True North

by S.M. Winter

picked up again, this time more in response to the music than the darkness I was surrounded in.

  The walls were made of a solid brick and mortar. I could feel the rows and valleys as I walked. When I found a divot close to the origin of the music I didn’t hesitate and reached my hand inside to release a small latch. Instead of a loud mechanical banging that I’d heard earlier, it seemed to be a manual pressure lock. I pushed lightly against the wall and felt the hidden door give as it opened. I pushed harder and opened the door enough to see through. Coming from the still darkness the brightness blinded me for a moment.

  It was a relatively small room compared to others I’d seen so far, but still palatial in comparison to what I was used to. What seemed odd was that even though I could see walls, I would have sworn I was outside. Grass grew where carpet or hardwood should have been. Several blooming trees, at various states of flowering, grew and flourished. Flowering vines grew up and around the walls. A sun the size of a basketball glowed brightly in response to the music. Laying in a tree larger than the rest, on a branch that bowed deeply into the shape of a hammock, was Alexandar. His eyes were closed and he picked the strings of what looked like a lute. The branch sway gracefully to the music, as if it were swinging in the breeze. I watched for a time, enchanted by the melody and wary of breaking whatever peace he seemed to be gaining from this time alone. Though his body seemed relaxed, the weeping melody belied a deep sadness within.

  I found myself needing to comfort him. A strong urge pushed me forward and I stepped onto the grass. As soon as I did the music stopped, the image shattered, and I stepped into a room like any other. A soft glow came from a nearby fireplace, a small bookcase sat against one wall. Instruments lined an entire wall, along with a piano and a large wooden drawer system labeled “sheet music”. Alexandar lay on a large chaise staring at me. Though glaring may have been more accurate. I felt keenly the loss of the garden he had created and wondered if he felt the same. I realized I must have made a grievous error in breaking his solitude. Then I shook my head. It was preposterous to project my imaginings on anyone else, especially if he was a figment of my imagination. I was beginning to forget that this wasn’t real. A dangerous road to follow.

  “What are you doing here?” Alexandar’s voice broke through my musings so I walked fully into the room.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said. “I was in the library and found my way here by following the music. What is this place?”

  “It’s the music room,” he said flatly. Standing, he went to the wall and replaced the lute. Then he moved to leave through the open doorway.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Away,” he said.

  “From me?” I surmised.

  “Yes from you,” he rounded on me in surprising anger. “You’re always there. Everywhere I turn you’re there.”

  Stalking forward he stopped directly in front of me. Though his rage was impressive, I was more curious than afraid.

  “I can’t seem to escape you,” he said.

  “I apologize for any discomfort I’ve added to your life,” I said sincerely. “As you may recall, my being here wasn’t exactly voluntary.”

  “That’s the thing though,” his eyes narrowed. “You know you can leave at any time. So why haven’t you?”

  “I assumed I was being held here,” I said.

  “Well you know what assume really means,” he scoffed.

  “Yes, I do,” I answered matter of factly.

  Alexandar stood there for a moment, mouth working like a fish attempting to breathe before he burst into a deep rumbling laughter. I watched in awe as his face transformed. It was both charming and disarming to see him lower his guard, if for just a glimpse. As he saw that I was studying him, Alexandar’s laughter began to dissipate.

  “You’re being genuine,” he said oddly, as if he wasn’t used to honesty.

  “What else would I be?” I asked.

  “Manipulative,” he responded quickly.

  “What motive would I have?” I wondered aloud.

  “That I haven’t figured out yet,” he stepped closer and brought his face inches from mine. “But if there is one to find, I will find it.”

  Though we weren’t touching there seemed to be electricity running along my body. It was as if the air between us was trying to pull us together, a literal magnetism that I was unable to resist. Just as I began to lean forward to meet it, he took one large step backward. Then, without a word, he turned and left.

