The Exiled Monk (The World Song Book 1)

by James T Wood

  Peek took his own set of reeds, screwed up his face into an approximation of the expression that Rudi wore and spluttered over his own reeds. Rudi laughed heartily at the failure. Peek chuckled with him and then immediately tried again. This time he was able to produce a breathy, hollow-sounding note. Another adjustment and another try; the note became stronger and fuller. Within a few moments, he was playing the low reed at full volume.

  “Good, good,” Rudi interrupted, “Well done, you’ve mastered the one-note song. Now to something a bit more challenging.” With that Rudi played the familiar tune that Peek had heard when Plafius visited his village and led him and Dray in a dance. His spirit soared with the notes of the song and he had to resist the urge to dance around. “Playing more than one note gives you the chance to make a tune,” Rudi told him as he took the pipe from his lips. “Now, you play the different notes on your pipes.”

  Peek looked down the row of pipes strapped together with five chambers arranged in a row with the longest at one end and the shortest at the opposite end. Rudi’s instrument matched his in both configuration and newness. Peek blew across the second lowest reed and his results were, only slightly, better than his first attempt at the longest reed. After a moment he realized that it would take a different amount of breath to make this reed sing. A bit of experimentation led him to the right combination and then he moved up the line to the next reed. He was prepared for the differences, so it took him less time to find the correct ratio of wind to draw out a note. By the fifth reed, Peek was feeling proficient.

  “Ah, well done, you are quite the prodigy,” Peek couldn’t tell if Rudi was sincere or mocking with these words. “Now we must place the notes together in a tune. Let’s play together, follow me.” Rudi lifted his pipe and played the first, low note, waiting until Peek had joined him in unison. Then he played the fourth reed, again waiting until Peek caught up. He moved on to the third reed, waited. Second reed, pause; fifth reed, pause; second reed; first reed. By the end, Peek was only a half-second behind. Rudi didn’t move the pipe, but merely smiled and nodded before starting again. This time Peek lagged less, but the third time through Rudi began to change the rhythm. Instead of every note being the same length, there were variations with some notes being short and others longer. Long, long, short, short, long, short, long. It took Peek a few times through to match the rhythm, but soon he was moving notes at the exact time that Rudi did. Hearing the music come out of the pipes at his command was a thrilling experience, Peek didn’t want to stop.

  “Aye, you’re doing well,” Rudi encouraged him, but also bade him to stop with a downward waving hand. “We’re going to take that basic tune and use it to do magic.”

  “What are we going to do?” Peek asked.

  “You, young sir, are going to play the wind-song to make this listening place more comfortable. Remove the dirt down to the bare stone so we can build places to sit and meditate in comfort. Remember, our songs are not to change The Melody and its individual tunes, but to work with them. We may amplify and direct when something happens, but we do not cause to happen what The Melody has never permitted. Do you understand?”

  “Then how does setting a fire work?” Peek frowned as he tried to understand the subtle differences, “Aren’t you opposing The Melody by making wood burn when it wasn’t burning before? It wouldn’t just catch on fire by itself.”

  “Not normally, no,” Rudi agreed, “but it’s possible, though it’s extremely unlikely. It is remotely possible that a spark could settle and catch the wood on fire. With that tune we make the rare into something common, but we still do not controvert the laws of The Melody. Nothing new was added, nothing taken away. It is not ours to create, merely to shape what is already in existence. The Melody creates the song, we sing the refrain.

  “Now, you will play the song of the wind to help shape this place. The difference between the song you were practicing and the wind-song is within you,” Rudi tapped his chest with his pipes, “The notes and rhythm are the same, you have shown yourself able enough, but to entice the air to join our cause you must do more than play notes in a specific rhythm. You must make music.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Peek said.

  Rudi laughed, “Of course you don’t, that’s why we’re having this lesson. Listen.”

