to remain civil. No shouting insults as some do. If you cannot act as a lady, you are to hold your tongue. You are my apprentice and as such represent me. Play well and may the songs of the pipers before you keep you safe.”

  He embraced me in a hug and whispered softly in my ear, “Once you go on the field, you must go to all four corners and give a half bow, for this is where the judges stand for these lesser competitions
and it’s a traditional sign of respect. You must only use your pipe, so do not give into temptation to sing. Also, you might think your competitors simpletons; be kind when you disarm them, stop as soon as you see the glazed look, and be fast to call it back once the judges announce you the winner. When you win, bow to all four judges again, and then drop to your knees.” He backed up and added, “Nod if you understand.”

  I nodded and looked at the field to prepare myself when Malcolm shoved me in. I glared back. He just shrugged.

  A tiny girl with almond eyes smiled at me amiably before heading toward a corner on the other side. My fear dissipated at the gesture. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “They’ll let anyone on the Fields these days,” a dark-haired piper a few feet away from me told his neighbor. The neighbor’s cool grey eyes met my gaze and he spit.

  The spittle landed on my shoe and the two boys started laughing. I held my pipe all the tighter and took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Malcolm had said I’d win, and if he said it, he believed I could, but now that I stood here, I had to convince myself again.

  Another apprentice stepped on the field and strode over. “Save it for the trial,” he snapped in a thick French accent at the two who had insulted me. He gave me a slight bow before grinning. “Not all of us are heathens, my fair lady, but what can you expect from pipers descended from Ferrant Clan, if you can call it a clan at all. I’m sorry I don’t recall seeing you before. What is your clan?”

  I looked down and rubbed the wet toe of my shoe across the grass to give myself a moment to think. “Douglas,” I said, picking the nearest thing I had to a clan.

  “Nice clan. You know, I’ve been meaning to travel to Scotland. I’ll be done with my apprenticeship in the next year and if your Master would allow it, I’d love to stop by and visit. That is, if you’re not sore at me for beating you.”

  I smiled at the apprentice and nodded, letting him take whatever meaning he could from it, then set off toward the little old man dressed in a costume befitting my previous traveling companions. I gave a half bow and glanced back, but the French apprentice had already disappeared amongst the other pipers in the field.

  No one else seemed to be going to the corners as Malcolm had directed; however, if he had taken precious time to tell me about it, I thought it best I did so, even if to only respect his wishes. I started for the next judge, trying to remind myself I looked ridiculous, before I started laughing at the feather in his hat. Don’t laugh, don’t embarrass yourself, and don’t forget to call it back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Field of Sleep

  “APPRENTICES, THIS IS THE FIELD OF Sleep. If you use anything other than a sleep song on another contestant, you will be disqualified. If you have any questions, you better get off the field now because we are not your mentors. We are your judges,” boomed a man standing near an X in the center. He strode toward a corner and nodded.

  A single sweet, piercing note signaling the start rang out. A few pipers played a long thread of notes into what I guess were supposed to be shields. I had holey socks that offered better protect than that. Before long, the rest of my opponents were releasing variations of sleep songs. I laughed as the pandemonium unfolded. People were falling asleep left and right, dropping like flies, some mid-song as another piper bested them.

  I turned away from the fight and resolutely headed for the last judge. A boy, no more than ten, stood ahead of me. He had been cowering near the last corner, trying to stay out of the fray.

  I debated what would be the best way to deal with him, and even wondered if just touching my pipe would discourage him from attacking, when another piper spotted him and let a song loose.

  His face turned a pale green and he swayed. I caught him as he fell and gently laid him on the ground, shutting his eyes, as he lay frozen in half-sleep. I stepped over him and trudged for the last judge, hoping there would be no more delays so I could finally start to compete. I took in the judge’s gnarled hands, weathered complexion, and merry green eyes, and smiled back at his obvious amusement. I bowed. Now let the games begin.

  He lifted an eyebrow but showed no other sign that he had seen me. I shook my head, and held the pipe to my lips. I took a few precious seconds to sort through the songs I knew and pulled out a children’s sleep song.

  It flowed out far simpler than the complicated songs that were flying across the field like tiny knives, piercing people’s shields left and right. Mine flowed out like the tide coming in for the evening or watching the sunset from a porch swing in the Ozark Mountains. It told them to stop their fighting, put down their pipes, and remember a simpler time when night came and sleep was a boon.

