Call of the Wolf (The Kohrinju Tai Saga)

by Nelson, J P

When the fellows were in, we would all usually meet once or twice a week at Baldwin’s.

  That guitar playing, however, really bugged me. I learned there was no designated musician, and whoever caught a’hold of the instruments could play.

  One afternoon when the fellows were on a patrol, I thought I’d mosey into Baldwin’s before anyone else showed up. The only person I saw was the barkeep, and he was getting stock ready for the evening. I walked up to the instruments, and looking around to make sure no one else saw me, I stared at that old guitar. Reaching out, I touched it like it was some kind of lost artifact, or something. All manner of memories flooded my mind.

  Until I had been taken from my momma’s side, I had touched a guitar every day of my life. She spent countless hours teaching me scales, chords, riffs, tuning variations, and so much more.

  As I touched the old instrument, a tingle ran through my arm and into my soul. The guitar had been beautifully made, and at some time had been well maintained. Now it was just a piece of community property and it was showing the wear and age of an article not properly cared for.

  Picking it up with reverence, I caressed the neck and resonator, often called a box by many musicians. Some of the frets were starting to pucker outward, the neck was warped in two places and the gut strings were old. I closed my eyes and felt of the wood; it was at least one hundred years old. I *Pushed* energy into it to see what might happen.

  The neck gradually straightened out with a groan and popping sound, a hole in the box knitted itself together and the strings became refurbished. I was astounded. I tuned it into what is often called standard key, and then carefully strummed a few chords in D minor, my momma’s favorite key. Smiling, I put it back into its stand, then quickly left the room.

  A couple of days later, I felt something almost pull me back to the pub. So I again made my way in quietly and ambled to the guitar. It had been played and out of tune again, and noticing the barkeep wasn’t close by, I gingerly picked it up and caressed the instrument.

  Retuning was easy. Then I sat upon the stool and just held the guitar in my hands. Closing my eyes I felt along the neck and softly strummed a chord or two, then rolled out a soothing melody. I found myself humming an ancient song in Elvish. A bird flew in and lighted on a table next to me and I heard the barkeep walking into the adjacent room.

  Startled, I quickly put the instrument back into place and left. ‘What was I doing,’ I thought? When I got back to my quarters I was trembling. No more, I would touch it no more. This was nonsense.

  ___________________________

  Ander and chums came in from their patrol the next week, so we agreed to meet on Ehnday evening to toss a few darts and relax. When we walked in a young foot soldier named Nihler was trying his hand at bending the strings. As usual, Ander would elbow me as I politely tried to hide my facial expressions over the butchering of music. I also noticed the strings were badly out of tune, again.

  We had tossed a couple of games when Nihler finally put the box down. After a few moments, a fellow named Chimothy walked over with a tankard of ale and picked the guitar up. Izner chided me as Chimothy tuned up as best as he could, “There you go, Wolf, your favorite minstrel.”

  I passed Izner a dirty look, took special aim, and trumped his score with a perfect bull’s-eye. He shook his head in exasperation and gave me a look that said, “Why did I have to go and open my mouth?”

  Standing next to Izner I found myself thinking about this fellow who had been one of my buddies for two years. Yet he was so different from when we first met. Only two years ago he was the same age as me. Well, sort of, if you figured in human years. Only now there were significant changes. He was shaving regularly and his voice had become deeper. Dudley used to pick on him for having only one or two strands of hair on his chest, and now he was covered in hair.

  Where Izner once was a lanky teenager, he had been filling out and was now on the verge of full manhood. I had experienced this with Jared. My friends were leaving me behind.

  I was finally getting the hang of just playing around and sort of acting like a kid. But while my chums still liked goofing around, they were also talking about taking wives, raising families and all of that sort of thing.

  It’s not that they were excluding me from the inner circle. To the contrary, I was a regular part of the group. But there was that part of me that still felt like I didn’t completely belong. When they started getting old, would they still want me hanging around?

  Old, I thought. The word hit me hard and sudden-like. If we all lived naturally, I would see their great, great grandchildren grow old and … I didn’t want to think about it.

