In the Grip of Time

by Adam Jacob Burgess

  Alla’fyr smiled cruelly and vanished through another fiery distortion. Francesco faced the mural on the dome wall. He looked at the king holding hands with people, a symbol of unity. One of the figures in the painting was a smiling Magnarrian. Francesco stood closer until he was almost nose to nose with the figure.

  ‘You look too happy. I’mma see if I can’t do somethin’ about th’t.’

  His body morphed, first into a Magnarrian shape, and then back into an eagle. He shot out of the dome and screeched into the night air.

  Chapter 18: Fortitude

  The heat of summer had risen and fallen, and the trees altered from their bright green glow, briefly transforming into fiery red before settling on a warm orange. The Happy Hearth now basked in the autumnal light. It had been months since Sawwse and the others had returned to the inn with the unconscious Mirrah. The gnome sat at a table in the Hearth staring out of the window and trying to compose a letter to her elderly friend, Dannse Gan.

  ‘Did you ever have the joys of watching Elra rise over the horizon when you travelled?’ she wrote. ‘The trees are that colour now. They’re beautiful.’

  Sawwse had written to Dannse intermittently since leaving the Blue Forest. She’d never received a reply, and wasn’t even sure that the postal service would be able to find her former home, but it helped her to write out her thoughts. It’d been some time since her last letter. She’d started writing this particular letter numerous times, but somehow always found a way to put it off.

  ‘Things have been steady here at The Happy Hearth,’ she continued. ‘Corinne has whipped the landlord into shape (administratively speaking). I think she bombarded him with so many rules and regulations that he was forced to comply!’

  As a result of Corinne’s unwavering scrutiny the inn was much cleaner than it had ever been, the food tastier, and there were more, fairly paid, staff to deal with the extra demands - though Sawwse’s favourite change had to be that the hearth itself was actually lit once more. These improvements attracted company from local Rhyddinians and travellers alike, and this in turn brought more attention to the Actum Tempus guild. As a thank you, Grimiser moved the weekly adventurers’ guild meetings from the storage room into a hitherto disused dining room, with a long table and almost a full set of working chairs.

  Sawwse updated Dannse on her fellow guild mates. She told her that Vadania and Rangrim had become entwined in a hunter’s competition, each bringing a bigger, more ferocious beast back with them than the last. ‘Rangrim sulked for a whole week after Vadania arrived back at the guild, wearing fully-plated, wyvern skin armour, and dragging the body of said wyvern, apparently brought down by a single arrow (though we think she may have been teasing the gullible dwarf).’

  A large, stuffed rucksack caught Sawwse’s eye. It bobbed up and down outside the window as Ruby carried it into Rhyddinas’ marketplace. Sawwse waved at her friend as she went on her way and then added to her letter.

  Sawwse explained that Ruby had purchased a stall for her apothecary and filled it full of herbal remedies and potions. The business had been doing quite well, though Ruby had had to hide her stand on numerous occasions. This was mostly to get away from Corinne, who had been bothering her with advice about “business licenses,” “safe wares,” and whether her potions were “up to code.”

  ‘I think you’d really like to meet old dwarf Osrik,’ Sawwse wrote. ‘He’s yet to fully open up to me, but ply him with drinks and his tongue loosens a little. His stories remind me of you - though granted, they’re usually a bit gorier…’ She told Dannse that Osrik had helped to fill in some missing information in the Gnomeopedia, particularly about the other continents. ‘I’ll see every corner of the world with my own eyes one day, I’m sure of it.’

  There wasn’t much for her to say about Larn. He’d been absent from the guild since Sawwse and the others had returned from Zell. Convener remained as tight-lipped as ever (if horned masks can be said to have lips), about Larn but also about Mirrah, who remained out of view in the cellar. All he would tell Sawwse was that she was still unconscious and that he was still trying to uncouple her hand from the idol.

  ‘The others seem reluctant to talk about Mirrah, but I often find myself thinking of her,’ she wrote. ‘Whenever I do my chest feels, sort of, kind of, hollow and heavy at the same time, like it could burst wide open but reveal nothing at all. Did you ever have this feeling while you were out in the world?’

