Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  In front of Will, it was only Conlan’s physical reaction that indicated that anything was happening. The bells on his Idiot’s hat jingled as he gasped and staggered a couple of steps before collapsing to his knees. Wrapping his arms around his stomach, Conlan groaned, then dropped to his side. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he twitched and jerked, biting down on the harsh sobs that wanted to escape around his gasping breaths. Several minutes of watching Conlan writhe seemed like an eternity for Will. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when the last of his energy came free. One last release of energy exploded out of him, rushing through the stream, wiping out everything in its path.

  Will pulled his string back, taking hold of his remaining energy, wincing as it stabbed around his insides, but managing to wrestle it back under control, safe for the moment. As the tension left Will’s body, Conlan also relaxed, laying still. Eleanor ran to his side, dropping to her knees next to him. On rubbery legs Will moved to his other side and knelt, feeling his neck for a pulse, giving Eleanor a reassuring smile when he found one.

  “Conlan?” she whispered, reaching a trembling hand out to touch his slack features. The bright red smile of the Idiot plastered onto his face mocked her distress. Frozen, Freddie and Amelia watched, sharing concerned looks. With a shudder, Conlan opened his eyes and looked up at Eleanor.

  “Not glowing?” he asked, his voice flattened by the exhaustion Will could see in his trembling limbs.

  Eleanor gave him a relieved smile. “No, not glowing.”

  Conlan shuddered again. “Good. I don’t think I could take much more of that.” Pushing up with his arms and legs, he managed to get onto all fours before he collapsed again with a snarl of frustration. Freddie rushed forward and, slipping a shoulder under Conlan’s arm, pulled him to his feet.

  “Don’t let go,” Conlan murmured, swaying slightly, the bells on his hat tinkling.

  “I’ve got you. Take it slowly,” Freddie said. “Come on, let’s walk it off a little.” With a steady, deliberate pace, Freddie walked backwards and forwards. Taking deep breaths and halting steps, Conlan did his best to keep up. Will watched them, using his apparent interest to hide the fact that he was struggling to marshal enough strength to get himself back to his feet.

  “Feeling better?” Amelia asked, as Conlan released Freddie and took a few steps on his own.

  “Yes. We need to go back to the camp,” Conlan said, turning abruptly and heading back the way they had come.

  “Men and their pride,” Eleanor muttered, running to catch Conlan up, slipping her hand into his.

  “You’re welcome,” Freddie called after him, shaking his head as he followed.

  Will watched them go, hoping Amelia might follow them, but she came to stand in front of him, smiling down at him. There was no other way out—he was going to have to lie. Feeling worthless, a cold chill spreading through his body, Will looked up and smiled.

  “Are you getting up?” Amelia asked.

  “If I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh?”

  Confused, Amelia nodded.

  Dropping his head so that she would not see the guilt in his eyes, Will lied. “I’ve got pins and needles in my foot. I’m going to need help getting up.”

  With not even a hint of a smile on her face, Amelia stooped to help him up.

  “Silly bear,” she said, taking his hand as they walked back to the camp.

  Will felt a strange sort of relief as they moved out of the forest and onto the main road that would take them almost directly north, around the Central Tower, and then through the mountains, heading east along the North Tower Road. Being constantly surrounded by trees had begun to make him feel claustrophobic. Being able to see the horizon, to see for miles into the distance, was a unique pleasure he had missed.

  Will had helped Conlan map out the route while the others had packed up their camp. There were thirty-five villages and towns between where they were and where the road branched off over the mountains, and Conlan wanted to avoid as many as possible until they had no choice. His plan had been to time their travelling so that sunset caught them between the town they had just passed through and the one they were travelling to. That way they would not risk their disguises by having to demonstrate their rather poor player skills until there was time to practice a bit more.

