A Piper's Song: The Pied Piper Tales

by C. K. Johnson

  I allowed the thought to trickle in, but it wasn’t him exactly that came to mind. Instead, it was the moment right before he stepped out of the tall grass. I shivered as I remembered the moment I realized he was coming. I had felt him. It clicked.

  I released wispy tendrils of power, the same way I had done so long ago to sense Mark coming. It tried to feel out who had two rhythms. Their own, and the song cast upon them. Who felt just a little off? I shivered again and started walking around with purpose. In the end, I could not call an innocent to the feeling of sorrow, but it didn’t say anything about calling them to something else.

  Now that I could feel the off ones, I focused on those, pretending they, too, were in a stupor. I feigned a stagger as I passed a scrawny, weasel-faced piper who kept pinching innocents to make them react.

  The strategy itself was sound. The piper hadn’t broken the rule. He was causing the innocents pain, not sorrow. Each time another piper whipped around and reflexively threw a song in reaction to an innocent’s protest, they too became disqualified.

  I growled at the little weasel getting away with it. This field seemed to be teaching us to protect innocent people even if we were going after each other. Inflicting pain on someone who had no way to retaliate was not cool.

  What if it were Ben? I smiled at the memory of our almost kiss. I sort of wished he was here to cheer me along. That’s the stupidest thought you’ve had so far. I took in the chaos around me. As much as I liked Ben he would never belong in the piper world. Do you? I asked myself. I glanced down at the pipe in my hand; it seemed to say I did.

  A song smashed into the ground beside me blackening it. The air filled with the scent of hot tar. As the pungent air hit my nose I coughed and surveyed the field. Behind me stood two pipers side by side, wearing identical smirks. The weasel would have to wait.

  Two pipers before me, best described as creepy and creepier, sported shocking white hair, though they looked younger than I. The thing that chilled me more than their music however was how dark their eyes looked as they lifted their pipes to fire again. The pitch black told me at some point they had dabbled with the darker side of piper magic, and liked it.

  The songs they released wended together in more notes than I could pack in a single breath. Like sunlight streaming through stained glass, the beauty of it caused me to hesitate. My power, unimpressed, threw up a shield without my request.

  I shuddered and instinctually shoved my power down, searching for the judges. Would they know? Could they know I hadn’t bid my power to protect me? Bits of song splattered through my barrier like I’d thrown up a colander to stop a tidal wave. My lungs screamed for air. The pinwheel of colors was drowning me alive.

  Black speckled my vision. I gripped my pipe tighter and fought to stay conscious. This was supposed to be sorrow, what were they doing. My power waited until I swayed forward, then lashed out. I jerked my pipe up to my lips unable to smother the song coming out.

  Creepier’s eyes widened to a level that did nothing to make my reeling senses settle. I pushed out a chaser song, drenching his friend in illusion. Come on, look over, I thought when Creepier shook his head but did not bother to check on his buddy.

  Creepy made no move to help his struggling friend either. His grey eyes locked on mine as he released another song that felt more like a kitten batting at a ball of string compared to their dual compositions. I swatted it aside, and lifted an eyebrow, before volleying a second illusion song back and drenching Creepier in a second layer of song.

  “Come on, why won’t you just give up and feel sorrow,” I growled as I fingered my pipe and waited. They had to know each other. There was no way they played in harmony so perfectly without some practice, yet they had both glanced at each other and shown no reaction.

  “Okay, you asked for it,” I said. The problem was I didn’t know what it was. The song I released made my heart squeeze even as I told myself it didn’t matter. I could live without being a piper. But could they?

  The illusion drifted down and slid off the other layers like oil slick. I pushed the notes harder using the tension to force it through then watched as a mixture of horror and sorrow descended. The illusion lapped up the other layers, using the power to make itself stronger. They would no longer be a threat to me; they were feeling what it meant to be silenced.

