Tuning the Symphony (Dissolution Cycle)

by William C. Tracy

  The head of the Council coughed to get her attention, and Rilan looked away from the crystal wall. “I am to be the Speaker Mareveluchi Karendi, head of the House of Communication. I am challenging you to defeat my test and show yourself as being worthy of the House of Healing. Overcome my speech.” She stepped behind the podium, looming over Rilan. It hid her bright robe, pink and brown with yellow accents. The Kirians, of which the speaker and Origon were both members, were known for their garish dress.

  Rilan felt a knot of worry forming in her stomach. Kirians were also famous for their public speaking and discourses on philosophy.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Um.” Rilan adjusted to the new test as she looked into the speaker’s gray eyes and pointy smile. “To become a majus.”

  “Why?”

  Rilan swallowed. Her throat was constricted. A subtle yellow light, flecked with dark brown specks, surrounded the speaker. Yellow for the House of Communication, brown for the majus’ personal color. “I want to use my ability to help…people.” She had to swallow in between words. How was this a test of her house? “I’m going to become a psychologist.” Was it a mental challenge of some sort? That was her strength, and Speaker Karendi knew it.

  “Do you think the House of Healing is needing one of your abilities? Why are you unique? Would not Apprentice Vethis be a better choice?”

  Rilan fought to push words out. It was getting hotter and the air felt like molasses. “I’m the…best in my class…I can change the Symphony…in ways they can only imagine…” She sagged. It was a strain merely to speak. She could barely draw breath and her vision was fogging. The speaker was doing something to the Symphony of the air, the medium of communication, changing its density or—

  “Are you so arrogant to think you are being better than maji who have studied longer than you have been alive?”

  The words had a force behind them, driving into her brain. What was she worth, really? Speaker Karendi was affecting her, persuading her. A two pronged attack. She struggled to hear the Symphony.

  “Why are you able to hear the music when there are so many who cannot do this?”

  She could hear the Symphony. She had since she was a child. Focus.

  “I can…hear the Symphony…because I am unique…I—” Her words choked off and Rilan diverted effort into listening. There it was, very faint, the cloud of impulses that was Speaker Karendi. Chords flashed by, almost too quick to hear.

  “If you are being so unique, give me the correct answer to this question. You are Speaker for the Council. Your species has gone to war against the Lobath, but you know they are in the wrong. How do you advise the Great Assembly?”

  Rilan shook her head. She thought furiously over the answer while she put her notes of her song into in a Symphony the speaker couldn’t hear.

  “I must stay neutral in my answer, not favoring either side.”

  Pheromones were the answer, subtly influencing. She could do pheromones.

  “You did not answer the question. Give me a definite solution.”

  The speaker pounded her with unsolvable dilemmas, unfair rulings, and tempting but unethical situations. Rilan devoted as much of her mental attention as she dared to the questions, answering as best as she could, gasping through the alternating thin and thick atmosphere. With the other part of her attention, she changed notes. Attraction. Distrust. Fight. Flight. Fear. Confusion. The notes were familiar to her. She had worked with many other apprentices, practicing her skill at mental healing.

  “A Sathssn has been caught killing another of her species…” Speaker Karendi shook her head. “...But there is evidence that points to…” She raised a liverspotted hand to her head, smoothing back the crest of feathery hair that popped up in sudden apprehension. Rilan took a quick step forward, closing the distance between them. She touched the speaker, and a new Symphony exploded in her head, the kind that was only available in very close quarters. Rilan changed the speaker’s mind.

  Karendi’s stern demeanor fell away at once and the pressure against Rilan’s vocal chords ceased.

  “I find I am unable to be competitive against you.” She smiled pointily. Rilan had momentarily blocked her sense of ambition, simply a matter of changing notes defining the way the brain’s receptors fired. “Well done.” The smile faltered. “I am assuming this will dissipate soon?”

  “In a few moments, Speaker,” Rilan said. She began disassembling the changes she had made, regaining the phrases of her song. That little bit that was not reversible would replenish with a good night’s sleep.