  Recently, Will had avoided giving himself time to think, but as he rode Meran out in front of their convoy, his blue Sage robe a weight he was slowly getting used to, he allowed his mind to wander, testing the limits of his calm as he considered how close he had come to disaster. What if Kip or Elroy, or any of them, had been filling their water pouches when I released my energy at that stream? For the first time, Will considered how dangerous he was getting. I need to find a way to force my control. I just need more time. It was only when he was completely drained of energy that Will was truly able to relax. He had tried controlled releases, but they had been far more powerful than he had expected; they would not be safe in the populated areas they were moving into. He had tried pushing his energy into the blue diamond on his talisman, but the chalice still carried the large dent from that attempt; he just did not have the precision and focus needed for the task. He could always tell Eleanor or Freddie and ask them to drain his energy down… There has to be a way to make this safe without me having to beg the others to neuter me, he thought with a black humour that made him grimace.

  A burst of laughter from Kip made Will jump, giving him a momentary irrational fear that they could see his thoughts somehow. Behind him, dressed as the archetype of the Orphan, his clothes stylised rags, Arran rode Horse with the ridged uncertainty of someone new to the practice. Next to him, Kip rode his mule, giving Arran gentle encouragement, the tone of their friendly conversation reaching Will although their words did not. Their two carts plodded along after Arran and Kip, driven by Elroy and Mickle through the warm afternoon, completing their strange convoy. Conlan was sat on the roof of the first cart, as it allowed him a good view of the road they travelled and the surrounding area; it was also a position that lent him a certain aura of idiosyncrasy in keeping with the Idiot—an aura he seemed to want to cultivate. Maybe it’s helping him get in character, Will thought, amused.

  The main road was crowded in comparison to the tracks they normally took, with merchants and travellers passing them regularly. Many eyes that fell on them looked confused or suspicious, some even disgusted. Are players this badly thought of? It was not until the end of the day, when they began looking for a place to camp, that Will realised their mistake. They were passing a wagon carrying beer barrels travelling in the opposite direction. At the reins sat a large, solid man, in the rough clothes of a farmer. Sat next to him, wide eyed, was a pretty little girl of maybe six or seven.

  “Father, why are the players not playing?” the girl asked, disappointed. The farmer shook his head, giving the carts a brief glance.

  “I do not know, Tamlin,” the man replied, sounding a little confused. “Perhaps they are very tired.”

  As the wagon disappeared into the distance, the truth of the girl’s words hit Will. Nearly all the players he had ever seen whilst travelling around Mydren had always been advertising their skills. They juggled, sang, played instruments and performed acrobatics as they moved from town to town. To pull off their disguise, Conlan’s travelling plan was not going to work. They were going to have to learn the ways of the players—fast. Turning in Meran’s saddle, Will looked up at Conlan and saw the understanding on his face. Things had suddenly got very complicated.

  They made camp early, in a gully some distance from the road. Having listened and tentatively agreed to Eleanor and Elroy’s new play, Conlan sent their designated archetypes off to practice. Tradition dictated that the main parts were taken by Amelia as the Mother, Eleanor as the Maiden, Freddie as the Hero and Davlin as the Catalyst, with Elroy acting as their ‘director’ until they got the hang of it. Fortunately, the Mother and the Maiden were often not speaking parts, so they could
get away with Amelia whispering into the ear of Davlin, in a shy, demure way, and Davlin then repeating the information she was supposedly giving back to the Hero. This got around the issue of Amelia not being able to speak Dwarfish very well.

  Given Freddie’s less than perfect Dwarfish, Eleanor had suggested that Davlin take over the role of Hero, but with an uncomfortable look on his face, Davlin had flat out refused, and Freddie had looked hurt by the suggestion. Freddie wanted the role of Hero; he insisted that he would practice his Dwarfish and that his current knowledge was good enough for simple sentences and declarations. So to give him time to practice, they gave the big expository speeches to either Davlin or Elroy, who would act as narrators.

  Will knew there was a bit part for the Sage, but that it was nothing too onerous. While he was expected to be seen on stage, his main role was ensuring that everything ran smoothly, cues were made and the audience kept happy. Whatever the bit part was, it could wait.

