by Ko, John
“You’re right; they won’t postpone the match for just any reason. But maybe there’s another way we can buy some time,” Sense says. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”
Ieiri climbs out the window and encourages the driver to make haste.
“Another way?” Poe asks. “What other way?”
Sense is back to fiddling with his gauntlet and not answering questions. Uncle Hardrime is wiping at his brow and complaining about his heart.
“Now, I remember just why I hate Wysteria,” he says. Scourge is making that clucking sound that means he’s finding this all very amusing.
The large man makes some signs with his hands and Poe translates for him. “Scourgey wants you all to know that he let himself be put in the headlock.”
Enada sighs out the window and says, “Worthless words, even from a mute. It’s not the first time he’s let me put him in a lock.” She turns to face the large man. “Scourge Kutz, do you not remember Ambrose Bay?”
Poe has never seen Scourge’s eyes grow so large or his mouth drop so low. Her uncle mumbles, “Ambrose Bay? We haven’t been there in over thirty years. Why, last time we were there, you were still competing weren’t you, Scourge?”
The large man nods while signing something with his hands. “Dark Wind? Impossible …” Poe translates.
Enada simply laughs. “Did you not learn that thirty years ago? Every single thing about me is impossible. But now is not the time for that. Right now, these kids have their own Ambrose Bay to win.”
“You’re really the daughter of Lord Hardrime—the Lord Hardrime, The Maestro?” Sense asks as they push through the crowds. Ieiri takes the lead. It’s almost as if she enjoys elbowing people out of the way. Enada strides behind them with a look of amusement on her face.
The only time Poe’s ever seen this many people in one place was for one of her father’s concerts. She didn’t know that there were this many people in all of the Three Kingdoms.
“Yes, Sense. I told you that already. Now’s not the time to be star-struck. I’m still the same old Poe. Nothing’s changed.” She looks back to see if her uncle and her father’s best friend are still keeping up. They’re falling further and further behind, but she can still make out the top of Scourge’s head in the distance.
“I’m sorry …” Sense begins.
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Sense,” she says.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Sense tells her. “You must miss him very much. He really was a great man.”
“Yeah. Thanks, I do,” she says. “Let’s talk about something that will help the situation, though.”
He points at the white-metal chain of flowery links around her neck. “Is that why you can talk now?”
“Yes,” she says, almost smiling. “I’m soooooo glad to have it back.”
They catch up to Ieiri, who’s arguing with the Sitters guarding the entrance to the battlefield. Before the dark-haired girl’s threats really get out of hand, Sense is there.
“Forgive her, she’s with me. I’m with Monsters To Believe In,” is all he has to say to get the guards to allow them to pass. Ieiri grumbles all the way to the sidelines. Poe tries not to laugh.
“Enough. This is where we take our leave,” Enada says to her student.
“But …” Ieiri begins.
“Our fight here is over,” Enada says. “We will watch the match from the stands just as everyone else. But first, tell me what you have learned today?”
“Matches are won or lost, on and off the battlefield?” Ieiri says almost fearfully.
“Good enough,” the Master of the Dark Wind tells her. “You may sit in a chair.”
“Farewell, children,” she adds, facing Sense and Poe. “And may you find Glorious Defeat later rather than sooner.”
“Never Fall,” Ieiri says before turning to catch up with the outcast Daughter.
Now, it’s just Poe and Sense alone on the sidelines. “Good, there’s Uncle and Scourgey,” she says, pointing towards the entrance to the field and waving.
“I need to find the Head Official,” Sense says. “Or maybe someone with even higher authority than that.”
Sense scans the field and spots the Official’s Table on the far end. “Of course it would be all the way over there,” he says, hurrying towards the other side.
“Just exactly what do you have in mind?” Poe asks.
“Victory,” he replies with a smile.
The relief on the officials’ faces is hard to hide. They must have been more than worried that the most anticipated match in years was about to result in a no-show. They even seem somewhat receptive to a slight delay as Sense begins to explain the situation. But just as the strategist make headway, the officials grow quiet.
The Princess has arrived.
“Absolutely not. A delay is unacceptable,” the Princess says. “If they are not here at the appointed time, they must be disqualified. Those are the rules.”
“Your Highness, what of all the people that have come to see the match? This is the largest crowd we’ve seen in quite some time,” the Head Official implores. “I know it’s unheard of, but we’re worried that the crowd may get out of hand.”
“The rules are very clear. I am unwilling to take part in setting such a precedent, and I am sure my uncle will say the same.”
As if summoned, a grandfatherly man clad in amethyst robes approaches, trailed by no less than a dozen retainers. Each and every head present bows to King Love VI.
He waves them to stand and nods for the Head Official to explain the situation. He listens silently, all the while smiling warmly. Then finally, he speaks.