  My targets rocked forward, gently set their pipes down, and lay on the ground as if I had tucked them into a soft, warm bed for the night. As it spread, some tried to run to the white boundaries, but soon landed with outstretched hands flapping like rag dolls long before they could reach its safety. Within minutes, all the songs on the field had ceased but mine. I let the notes drift off and waited, contented with having played my beloved pipe again.

  I had forgotten the competition and played for the beauty of the song. I reveled in the sweet sound as it came through my pipe and cast a peaceful blanket over the field.

  “Piper crowned. You may call it back.” The words jarred me out of the trance, a state that had started the moment I cast my song out and satiated the endless longing to use my power.

  I held my pipe up and played a single grating note. Before me, the sleeping dead came back to life. I headed back to the judges and gave a half bow to each as Malcolm had instructed and felt stupid when I got down on my knees.

  The last judge I had made a concerted effort to bow to earlier came forward. If I didn’t know better, I would say he was barely suppressing a smile on that old, weathered face. In a quiet voice, he whispered, “Hold up your pipe.” I did so, surprised to find my hand still shaking a little.

  He pulled a thin silver ring out of a pocket in his blue silk vest and slipped it on my pipe. After the ring slid firmly in place, he tilted his head at such an angle, it made it hard for the other judges to see his expression, and wiggled his eyebrows. I almost laughed right there but managed to push it down so all that escaped was a half-snort.

  He gave my hand a brief squeeze, then released it and stepped back. “Arise, apprentice. Your first passage is granted,” he boomed across the field. I stood up shakily and felt Malcolm standing behind me. I turned to face him. He nodded and held out his hand. I took it, trying not to look too confused. Some of the piper traditions puzzled me, including needing an escort to the next field.

  As we walked away, cheering erupted around us. I felt the blood rush to my face. I hadn’t really tried; it had just come to me, and I didn’t feel worthy of their cheers for something that had come as easily as breathing.

  Halfway between the Field of Sleep and whatever lay before me, Malcolm leaned closer to me. “We are lucky. At this level, they tell us what your challenges are. The next field is the Field of Sorrow. Here, you must master your emotions. You will compete against those who have passed previous rounds, but you cannot hit the innocents scattered throughout,” he said as we approached the next field.

  “Are the innocents actually innocent?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Some pipers have volunteered, others are apprentices that aren’t quite ready for this stage,” he replied, a slight smile sneaking through his attempt at a serious expression.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t think I even thought to ask about them when I competed,” he said as we stopped just short of the white line.

  “So you didn’t care whether they had a choice or not. Hmm, the mighty Malcolm has fallen. He is, or I guess was, not always perfect,” I smirked, amused and partially relieved to see a small crack in his perfect armor.

  “Believe it or not, I was young once too,” he said.

  “Last questio
n. Are the judges considered safe?” I asked as he stepped behind me.

  “It depends on what your definition of safe is,” he said, chuckling a little.

  “I wanted…” I started explaining, he again shoved me on the field. Why did he keep doing that? Everyone else stepped onto the field on their own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Field of Sorrow

  THE STARTING TONE RESOUNDED AROUND ME as I staggered forward, and steadied myself. My last party trick wouldn’t work again. I needed to come up with something new, but all that kept coming to mind after Malcolm told me I couldn’t hit the hidden innocents was Mark. So not helpful! Others wandered around the rolling green expanse, trying to decipher who might be innocent and whom they could take out. Exactly as I should be doing as I crossed the field to bow to the judges.

  I approached a couple of people hovering together. They made no move to strike, but they were still holding pipes in their hands, poised against a direct attack. Would the planted pipers be aware enough to hold pipes or did the song that controlled them make them appear that way? Mark’s dazed face flashed in my mind again and I shoved it down. I didn’t have time to daydream. Besides, if I was going to daydream about anyone, it should be Ben.

  A person stood to my right, looking as if he were lost. It could just be a trick to lure me close enough to play a song without affecting an innocent. In the next instant, my adrenaline shot up and all my senses switched into fight mode as my power surged, straining to attack what it considered the targets before me. It didn’t care who the enemy was as long as we were fighting. I shoved it down with a sigh.

  Perspiration dotted my forehead and I laughed. I broke out in my first sweat of the day and it came from fighting myself. The memory of Mark flashed through my mind again with more force. Okay, what are you trying to tell me?