A Dubious Peace

by Olan Thorensen

  “You did the right thing for all the right reasons.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I suppose I should be grateful it went as easy as it did. But I can’t escape how I intended to force it on them if it had been necessary.”

  She laid a hand on his thigh. “But you didn’t have to, which means they also knew it was the right thing, even if they didn’t want it. And don’t wallow in solitary guilt. I have a little of my own. I’ve always wished we saw them more often, and now we will.” She smiled. “Now I just have to feel guilty about wanting Mother, Father, and Mared here in Orosz City.”

  “You told me Mared was thinking about becoming a scholastic of some kind. If we concentrate the university here, Mared may well move here to attend.”

  Maera’s expression did a back and forth between pleasure and sadness. “Meaning I would have her near, but then all of my parents’ children would be gone from their home. I wish you hadn’t said that, though I probably would have realized it eventually.”

  “Well . . . I’ll let you wallow about that, but you should be planning for when Diera arrives in a month.”

  CHAPTER 24

  MUSIC

  St. Wyan’s Cathedral

  The cathedral was half-full as the time approached for the performance to begin. As far as Yozef knew, it would be a first for Caedellium—something that could be labeled a concert. Heather had described the program—an hour and a half of a series of musical pieces. A printed program listed the pieces’ names and a few sentences about each one. The latter had been Yozef’s suggestion. Besides being unfamiliar to Caedelli ears, the music would have a novel format, and the orchestra’s structure, discipline, and several instruments would be new to Caedelli. Standardized string instruments had never been a major feature of Caedellium music. Wind-analogs and percussion instruments dominated, with a smattering of brass. It had been a frustrating issue for Heather when she had mentioned wanting to establish a formal orchestra.

  ***

  “Some things just won’t sound right without a good-size bowed-string section,” Heather complained to Yozef after he witnessed her working with a thirty-musician ensemble.

  “Maybe I should have started with vocals, instead of instrumentals. Even with as much as I remember, I can’t call up every detail of more complex scores. I’m missing gaps in the originals, and we’ve had to compose bridges to some sections. I’m struggling to be as true to pieces as I can, and I give attribution wherever I can.”

  “It’s an issue you’ll have to settle for yourself,” said Yozef. “When I introduced tunes, I made a point of simply saying they were from Amerika. You’re doing more than that by naming composers. I’ve had similar situations where I had to make an impression on the hetmen during meetings. One particular time, I plagiarized shamelessly from famous speeches and Shakespeare. I admit it didn’t bother me to use others’ words, but the situation was different. The clans needed to unite against the Narthani, and I believed then and still do that this justified anything I had to do to that end. You don’t have anything comparable in the background.”

  “Well . . . I’d be on firmer ground with singers and the supporting instruments. I know the words and melodies to all the top hits of Ed Sheeren and Taylor Swift, to mention only two of my favorite singers.”

  “Yes,” Yozef said, “but then you’d need to modify the lyrics or write new ones because either the originals wouldn’t seem appropriate for this society or the references wouldn’t make sense. No . . . I expect you’ve done it the best way. I also admit I haven’t paid much attention to the music scene on the island. I know I’ve seen and heard different string instruments, and I’ve heard you play the one called a zurta.”

  “That’s just one of the more common strings here in Caedelli, and even those have variations. They are all plucked and strummed. There’s no tradition of bowed stringed instruments here. I could probably introduce some versions of . . . well, the violin, cello, bass . . . but that would take time to build them, and then people would have to learn how to play them, which would take God knows how many years.”

  She sighed and leaned against a cathedral pew. “No, I’ll just have to accept the limitations.”

  “How about other places on Anyar? Caedellium’s just a small part and relatively isolated.”

  Heather pursed her lips. “Well . . . Sulako is the only other place I heard any music, and that was just in the Song of Irlan, the establishment where I had to perform. There were these kinda round, bass-like string instruments, but the musicians strummed and plucked them. Then, of course, there was my foralong, which was sort of like a mandolin.”

  “Well . . . we’ve got people from Narthon in Preddi Province, plus the Fuomi people at their naval base near Adris City. If you’d like, I can query about stringed instruments.” Yozef smiled. “Should cause some to wonder why I’m asking.”

  The query proved fruitful. Bowed instruments were common among the Fuomi and the Narthani, although the sizes and shapes varied. Two ex-Narthani and one ex-slave who had moved to Orosz City played violin-analogs and had their own instruments. In addition, a Fuomi on the staff of their new ambassador played an instrument that looked like a slightly large cello. He had brought his instrument with him. Those four became members of Heather’s first Caedellium orchestra.

  “The sound is pretty thin for some of the pieces, but I’m hoping more ‘violin’ players are found,” Heather later told Yozef. “Eina says that in her next report going back to Fuomon, she will suggest that future personnel additions or rotations include a few people who can double as musicians. I’m impressed with the skill of these people. I hope we can have standardized violins, cellos, and basses made for existing musicians to switch to. Of course, it will take years for people who start at the beginning.” She smiled. “But I hope there’s plenty of time to help them along.”

