Coffee & Composition Part 1

by A. C. Ellas

  For a moment, George just stared at him. Then, the man stood up. “I’ll be right back.” He vanished into the house.

  Yeri looked up at the stars again. The melody continued to thread through the back of his mind. Soon, he would capture it and set its loveliness down in notes the world could read. Stars are like music, he thought dreamily, they are both a beauty that speaks to the soul, regardless of the shape or species of the body containing it.

  George returned more quickly that Yeri had hoped. The man set the requested supplies in Yeri’s lap then sat down on the blanket beside him. “I also brought a flashlight, in case you need it.”

  Yeri glanced to his left, at the westering moon. “There’s enough light, for now, master, but thank you.” He put the glasses on, opened the notebook to a blank page, picked up the pencil, and started placing the notes on the staff.

  George watched him for a time then scooted closer and gathered Yeri against his warm body. Yeri sighed happily as he relaxed against George and the melody poured through his mind and then onto the paper. In time, the melody was complete. Yeri set the notebook aside, tucking the pencil into the spiral edge. He set his glasses atop the notebook then turned toward George and pressed himself against the man’s warmth, seeking nothing more than closeness.

  George laid them both down, careful to keep Yeri in contact with the blanket, but he kept his arms wrapped around Yeri and his body pressed close.

  * * * *

  George awoke stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard ground. He tried not to groan as he shifted away from Yeri, not wanting to disturb the Rovani. Or let him know how soft I am, he thought sheepishly. He sat up then glanced down at his still sleeping friend. Yeri looked better this morning in some undefinable way. Sasha was right about him, George realized.

  He stretched then reached for the notebook. He didn’t have Rovani eyes, so he’d been unable to read what his partner had written last night. He opened the notebook and flipped through the pages of music until he reached the most recent entry. He felt tears welling up in his eyes as he scanned the score. Yeri had a gift for melody, but this was beautiful beyond anything the Rovani had written before.

  He glanced up as a shadow fell across him.

  “Good morning, sir,” said Devlin. “I saw you were awake, so I took the liberty of bringing you both some coffee.”

  “Thank you, Devlin,” George said, properly grateful for the morning brew. He reached down and rubbed Yeri’s left, uninjured shoulder. “Wake up, Yeri. Coffee.”

  “Coffee?” Yeri smiled but didn’t move.

  George rubbed him again. “Come on, kitty cat. Sit up.”

  “Must I?” Yeri protested mildly, but he also started moving, gathering himself into a sitting position. He winced several times as his chest protested and he ended up leaned against George’s side.

  Devlin handed George his mug, and George took an appreciative sniff as the steam wreathed him.

  Yeri was served next; he sighed in contentment as he accepted the mug and murmured, “Thank you very much, master.”

  After that first, life-saving sip, George tapped the notebook. “Yeri, you’ve outdone yourself. I don’t think you’ve ever written anything this beautiful before.”

  “Hmm,” Yeri commented noncommittally, which George knew was typical of him. Yeri was his own worst critic, and he always held the first draft of a melody as highly suspect and needing improvement. This time, George didn’t think the melody could be improved.

  When Yeri held a hand out, George handed him the notebook. Yeri set his coffee down, put his glasses on, and started to read the notebook.

  Devlin sat down on the edge of the blanket, gaze switching from Yeri to George and back. “Yeri wrote a new song?”

  “He did. Last night, by moonlight,” George confirmed. He glanced at Yeri and smiled a little before adding, “He woke up at two in the morning and demanded the notebook.”

  Yeri blinked then ducked his head. “I’m sorry, master. I had no idea what time it was.”

  George took another sip of his coffee before he said, “It’s okay, Yeri. I didn’t mind.” Pointedly, he tapped the notebook again. “What do you think?”

  “It could stand some improvement, master,” Yeri said levelly.

  “I think it’s perfect,” George countered.

  Yeri gave him a sideways glance, the one that said he completely disagreed but didn’t care to argue about it.

  “Can I hear it?” Devlin asked quietly, looking at Yeri.

  Yeri shrugged a shoulder and hummed the melody line an octave below what he’d written since he’d written it in the treble clef and he was a baritone.

