Now the child had arrived, and Yozef still didn’t know how he felt, except for one clear question: I wonder what they named him?
Music
Yozef only occasionally attended the Godsday service at the cathedral. He wasn’t a believer, on Earth or Anyar, but considered regular attendance both politically wise and a time to hear music that didn’t assault his ears, as most Caedelli music did. An ensemble of strings and wind instruments blended into calming arrangements, and some of the brothers and the sisters formed a choir with pieces reminiscent of Gregorian chants. Often, he listened only half-heartedly to the abbot’s message, losing himself in the musical interludes.
The cathedral services weren’t the only place Yozef heard Caedelli music. For Keelanders, music was an everyday feature of life. Walking through Abersford, he often heard half a dozen different voices singing or humming tunes. Besides the abbey’s small ensemble, instruments, both in groups and solo, were everywhere at festivals, parties, pubs, and anywhere individuals or groups were in the mood.
What hadn’t happened yet on Caedellium was standardization of instruments, although four basic types existed—percussion, wind, horn, and string. With all four types, the variety was such that at first Yozef wondered whether it was the custom for every instrument to be unique.
While the music itself varied, it was usually performed solo or, if with multiple instruments, played one person at a time. Combined playing was mainly restricted to small groups at festivals and pubs, with the Godsday service ensemble the only formal permanent grouping. There was also elementary standard notation, but Yozef thought it was in the early stages of development, where only the main melody line was written down, with the expectation that the musician would improvise the bass line or variations.
Some of the local music Yozef found appealing, particularly a few of the pub songs and Godsday music. Other pieces were downright strange, and even the same piece could be in either category, depending not just on the quality of the musician, but on how he chose to play the piece or what instrument he used. A melodic, meditative Godsday piece played by several strings with a soft drumming background didn’t sound the same when played on something like a small bagpipe.
Yozef had initially contributed to the Caedellium music scene at the Snarling Graeko with rough translations of “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places,” by Garth Brooks, Roger Miller’s “Chug-a-lug,” and the Irish song “Molly Malone.” Other songs were less appreciated. Blank looks responded to his translation of the Beach Boys’ “I Get Around.”
He was in a good mood one day, while going over his bank accounts, which seemed on a steady rise, no matter how much he paid out in salaries, supplies, and new projects, most of which failed. He was unconsciously humming parts of the choral movement from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony when a voice interrupted.
“Say, Yozef, what’s that you’re humming?”
He looked up to see Pernel Horton, one of the bank’s clerks.
“Ah, Pernel. It’s a tune known to my people in America. Part of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.”
“Beethoven? Symphony?”
Shit. I need to watch speaking without thinking.
“A man named Beethoven created the music, and it’s played by a group of musicians who together are called a symphony.”
“I heard you humming, and the melody grabbed me right away. Wait a moment while I get my curnyx.”
Pernel returned with an instrument that looked like a large kazoo. Yozef had seen and heard them at harvest festivals and Godsday services. Depending on sizes and shapes, the bulbous instrument’s output reminded him of flutes and oboes.
“I play at Godsday services, and we’re always looking for new music—if it’s appropriate, of course. Please hum again, and let me try to copy.”
Yozef hummed, Pernel blew, and work in the bank stopped, as workers and customers gathered to listen. Within minutes, the clerk could repeat everything Yozef remembered of the Ninth Movement.
“You said this music is played by a group. How large?”
“Perhaps as many as thirty musicians.” Yozef didn’t say large symphony orchestras could approach a hundred members.
“This is exciting. I’ll speak with the others who play at the services and see if we can use this tune. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask you before, since I like some of the songs you gave us at the Snarling Graeko. I imagine you must know other music from your people?”
The two men walked out of the bank to let business resume. In a tree grove, Yozef obligingly whistled and hummed a number of tunes for Pernel, who was eager to adapt a few for a planned Godsday service, in honor of the memory of those who had fallen in the defense of St. Sidryn’s.