  “Then you will be testing against the House of Power. I believe I will be checking with Councilor Zsaana just in case, to make sure there are no lasting effects.”

  Rilan bowed and moved on, walking around the perimeter of the column. Two down, four to go. She wondered if that was the way she had been supposed to complete the test. It had taken less time than the first. Vethis was just finishing his test with Zsaana. Had he done better than her? Was there a right way?

  She looked to the other side of the column again. Had their whole class of apprentices showed? Certainly Vethis’ gambling and drinking buddies were there. Were any there for her, or had they all come to cheer Vethis on? She had fewer friends than he, and fewer her own age. One in particular was still missing. Where was Origon?

  Her next challenge was from the head of the House of Power, a corpulent Lobath who had occupied the post since before she was born. Though he was near sixty cycles old, he was still the craftiest on the Council. It was appropriate, as the House of Power dealt with connections, relations, power structure, as well as heat and fire.

  This time, she was to beat the house head at Hidden Chaturan, something specifically suited to the House of Power. One who could see the relations between things had a much easier time of determining where the pieces were hidden under the board.

  Rilan struggled against the crafty Councilor while the light outside the column slowly died. Where was Vethis? Was he doing better than she? A quick glance around told her the oily man was finishing up with the councilor for the House of Grace. She was lagging behind. And on top of that, Origon was still not here.

  The councilor moved another piece off Rilan’s edge of the board. “That is not your test, apprentice, this is. Stop looking away.”

  Rilan pulled her gaze away from the wall, and back to the board. Of course the councilor would see that connection as well—her nervousness about Vethis and Origon. She tried to hold the whole board in her mind, but it was impossible, with the confounded rotating hatches hiding pieces.

  Finally, she beat the Councilor, barely, and only by using the Symphony of Healing to follow the Lobath’s movement impulses. He sat back with a groan, wiping a bead of sweat from between the base of his head-tentacles. “A rousing game, apprentice. If you are up for another game of Hidden Chaturan in the future, look me up. Now, off to the House of Grace.”

  Rilan stood, stretching, and took a few steps to wake up her legs. She had no idea how long she had been sitting at the little table, and turned to find Vethis in front of her. They were both standing near the center of the column.

  “Finally done, Ayama? Took you long enough.” Vethis adjusted his crushed velvet coat, though it looked in better order than her shirt, wrinkled from sitting at the table for so long. “I don’t see that ratty old professor you hang around—the one no one likes?” Vethis made a show of looking around in surprise. “In fact, did anyone come here to see you besides your own mentor?”

  Rilan resisted the urge to hit him. The best way to deal with Vethis was to ignore him. Anything else would only rile up the fop.

  “At least I didn’t have to pay my friends to attend.” So much for staying silent.

  “Aaahaha.” Vethis gave his fake laugh to go with his affected accent. It was the way the richer echelons of High Imperium spoke. “Well, as they say, at least I can afford to have friends.” He gave her a condescending smile. “Tests going well
for you? Fortunately I got the harder part done first. Just need to coast through the rest. Watch out for Councilor Zsaana—I think the old snake has it in for those of his own House. He did some things with the House of Healing I’d never seen before.”

  Rilan thought of the way she passed the speaker’s test, and how she barely scraped by against the House of Power. Surely Vethis wouldn’t do better than her, but then the tests were different for each apprentice.

  “I’ll do just fine,” she told him. “After all, I studied for this.”

  “Yes, top marks in the class and all that. Of course, sleeping with your philosophy professor probably helped.”

  “I didn’t—” Rilan clenched her fists. Vethis would take anything she said about Origon the wrong way. “At least my father didn’t buy my grades for me.”

  “No, I don’t believe he’s ever seen that much money in his life.” Vethis waved his hand as if to shoo her along, the lace at his wrist fluttering limply. “Can’t stay to talk, I’m due to be raised a majus, after all.” He headed to the table where the head of the House of Power still sat.