  Sawwse stared at the page and then crossed that last part out.

  ‘Anyway, you may as well feed this to the squirrels because I’ve been rambling as much as a gnome who’s licked a gnozzle bush. It’s time for my next music lesson and I cannot wait! The previous lessons have been spent honing the reception skill, but I’ve secretly been practicing imbuement too, don’t tell Con Duco!’

  The church bell chimed its half hour tune, and Sawwse grabbed her things together. She quickly finished her letter, letting Dannse know how much she missed her and that she looked forward to more stories on her return. Finally, she signed off, ‘I have the honour to be, your obedient servant, S. Bohge.’

  Sawwse put down her quill and licked the front of the letter, an unusual Gnomish custom that didn’t really have any relevance to letter-writing or sending. She checked that she had packed her lute, flute and drum into her bag, though she doubted she’d actually use them in Con Duco’s lesson, and left for Fifty-four Salthaz Lane, stopping along the way to hand her letter to the local post-badger.

  Outside the familiar green-tiled house, the gnome used the ornate lyre-knocker and waited patiently. As last time, the door opened to an inconsolable, sobbing young child and an unhappy parent.

  ‘This is an outrage, Duco. We pay you to teach Jiphonia how to play the piano, not to torment her,’ Jiphonia’s dad screamed into the house.

  ‘If Jiphonia could play one sequence without making me want to tear my ears off, maybe she’d not be so upset,’ Con Duco shouted back.

  Sawwse stood to the side, gesturing for five-year old Jiphonia and her father to pass. The tired-looking father pointed to his head.

  ‘He’s tapped,’ he said, before angrily walking off.

  When Sawwse entered the house, Con Duco was clomping down the stairs holding a score.

  ‘She can’t even deal with Ploum’s ‘Rondo for the End of the World’, for goodness sake. I gave her the reduced edition and everything. Never mind, never mind. Follow me, Sawwse Bohge, we will start our lesson in the kitchen today.’

  He slammed the sheets of music onto an already-too-high pile of papers, and entered a small door tucked away behind a double bass. Sawwse followed, but not before glancing at the music for Ploum’s Rondo: it was the most complex piece she had ever seen, seemingly designed for five hands.

  In the kitchen, Con Duco rooted around inside a cupboard. The room was baffling to the gnome. It was long and thin, with a similarly long and thin dining table taking up most of the space. The surfaces were no less free than the floor, this time from musical instruments and notes: a percussion section over the hob, a barrel organ in one corner and eleven thin violins sticking out of a wine rack.

  ‘Ah, here we go,’ Con Duco said, retrieving the lime green tea set.

  ‘Ooh are we going to drink Shi’areth tea again?’ Sawwse asked, delighted.

  Con Duco shoved the notes cluttering the dining table to one side, and placed the teapot and mugs down in their place.

  ‘Quite.’

  He then delicately moved the percussion instruments from the hob and brought a pan of water to heat.

  ‘That’s great, I’ve not had any since our first lesson.’

  ‘Unsurprising. Recently, Shi’areth exports have been getting pricier. I’m not sure what’s going on down there, but it certainly makes getting hold of tea more difficult.’

  The panda-faced man opened a drawer next to Sawwse and pulled out a small cloth bag.

  ‘This supply will have to kee
p me going for now. Right. While the water boils, come here.’

  Sawwse shuffled along the limited floor space until she was next to Con Duco at the dining table. He opened the cloth bag and offered it for her to smell.

  ‘Sniff gently,’ he warned.

  She followed his suggestion and gently breathed in the aroma from the bag. It was incredibly faint.

  ‘I can’t really smell anything.’

  ‘Not yet, no.’

  Con Duco smiled mischievously. He added two spoonfuls of tea to the pot. It looked like a fine powder of many different colours. Tying string around the bag, Con Duco placed it back in the drawer. The pan of water had begun to boil, so he took it to the teapot and slowly filled it.

  ‘Now, I want you to pour a sup of tea every eight bars of four beats.’

  Sawwse was unsure what her tutor was intending, but she nodded, ‘Okay.’