During the next month, they worked sporadically on adapting novel tunes from Yozef, and the final memorial service ended up with ten musical pieces, six traditional Caedellium ones and four from Yozef that were based very loosely on the Schubert “Ave Maria,” “Il Pensieros” by Verdi, “O Holy Night,” and, of course, the same choral movement from the Ninth Symphony. When blended with the Caedellium tunes and words added to be sung by the small choir, the totality developed into a story starting as a somber reflection on the losses, progressed to asking for God’s grace, then showed the unity of the community struggling together, and finally had a triumphal ending. Without intending to, they created the first Caedellium opera, a series of musical pieces telling a story.
Yozef insisted the music needed to be performed with a reduced variety of instruments, at least those pieces he contributed. After some arguments, they settled on a dozen that simulated an Earth orchestra. Five bowed instruments, taking the roles of violin, viola, and cello, were accompanied by a curved metal horn (French horn), three bulbous wind kazoos, two plucked strings (harp and guitar), and a drummer using drums of several sizes and tones.
Rumors of something unusual spread, so that when the Godsday for the memorial arrived, the cathedral was filled, with hundreds unable to get in, even by packing the hall in every available space. Sistian solved the problem by declaring that they would perform the entire memorial service twice. When this included the introductory traditional Godsday songs and sermon and the special musical performance, the entire service lasted two hours. Despite the tradition that services in the cathedral were solemn and quiet affairs, at the conclusion the throng shouted, clapped, and wept, and conversation broke out throughout the hall. Sistian finally had to ring a two-handed bell to quiet them, thank the musicians, and then ask the people to exit, so they could repeat the entire event for those left outside. People who missed the first performance filled perhaps two-thirds of the cathedral, which filled again to overflowing with those who wanted a second chance.
At the end of the second performance, Sistian again thanked the musicians, but by then he knew something extraordinary had happened that day, and he took additional time to thank the lead musician, Pernel Horton, and Yozef Kolsko. Horton, in turn, attributed much of the credit to Yozef, who, much to his discomfort, ended up having to come forward to general shouts of approval.
After eagerly exiting the hall, Yozef was thanked by people wanting to clasp arms, slap him on the back, or, most awkward for Yozef, reach out to touch him as he passed. Yozef had nearly escaped, when Brother Carllin Wye pushed aside several people and threw his arms around Yozef in a fierce hug, then stepped back with tears in his eyes.
“Ser Kolsko,” Wye said huskily, “please forgive me for ever thinking you were an agent of the Evil One sent here to entice us to dark ways. Forgive me.”
Agent of the Evil One?
Yozef knew the dour brother didn’t approve of him, but this was the first time he realized there were still some who thought of him as a demon.
Wye hugged him again.
Okay, Wye, enough with the hugging.
Sistian rescued him by leading Brother Wye away, and Yozef made his escape.
Maera Keelan had been at St. Sidryn’s two sixdays and knew of Wye’s opinion
of Yozef. She saw the performance twice, and the music and the words touched her more than she would have thought possible. The prolonged story and evolution of the music were something she hadn’t experienced before. She closely observed Brother Wye’s apology and Yozef’s obvious discomfort and wondered.
Maera Teaches Yozef
The Godsday memorial, tours of Yozef’s projects, witnessing him explaining inheritance to Brother Wallington, and interviews with anyone who interacted with this strange man let Maera learn facts and impressions, but the information flow was one-way—from or about him to her. The opportunity presented itself to go in the other direction: her teaching Yozef.
They both attended a dinner reception at the abbey with senior brothers and sisters, the mayor of Abersford, Vegga as the magistrate, and two dozen other prominent men and women.
After the meal, the guests moved to a large room off the cathedral and engaged in what resembled a mixer, guests standing or sitting, sipping beverages, nibbling on tidbits, and circulating from one group and discussion to another.