  First they had to sort out the music. Moylan and Teris had brought the instruments Remic had provided and laid them out. There were two recorder-like instruments, lots of drums, tambourines and cymbals and what looked like a piano accordion. Surveying the possibilities, Conlan smiled slightly before turning to look at his remaining men. Mickle, Moylan, Teris, Arran and Kip watched him with mounting apprehension.

  “So, can any of you play an instrument?” Conlan asked. Five heads shook in unison. Conlan shrugged. “Neither can I, but how hard can it be?” This rhetorical question was met with sceptical silence. “Moylan,” Conlan continued. “Show me your foot work when you lunge. Slowly, please.” Confused, Moylan raised his hand, holding out an imaginary sword, and took three sliding half-steps quickly forward, thrusting with his arm, then took three equally distanced half-steps back.

  “Thank you. When you were learning those steps, how did you ensure you got the right number at the right speed?” Conlan asked.

  “I counted,” Moylan said, without hesitation.

  Conlan nodded. “Please show us again, a few times, and add in the counts, out loud.”

  Still looking confused, as did his audience, Moylan raised his imaginary sword once more, and this time as he moved forward and back, he counted out the moves. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two three… Will smiled as he realised what he was listening to. It was someone counting out a waltz.

  “It is a rhythm,” Arran murmured. “Like dancing.”

  Conlan smiled. “Exactly right, Arran. Someone once told me that all music starts with a rhythm, a beat—and if that beat is faster than your heartbeat, the music is dramatic or cheerful. If it is slower than your heartbeat, the music will be mournful or romantic. If we are going to play music, we start with the beat and then fit the notes and song around it; and you have all been counting out beats for a while now.” Smiles and understanding reached faces as they realised this might not be the impossible task they had thought it would be. The explanation was simplistic, but Will knew Conlan had purposely made it so, made it easy for them to build their confidence. “Everyone find an instrument you can beat out a rhythm on,” Conlan instructed. “I want you to practice, on your own and in small groups to begin with, keep the rhythms you try steady and simple, see if you can fit any songs you already know to them.”

  There was a scrabble for the drums, tambourines and cymbals. Soon the air was filled with a jarring cacophony. It was nothing more than an unpleasant racket. Will could imagine a bunch of toddlers given access to an orchestra’s percussion section making a similar din. Will felt someone was watching him; sweeping his energy out on reflex, he smiled.

  “I think they need more practice,” Eleanor said in English, loud enough to be heard over the noise.

  “They have tonight,” Will replied, glancing back at Eleanor, who frowned. She looked like she was about to say more when she spotted the accordion. Moving forward, she picked the heavy instrument up off the ground, and after a moment struggling with the straps, she managed to get the harness on, leaning back slightly so it did not drag her to the ground. She unclipped the accordion part and slipped her hand through the strap so she could expand and contract the bellows. Then, taking a deep breath, she gave it a couple of silent experimental squeezes in and out, getting a feel for it. Her tongue protruding out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated, Eleanor slowly moved the accordion in and out, pushing each individual thin, white, identical key on the two keyboards, one on top of the other, with her right hand as she did. Straining to hear over the ongoing racket behind her, Will could just make out the distinct notes. She then switched to pressing the rows of little buttons under her left hand, and the bass notes filled the air.

  As she moved her fingers up and down, Will could see Eleanor trying to match the note’s range to a structure she recognised. He smiled as he identified ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’. Her eyes closed, her focus solely on the sound she was making, Eleanor moved on to several different short pieces he did not know. Will had expected the music to sound like it came from a merry-go-round or a clichéd French movie, but the melody Eleanor was teasing from the instrument sounded more like a church organ. She had moved on from her experiments and, now that she seemed to have found the range she was looking for, the notes of ‘Für Elise’ danced through the air. She made a lot of mistakes, hitting some chords that made Will cringe, but it was quite obviously Beethoven’s classic.

