by James T Wood
Peek gulped air and took one step.
“I suppose that is technically what I asked,” Plafius turned around to look at Peek, “You can come sit beside me if you want. It’s your choice.”
Peek took another step as if approaching the edge of a crumbling cliff on a blustery day. Plafius occupied two places in Peek’s mind. One was the source of dancing, music, and joy, but the other was danger, mystery, and the forbidden.
“I know Locambius doesn’t approve of me,” he paused and took another sip of ale, “I expect you to be cautious. That is wise of you. Take the counsel of those older and more experienced than yourself,” Plafius turned back to face the sea. “But in the end it is your decision that counts. Don’t allow others to take that from you.”
“Isn’t that what you did with your dancing song?”
“Peek, I—”
“You what?” Something broke loose inside Peek. Words flowed out before he could stop them. “You took my choice away when you played your song. How could I live like a servant after that? How could I not be with Dray after that? How could I—”
“No, you’re right,” Plafius cut in as Peek’s tirade subsided. “It was unwise and unfair of me to do that to you and just leave. I regretted it every day I was gone. I’m sorry.”
The apology put Peek off balance. His anger found no purchase against meekness. “Well, if it was so unwise,” Peek said after a moment, “why did you do it?”
“Have you noticed these stones?” Plafius gestured with his tankard so a bit of ale sloshed and dribbled down the side.
The non sequitur silenced Peek; he could only nod.
“I started to notice them too,” the old monk nodded, “They don’t line up with anything I learned in the scriptures of our order. But we do have legends about how they came to be. Most of the legends, however, contradict each other. Like most of my order I ignored the stones whenever I found them, thinking them an odd artifact, but nothing more.
“But one day I approached a village and played my seeking song — the song that you feel took your choice away — for another boy,” Plafius’ voice and gaze were far away, “He was younger than you, but he did something I’ve never seen. He…” Plafius stared out over the ocean. His mouth worked on words that his throat never shared. Peek edged closer, hoping to hear the next part of the story. “He changed the song,” Plafius finally finished.
Peek felt an ominous chill radiate out from Plafius. The hair on the back of his neck stood.
“But that’s forbidden,” Peek almost made it a question.
“That’s what I thought,” he nodded in agreement, “but what he did to the music didn’t make it less. It became more. I don’t know exactly how to explain it. I felt the change more than understood it,” Plafius turned toward Peek and looked at him without answers. “That’s part of what terrified me. I didn’t know The Melody as well as a young boy. I left him and his village and began to wander. That’s when I found these stones.”
“You came here? When?”
“Not these specific stones,” he shook his head and took another drink, “but stones just like these at a different listening place. There are stones all across the countryside. Nearly every listening place I came to had stones like this, arranged in a half-circle and carved with these designs.”
“Rudi told me that these stones are not a part of The Melody.”
“That’s true, if you think of it that way. Did he also tell you that the stones are meant to point us to The Melody?”
“Yes.”
“Good, my friend is still a truth-speaker,” Plafius smiled to himself, “The stones were placed as a guide to help people learn about the songs of The Melody. When they were placed, the person who did it made sure that the songs of The Melody would not disturb them. That way the lessons could never be lost.”
“But if The Melody is supposed to be the source of everything,” Peek puzzled through the idea slowly, “how is it possible for something to be outside The Melody?”
“That’s the question that drove me away from my brothers and sisters. That’s the question that kept me from returning to your village. If I had the answer maybe…” Plafius quenched his thought with a long pull from the tankard.
“What?” Every other teacher from the monks gave him answers or at least pointed to their lost scriptures as the source of answers. Plafius admitted ignorance. When Rudi or Locambius or Duhlga asked him a question, Peek knew they were prompting him for a known answer. Not so with Plafius.
“I don’t know Peek. It feels like everything I was taught is wrong,” his voice grew husky either with emotion or drink, “It’s taking my heart time to—”
“Wait,” Peek cut him off in a burst of anger, “If you don’t know what’s right, then how can you teach Dray?” The boy stood questioning the man.
“It’s not required that a teacher know everything before passing on knowledge,” his shoulders slumped a bit before he sat up straight again and turned to face Peek, “I teach from what I know. But true learning requires wading into the unknown. Just because I am a teacher doesn’t preclude me from continuing to learn myself.”
“Then how can anyone trust you? If what you say might be all wrong, why should Dray believe you?”
Plafius shrugged, “Anyone might be wrong and anyone might be right; where we find truth is in living it out.”
“Then why are you trying to rejoin the monks?” Peek asked in a hushed tone.
Plafius looked out over the water and then up at the clouds before answering, “I hope to share what I’ve learned.”
“What, that you might be wrong?”
“Yes, that’s part of it,” Plafius smiled, “but also that I might be right. I left my brothers and sisters to learn, but learning is an empty thing if it’s kept hidden. The purpose of learning is to teach. I want to rejoin my family to share what I’ve learned and to learn from them in return.”