  ***

  Yozef didn’t have a choice of where to sit for the performance. His preference would have been to sit farther back in the cathedral, where the acoustics were a little better. However, it was too minor an issue. As Paramount, he always had a front row reserved if his presence was anticipated. As it was, it took him several minutes to make his way forward, exchanging greetings, saying a few words, pausing to shake hands, clasping forearms, receiving pats on the back, and, to his continuing annoyance, being the subject of slight touches as if he were a holy relic.

  A space was waiting between Maera and Anarynd. At the far end of the flanking pew was Carnigan. Next to him were Gwyned, Mark, and Maghen. Carnigan flatly stated he would sit at a far end to avoid blocking the view of people behind him. Mark wasn’t as large but agreed with the concept, and the Kaldwels joined the Puveys.

  “I expected more people,” said Maera, “because of curiosity if nothing else. I hope Heather is not disappointed.”

  Yozef chuckled. “I think she’s so nervous, she won’t even notice. This is the first time she’s conducted a group of musicians. Oh . . . she’s played and sung before others in the past, but never something like this. She confessed that conducting was one of her dreams, though she never expected to do it. We’ve seen her play, though. Once the music starts, she’ll forget everything else.”

  The audience quieted as Abbot Parwyn rose from his seat in the floor-level box next to the orchestra.

  “Thank you all for coming. We’ve all heard some of the music brought to us by Heather Chen to accompany Godsday services or the singing and playing at gatherings of various sizes. Heather worked with this group of musicians to prepare what she tells me is a selection of music from Amerika, where she and the Paramount are from, along with Caedelli music she adapted for this . . . uh . . . orchestra, as she calls it—a larger group of musicians playing together than we usually see.

  “I also want to note that the musicians originally come not only from Caedellium but also from other realms on Anyar. Despite conflicts that are a disappointment to God, it’s encouraging to see people of d
ifferent origins working together to perform music.”

  The abbot turned to Heather, nodded, and resumed his seat.

  She gave a stiff bow to the audience and said, “The first piece is from Amerika and was written to suggest the arrival of morning and the sun coming above the horizon.”

  She stood on an ornate box that placed her high enough to be seen by all the musicians. She had told Yozef she would resist the temptation to use a version of the conductor’s wand. Although it might match her childhood dreams, it would only make her more nervous if she imagined that she looked ridiculous.

  She raised her arms from the elbows, paused for every musician to prepare, raised her arms higher, and on the downbeat began a version of Grieg’s “Morning” from his Peer Gynt Suite. Yozef glanced at the program and read, “Morning by Greeg.” Heather had insisted attribution be given where possible. She reluctantly acknowledged that taking a degree of self-credit had advantages for her position, but she had limits.

  The first piece lasted three to four minutes. Heather hadn’t promised she could exactly remember every passage of pieces her memory retained, but she thought she could fill in gaps enough that no one from Anyar would know anything was missing. In many cases, it might only be a fraction of the original piece—the part she either remembered or thought had the best chance of being well received.

  Yozef couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulders to check people’s initial reactions. Most of the faces showed attention to the music, though he saw a few furrowed foreheads.

  Probably due to a different combination of instruments than they’re used to, thought Yozef.

  Among the many things Heather had worried about was how the audience would respond after each piece. She had noticed that people did not always maintain complete silence during performances on the island. She was adamant that there be silence during the playing. It was Maera who suggested that the audience be cautioned to respect the American custom of not responding until the last piece was finished.

  “Otherwise, it might take many minutes to get the audience quiet again for the next piece, and then they’d have to do it all over again every time. For this first performance, and for Heather’s peace of mind, we can tell everyone to wait until the end. We can change the format later.”

  This was why most people remained quiet after the last bars of “Morning” faded away. Those in the audience who forgot the instructions were quickly shushed by their neighbors. Heather remained with her back to the audience, waited for silence to return, and moved into the second piece, a waltz version of a Caedelli tune whose original name she kept as part of the title. Appreciative sighs were not too vocal at people’s recognition of a known tune.

  The program continued, alternating between music from Earth and adapted melodies from Caedellium. Yozef recognized most of the Earth selections, though he could assign names to only half of them without looking at the program. And even then, he couldn’t be sure he had heard them before.

  One piece read “Adagio” by Rodreego.

  “You know it’s weird using an Italian word, don’t you?” he’d asked Heather when she showed him the program.

  She had stuck her tongue out. “Not as weird as using the original title. ‘Concerto de Aranjuez, Adagio movement, by Roderigo’ doesn’t translate or mean much to people here. I decided just to go ahead and introduce the Italian markings I’m used to. The musicians here won’t have trouble once they understand what the words mean. Hell . . . it might even seem more exotic to them. I’ll just pretend they’re English words.”

  Yozef listened. The piece emphasized wind and string instruments.

  Excellent choice, he thought. If I close my eyes, I would think I’m hearing oboes and guitars.

  He lost himself in the haunting melody, memories of Earth rising up. He turned his head toward Mark, and their eyes met.

  He’s feeling the same thing, thought Yozef.