“I am truly sorry to disappoint all those gathered here today, but Princess Achylsa is correct. We have more than the honor of our country to consider in this matter. The last thing the Three Kingdoms is in need of is another Tear-related scandal. I will make the announcement myself that the match has been canceled. My people deserve at least that much,” the King tells them.
Poe looks at the Princess. Words not befitting her upbringing come to mind. This is a mess and it’s all my fault. I have to do something. Sense, who had just moments ago almost convinced the Head Official to break the rules, now looks subdued in the face of the King. He has something to say, but has lost his voice.
“Excuse me, Your Highness, King Love,” Poe says. “We have a proposal.” Sense has yet to tell her what he has in mind yet, but she knows he has some sort of plan.
“And just who are you, young lady?” The King of Wysteria gives her a grandfatherly smile. Before Poe can speak, her uncle is there.
“Your Majesty, King Love!”
“Sir Hardrime. It has been far too long.” The King greets him warmly. “My condolences. The Three Kingdoms along with the rest of the world mourn the loss of your brother. The world will never see the likes of him again.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. You have always been far too kind to the House of Hardrime. The accommodations you have prepared for us this visit have been particularly impressive,” he says before gesturing towards his grandniece. “May I introduce The Maestro’s daughter herself, Poesy Hardrime?”
She curtsies and accepts his blessing upon her outstretched hand.
“I am sorry for your loss. Your father was a remarkable man. He was always a great friend to the Three Kingdoms and I hope that we will become good friends as well.” He tilts his head towards her. “Was there some matter you wished to discuss?”
“Yes, Your Highness, but I think it is best if my friend explains.” She shoves Sense forward, whispering into his ear, “This better be good.”
“Your … Highness,” Sense stutters before spitting it out. “With such a large crowd gathered here today, we have a very unique opportunity …
“Right at this very moment … for the very first time in the whole world, Poesy Hardrime, The Maestro’s only child, is willing to make her debut on the world stage.”
King Love’s eyebrows actuall
y rise.
“But the window for her to honor us with such a historical performance is very short,” Sense says. “It’s now or never.”
This is his plan? Poe wonders in disbelief. He wants me to perform here, in front of all these people? Me?
“She is willing to unveil—for the very first time—a song she has composed herself,” he adds.
I don’t know if I’m ready for this , but …”Not only that, I started working on it with my father. It is his last song.”
The King considers it. The Princess at his side burns holes into the young pair with her blank stare. She tugs at the King’s robes as if to remind him that she’s still there.
“I would gladly accept such a gracious offer,” the King finally replies. “But alas, Wysteria cannot afford to add to our current reputation as rule-breakers. Not with our current status, such as it is. I hope you can understand.”
“Your Highness, what if we have the postponement approved by one of the highest ranking officials on the World Circuit?” Poe makes her way through the small crowd. She grabs the back of her father’s oldest friend as he tries to sneak away. She reaches inside his coat and pulls out a badge, a badge of an International Head Official.
“I am pleased to present before you, the dreaded Scourge Kutz,” she announces. Although he no longer serves in official capacity, a Head Official on the International Tournament of Tears holds the title for life. The large man gives a shrugging nod.
“Very well, then. It’s settled. Please make your preparations immediately. I will personally present you to the world for your debut,” the King tells her with a pat to the head. He leans over to his niece. “I am sorry, Achylsa. You know that I support you fully in anything that you undertake, but this really is a rare opportunity to reintroduce our beloved country to the world.”
She bats not an eyelash before turning and walking away.
Poe and Sense do a little dance of joy. The celebration is short-lived though as she begins to realize just what she’s gotten herself into.
“Trust me,” Sense tells her, seeing the expression on her face, “This is going to work. The others are on their way. We just need to hold off until then.”
Poe watches as Sense fiddles with a piece of equipment she’s never seen before. He explains that it controls every Tear-light in the stadium. There is no soul but them on the field. Still, the crowd pays them no attention. They are not who the people came to see.
She can see them, though. Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, old and young: all of them, giving off an energy she’s never felt before. But here in the middle of the field, it is almost quiet. Like the eye of some great storm.
King Love makes his way towards them. Behind him, attendants carry a device that will broadcast his words for all to hear.
He begins his announcement talking of her father. The citizens of Wysteria shout their approval. All she can think of is him. Father, they still cheer your name.
She hears the King say her name. At first, the people do not know what to make of it. But soon they are cheering even louder.
“I’m ready when you are.” Sense hands her Desi.
This is all happening too fast. She stares at the instrument that her Father played for so long. This is his. Who am I to think that I could play Desi for a crowd like this?
“Poe?” Sense says.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers, looking down. It took me a year just to finish one song. And he started it for me. If I go out there now, I’ll just bring ruin to the Hardrime name.