  Rudi lifted his pipes and played. The notes were exactly what Peek had been practicing, the beat measured consistently, all-in-all it sounded very much like what Peek had played a moment ago. Rudi stopped, moved the pipes and looked at Peek as if to say, Now, really listen. And he started again with the same, low note, but when he moved to the next, it felt connected. Each pitch flowed into the one following, the timing told a story. Peek suddenly realized that what he had been playing was individual notes, isolated and alone, but Rudi was now playing a song. Something more than the right tones in the right order at the right time, it transcended the mechanics and floated through the air with grace. The movement on the ground dragged Peek’s attention away from Rudi’s playing. He saw the dirt at their feet begin to shift and move. Footprints that they had made were melting away. The ground seemed to smooth out like a sheet being pulled taut over a bed. Peek looked in awe from the ground and back to Rudi, whose eyes were filled with joy.

  “Did you hear the difference?” Rudi asked as he lowered his pipes.

  “Yes, it was…” Peek stood with his mouth open, hoping for words that didn’t come.

  “Exactly, words cannot describe the moment when notes are transformed into music, but the heart is keenly aware,” his eyes twinkled as he smiled at his student, “Today, your task is to make your notes into music.”

  Peek was enraptured by the song and the power behind it. The magical effects were secondary to him, rather it was the emotional connection that he felt with the world around him when Rudi played. That moment transported him and ending it was nearly physical in the pain. He wanted nothing more than to recapture the sense of music.

  “Play along with me at first and we’ll see how it goes,” Rudi said, breaking Peek’s trance.

  They both raise their pipes and played the tune. Peek strove to make his musical like he’d heard from Rudi, but the notes simply fell from his pipes flat and lifeless. He redoubled his effort, but the notes refused to forge together into a coherent song. Rudi prodded Peek with one toe to get his attention. When Peek looked at him, Rudi touched one finger to his ear as if to say, Listen.

  Peek continued to play, but also listened to the notes coming from Rudi’s pipes. Without thinking, he mimicked those sounds; his tune became less mechanical and more fluid. Peek heard the difference and enjoyed it. The dirt on the ground yielded before their song, whether it was due to Peek’s notes or Rudi’s was unclear, but the task was being done. Wind pushed the dust and detritus off the edge of the cape and down to the sea.

  Rudi tapped Peek again with his foot and then motioned with his head toward the east. Time to go, he mimed. Peek started to lower his pipes, but he saw that Rudi had no intention of stopping. The song-master just started walking slowly backward. He continued to face west, but stepped to the east. Every pace he would glance behind him to spot any obstacles and then take another step. Peek noticed that the steps corresponded to the length of the longer notes of the tune. One, step; four, step; three-two, step; five, step; one, step-step.

  When Peek moved to follow, Rudi motioned at him again, holding the pipes in one hand and gesturing with the other. Stay, he said silently. This is your task for the day.

  Peek’s arms began to ache from holding the pipes up to his mouth. It took him a while to discover how to prop his elbows against his chest to form a natural resting place for the pipes. It helped for a while, but soon he felt his lips becoming raw from the motion of the pipes across them. His wrists were hurting from being locked into the same position, his neck was sore from reaching out toward the pipes and his feet hurt from standing so stiffly.

  He stopped and looked around the area. In some
parts bare stone showed through the layers of dirt and sand deposited by years of wind and rain. But most of the area still slept under a blanket of dirt. After a pull from the water flask Rudi had left for him, Peek settled himself to resume playing. He winced as he placed the pipes to his chin, but he willed himself to continue. The notes were wooden and choppy. The dirt barely shifted, or was that just a natural breeze? He pushed himself to get the notes right; he made the rhythm as precise as he could make it. Peek felt the sweat roll down into his eyes as the exertion of his mind took a toll on his body. After struggling, begging the wind to move, Peek gave up.

  “You are making all the right sounds at the right time.”