  And then I remembered something Hoscoe had told me. A story about a woman he once knew.

  She was twenty something and very pretty, talented with the artist’s paintbrush and could sing like a bird. A man in his forties came along and fell in love with her. “It seemed they were perfectly suited for each other,” Hoscoe said. “The man brought her a beautiful token and proposed marriage.

  “She turned him down without a thought. ‘You are old enough to be my father,’ she told him, ‘and I don’t want to have to be saddled with an old man while I am still young.’

  “In her haughtiness, she turned and walked into the street … right in front of a racing team of horses and a careening wagon. She died there in the street with the man holding her head.

  “The man,” Hoscoe went on to say, “eventually married another lady with whom he had a wonderful life. Ultimately he outlived even his beloved wife of more than forty years,” To Hoscoe’s knowledge the man was still alive and well past the age of one hundred.

  Another man he knew left the military as a major in his early thirties. This fellow had become obsessed with living a long life and determined a career as a soldier was simply too dangerous. He opened a small mercantile which he operated for six months. As winter was setting in, he stepped on an ice-covered step and slipped, breaking his neck as he fell against his hitch rail.

  “You cannot count on tomorrow,” Hoscoe had told me several times, “plan for the next day, look back to learn, but live in the day of which you are standing. Make the most of where you are and cherish those who are close to you, and when your time comes, you will have lived a full life.”

  I gazed at Izner for a moment; Izner, this human who was my friend. Only two years ago I wanted all humans dead. Well, most of them, anyway. I resolved then, all humans are not alike.

  I decided to cherish the day as a subtle smile broke through my face, just as Chimothy warmed up with a few chords on the old guitar.

  Chapter 34

  ________________________

  IT WASN’T THAT Chimothy was all that bad, he had a certain amount of rhythm and he made use of many chords. But he insisted on singing and playing in the key of C, which was way too high for his range, and his F chord was really sour. Somehow he felt pitching his voice as high as he could, and really belting it out, helped him put feeling into his songs. It drove me nuts.

  If it weren’t for hanging out with my friends, I wouldn’t be able to stand the sound. Of course, some of the soldiers liked it, and he was definitely the best guitarist of the lot. He had even developed five different thirteen-song sets, which he played in exactly the same order, in exactly the same way, every time he played. I simply focused through it.

  Chimothy was working through number seven of the first set, a love song in which four different times he would try to hit a high note, wa-a-ay above his range. The final note he would hold for as long as he had breath. What was even worse, he didn’t use bar chords well at all, and he insisted on trying to play them.

  As he hit the note the third time I just closed my eyes and bit my lip.

  Dudley bumped me with his shoulder and laughingly said, “Why’ntcha go show him how to play?”

  Looking sharply at him, I saw he was just being funny, but I felt a chill come over me and my breath caught for a moment. Then I happened to
see the barkeep had heard what Dudley said and was looking at me from under his brow. It was one of those long looks that can put the sammies into you.

  It was time for me to go.

  I was fishing in my pouch for a coin to pay my tab when two soldiers from South Wall barracks walked up and one said, “Yo! Wolf! You and Dud owe us a rematch.”

  The fellow talking was Vensi, and he was looking all tough and mean. Of course, it was all in fun. Dudley and I had whipped these two something terrible a few weeks back in dart throwing, and then did it again three days later at their own barracks. We had promised a rematch whenever we saw each other again, and I guess again was right then.

  Dudley walked up to the other fellow, a lanky towhead they called Puffer, and chested up to him saying, “Oh yeah?! You just THINK you want a rematch, ‘cause when we get done with you, your feathers are a’gonna peel right off’a your short little quills.”

  I have no idea what Puffer said, but Dudley was hamming it up like he was about to fight in the coliseum against a sprite with one leg. Then Dudley slapped my shoulder and said, “Let’s go clip their pricks, Wolf.”