It didn’t take long for Yozef to become bored, until he drifted over and stood near Maera and six others talking about the history of Caedellium. After a few minutes, the group members dispersed, until only the two of them remained.
“Sen Keelan, I listened to your discussion, and I see you’ve quite an extensive knowledge of not just Keelan and its history, but of all the clans on Caedellium. I’ve done reading in the abbey library and have discussed this with Brother Sistian, but I’d like to learn more. I wonder if we could arrange to meet and you tell me more about the island and its history.”
Maera nodded without expression. “Of course, Ser Kolsko.”
Thus began daily hour-long sessions in the abbey library. Yozef took copious notes, while Maera talked, and she suggested several readings that he had missed in the abbey library. She also said there were other books in the St. Tomo’s library at Caernford, but they didn’t allow these to be taken from the library. Yozef said he was willing to pay to have a few of her highest recommendations copied, and she offered to write to the St. Tomo’s abbot to see whether it could be arranged.
During the third sixday of such sessions, Kolsko made a suggestion. They had continued using each other’s formal address. Maera had made an effort to be more familiar with several locals, but the relaxation hadn’t occurred between her and Kolsko.
“Sen Keelan, since we’ve spent considerable time together, I wonder if we might dispense with the last names and use our first names, if that’s appropriate and with your permission.”
The question initially startled Maera. It was the first time someone had suggested to her that they use first names. She had always been the one who made the offer. A flash of indignation passed quickly at Kolsko’s guileless query. After all, he was different, in Filtin Fuller’s words.
“Of course . . . Yozef. You have permission to call me Maera.”
During the next month, Maera continued to pay visits to Yozef’s enterprises and took voluminous notes on distillation, soap and paper making, banking, and other activities that had yet to come to fruition. These times, plus teaching Yozef about Caedellium, and their attendance at several meals with the Beynoms and other locals, resulted in their spending more time together than she had planned. At the social affairs, she noticed that they seemed to gravitate toward each other. She told herself it was because he was the most interesting person attending.
A month into her visit, reciprocal session of “lessons” began, this time with Yozef as the instructor. The topic was Yozef’s views of Caedellium. It was her first experience in delving deeply into how someone from outside the island viewed Caedellium and its peoples, and it uncovered a new window overlooking a known world. Some of his ideas deserved longer thought, such as the inevitability of Caedellium being ruled by a single central authority. He asked several pertinent questions: Even if the Narthani left, wouldn’t one of the mainland realms attempt the same, if only to stymie the Narthani? Perhaps not soon, but someday? Could Caedellium always exist as a collection of independent, jealous clans?
“I’m not convinced, Yozef, that Caedellium needs such a change. For one thing, I don’t see the clans all agreeing.”
“But isn’t the Tri-Clan Alliance, soon to be the Five-Clan Alliance, as I hear you say, a step in such a consolidation? I’d predict that the advantages in defense and trade will be so obvious that it’s only a matter of time before other clans join. My people would call it the ‘domino effect,’ where other clans see the advantages and, as more join, the pressure on the others will increase. Then, over time, central authority would grow.”
“Who would rule? No clan will agree to be under the authority of another clan’s hetman.”
Yozef described different forms of governing; many Maera understood, but others, where the ordinary people had more decision-making power, seemed implausible. He assured her all of the systems had been tried in the past, some successfully and others failing. The variety was strange to her, but Anyar was wide and its history long enough that who knew what had existed or did exist elsewhere? In addition to everything else she’d learned about Kolsko, he never failed to give her more to think about.
She also found herself more and more relaxed, both in Abersford and particularly around Yozef. Without realizing it, she looked forward to their times together and was disappointed when a day passed without seeing him.
Maera Learns to Properly Toast
The time for Maera to return to her family had come and gone. She’d already delayed a sixday longer than planned and was surprised that she wasn’t eager at the thought of going home.