  Peek jumped in fright as Plafius emerged from the path behind him. He carried a tankard with him and occasionally sipped from it. He didn’t guzzle as Vlek would do, but never stopped drinking either.

  “You can’t work any harder to make the notes correct,” Plafius continued. “You must relax; you are trying to force what is a feeling. Let it come over you; don’t rush to find it. Often in the rushing to find we pass over what is seeking us.”

  “But I could hear how I was wrong,” Peek found himself treating Plafius as one of his teachers before he could consider the consequences, “I didn’t sound right. I was changing so it sounded like what I learned, but when I changed one thing, then I noticed something else. I couldn’t make it right,” Peek stopped as he realized that he shouldn’t be talking to this exiled monk.

  “Did you not hear my words?” Plafius admonished him with a gentle smile. “Music is not — cannot — be about technical proficiency alone. The music involves your whole being: body, soul and mind. Your body plays the notes in response to the direction of your mind, but if you don’t engage your soul in the process it is a hollow thing. You can make noise all day, but without a soul engaging in the process you might as well be a barking dog. What was the first lesson about?”

  “Breathing.” Peek still didn’t want to talk to Plafius, but was too weary to do anything but respond as a student to a teacher.

  “Yes, breathing. What is another way to speak about our breath?” Plafius probed.

  “Breath is..” Peek searched for the words, “it’s like our life.”

  “Right, our breath is our spirit and it connects us to the spirit of The Melody. Without breath there is no life and there is no music. Now, stop and breathe.” Plafius led Peek through the breathing for several moments. When Peek’s shoulders dropped and his head lifted, Plafius said, “Now play.”

  The notes came out, stubbornly at first, but that was mostly due to Peek’s chapped lips. Soon the tune came out and flowed. The dirt began to disappear over the edge of the cliff. Plafius chuckled and lifted his own instrument and the two made music.

  Fifteen

  Talib looked at her and then returned to his meditation. She crossed her arms and sat down directly in front of him. He tried to look past her, so she stood to be in his line of sight. He closed his eyes, so she tapped her foot. The furrow of Talib’s brow grew deeper by the moment until finally he let out an explosive sigh.

  “Young lady, we are meditating here. Please leave us to it.”

  “Darrah.”

  Talib attempted to return to his meditation, Darrah continued to tap her foot.

  “What is it, young lady?”

  “Darrah.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Darrah, not ‘young lady.’ What is your name?”

  “I am called Talib.”

  “It is nice to meet you Talib. Why haven’t you found the next king yet?”

  “The source of wisdom and power has not been revealed to us, Darrah.”

  “Why not? You have been at it for a quite some time.”

  “It is not easy, young—” she cleared her throat, “…Darrah.”

  “Why not?”

  “You would not understand.”

  “We were born to give life, taught to teach, blessed to bless, and given music to make music.” Dacian of Tanai

  A

  fter the first few days of a raw embouchure and aching arms, Peek began to adjust to the work of music. The listening place was cleared of dirt and sand by the wind-song. Then Rudi taught him the earth-song and Peek began, laboriously, constructing benches for meditating monks to sit upon. Of course Peek was never permitted to use them during his lessons and monks didn’t come to meditate because all their time was spent gathering food and building the monastery and village up to Locambius’ exacting standards.

  On the second or third day of stone working, Rudi told Peek to grab some stones with his song and start stacking them for the legs of a bench. Peek cast about for a good stone and started playing when he saw a likely candidate. It didn’t move.

  Peek played again. The stone remained. Peek breathed, as he’d been taught, thought through the song, and played it again. Still the stone stayed put.

  “Give it a rest, young sir,” Rudi commanded.

  “Why won’t that stone move? Was I playing the song incorrectly?”

  “No, young sir, you played it aright. That stone isn’t listening, however.”

  “What do you mean? How can a stone not listen.”

  “I’m as confused as you are, lad,” Rudi tugged at his beard with one hand, “I’d heard that such things might exist, but I thought it nothing more than frightening stories told me by a joking elder.”