  Glancing over, I saw the barkeep still looking at me from under those eyebrows. He was making me nervous, and I saw him mutter something to a fellow named Tobin who was at the bar. A trickle of icy sweat ran down the middle of my back, and I was now committed to hang around. What was I so nervous about?

  Casually fun things like darts meant a lot to some of these guys. As a soldier, one never knew when you might not come home again. Small enjoyments were precious.

  Focusing on the game was hard, and we actually dropped behind as I kept hearing Chimothy play.

  I completely missed the inner score ring of the dartboard, something I never did, and you could hear the ooo’s and ahhh’s. Some of those South Wall boys were in there and they were having a grand time.

  The drinks were flowing from the bar like a river and every third person was chewing on a stick of nearly burned meat. You would think the future of the world was at stake here.

  Dudley took me to the side for a moment and asked, genuinely concerned, “What’s a’matter man? You aw’wright? You look white as a ghost.”

  Shaking my head I mumbled at him, “Sorry Dud, I’m letting you down.”

  “Huh?” He looked hard at me a moment and cocked his head, then reached up and grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down to where he could whisper in my ear, “Hey, it ain’t nothin’ but a game. Ever’one loses at some time or ‘nuther. We’ll whup ‘em next time.” He let go of me and slapped me on the shoulder while barking out, “Now don’t make me whup your ass!”

  Chimothy was closing out the last song of his set, it was my turn to throw and I was last. These guys were tossing well and Dudley had brought us within grasp of a win. But I needed to score really high, or it was over and South Wall would reclaim a championship they had held for over a year.

  “Do that Ahnagohr Mountain shit!” Dudley roared out.

  Ander opened wide his hands and brought them to his head, humorously imitating Hoscoe as he taught focus. Have I mentioned Ander is the best mimic I have ever known? Something inside of me started to laugh.

  Merle and Izner were cheering me on as well, not to mention all the boys from our own North Tower Barracks.

  ‘Nothing but a game,’ I thought. Suddenly I remembered sword fighting Hoscoe and his coffee mug and me falling from the ceiling while trying to fly. Inside I felt as if a heavy load had been dropped from my shoulders, and wasn’t sure why. I gave a grunting chuckle and looked down at my feet, around to my chums and faces in the cluster around us, and then at my target.

  Fingering my three darts, I heard Chimothy about to key in on the final bar of his song. The familiar rush of heat and energy ran from So’Yeth, into my body and through my hands. The world seemed to *Slow* and then the center of the target seemed to close in on me as if it were right in front of my face. Okay, now that was new. Could I call this *Close Sight*?

  Inhaling deeply, with a sudden explosion of motion I threw my darts in rapid fire succession and scored center with each shot, the final strike hit as Chimothy was closing out his last note. Our total made exactly one hundred and eight points, the score we needed to win.

  You would have thought Dudley had won a thousand Marks in a game of chance, he jumped up and yelled so loud.

  The crowd around us exploded into mixed sounds of cheers and disappointments. Vensi and Puffer both spun around as if they had been hit and several hands slapped Dudley and me on the shoulders.

  Izner brought us drinks made with tequila and I turned around, only to look square into Chimothy’s eyes. He had stepped down and was walking over with a tankard to maybe throw a game or two. My breath caught again as my eyes flashed at the guitar leaning on its stand, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the barkeep looking at me again.

  I needed to get out of there. My breath was catching again and I felt sweat all over me as chills ran though my body.

  “Hey Wolf!” Tobin yelled at me as he leaned at the bar holding a foaming mug high in the air, “Play us a tune.”

  I froze in place as the greatest fear since seeing that dragon’s jaws at the point gripped my insides. My head seemed to grow large enough to fill the room, and as I looked around I saw the barkeep look me in the eye, nod at me, and then tilted his head over to the guitar.

  Dudley yelled out to the barkeep, “Shizet, Higby, Wolf don’t play no guitar,” he gave me a quick glance to support what he was saying, “Do ya, Wolf?”

  Why did it seem so quiet?

  Dudley’s eyes squinted as if wondering if I had been holding out on some vital secret. In a more inquisitive tone he asked, “Do ya?”