Peek narrowed his eyes and regarded Plafius. As much as he tried to maintain the fire of anger against the Apostate, Peek found himself drawn again to the serenity and wisdom within the man. Even through the wafting scent of ale, Peek still found something trustworthy in this old man.
“Oh, I didn’t realize…” her voice came from behind them.
Peek turned to see Dray with the rising sun filtering through the trees behind her. In that moment she stood apart from the world, like the stones were separate from The Melody. Peek forgot the hurt of rejection and remembered the words of his vision.
“Ah, dear Dray,” Plafius stood unsteadily and smiled. “I’ve just been discussing the mystery of the stone cubes with Peek here. I think he doesn’t trust me,” he licked his lips and drained the last of the ale from his tankard, “What if you took over for me?”
Dray’s blush mirrored the one Peek felt crawl up his cheeks. Plafius chuckled as he stumbled down the path and away from the listening place.
“Hello,” all the eloquence Peek could muster. He should be leaving. His duties as an apprentice monk called him away, but the way Dray moved in time to the songs floating in the air called Peek to join her. She glided along toward him, circled the bench Plafius had been sitting on and sat down. When Peek didn’t immediately move to join her, she turned and the light caught her cheek through the veil of her hair.
“Come sit with me, Peek,” the hint of a smile played across her lips.
All the combatants of his internal battle surrendered unconditionally. Peek sat next to Dray, leaving a hand’s breadth between them. He looked over to see her staring out at the waves.
Without looking over at him she whispered a confession, “I thought we’d been abandoned too. And when you left I didn’t have anyone.”
“I didn’t… They said… I’m so—”
“It’s okay, Peek. I know. My brother lied to you. I probably would have done the same thing.”
“I’m sorry,” Peek reached out for her hand, but then thought better of it.
“Thanks,�
�� she turned and bestowed a full smile upon him, “It’s good to hear you say it. When we met outside Plafius’ tent I thought that you hated me.”
“No,” Peek blurted without thinking, “I don’t think I could ever hate you.”
“I know the feeling.” She turned to him and smiled again before looking back at the sea.
Peek’s heart hammered in his chest; swallowing became difficult.
“How can you follow him?” Peek asked. “He’s an apostate.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she tossed her hair over her opposite shoulder as the wind toyed with it, “He’s kind and wise and he gave me a purpose. That’s why he’s my teacher.”
“An apostate is…” what was it that Locambius said? “He doesn’t obey The Melody. He’s against the truth of the monks.”
“He made some mistakes, but now he’s trying to repair them,” She looked at him with an arched eyebrow, “Aren’t we all trying to do that?”
“Well, yes, but…” Peek was losing and he knew it. He also knew that Locambius and Duhlga had sheltered him from Vlek as best they could. “How can you know he’s not evil?”
“When you put it that way, I guess I can’t,” she turned her shoulders to look straight at him, “But you can’t know that Locambius and the monks are good either.”
Peek hadn’t thought of that. Why did he trust the monks? He didn’t have more to say. They sat, inches away and miles apart, staring out over the ocean.
“What do you know about the stones?” Dray asked him.
“Just that they aren’t a part of The Melody,” the change in subject was welcome. “That’s about it. Plafius and Rudi were telling tales about how some ancient monk created them or something.”
“Plafius has found them all across the countryside. He told me of them. He even took me to the next nearest listening place. There are the same kinds of stones there. They have to mean something. There’s got to be a reason they’re at every listening place.”
“They aren’t at every listening place. There were no stones on the island.”
“I didn’t know that,” she nodded as if cataloging the detail with many other, “Plafius never mentioned it. I wonder what it means.”
“I don’t have any idea,” Peek threw up his hands in defeat.
Dray smiled and elbowed him in the ribs. “I know that.”
Peek winced an instant before Dray realized that he was still bruised. She apologized even as Peek’s pain turned into mirth. They laughed together. In that moment everything in the world was true and good.
“Peek, I’ve been given the task of studying these stones. Plafius thinks that fresh eyes on the problem might yield some solution that has eluded him,” she looked at him with her heart in her eyes, “Would you help me?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” Peek fought against her like a salmon against the current.
“I know.” She sounded resigned, disappointed.
Peek yielded to being carried away by the torrent, “But I will.”
The hug that followed nearly knocked Peek off the bench.
Sixteen
“I know all the stories of Eytskaim. Why would I not understand.”
“Child,” Talib ignored her scowl, “for you they are stories, for me Eytskaim was a friend. How do you expect to learn in your meager years what I have not discovered in my many?”
“Old man,” Darrah ignored his glare, “you came to learn of Eytskaim after you were grown and set in your ways. I, however, have been steeped in his wisdom from birth. You may as well ask a mouse to learn flight though it was not born a bat.”
Talib regarded the impudent child for a time and then sighed again. “What do you want?”
“I want to help. I want to help you discover the source of wisdom and power.”
“Carry on then. How am I stopping you?”
“You should tell me what you have learned so far.”
“We disciples have been here for twenty years and I was with Eytskaim for eighty years before that. My age is more than ten times yours. What would you have me tell you of what I have learned?”
“You may start with the most important things,” Darrah smiled at him.