  They stood in silence while Con Duco counted each beat with a tap on the counter. At eight bars, the gnome poured a tiny amount of tea into one of the mugs. Con Duco gestured for her to drink it, while he kept the beat going.

  Sawwse sipped the tea. Again, there was not much of an aroma, and no discernible taste other than hot water.

  At the next two intervals, she felt much the same way. But after thirty-two bars, the tea took on an increasingly bitter and sour mixture of flavours. It was like the occasional unripened apple that Ruby pilfered from the woods.

  The smells and tastes became sweeter, richer, deeper after sixty-four bars, and after counting out precisely eighty bars, Con Duco asked Sawwse to pour two full mugs of tea.

  The gnome raised the tea to her nose and breathed in deeply.

  ‘Ahh, blueberries and honey.’

  ‘Apple and mint. Delicious. Thank you for preparing the tea.’

  Sawwse performed a short bow. When she raised her head, she asked, ‘Is this part of the lesson?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Con Duco rummaged through the notes on the table and pulled out a small metal thimble. He held it up to Sawwse, before pausing and counting out a further sixteen bars. Taking up the teapot, he poured the last sup of tea into the thimble and offered it to the gnome.

  Sawwse held it up in the air and said, ‘Squibal.’ She’d taken to making up Gnomish toasting words to confuse the other guild-members. The old man watched her drink the over-brewed tea, amusement playing across his eyes.

  ‘Eurgh!’

  The gnome tried hard not to gag.

  ‘It tastes like rotten fruit.’

  Con Duco handed her the blueberry and honey tea, which she used to rinse out her mouth, scalding her lip in the process.

  ‘You see, the Shi’areth know the power of imbuement. Too little, and the taste doesn’t carry through, too much, and you overload the senses. The same is true of music. When imbued and shaped properly, it can communicate feelings and emotions to even the most heavy-hearted or closed-minded.’

  Sawwse rubbed her gums with her index finger. She started to speak with her mouth full.

  ‘Awhil ago I methtwo sholdgers inna trwee.’

  The tutor grabbed the gnome’s sleeve and yanked her arm down.

  ‘Oh, sorry. A while ago I met two soldiers in a tree. They had been magicked, and were in a bad way. I sang them a lullaby that I know, which put them to sleep. The same thing happened with a Rhinoholm we stopped from crushing a village.’

  Con Duco’s eyes widened.

  ‘A Rhinoholm? You put it to sleep with your voice alone?’

  Sawwse explained that Corinne had amplified her lungs.

  ‘Intriguing. Yes, this is imbuement in a basic form. The issue is whether or not you imbued too much or too little. Not enough, and the Rhinoholm has a quick snooze before stomping ahead once more.’

  Realising what Con Duco was about to say, the gnome clutched her heart, hoping it wasn’t true.

  ‘Too much, and you’ve placed those soldiers in an inescapable coma.’

  Sawwse knew this not to be the case. A cleric had visited the soldiers shortly after the lullaby, and there was no way she had enough power to do that yet. Still, it was disquieting.

  ‘This is the power of imbuement and why it is essential that it is used correctly. Picture singing in an opera. You’ll need to hold sway over hundreds of people, twisting their emotions to follow the narrative throughout. It is not unheard of for riots to start at operas. All you need is a particularly unskilled prima donna or primo uomo to send the audience’s emotions out of control.’

  Con Duco took up his mug of tea and drew in a deep breath, before supping it blissfully.

  ‘But when imbued correctly, there is nothing quite like it.’

  The tutor and his pupil finished their drinks, before heading upstairs to the music room. Sawwse was surprised once more that this single room was completely free of clutter, an oasis from the claustrophobic space downstairs.

  They sat cross-legged opposite each other in the centre of the room.

  ‘Now, let’s see. Sing me a note, and channel my feeling,’ Con Duco said, stroking his chin.

  Sawwse closed her eyes and once again imagined the pool of still water. As she sang, the water rippled and she focussed on its shapes and colours. Sensing consternation and frustration, she varied the pitch of her singing. The notes she sang became shorter, sharper, attacking the air. A few moments more and the frustration seemed to fade, dissolving into melancholy. She softened her voice and slowed the pace, switching to a minor key.