  “That’s lovely,” Devlin affirmed once Yeri fell silent.

  “I like it even more in the lower register.” George took another sip of coffee.

  “Me, too.” Yeri studied the music, absently sipping his coffee. “I’ll need to work on this inside, master.”

  “You can’t go inside,” George informed him. “Sasha laid down the law on that last night. You need the earth energy to heal your infection. He was worried that you might die, otherwise.”

  Yeri blinked again, so surprised that George sensed it clearly. “Oh. I see.” He looked down at the notebook and sighed. “It will have to wait, then, won’t it, master.”

  “Yes.” George stroked the leg pressed against his own. “Hungry?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “I’ll bring breakfast,” Devlin offered.

  “Please do. Thank you. Bring his meds, too, including the pain medicine.” George smiled at the man then stood and stretched. “I’ll be right back. Yeri, stay here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Yeri watched George rapidly stride into the house. He understood it, he also felt an urgent need to relieve himself and hoped he wouldn’t be expected to that out here, too. To distract himself, he turned his attention back to the star music of last night. He hummed it again, listening with a critical ear. There was one place that caught his attention. It wasn’t that the note was wrong, but it felt... incomplete.

  He closed his eyes and recalled the music to himself. Having the melody was usually enough to bring the entirety of it back to mind, and he quickly realized his error. I only wrote one melody line. This is a fugue. He imagined the melody starting anew and down the scale a fifth at the place where it felt incomplete and nodded. It meshed perfectly, the notes complementing each other rather than competing for the ear’s attention.

  Internal agitation caused him to glance sharply at the house. Nobody was out there, nobody was nearby. Nobody to stop me. He set the notebook aside, removed his glasses and set them atop the notebook again. Then he stood. Or rather, tried to stand. A strangled cry was wrested from him as the pain of his burns reminded him sharply of their debilitated state.

  He found himself back on the ground, panting for air as the world spun about him. Stubbornly, he gathered himself, gasping as his chest protested that, too. He lurched to his feet a second time. The wave of dizziness that passed over him had him clutching the trunk of the oak tree for support. He blinked at the bark of the tree. He’d been nowhere close to it when he’d tried to stand. How? He shook his head, setting off another series of rapid spins of the world around him.

  “What on earth are you doing, Yeri?” Taiki’s voice was exasperated, his scent worried.

  “Trying to stand, master,” Yeri gasped out.

  “You’re not well enough to stand up,” Taiki countered. “Let me help you back to the blanket.”

  “Master, please. Bathroom.” He hoped Taiki would accept that reason. Besides, he did need to pee.

  “Ah.” Understanding and sympathy flooded Taiki’s scent then the man was beside him, supporting him. Yeri gratefully leaned against Taiki and let the man lead him toward the kitchen. It wasn’t comfortable or easy, but they made it. Marra and Devlin both gaped at them as they walked through the open sliding door. “Bathroom,” Tai
ki said shortly.

  Devlin abandoned what he was doing, came up to Yeri’s other side, and deftly assisted them the rest of the way to the plain, utilitarian bathroom Yeri had preferred to use since they’d first moved into this house. It contained nothing but a toilet and a sink. The humans did not leave him at the door but bore him right inside. Taiki removed his wrap then asked, “Just pee?”

  Yeri considered then shook his head. “Both.”

  “Fine,” said Taiki. They sat him on the toilet. “Call when you’re done.” Devlin and Taiki backed out, closing the door most of the way.

  Grateful to be allowed that much privacy, Yeri did what he needed to, then wiped himself, then contemplated standing up on his own to wash his hands. Grimly, he realized he couldn’t manage it. It hurt too much. “Master,” he called softly.

  Taiki appeared immediately, followed by Devlin. They stood him up and eased him to the sink. Yeri washed his hands quickly then it was a reverse of the process to bring him inside. Step by trembling step, the two humans supported him and steadied him until they reached the blanket spread under the oak tree and eased him down onto it.

  “Thank you, masters.”

  Taiki smiled and ruffled his mane. “Any time, Yeri.”