  A cry of pain brought my attention back to the weasel of a piper. Minor notes flowed out like rippling silk, yet rubbed like sandpaper. They whispered of a casket, cradling a close loved one, a mother. Using the dead mother card was a low blow, but the scales had been measured and he had been found wanting.

  The piper’s pinched face turned ashen as he sagged then fell to the ground. Tears ran down his face. I wavered, What are you doing? You’re hurting him. Why had I not cared a bit at convincing a piper they weren’t a piper anymore but I felt guilty at convincing one his mother was dead. You have to get back to the game. Being distracted had almost killed me before. I forced myself to look away and move on.

  Once I felt who the decoys were and who was playing the game, I grinned, amused others weren’t following the gleaming trail placed before us. As time passed, the intensity of those called to a stupor increased, just like it had for Mark.

  I couldn’t help but be amused when I spotted two large groups that had placed their wager on the wrong people. Not one of them was innocent. They all hovered together, hiding behind supposed innocents, when in fact they had each surrounded themselves with opponents.

  The death melody would be too complicated to play for the two large groups. I had to find something simpler, something that would reach out and tug at the heartstrings of many without bringing me to my own knees.

  Like an escaped balloon, a song drifted up, its tail still dangling into the wellspring that housed my compositions. The balloon was painted with splashes of blue, a Jackson Pollock homage to the many sorrows that splattered across the canvas of my life. I pulled in the memory of hearing about Conner’s pain because of my mistake.

  I unraveled the memory, pulling out the song, like I had unearthed the memory of me getting mad outside the Jacobs’ house at McKennan’s request. It lay bare before me. Underneath my recollection sat a universal melody that would latch onto each person and from there, they could give it their own meaning. A song that spoke to every living person of haunting sorrow for something missed.

  It settled on the hearer and whatever, or whomever, someone missed the most would come to mind. Tears streamed down faces for something as simple as lost dogs, lost opportunities, lost love, lost people, and the loss of innocence.

  If people could see what sorrows we all hold deep inside, maybe they would be a little nicer to each other, I thought as I pushed down the urge to stop and comfort them. Even now, a few had started hugging. They held each other tight and acted as each other’s lifeline with complete strangers.

  Now that the easy pickings were done with, I wracked my brain over how to part those who had sidled up beside a person so I couldn’t hit them without taking out the innocent they were using as a shield.

  Why not make the initial call irresistible to the innocents, popped into my head. I hoped this wasn’t against the rules. I found the end of a song, and started adding my own to it. I fed the line with peace and contentment, speaking on a base level of safety on this side of the field. Those were feelings that ran deeper than this call. I didn’t have much time until the others caught on to what I did; even now, some of my rivals were starting in my direction.

  I pushed a little hard to hurry things up and the innocents jerked into motion, ambling toward me. A few innocents fell to the ground as pipers became startled at the sudden movement and swamped them with their version of sorrow.

  Now revealed, the other pipers came after their freshly exposed challengers and forgot about me.

  With all the innocents drawn to the song and out of the way, I was able to get a good distance away from them. I faced the rest of the field and played a deat
h song to them, one that spoke of them preparing for their end. They fell like a stack of dominoes before me as they were forced to see their own mortality and found it terrifying.

  One sat rocking on the ground whispering, “I don’t want to die.” I stepped over them as I circled around and headed for the judges. At least my mistake with Mark wasn’t completely useless. With that, I returned to the group of huddled innocents and cut my call, then waited. The judges seemed to be conferring on whether my win was an actual win as I had, in a way, affected the innocents, just technically not with sorrow. In fact, all I’d really done was manage to make them safer.

  The judges must have come to an agreement, and parted. My weathered friend stepped forward and said, “Piper crowned. You may call it back.” I released each group, then each individual, and circled back around again to the front. Faces were still pallid, eyes still red, but the devastating sadness was lifting. I almost forgot to give the half bow before falling to my knees, this time because I was spent.