  When she opened her eyes again, Sawwse saw that Con Duco’s hand was raised.

  ‘Very well. It looks like you have practiced-’

  The gnome wore a smug grin, which faded rather quickly as the teacher continued.

  ‘-to an extent. However, you have a ways to go. You have the power to be receptive, but you lack subtlety. Still, there is enough of a baseline for you to begin learning imbuement properly.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Sawwse responded, conviction shining in her eyes.

  ‘The first, and perhaps most important, feeling that you will wish to invoke is: satisfaction. This underlines every other emotion when performing as an artist. The audience should be as satisfied with the music as they are when they finish a delicious three-course meal.’

  ‘Emmeline Flowerdew talks of the subjective nature of music,’ Sawwse replied, puzzled.

  Con Duco hesitated before responding.

  ‘Alternative schools of thought exist, of course.’

  He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he stood and walked over to the piano. He lifted the lid and brushed the backs of his fingers against the keys.

  ‘Now, I’m going to play a melody. Sing it back to me as best you can.’

  Con Duco quickly played a simple tune, a childish theme. A beat, and Sawwse sang the melody back with perfect pitch.

  ‘Remember your method of reception.’

  The gnome pictured the still pool of water again.

  ‘Sing the melody back to me once more, but this time shape the notes with happiness.’

  With her eyes shut and the pool of water focussed in her mind’s eye, Sawwse began to sing the melody. The water rippled as she sang. The ripples shimmered a warm, hazy glow. At the end of the line, she opened her eyes.

  ‘Not quite,’ Con Duco said, stony-faced.

  Shutting her eyes once again, she conjured the image of the water. The rippling began again as she sang, but this time she stopped them in their place. Instead, the notes became shimmering bubbles in her mental picture. Each bubble contained a happy memory. She imagined these bubbles spraying from her mouth and popping happiness everywhere they touched.

  ‘Hah! You’ve got it.’

  Con Duco beamed with delight from his piano stool. ‘What an incredibly quick learner,’ he thought, as he regained his composure. Meanwhile, Sawwse repeated the tune, hoping to make her tutor laugh. Instead, he looked at the gnome seriously and held up his palm. By now, she
knew that this was a cue to stop singing.

  ‘I won’t lie, it is impressive that you are able to do this so quickly-’

  Sawwse began to fist-pump the air exaggeratedly.

  ‘However. This only means we can advance slightly faster than planned. Each of us in this world has a kind of will or fortitude or inner spirit. This fortitude is usually only referenced when one is doing something courageous. Most people and creatures forget that it sits within you at all times. The strength of this spirit becomes important when playing music at the highest level. Try your melody again.’

  The gnome did as she was asked, but was met by a solemn face.

  ‘I have solidified my fortitude and you will now struggle to sway me with your music, no matter how well imbued it is. This was going to be for our next session, but let’s see how strong your will is.’

  Con Duco spun back around to the piano and began to bash the keys: left hand striking loud chords, the right interweaving melodies. Waves of fear began to wash over Sawwse. The room seemed to shrink and grow, shadows took on shapes of strange monsters.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Con Duco called out. ‘Focus your mind, stop this from affecting you.’

  Sawwse tried to close her mind to the fear, but she couldn’t stop it from flowing over her. She began to sink into the floor, until she cowered with her hands on her head.

  DUNNNNNNNNN

  ‘Concentrate. This is a battle. My imbuement versus your fortitude. Let’s try again.’

  This time, Con Duco played a much quieter, slower melody, satisfied that he had wiped the smug grin from Sawwse’s face. In turn, Sawwse closed her eyes and imagined Con Duco’s notes as bubbles floating down into her pool of water. As they were absorbed by the water, she found that she began to snicker, and then giggle, and then laugh.

  ‘Perhaps you aren’t as talented as I first thought.’

  Sawwse’s resolve hardened at her teacher’s words. ‘That’s it,’ she thought. She began to imagine the pool of water freezing over, until it was a gleaming mirror. The bubbles hit the mirror and bounced off. The gnome smiled at her tutor triumphantly.