  “Breakfast won’t be long,” Devlin informed them then marched back into the kitchen, passing George in the process.

  Taiki sat down beside Yeri as George rejoined them. “Good morning, George,” the keyboardist offered.

  “Good morning, Taiki.” George’s gaze swung to Yeri, he frowned, concern coloring his scent. “What happened?”

  “He needed to use the bathroom. It’s been taken care of.” Taiki shrugged then glanced at the notebook. “A new song?”

  “Yes, master,” Yeri murmured. He looked up at George and admitted, “I really want to spend time in the music room, master. The song is haunting me now.”

  George sighed and sat down. He gathered Yeri’s hands into his. Yeri always enjoyed feeling the hot, strong, callused hands touching him. “You have to stay outside, Yeri. I’ve told you why.”

  “But the music...” Yeri trailed off and sighed, looking down. He had never really spoken about what it felt like when the music filled him to the bursting point, demanding to be let out. When he did mention it, he couched it in humorous terms, shielding his soul from scrutiny as best he could even though he trusted George implicitly. Years ago, George had jokingly called it the muse frenzy. It remained an apt description, but the frenzy had changed over time. Now, it wasn’t enough just to capture the melody. Now, Efterpi drove him to finish the work and present it to her in its full completeness.

  “What in the music room do you actually need?” asked Taiki, breaking the silence.

  Yeri glanced at him from beneath his eyelashes. It was possible the empath felt something of the need driving him. “The keyboard, master, and the puter.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, master.” Yeri looked past Taiki, and his heart gave a funny little leap as Ellie walked out of the house with Lee in her arms. A moment later, Sasha followed the pair.

  Ellie walked up first. “Good morning, everyone.” She sat down gracefully on the air mattress and shifted the baby so he was sitting, supported, in her lap. She glanced at Yeri; he could smell her concern and remorse. “Are you feeling better, Yeri?”

  “Yes, mistress.” He yearned to reach out and take Lee from her, but he forced himself to remain still. Lee was her baby, not his.

  Sasha sat down on the edge of the blanket, and Yeri turned his attention to the healer. Sasha was looking at him closely, but his gaze was unfocused. Yeri realized what he was doing and tried to follow along mentally. He couldn’t make the contact, couldn’t catch much more than traces of Sasha’s probe.

  “Only another healer can follow what I’m doing,” Sasha told him absently. “For you, it would be like trying to hear a painting.” His eyes focused abruptly, and he smiled at Yeri before turning to George. “He’s much improved. Another day or two out here and he’ll have the infection licked. I’d like to spend more time healing him after breakfast. I’ll work on him daily until his body is healed.”

  “Thank you so much for helping him. It was so horrible to see him brought down by a mere nail and a mistake.” Ellie’s sincerity caused Yeri to glance at her anew. Something had changed, the animosity was gone. Cautiously, he reached out and touched her knee. She smiled and set her hand on his.

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” Sasha grinned. “It’s obvious that everyone here cares for him a great deal. He is worth my time to aid, and I am happy to give him all the help I can.”

  Devlin and Marra appeared, carrying platters. “It’s a beautiful morning,” Marra announced. “So, I thought we could all eat out here.”

  In short order, a picnic blanket had been spread out, and abundant food and drink were passed about. Yeri took his pills between mouthfuls of hot, seared meats, not to mention eggs, yogurt, and sausages. Yeri wondered at his intense hunger even as he did his best to appease it.

  George noticed, of course. “You act as if you haven’t eaten in a week,” he teased, even as he dumped more sausages into Yeri’s bowl.

  Sasha approved of Yeri’s hearty appetite. “It’s very good to see that you’re so hungry, Yeri. You need the fuel. What I do, healing you, it takes your body’s resources. My psi encourages your body to heal much faster than it normally would, but this takes a toll on you. Also, even though you pull energy from the earth, it still takes your own energy to draw it up, contain it, and make it yours. It takes your energy for you to feed the earth power to me, too. Psi isn’t magic. It isn’t free. Psi uses energy, your body’s energy, just like running and dancing and playing music do.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Yeri thought about it. “Is it fair to say that psi is energy?”