  “You can’t bribe the councilors,” Rilan called after him. She hoped he couldn’t bribe the councilors. She sighed.

  Rilan glanced across the translucent column and saw the crowd in the connecting room in the Spire of the Maji. As she moved to the next station, the figures on the other side became clearer. Her eyes flicked over Farha Meyta, her mentor, and she frowned. Where was Origon? He should have been front and center at her test. He had been talking about her transition to full majus since her graduation from university. Surely news of his family could wait a little longer.

  She pursed her lips and gathered her hair back with both hands. She was distracted, and in addition, Vethis had made her doubt herself. She knew it objectively, but that didn’t actually help the queasy feeling in her stomach. Her psychology training wasn’t helping her now.

  She had to put all this out of her mind, or it would hinder her test. Either Origon would show or he wouldn’t. And if he didn’t, she prayed Vish would give him strength to heal quickly from what she would do to him.

  The Etanela who was head of the House of Grace was immensely tall, even for one of her species. Rilan felt her back straighten as she strained for an extra finger’s-breadth of height. The councilor bowed down to speak to Rilan, the bluish cast of her skin transitioning to the pale blue-blond mane of hair all around her head and long neck.

  “Are you ready, apprentice?” she asked. Rilan nodded. They were at a roped obstacle course, dotted with little paper flags. The Etanela crouched down and smoothed her mane of hair, affixing it with a short length of string behind her neck. Her fingers tied a complex knot in the string with ease, fingers glowing slightly with the blue of her house.

  Showoff.

  Rilan crouched next to him, wondering what the signal would be to start. Would there be a—

  A horn blared and the councilor was off, long legs taking steps five times hers. Rilan puffed after her. Did Vethis have to do this? He couldn’t have been so put together if he’d just ran a race.

  This was a test of the physical, how the efficiency of the House of Grace could compare against the body-changing aspects of the House of Healing. Just like the other tests, she would not win if she stayed on the defensive. Rilan reached mentally while she ran, trying to hear the chords defining the councilor’s legs. They jangled and went in and out of hearing. She grabbed at the notes as she could, trying to slow the Etanela down. Physical changes from a distance with the House of Healing were not her specialty. She was better at the mental aspect. At least training with her father prepared her for the exertion. Breathe in through the nose, controlled pulse out through the mouth. Repeat.

  The obstacle course was not easy, and she barely stayed abreast of the councilor, even with the changes she effected. The councilor flowed through the obstacles, meanwhile, she bumbled through, moments behind, looking like a horse swimming next to a dolphin.

  When the end of the course came up, she tried to tally things in her head. Had she hit five flags or six? She was nearly certain the councilor had touched nine, all with her help. Otherwise the tall woman wouldn’t have touched one.

  Speaker Karendi was waiting at the exit to the race. Rilan bent forward, resting hands on knees to get her wind back. She took in long sweet breaths, then undid the changes she still held, regaining her song. The Etanela wasn’t even breathing hard. Her long arms were clasped behind her back. Who knew the councilor had such a competitive streak, especially for one of her placid race? At least it had kept Rilan from thinking about who was—and was not—watching. She looked over to the table at the House of Power. Vethis was still bent over the board with the Lobath Councilor. Maybe she didn’t do too badly.

  “You were having a lag of six seconds, apprentice,” Speaker Karendi said, “However, the Head of the House of Grace,” she gave a sardonic pointy smile, “touched four more flags. I will be calling this test a tie. Your next challenger is Councilor Zsaana.”

  Rilan bowed to the two councilors, still panting a little, and straightened. Three wins and one tie, out of six houses. How had Vethis done? The final decision could go against her, even with all wins. A tie wasn’t good. The next house was hers, but Vethis’ warning flashed through her head. She had hoped for an easy win from the House of Healing.

  She glanced to her growing audience. Still no Origon. This was more than just lateness, but she couldn’t afford to think about him. After the test. Then she would find out what was going on. She tried to concentrate, but her stomach felt like it was twisting into knots.