She was leaving her room at the Beynoms’ house, heading for the dining area for morning meal, when Cadwulf burst into the house.
“Father! Mother! I—oh, Sen Maera, pardon my yelling.”
Cadwulf’s parents appeared, Sistian from his study and Diera from their bedroom.
“What’s happening, son?” said Sistian. “Is there an emergency!?”
The young man flopped into a wooden chair, putting a hand to his chest. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm anyone. It’s just . . . just . . . so exciting! I spent the whole night at Yozef’s house in his study. I don’t think any of you has been inside, but he has blackboards covering two walls of the room. We ate last evening, and afterward he started explaining to me how to calculate the orbits of planets. We already do this, but he went further to show me the work of two scholastics of his people, one named Yohanes Kepler and the other Izak Newton. Kepler determined rules of how planets behave, and Newton provided the mathematical proof. Plus, Newton explained why things fall and how to calculate their speed and acceleration. It’s called gravity, and there are equations for it, too!”
The parents and Maera looked at one another, perplexed by Cadwulf’s exuberance and with no idea what he was talking about.
“You spent the entire night on this?” asked Diera.
“I did, not Yozef. He went to bed. I was too excited and spent the whole night going over the equations from Yozef to find faults. I couldn’t. He said they could determine the paths of thrown objects, then fell asleep before he could give me details. It took me all night, but I derived them myself, and he’s right. Tell me how fast an object is thrown and at what angle, and now I can tell you exactly how far it will travel.”
Although Cadwulf tried explaining in more detail, Sistian was immediately lost. Diera lasted longer, but it was Maera who followed Cadwulf far enough to be impressed.
Later, she met Yozef for another general discussion session. She didn’t mention Cadwulf’s experience, though they rambled for three hours and veered over topics from the Narthani to other Anyar realms, the birds and animals of Caedellium, the relative merits of traditional Caedellium pancakes and Yozef’s French toast, and on and on. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about.
Odd, thought Maera.
The abbey bell rang, signaling the traditional
end of the workday and time for evening meal. Both of them were surprised how quickly time had passed. Maera had a sudden desire for the day to continue.
“What are your plans for evening meal, Yozef?”
He smiled. “I’m meeting Carnigan and Filtin at the Snarling Graeko for food and beers.”
The warmth of his smile and obvious anticipation made her not look forward to her own meal with the Beynoms. Diera and Sistian were wonderful people, and she loved them dearly, but after a month and a half, their conversation was getting boring.
“Would it be possible for me to come, too?” she blurted without thinking.
“To the pub?” asked a surprised Yozef.
“Yes. While I’ve never been in a pub, I understand both men and women go, isn’t that correct?”
He stared for a moment. Grew up on Caedellium and doesn’t know such details of common life? I guess being the hetman’s daughter sheltered her.
“Oh, yes. Customers are mainly men, but there are always a few women.” There were no cultural prohibitions on Caedellium against women in pubs; it just seemed that the inclination was more with men, as on Earth.
“I caution that the manner and language are less genteel than you may be used to, Maera.”
“I’m sure there won’t be anything I haven’t heard before.”
Well, why not? Yozef mused. No one will act inappropriate with the hetman’s daughter. Anyway, Carnigan, Filtin, and I will be there.
“Fine, Maera, we’ll be happy to have you join us.”
However, “happy” was not the initial response of the pub’s patrons, including Yozef’s friends: surprise, astonishment, reservations, annoyance, confusion, astonishment, yes, but not happiness. The pub was already full of customers when the two of them arrived. As they walked to Carnigan’s regular table, the din died away, first to silence and then a low buzz. At their table was the big man, plus Filtin and his wife, Nerlin, who occasionally joined them. Yozef thanked the fates for another woman besides Maera. Filtin’s face bordered on shock when he spotted Maera. He jumped to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. Carnigan’s response was even greater—for him—a raised eyebrow and another generous quaff from his stein.
The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) Page 9