  “Yes, I think so. A peculiar sort of energy, but what else could it be? It’s not physical, it has no mass, no matter.”

  “Not on the macro scale,” Yeri corrected. The floaty feeling he associated with pain medication was lowering his inhibitions, causing him to say what normally he would only think. “But at the quantum level, everything, including psi, is measurable.”

  Sasha’s intense surprise caused Yeri to glance up from his sausages. Ellie shook her head and smiled ruefully. Sasha asked, “And what would a Rovani slave know of quantum physics?”

  “He has a bachelor’s degree in quantum physics and is currently working on a master’s degree.” George smelled as proud as he sounded. “Yeri’s very, very smart. He’s also a very talented musician and composer. Listen to this,” George picked up the notebook and proceeded to hum the melody that Yeri was working on. “He wrote that last night.”

  “You wrote this?” Sasha asked after looking at the notebook. “Yourself? With your own hand?”

  Yeri knew what the man was asking. He held up his reading glasses. “Yes, master. Rovania can’t read because we’re not taught to read. We can’t see the words on the page because we’re far-sighted not because we can’t comprehend them.”

  “So simple, and yet, profound.” Sasha shook his head. “But, physics? Why?”

  “Physics is like philosophy but with math to back it up,” Yeri said wryly. “It’s also like music. The stars sing, you know?”

  Sasha looked at the music again.

  “Yeri is the only known Rovani composer,” Taiki told him. “He’s also the only Rovani with college degrees—he got a degree in music theory, too.”

  George stroked Yeri’s left shoulder. “Sometimes, I really hate the Breedmasters.”

  “They set their inhibitions deeply,” Taiki agreed with a sympathetic glance toward Yeri.

  George shrugged. “I’ve been trying to break the inhibitions the Lineage set in him for years now, with only mixed success.”

  “Why?” Sasha looked genuinely curious.

  “Because he’s my friend and my partner.
He deserves better than what the law permits him. He’s no more an animal than you or I. If I could free him, I would.” George gestured to the house. “All of this is as much because of him as it is because of my inheritance. He’s the creative force behind our band; his is the music the fans adore.”

  “He writes most of the music we play—just the music, George writes the lyrics,” said Taiki.

  George stroked Yeri’s mane again as he nodded. Sometimes, people acted surprised that George was so willing to admit Yeri’s role in their music as if it were something George should be ashamed of. Some even accused him of exploiting Yeri’s talents. Worst were the ones who thought that George wrote all the music and only claimed it to be Yeri’s as a publicity stunt. But Yeri knew that George wasn’t trying to exploit his race or his music, George had no interest in trying to claim it was his when it wasn’t. George was as proud of Yeri’s talents as he was of his own abilities and felt credit should be given where it was due.

  “I’ve heard your band’s music, of course.” Sasha shook his head. “Knowing this, I think it’s even more imperative now that I finish healing him.” He glanced at Yeri. “Do you like music, then?”

  “I love music, master.” Yeri’s reply was prompt but brief. Yeri rarely spoke of how he felt about music. It was his life, but it was also his weakness. It was so easy for something to be taken from one who had no power. Silence was protection, even though he knew George would never do that to him.

  * * * *

  After breakfast, once everything had been cleared away, Sasha had Yeri lay back down on the wool blanket. “As before, my friend, I need you to pull the energy from deep below and feed it to me.”

  “Friend?” Yeri smiled at him, an expression that warmed his emerald eyes. “I am your friend?”

  “Of course,” Sasha told him. He touched the left shoulder, idly stroking the soft, silky fur. “I am proud to consider you my friend.”

  Yeri touched his hand. “Thank you, master. Can I call you my friend, as well?”

  “Of course, you can.” Sasha focused his attention on the wound because he could sense that Yeri was about to humble himself, probably by offering to serve him sexually, and that just wouldn’t do. He undid the bandage. The wound looked better, but there was much still to do. He touched it and concentrated, imagining the cells dividing, knitting, growing in thick bands of muscle, spreading in an even, healthy, fur-bearing layer of skin rather than as the scar tissue that wanted to form.