  This time, the judge smiled as he leaned forward and whispered, “I don’t think we’ve ever seen a contestant try to save the innocent and still pursue her enemies. It is something we’ll pass along for further consideration. For now, the only objective was to quell your enemies with sorrow whilst not casting a sorrow song on the innocent, and we found that you did indeed do that.”

  I held my pipe a little steadier this time as he pulled the ring out of his pocket. It felt good when he slipped the thin ring on it. To the field, he boomed, “Arise, apprentice. Your second passage is granted.”

  Malcolm came up beside me and again offered his hand. I leaned a bit heavier on his extended arm. My strength was waning, and my feet throbbed. I wasn’t sure how well I would do on the next field.

  “You did well, Little Bird. And now you can be done for the day. Tomorrow, we’ll take on your last two fields. Shall we be on our way?” he asked as he led me in the direction of the car. This time, the cheering sounded all the louder. I was starting to enjoy it.

  Each ring felt like another layer of protection against my uncle and a warning to those who wished to do me and my family harm. I was not to be trifled with. I wasn’t another simple apprentice piper, and now I had a way to prove it.

  “Yes. Also, what’s this we? I don’t remember you standing there,” I groaned in response to his query, my voice coming out hoarser than expected. “And food. I’d like some decent food,” I added. He laughed as he opened the front door and got in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Attack in the Night

  I SLID INTO THE BACKSEAT AND leaned back, grateful for the quiet, dark interior. With the immediate threat gone, exhaustion weighed down on me and I contemplated a tiny nap during the drive.

  Across from me, someone cleared their throat.

  I jumped, knocking my head on the roof as I reached for my pipe. One of the Masters from the plane ride nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His apprentice didn’t bother to hide his amusement. I stopped myself from snapping at him just in time.

  Why hadn’t Malcolm warned me we were riding back with other people? At least it wasn’t Derick. At this point, I might smack him right back. I could live quite happily without ever seeing him again.

  We drove for about twenty minutes or so when the apprentice cleared his throat and croaked, “I heard you did well in The Fields today.” I looked up, surprised he was talking to me, and then peered up front to see Malcolm give me a single nod. Malcolm wasn’t bothering to hide his amusement either. I glared at him for a second before turning back to the apprentice.

  “Yes, I think it went well. How about you? I don’t remember seeing you out there,” I replied, hoping I hadn’t offended him if he had been. I was grateful he sounded as worn out as I, judging by his raspy voice. I hoped he wouldn’t judge the fact that mine had just cracked mid-sentence.

  “It went well. I wasn’t eliminated until the third round,” he croaked. He grinned from ear to ear like a kid who had just knocked down a piñata full of candy.

  “Awesome,” I said, having no idea why it was good, but I figured if anyone did good in these crazy things, then they deserved a kudos of some sort.

  My nerves were still singing as I entered my hotel room. Part of it was excitement as I thought about what was going to happen on The Fields tomorrow, part of it was me savoring the feeling of letting all that power go. I collapsed on the bed and expelled a deep sigh, wishing there was some way to pipe the bath into the main room so I didn’t have to get up again.

  I didn’t stir until Malcolm tapped on the adjoining door. “Your Master calls,” he said, not bothering to hold back a chuckle. I groaned and gingerly put weight on my throbbing feet.

  “Can the Master unlock it from his side? My feet are staging a rebellion,” I said as I took a step and staggered backward, gripping the bedpost.

  The doorknob jiggled and clicked, and a moment later, Malcolm stepped through, pushing a trolley laden with food.

  “What is that?” I asked, finding my mouth watering at the smell, but the sight of it caused me to draw back.

  “It’s best you don’t know. It tastes better than it looks, as I’m sure your nose is already telling you. I see you wrinkling it, so don’t try to deny it. Now, eat up,” he said as he pushed the nearest plate at me.

  I poked at something that resembled green jello laced with cat food and squeezed my eyes closed before opening my mouth.