  Ander glanced at me with a kind of contemplative wonder, Merle looked as if he had never seen me before, and Izner? Ize leaned against the wall and crossed his arms and looked like he was trying to figure out why he hadn’t thought of this before.

  From all around I was hearing, “Common, play,” “Yeah, Wolf, show us something,” “Hey, Wolf, you been holding out?” “Play some of that mountain stuff, man.”

  I wished I had never stepped foot in that pub. I hadn’t played in years, and never for any one. ‘I should have never touched that craiken …’

  Speaking smooth, Ander asked, “Come on, Wolf. What can it hurt?” Calm, cool as always; and he was smiling.

  Beside him, with a mug in his hand and a curious smile on his face, Chimothy shrugged his shoulders and said, “Give it a go. Ain’t no one goin’ to laugh at you, Wolf.”

  Dudley planted his hands on his hips and got that cross looking face, “Pig shit. I’m gonna haft’a whup your ass.”

  Then Baldwin himself stepped into the room. Great, where was Hoscoe when you needed him?

  Across the room I saw the guitar, just sitting there in its stand. Slowly, I grabbed a towel. Wiping my hands I began to make my way across the floor.

  Everyone was quiet as I sat on the stool and just gazed at the instrument now in my hand. Gingerly I touched the wood of the neck and everything else seemed to vanish from my mind. The pub seemed to disappear and the heavy silence melted away. Lovingly I turned the keys and put the instrument back into a ringing tune.

  ‘How long had it been?’ I thought. But no, it didn’t matter. I reached back, way, way back, and tried to *Remember* the notes. They were still there, as if resting and waiting for me to call upon them again. But my fingers, the tips were so soft. I *Channeled* energy, and felt the tips of my fingers grow the calluses which were necessary tools for the guitarist.

  A warm energy filled me and I rolled a few scales, it was as if I had just played yesterday. I closed my eyes. ‘The song,’ I thought, ‘the last song Chimothy had been playing?’ For over a year I had been listening to his music, every word and chord had been long memorized. The lyrics weren’t bad, and the rhythm had potential.

  How could it sound better?

  Ahhh, yes.

  Gen
tly brushing the strings I mentally adjusted a chord here, another chord there. In a few moments I had transposed the key to E minor and altered the flow of the chord changes. Instead of a brushing stroke pattern, I switched to a smooth finger roll.

  As I began to sing I felt overwhelming emotion within me wanting to burst outward, so I focused the sensations into my fingers and voice. As I brought the song to its close, I lingered the last word into a silky softness rather than the high pitch Chimothy had been using. A final brush of the strings, and I held the note in my mind.

  Applause, lots of applause.

  I opened my eyes and some of those hardened soldiers were sniffing, tears running down some cheeks and clapping their hands hard and loud. Me, I felt wiped out, and content. What had I just done?

  The barkeep was smiling and nodding his head, several voices called for another one.

  I played another song the soldiers were used to, and then I played one I had heard a worker on the point singing about a lost love and how she was the prettiest little red haired girl. Before I realized, I had played a dozen songs including a couple instrumentals and an elvin song or two.

  But more than just play, I had been able to channel emotions through the vibration of the strings and everyone who heard had stopped and listened. It wasn’t something I chose to do, it just happened.

  Was that what my momma did? Even the animals had paid attention when she sang or played. Did I possess the same kind of power? Was it something that could be developed?

  As we were walking from Baldwin’s an excited Izner asked me, “What was that?!” He added, “You had the whole place listening to you, like enraptured, even.”

  “Shizen, Wolf, you even had that pudge-ass Montao cryin’ in his ale.” Not for the first time, I wondered if Dudley could say anything without swearing somehow.

  “That was good, Wolf, real good,” Merle was just walking and nodding his head.

  Ander said, “I really liked the one about the little red haired girl.” He looked at me and asked, “Why didn’t you ever say you could play?” He shook his head and softly laughed, “you sure are full of surprises.”