  When she finished her rendition, eyes still closed, more confident in her ability and the sound she was making, Eleanor began again at the beginning, pushing harder on the bellows for a louder sound. The clattering and clanking behind them faded as the music reached the other ‘musicians’ and they turned to listen. Despite the odd wrong note, it was beautiful, and Eleanor’s audience were transfixed. As the piece came to an end again, silence fell for a moment, then clapping erupted. Eleanor spun round, the weight of the accordion nearly pulling her to the ground, a shy smile spreading across her face. Conlan strode over, the look in his eyes a mixture of pride, joy and surprise. Ignoring the men stood around them, he slipped behind her to avoid the unwieldy instrument strapped to her chest and gathered Eleanor into his arms, kissing her neck and cheek. His English was soft when he spoke.

  “Your music is amazing.”

  Eleanor shrugged with difficulty against the harness. “Who would have thought twelve years of piano lessons would be useful for something?”

  Conlan smiled. “Is there anything you don’t know how to do?”

  Eleanor gave him a slightly peeved look. “Yes, fire an arrow and swear in Dwarfish. Want to teach me?”

  Conlan gave her a smirk before getting serious again. “Can you teach my men to play this thing?”

  “Once I’ve had a little more practice, yes. One or two of them, maybe.”

  Conlan kissed her again and Eleanor turned her head so he caught her firmly on the lips. He lingered over the kiss; Will was surprised when it was Eleanor who pulled away.

  “Conlan, as much as I’m enjoying this, the heavy contraption that’s currently attached to me is going to pull me over if I don’t get it off soon.”

  Chuckling, Conlan helped her remove the instrument, placing it carefully on the ground.

  “Not that I’m criticising your timing, but did you want something?” Will asked Eleanor as Conlan moved back to his men and the boisterous banging and clanging started up again with renewed enthusiasm.

  “Elroy sent me to get you so he could go through your lines with you,” Eleanor said, moving closer to be heard over the noise, wincing at a particularly discordant burst of drumming. Will nodded, following Eleanor in the direction of the carts where the play was being practiced.

  As the Sage, Will found his words were minimal. He had to walk onto the stage twice at the right cues and say a couple of lines about noble virtues, and for the whole of the first act he had to lie at the back of the stage, pretending to be the dead king.

  “Elroy, how long is the first act?” Will asked, wonderi
ng how long he was going to have to keep still for.

  “Every summer, as a child, I would watch the plays put on when the players came to our town…” Elroy stopped, a wistful look in his eyes. “My mother and I would act them out when we got home…” he continued in a distant voice, then pulled himself back from his reverie with an embarrassed smile. “This play is following the player tradition of a three-act play, and none of them is very long. Although when Eleanor read the script to me, it was better than anything I have ever seen in Mydren before. More alive, somehow. We are going to go through the play again now from the first act, if you want to stay and watch?”

  Delighted not to have to return to the pandemonium of Conlan’s music lesson, which he could still hear in the distance, Will settled himself down in front of the area they were using as a stage.

  The first act set the scene of a mythical land ruled by a High Lord. Will liked the way they had made it an imaginary and rather improbable place by referring to a green sun. The High Lord was a kind, wise, righteous leader, who was murdered, along with his family, and replaced by an evil usurper who plunged the land into dark despair. Yet one member of the High Lord’s family survived: the youngest son, a baby, smuggled out of the city and raised by a kindly peasant woman, the Mother, played by Amelia with a soft grace that made Will wistful. In the second act, the baby had grown to be the Hero—a role Will could tell Freddie was enjoying hamming up. His friend—Davlin, playing the role of the Catalyst with nearly as much overacting as Freddie—told the Hero the rumours about his true heritage.

  Unsure if he was supposed to find this revelation as funny as Freddie was making it seem, Will tried to contain his mirth. Actually using the Dwarfish equivalent of ‘Woe is me!’, Freddie pretended horror at discovering the secret had been kept from him. Will was laughing so hard by this point that he almost missed the Catalyst demanding the truth from his Mother, which was his own cue, a line from the Sage about the importance of truth. It took him several attempts, but Will eventually managed to yell his line from the audience without laughing and messing it up.