  “You need to win the next field and then place in the top ten in the last field,” Malcolm said as he nudged a piece of black bread over.

  I shoved it in my mouth and chewed for a little longer than needed before responding, “Oh, that’s all? Why didn’t I think of that? For that matter, why didn’t I just take the place of that smashed piper today?”

  “I would not ask it of you if I did not think you could do it.” Malcolm pushed a couple of carrots at me and gave me his I’m your Master I know what’s best for you stare. I looked away, taking a sudden interest in the carrots.

  After a time, Malcolm stood and walked toward the window. “Your next challenge is the Field of Contention. I’ve been able to piece together some of what you’ll come across, but I cannot promise there won’t be additional surprises. We have come to the end of The Fields and the judges tend to have a wicked sense of humor.”

  I shook my head as Malcolm described the pure madness that was about to ensue. Ten Master Pipers were placed around the field. The five inside the field would be unknown, just like the innocents in the previous field. Unlike before, these board pieces could attack. All ten would be blasting out songs of battle, anger, rage, and revenge throughout the allotted time. We could not hit them with a song of any kind, whether on purpose or by accident. If we did, it meant immediate dismissal. That, however, was just the beginning.

  The second layer was an unknown number of pipers who went around playing songs of illusion. We would see people trying to kill us around every corner. At times, it could make us feel like we were in a real battle, complete with weapons, war drums, and the sight and smell of blood. Both of those, combined with our amped-up feelings, made the field a walking powder keg. It was fascinating and scary to think about. Walking around in an ever-changing sea of mass illusions.

  Lastly, as if that wasn’t hard enough, we were given a child to lead through the chaos. We must keep our charge calm by blocking them—and hopefully ourselves—from the illusions so we didn’t get pulled into the contention and lose sight of the goal: take out the other pipers.

  If I managed to get through the Field of Contention—which I was now starting to doubt—I would move on to the last field, simply called The Field. It was the final field for all the competing apprentices and Master Pipers alike. I’d not only be going against Master Pipers, but I’d be going against the best of the best. It would be a straight-out free-for-all. Though Malcolm could review past fields, they changed them every year, so it wouldn’t be much help. The end game w
as the same. Win, no matter what.

  I wished Malcolm would look back at me, see my fear, and tell me it was all going to be alright. I stared at his back willing him to tell me again he believed I could do this but he didn’t move. “I can do this,” I said, my voice cracking on can.

  He turned, a wry smile playing across his lips. “Yes, you can.”

  He patted my head and left without another word.

  I hugged my fears to myself. You did fine today. You’ll do okay tomorrow…you have to. Black snuck into the edge of my vision warning me of the coming crash. I glared at the light switch wishing I’d asked Malcolm to turn it off before he left. I sent one of the pillows flying but it fell far short of the wall much less the switch. Snap.

  Someone knocked softly on my door. Who is it? Should I open it or pretend to be asleep? I reached for my pipe. Another soft knock made my decision and I tiptoed to the door and glanced out the peephole.

  A bellhop in a crisp green uniform clutched a brown paper box. I opened the door.

  “Excuse me for bothering you at such a late hour. I saw your light on and the gentleman was most insistent you receive this tonight,” he said holding out the box.

  I hesitated watching him hold the box out awkwardly but made no move to take it. Was Malcolm being funny? Should I wake him and check?

  The bellhop sighed and started to put it on the ground when I continued to make no moves to take it. I finally responded and gingerly grabbed it before it touched the floor. “Thank you.”

  The bellhop nodded and hurried away, doing nothing to make me feel better about the mystery package. It’s just because it’s the middle of the night and he feels bad about disturbing me, I thought, trying to convince myself his actions weren’t odd. It felt light, almost empty. I wasn’t going to get any answer from staring at it in the hallway. I stepped back inside and shut the door.

  ”I’ll open it tomorrow,” I said to myself as I placed it on the nightstand.