  “What stories?” Peek turned toward him, his pipes all but a memory.

  Rudi looked at the sun for a moment before motioning for Peek to join him. They sat together on the bare stone with their feet dangling over the edge. The surf shushed and crashed below them.

  “It was long ago. I was still an acolyte as you are now,” he looked out over the waves and years, “I had yet to earn my name. An aged woman was at our monastery then, she’s since joined the everlasting song, and she told me of such stones.

  “When the world was young and The Melody unknown to humanity, she told me, there was one who understood the song and sought to make it known to others. He heard The Melody, but lamented that no one else could join him. In his sadness he looked for a way to share what he’d learned, so he crafted stones that could guide people into The Melody. The stones, supposedly, were not a part of The Melody, but pointed to it.”

  “But what are the stones supposed to do?” Peek asked.

  “I don’t know, and neither did she,” Rudi shrugged and let his hand drop into his lap, “Our scriptures don’t speak of these stones, they only say that everything is a part of The Melody. That old woman used the stones as a way to scare me. She told me that if stones could be put outside The Melody then I could too if I didn’t learn my lessons well.”

  “So they’re evil?” Peek glared at the suspect stones behind them.

  “They are not of The Melody,” Rudi said with another shrug.

  “If they aren’t bad and they aren’t a part of The Melody,” Peek turned back to look at his teacher, “then what are they?”

  “I don’t know if they’re good or bad, young sir. All I know is what we’ve seen here today. These stones are not a part of The Melody. We should avoid them and concentrate on what is a part of The Melody.”

  “Should we go somewhere else?” Peek looked to the left and right, up and down the coast.

  “No,” Rudi shook his head, his beard took a moment longer to start and stop moving, “this is the listening place that is closest to the monastery. As it is, it’s farther away than we would like, but Locambius wanted the monastery to be at a defensible position. So this is our choice.”

  Peek continued with his lessons, but had a hard time ignoring the stones. Whenever Rudi wasn’t watching or left for a time, Peek would study them. They all had carvings on them and most of them were different from the others. They were roughly cubical with a different pattern carved on each of the horizontal faces, but nothing carved on top or — Peek presumed — on the bottom. The stones created a semicircle around the listening
place. One day when Peek had time to meditate, he listened and walked. The stones enclosed the ideal listening area. When Peek stepped outside the stones the songs of The Melody faded, but inside they sounded strong and clear in his mind.

  Not only did the strains of the earth-song, air-song, water-song and fire-song come to Peek, but also the sounds of other music. Peek described it to Rudi once while being quizzed and found himself warned to not stray outside The Melody and the elements. After that Peek just listened and didn’t report on any of the non-elemental songs he heard.

  That mystery would have to wait for later.

  After Peek learned the basic forms of each song, he went less often to the listening place. Locambius kept him at the monastery working on the fortifications, leading hunting and fishing parties, and helping to construct weapons for the villagers. Peek didn’t have the fine skill of other monks, but he soon found himself lifting the heaviest stones for the wall and burning the hottest fires for the forge. He didn’t know why, but Peek’s songs were incredibly potent compared to the other monks. He didn’t play any louder, but the song seemed to do that much more work when Peek played it.

  Despite the workload of preparing to defend the village against the Markay raiders, Peek still thought about the stones, the listening place, and the strange songs. He would slip away early in the morning or in the busyness of midday to spend time listening and pondering the puzzle. He didn’t dare play one of the non-elemental songs he heard, but the tunes thrummed with untold meaning that burrowed into his mind and wouldn’t leave.

  One morning, lost in thought, Peek approached the listening place and discovered it occupied. He stopped and hoped that the robed figure in front of him hadn’t noticed his approach. After holding his breath until his lungs started to burn a soft voice floated to him on the wind.

  “Come forward, lad. We can share this place.” Plafius gestured with his tankard.