  I watched Alexandar’s exit with an odd sense of yearning. I had the feeling that he’d wanted to close the distance between us, and I know I had wanted him to. What did that say about my state of mind that I felt so comfortable with the idea of essentially making out with myself? I snorted out a laugh. The sound startled me in the empty room but it felt so pleasant to just let myself laugh.

  It had been such a long time since I’d allowed myself to laugh that it was satisfying to feel the release of tension I hadn’t known was there. More relaxed than I wanted to admit, even to myself, I walked along the wall of instruments, running my hands absently over them. I stopped at the wind section. The wall was set up in four sections and over each section was an elemental symbol. Earth over the wood percussion section holding drums, toms and rain sticks. Air over the wind instruments: flutes, clarinets, and horns. Fire over the string instruments: guitar, violin and bass. And finally, Water over the brass percussive instruments: bells and cymbals.

  I’d always been pulled to the trumpet and some of the heavier brass wind instruments. My mother had forced me to learn the violin instead. She’d said that playing an instrument like a man was trashy. I caressed the shiny brass instrument with a longing I’d never really let myself feel. If I was going to get to the bottom of this mental break I needed to let myself feel and experience everything, otherwise I could potentially be stuck here forever.

  Turning, I moved to the fire section and picked up the violin and rosined the bow. Without needing music I just let myself play. I’d trained for years and my near photographic memory led the way in my need to express my frustration. Though it surprised me that it was a song that called storms in a video game I used to play. Oddly it released my confusion and frustration. I played like that for a while until my confusion was gone and running with the theme, I moved to another song from the same series that had my blood pumping faster. It would normally be played on a trumpet so I threw myself into it. It was exciting and different. I hadn’t even realized I’d coveted the music of these video games until now. I was able to express my frustration and anger. But in the same notes I was able to convey my excitement over the new world I was experiencing.

  When I was finished, I drooped a little. I was suddenly very tired. From the corner, the piano began to play another familiar song. It was the Song of Healing. Tears burned my eyes as I listened to the music. When the music finally faded I put my violin away and waited for the musician to reveal themselves.

  “I love the Hyrulian games,” Valerie’s voice came from the corner. “No matter what was going on in my life I could go home and fight for what was right and just. And win,”

  “They were cathartic for me as well,” I agreed, taking a deep breathe. “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Any time you want to play nerdy music, I’m down.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said. “I was never allowed to play music that wasn’t composed by someone over a hundred years ago. While I appreciate the Greats, I wanted to play modern music as well. So I did it in secret.”

  “Understandably,” Valerie smiled. “You play very well though.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Your skills on the piano are nothing to dismiss off hand.”

  “I appreciate that,” she told me.

  “Why are there elemental symbols over the different sections,” I wondered.

  “Did you have time to read anything?” She asked me.

  “No,” I said. �
�The first book I tried to find led me to this secret passageway behind the stacks.”

  “Ahh,” Valerie nodded with a twinkle in her eyes. “Did Chauncy pick out the books for you?”

  “Yes,” I told her.

  “Well played Chauncy,” she said quietly. “Well played.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked pointedly.

  “Nothing,” she said with a wave of her hand. “He probably just wanted you to find the catacombs, knowing you would be interested in them.”

  “Well that’s true enough,” I said. Pulling out the index cards from my back pocket I studied them.

  I realized as I looked at them that they all had one thing in common. They all had the word Catacombs, or at least some nod to secret passages. Catacomb Diaries, The by Geraldine Fitzgerald. World of the Secret Catacombs, The by Michelle Jaxun. Secret Life of the Elemental, The by Hennessey Williams. It went on and one. The only one that didn’t fit was Elementals and Their Servants by Aimee Ratte.

  “What did you find?” Valerie asked.

  “I found that all of these except one book have some reference to secrets or passageways,” I looked up, frowning.

  Valerie seemed to be attempting to hide a smile.

  “Why is that funny?” I asked.

  “No reason,” she said and began walking to the door. “Perhaps you should find that last book.”

  “Hmm,” I nodded absently, the weariness I’d felt earlier after purging my emotions had ebbed slightly.