“Music says that which words cannot.” Anguis of Cloch
P
eek spent every moment he could with Dray, at the listening place examining the stones, at her hut where she kept sketches of the stones, or at the beach walking and talking about what they’d discovered. They learned that the characters on the stones were all made up of either straight lines or curves. There were no angles to be found, other than in the intersection of two or more straight lines. The curves might be wavy or circular, but they were always regular. They always had the same sized curve, no matter how many times it repeated on a stone. Different stones could have different sized curves, but within one stone the curves were always the same.
Peek got to the point where he would dream at night about the shapes, and then wake in the morning thinking of them. But his favorite dreams were the ones where he was with Dray. Even after they had spent hours together studying, laughing, and talking quietly, his heart would still beat faster the next day when she was about to show up. Truth be told, Peek studied Dray as much as he studied the stones.
Along with his secret studies, Peek also excelled at his monastic training. He would learn a new song in a few moments of listening and then play it with a power and efficacy that few of the brothers and sisters could match. The limit to Peek’s training now came with the lack of scripture. The monks could only play for him the songs they knew, and they dared not grope for one half-remembered lest they blaspheme The Melody. So after constructing a hut or reinforcing the wall around the monastery, Peek would head off to the listening place telling Rudi and Locambius that he was intending to learn more songs.
It worked out perfectly.
Until Vlek appeared one day as Peek and Dray sat huddled close over scraps of parchment discussing the meaning of the stone carvings.
“Getting ready to make another bastard like yourself?”
As the anger rose in Peek he also felt a detached part of himself recognize the drunkenness of Vlek’s voice. He was, perhaps, two flagons of wine into his binge. At this point he could still walk and talk well enough, and his fists were something to be feared, but he had no logic left, nor fear of reprisal. This was the most dangerous Vlek Peek knew.
“I thought I told you to stop being out here,” Vlek slurred.
“This is the sacred space of our art,” Dray stood up and stepped forward with her hands on her hips. A Vlek less drunk might have feared offending his new allies, or one more drunk may have been cowed by the commanding tone. Not this Vlek. He raged.
“I don’t take orders from no slut!”
The detached part of Peek observed everything happen. It watched Dray gasp in shock and it felt the volcanic explosion of anger within. At the last moment, before he charged at Vlek with his fists flailing, Peek pulled out his pipes. The observer was at first fascinated and then afraid of what was to come next.
Peek started with the wind-song, like he’d heard on the island when the raiders came. He pushed Vlek back and sent dirt and leaves flying in his face. He stumbled and slipped to one knee. Peek felt triumph for a moment until Vlek dropped to all fours and started crawling toward him. The song had nowhere to grip him and so he came closer.
Next Peek played water at him. Sheets of rain poured out of nowhere drenching Vlek and turning the soil to mud. He slipped and fell face first into the muck, but rose and continued. By now Peek could see the wine stains at the corners of his mouth and the bits of forgotten food in this clenched teeth. His eyes spoke murder, but this time there was no Rea or Cor to pull him off.
Peek thought of the fire song or the earth song — wending stones at him would surely help — but Vlek was too close for Peek to lift stones and fling them. Fire would work, but might kill Vlek too. Peek almost played the fire song. The detache
d observer looked on with morbid fascination as Peek cast about for something else.
At Vlek’s last, stumbling, mud-sliding step, Peek listened to the songs he had spent so much time learning to ignore. One of them felt right. The music of the wind and trees sounded out and, at first, stunned both Dray and Vlek. They stood and stared at Peek. But before long they weren’t staring at Peek anymore, but at the phantom standing just in front of him.
The seven foot, hulking beast of a person coalesced out of wind and dust, water and sunlight. Its arms were muscled like one of the raiders, but it stood several times larger than any raider. Its body was covered in either fur or fur-covered skins, but the light passing through it and the swirling of the particles within it made precise identification nearly impossible.
Vlek bleared up at the creature with inebriated myopia. For a moment he looked afraid, but soon he started to chuckle, and then laugh uproariously. Serpent-like, he shot out a hand — mid-laugh — and reached through the phantom to grip Peek’s wrist.
“S’what I thought,” he slurred, “Your magic’s useless as you.”
Peek’s detached part saw the moment of change. It looked around for someone to warn, but had no voice or body for the task. With no way to affect things, the observer observed.
Peek’s song changed subtly. As the notes changed the phantom reached out and gripped Vlek’s wrist protruding from its belly. When it squeezed, Vlek screamed and released Peek. The observer begged Peek to be done. He wasn’t; rage had passed from Vlek to Peek like a contagion.
Another twist to the song and the phantom lifted Vlek by his wrist and threw him several yards away. The drunk man collapsed into a heap. Peek sent the phantom stalking forward and just before it reached Vlek, he scrambled to his feet and swung a branch at it. The limb passed through its body. Its fists, however, landed solidly on Vlek’s head and shoulders. He stumbled under the blows and then fell to his knees. The phantom continued to pummel him, the observer in Peek’s mind couldn’t break through to stop the attack.