  Another Caedelli-inspired piece followed, and the alternation continued. Yozef smiled as the orchestra began what Heather promised he would recognize as “Air on the G String,” by Bach. She’d all but “Tsk-tsk’ed” as she explained how what he had likely heard was a bastardized version of the original, which was part of a longer, multi-part Bach piece. He remembered thinking, Yes, Heather, you are definitely a music nerd.

  Piece followed piece, with Yozef reading the program for each. When it came time for the final selection, three new musicians joined the ensemble, two going to drums that had thus far been unused, the third carrying a pair of large brass cymbals. Yozef glanced at the program again. “Waiting on Orosz City.”

  Tomis Orosz surprised Yozef when the hetman stood from sitting beside the abbot and addressed the audience.

  “As terrible as the final battle against the Narthani was, remember that we had clanspeople all over the island waiting for word of the outcome. Some were in cities not in the path of the Narthani. Others were in redoubts. They all awaited word. Heather Chen tells me this music is intended to represent such a situation during a distant battle where people waited and imagined what was happening at the battle and hoped for good news.”

  Tomis sat again. Heather raised her hands and began a slow figure-eight motion. The music started slowly with a somber tone, the wind-analog instruments dominating.

  That sounds familiar, thought Yozef. He glanced at Mark, who looked back and nodded.

  He recognizes it.

  Yozef looked again at the program and scrolled down to the final selection. Like most of the Amerikan pieces, Heather acknowledged the composer.

  Kuhtofski? Who the hell is Kuhtofski?

  The composer’s identity didn’t click with Yozef through several more familiar parts until the pace and volume increased minutes later when a crescendo of drums, cymbals, and brass dominated the ending.

  Hey! It’s the 1812 Overture! Tchaikovsky! Of course. Caedelli doesn’t have the “ch” sound, which is how Tchaikovsky’s is usually pronounced. Voila! Kuhtofski. Wait a minute. Is it “Kitofski” or “Kuhtofski?” Well . . . I guess here it’s Kuhtofski.

  Heather’s shoulders slumped, and her arms dropped limply to her sides.

  “I think she’s exhausted,” whispered Anarynd.

  Maera overheard and leaned across Yozef so both he and Anarynd could hear.

  “It could be physical or mental . . . maybe both.”

  Heather turned slowly, as if fearful of the audience’s reaction.

  “I think it’s time to show appreciation,” the abbot called out with an amused tone.

  Yozef thought the level of noise was sufficient to assuage Heather’s worry. He estimated two-thirds of the people were clapping with various degrees of enthusiasm—some politely and others apparently as hard as they could. Facial expressions varied: glowing, smiling, attentive, reserved, and a few sour.

  Well, you can’t please everyone, thought Yozef.

  It was also a case where the Caedelli custom of foot stamping was fortuitous because it contributed enough volume that Heather’s grin spread as far as her face physically allowed.

  “I’ll bet there would be many an encore if people knew about the custom,” Yozef said loudly enough for Maera and Anarynd to hear over the audience. “Those who enjoyed the performance seem enthusiastic.”

  “Encore?” asked Maera.

  “Uh . . . it’s when the audience likes a performance enough, they clap and stamp, hoping the performers will continue with additional music.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” said Anarynd. “I’d like to hear the first music again. How do I ask for this ‘encore’?”

  “I think it’s best if we don’t do it this first time when the audience doesn’t understand the custom. Maybe next time.”

  “Umph!” expelled Yozef, after a jab from Maera’s elbow.

  “You’re the Paramount. Stand up and explain the custom and that today there will be two encores. The one that Anarynd wants and another one.”

  “You could have just sugge
sted it, instead of attacking me.”

  Maera sniffed but didn’t respond.

  Yozef sighed and complied. By acclamation, one of the adapted Caedelli pieces was the second encore. When the second round of appreciation died away, Heather spoke to acknowledge the musicians, thanked the audience, and sat on the box she’d stood on, soon to be surrounded by a crowd offering more congratulations and asking questions.

  “I told you she was good,” said Mark, when the Kaldwels wove their way to the Kolskos.

  “Yes, but all I’d heard from her was solo music. And wasn’t that what you described hearing in Sulako? That’s not the same as orchestras, and I imagine there was a ton of arranging.”

  “Well . . . I heard them practice a couple of times. Plus, you’ve caught her talking about music. I suspect that when she said she wished to eventually compose and conduct, she may have been underrepresenting her dreams a bit. I’m going to query her about it when I get a chance.”

  People important and common who wanted moments of the Paramount’s time diverted any further conversation. Among the former was Rhanjur Gaya. After the Munjor ambassador had returned to Caedellium with immigrant craftsmen and formal approval of their tentative trade agreement, it became untenable to restrict Gaya and the Munjorian embassy staff to Preddi City. Gaya and a small staff had moved into temporary quarters in Orosz City until an embassy they were building near Fuomon’s was finished. The Munjorian didn’t seem fazed that their expansive embassy in Preddi City had been completed only two months previous.

  I guess Gaya has plenty of money, thought Yozef.

  He also foresaw the area around the current Fuomi and future Munjorian embassies turning into an “Embassy Row,” as Yozef allowed other realms to move from Preddi City. Although he preferred having them at a distance, he told Maera, “At least I can use it to encourage trade agreements.”