  Councilor Zsaana was standing in the middle of a circle painted on the floor, ten paces across. His face, as always, was hidden under his deep black cowl. Personally, she found his cat eyes and scaly skin unnerving, though the last time she had seen him without a hood was cycles ago. The shorter councilor stood with a hunch from age, gloved hands clasped behind his back, not a bit of skin showing. The only bright color on him was the small patch on the breast of his cloak, marked with the white of the House of Healing and the turquoise of his personal color.

  As she stepped in the circle, his gravelly voice issued from the depths of his cowl: “I, Councilor Zsaana, head of the House of Healing, challenge you to overcome me. In this test, show yourself worthy of my house. Move me out of the ring.”

  He stepped back, front heel lifting, toe of his boot just touching. One gloved hand came forward, raised, palm up in front of his chest. The other now pointed down, warding off a blow. Rilan recognized the stance from the art called Dancing Step and automatically moved into the form of Fading Hands, the art she studied, her hands ready to catch or twist.

  After the race? Really? Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Conserve energy. Don’t think about Origon. The familiar fighting form comforted and relaxed her. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

  She moved forward in a straight line, but the councilor shifted off at an angle. This would not be a normal sparring match, not between two members of her house.

  White and turquoise surrounded the councilor, but Rilan could hear the changes in the Symphony this time. Did those notes describe balance? Yes, and leg strength, she decided. The councilor was quick, shifting through measure after measure of the melody describing his body faster than she could even process the notes. He had cycles of experience over her. The speaker said the tests were made to be passed, but this was pure experience and skill. Rilan pushed the worry away—pushed all her worries away.

  The councilor sprang, quicker than thought. One hand locked against hers, forcing it out while the other popped against her chest. She exhaled as she was pushed back, stopping just at the edge of the circle.

  Rilan shook her head, adjusting her stance and then the Symphony, tightening musical phrases to freshen muscles tired from the race. It was a permanent use of notes from her song, and she would only be able to do it once, but it would give her more endu
rance for this fight. Losing that bit of her song was worth it. She stalked forward and the councilor moved back, keeping the distance between them the same. Rilan leapt.

  Bone crunched against bone, hardened like steel.

  The two circled, reassessing strengths and weaknesses.

  The councilor’s arm lengthened, muscles stretching past their normal limits to land a strike.

  The straight lines of Fading Hands intersected the circular arc of Dancing Step.

  Rilan caught a boot before it contacted her sternum, but only by increasing her reaction time.

  Her hand moved a punch aside, twisting it so the councilor went backwards. But he snapped straight up, black cloak flapping, driving a punch that just brushed her nose as she pulled away from it.

  Rilan staggered back, nose stinging and eyes watering. She sniffed back blood, then countered. Councilor Zsaana sidestepped it easily.

  She was on the defensive again. This was her house, but she had to be better than its leader, who had forty cycles more experience. She scowled and ducked a backfist.

  This wasn’t a physical challenge. It was a mental one.

  She studied the melody defining her opponent’s mental state. This was her specialty, and she could understand more of the music from a distance than most. Add to that the closeness and understanding of sparring with someone, and she had a clear picture of what the councilor was thinking. They circled, trading blows that tested the other’s defense.

  He was calm, collected, and completely in charge of his situation. There was no place for her to start making changes without him noticing instantly. He’d either counter it or shrug it off.

  She adjusted melodies in her body, the white and olive glow around her brightening. Councilor Zsaana’s attacks increased, seeking every hole in her defense as he saw her rewriting the Symphony. She had to hope he was not as familiar with mental changes as physical ones.

  Rilan’s perceptions began to slow as she inserted the adjusted music made of her own song back into the Symphony. Zsaana’s movement sped up to her eyes. She felt a rib creak as his gloved hand struck, palm forward. She was pushed back, but managed to recover, her thoughts fuzzy. Zsaana was moving like a projection at double speed and she backed up farther, desperately warding off strikes.