“What are you talking about?” He grabs her by the shoulders. “I know how it feels watching from the sidelines—wishing there was something more that you could do. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not really a part of it, but we are. Don’t you understand? I learned just how important a part of it we really are these last couple days. They weren’t going to even show up without you.
“Don’t you understand, Poe? This is a battlefield and this is your battle.”
“We’ve stalled enough; they’ll make it back in time,” she says, turning away. “I can’t go out there. I’m sorry.”
He just looks at her.
“You don’t understand. My father … “ The iciness of her cold-blue eyes has melted and now threatens to flow at the slightest blink. “He was the best; the best ever. Me? I’m nothing. I’ll just end up tarnishing his name. They’ll never listen to me.” It’s all she can picture right now, the disinterested looks on the faces of those going about their business as she tried to play.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she says, “ … to play for people that don’t listen—that don’t care.”
Sense goes quiet for a long moment before speaking. “You really are brave. It must have been hard, pouring your heart out there, every day, and no one seeming to care. But not everyone was ignoring you. There were always those who were listening—Captain was listening.
“And because he did, we all got a chance to listen to you too,” Sense says. “We got a chance to know you and become your friends … not because of who your father was or how many songs you can play, but because when you play, you put a piece of yourself into it.”
He grabs her by the shoulders. “Things are different now. You have fans—us. We’ll always be listening. Even if you play every note wrong, we’ll listen the whole way through and be proud of you.”
The faceless people going about their business as she plays fades from memory. The shockingly silly smile on the Fate’s face that first day replaces them. And when she closes her eyes, she can see them all, her friends.
They’re all chasing dreams, willing to face embarrassment or defeat or indifference for some reason or other—for one another. There’s no truer example of that than the Fate. He’s never said so in so many words. He’s never had to. Everyday, he shows them what it takes. At first, you can’t help but laugh, but stick around long enough and you can’t help but to start feeling ashamed. And then you choose. This is my dream, Poe thinks. This is my chance. Am I going to fail even before I try just because I’m scared?
Across the Tear-speakers booms, “ … and now give a heart-felt welcome for the international debut of Poesy Hardrime!”
“If you still want me to tell them you can’t, I will.”
Poe looks up and laughs. “Even if you did, it wouldn’t stop me. I’m going out there and playing our song, no matter what.”
Poe looks back at Sense with his drum between his legs. His echo-box is on one side and the contraption to control the lights on the other. He gives her a thumbs-up. I can do this.
She sticks her hands out wide and the crowd erupts in cheers. She waves them to quiet down and they do. All eyes really are on her. On the near sideline, her friends have already begun to arrive.
“Hello?” she says, a little too close to the amplifier. Her wavering voice echoes throughout the arena. She leans a little away and says again, “Hello, Wysteria!” This time her voice carries loud and powerful for all to hear.
“I’m going to play something I wrote with my father. Some of you may have heard me practicing it, but here’s the whole thing. It’s called ‘Our Song,”” she says softly. Cheers erupt all over again, but the crowd grows quiet as she steps back and begins to strum.
She closes her eyes and sings:
Wisdom has a price
It costs everything
Until you lost it all
How can you find begin?
Bottom’s where it starts
Dreams achieved is the end
And if chasing dreams is wrong
Then we proud to live in sin
No matter what they tell us
Impossible’s not a thing
So try to knock us down
We’ll just rise right up again
When it’s all too much, can you show me that smile?
The one that lets me know this is really worthwhile.
If I play for you, will you stay and listen f
or awhile?
How do we do it?
It’s cause Fate’s our friend
Brute hope is our sister
Our Brother a godsend
Good Sense is always with us
On that you can depend
We laugh in the face of danger
And come shining through in the end
We’re legends in the making
In fact, legends we’ll transcend
Failure’s not an option
Our wills will never bend
When it’s all too much, can you show me that smile?
The one that lets me know this is really worthwhile.
If I play for you, will you stay and listen for awhile?
The final note hangs in the air forever. How can it be so quiet? she wonders, too afraid to open her eyes. When Wysteria shouts out their love, it echoes throughout the whole kingdom to here. She doesn’t try to hide her tears. Her whole life has been about keeping to herself, and for the first time she shared her all. Never has she felt so brave. Father, this is for you.
She holds his guitar up high and shouts, “Those things which we yearn for, Desi Derata, Transform: Fiddle!” One of the Tears set in the instrument’s side glows and there is a blinding flash. When the light recedes, Poe holds a fiddle and bow.
“Once more! Once more!” they shout and she plays it again. Slow and sweet, Desi cries, each note a memory of Poe’s own voice. She finishes, knowing she’s given it her all. The applause reminds her of something her father once said that never made sense until just now. “I’m so famous now, it scares me. They cheer before I even begin, but as long as they cheer loudest when I’m done … well, then I know I really did it.”