Refrain

by Nathan Ravenwood

  “I wanted to know if we could maybe recruit a drummer from the ranks of the bucks in his tribe. Satyrs made the best drummers back then – strong legs and an innate sense of rhythm from the music they all grow up with. They're a perfect fit, and would be exactly what we'd need to round out our roster.”

  “And you think one of Marebaas's people will fit the bill?”

  Rorzan shrugged one shoulder. “Who knows? If not, we can ask around the other tribes and find one.”

  “And you needed to ask him that question in the middle of the night why?”

  “It only occurred to me then, and he was still up.” Rorzan tapped his forehead. “I don't have much of a brain right now, Vann, I'm not exactly a hundred percent.”

  That seemed like a poor excuse to Vann. Rorzan’s wit was razor-sharp, always with a snappy comeback readily available. He wasn't lacking for mental acuity, even lacking a body as he was. Vann knew he shouldn't completely distrust Rorzan's word – the ghost had never led him astray yet – but something about this whole thing seemed off to him.

  At midday they stopped for lunch, and again Vann observed Cel sit apart from the other satyrs as the bucks horsed around and playfought among themselves. He watched her close, trying to puzzle out what was on her mind. Then he blinked as Ori approached Cel's log and sat down next to her. Cel looked over at the harpy for a moment, then turned away to look at the woods again. Ori did the same, neither of them saying a word.

  “Well, that means Cel likes the harpy at least,” Marebaas said from his seat next to Vann.

  “I'm surprised, considering how much of a loudmouth Ori is,” Vann said as he watched the two women eat.

  “Cel's a strange one, and none of the boys are too fond of her, but she's one of my best and brightest,” Marebaas said. “Nobody knows where she came from, she just turned up in the village one morning, silent as death. The doe who found her thought she was dead until she saw Cel breathing. I consider her a daughter, honestly.” He sighed. “If she could be a part of the Proving, I'd let her in a heartbeat, though the other Elders would have my horns for it.”

  “What's the Proving?”

  Marebaas nodded to Rorzan, who floated apart from them as he talked to Janaza and Arielle. “It's what Rorzan asked of us back in my father's time. To keep the bucks of our tribe ready in case he ever needed us again.”

  Vann frowned. “Ready for what?”

  “For if he ever came back. He-” Marebaas stopped, then got to his feet. “Hey! No teeth, Bray!” He sprinted off across the clearing to pry apart the same two bucks that had been wrestling yesterday who were going at it again.

  Vann stared, his mind racing. Rorzan had made plans that far in advance? What happened to “making it up as I go along”? Now he was certain the ghost wasn't telling him something, likely Arielle too. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but a feeling of profound unease settled in his gut and lodged there like a stone.

  When they set off again, Vann hung towards the back of the pack, and when he saw his chance, put a hand on Janaza's shoulder and drew her back so that they walked several meters behind the bulk of the group. “I think Rorzan's not telling us something,” he said to the orc.

  Janaza blinked. “What makes you say that?”

  “Ever since we left the West, Rorzan's been saying that he's making up what we're doing as we go, right? Well, when I talked to Marebaas while we were eating earlier, he said something that I wasn't expecting. Apparently hundreds of years ago Rorzan actually asked this centaur tribe to train their bucks in case he ever returned. It's more than just he knew them from way back when and they still were around to help us.”

  Janaza's face pinched slightly. “That is interesting. Did Marebaas say anything else?”

  “Just that only the bucks get to be a part of this Proving thing. Not doe satyrs like Cel, though he thinks she easily could be.”

  “And there was the fact that he made a few promises to that harpy Matriarch,” Janaza added. “Promises of what, though? And how would we fulfill them?”

  “We're obviously going around gathering people for something,” Vann said. “Rorzan did say he wanted to go to Ibanz and kickstart the Rebellion again. But I'm beginning to suspect he had a much more long-term plan for that than we thought, and that bothers me.”

  “Because if he couldn't tell us about this plan, what else isn't he telling us?” Janaza said.

  “Exactly.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Vann blinked. “You're asking me?”

  She smiled. “I'm just along for the ride here, Vann. Well, the ride and riding you.”

  He snickered. “Well, I mean... I don't want to jump to conclusions. Maybe I'm overthinking things. Let's see what happens at the village and work from there.”

  Janaza looked ahead of them. “Speaking of which.”

  Vann followed her gaze. The bucks had broken into a dead sprint away from Marebaas, Cel, and their little group, hooting and hollering as they ran towards the village in the distance. It looked like an amalgamation of the harpy aerie and the centaur village, a massive living space that was built into, with, and around the environment of the forest. Massive trees had been cut down and sawed in half to build long, tall rectangular buildings several stories high. The sides were lined with windows, through which many satyrs peered at the sound of the away party returning.

  “To be young like that again. Hah!” Marebaas said.

  “You managed the walk just fine,” Arielle said.

  “Aye, the walk.” It took Vann a second to realize that the voice was Cel's, the first time he'd heard her speak despite being in her company for almost two days. Her voice was incredibly soft, almost a whisper over the sound of hooves on grass.

  “Don't sass me!” Marebaas laughed, patting Cel on the shoulder. “When you're almost two hundred you get every right to complain.” Cel rolled her eyes expressively.

  They followed the satyrs into the boundaries of the village, though if Vann was being honest with himself, it was more a small city than a mere village. The big rectangular living structures were packed end to end, the wood growing older and more worn the further in they went. Each one seemed to house dozens, if not hundreds of male and female satyrs alike, families included. Vann saw fawns hiding behind the woven grass skirts of their mothers or the cloth kilts of their fathers, gazing at them with wide, curious eyes.

  “Oh, they are so cute,” Janaza whispered, waving her fingers at a fawn. The little satyr tentatively waved back, and Janaza made a very un-orcish squeeing noise.

  In the center of the village, there was a massive open courtyard, in the center of which was a depression in the earth. In the center of the basin grew a large tree that Vann had never seen before. It was twenty feet thick from side to side, the trunk gnarled and twisted in spiral patterns that Vann knew likely weren't natural as it stretched high above their heads, taller even than the tops of the oaks that ringed the village.

  “Man, that sucker's gotten big,” Rorzan said.

  “What kind of tree is that?” Ori asked.

  “Just an oak that I worked a little magic on when last I was here,” Rorzan said, miming playing the notes of a song on an invisible guitar. “A parting gift in case I ever came back.”

  There it was again. Why was Rorzan acting like he never planned to come back to the satyr's domain? Or maybe now you're just being really paranoid, Vann thought to himself.

  Sitting at the base of the tree were four more older, grayer satyrs, all of them looking a bit longer in the whiskers than Marebaas. They got up as he approached, stepping down into the basin to meet them. They spoke quickly in low tones, then Marebaas turned and stepped back up to their level. “My friends!” he called. “Lend me your ears!”

  Vann chanced a glance behind him, and saw that they'd actually drawn a crowd with their progress through the village, with even more satyrs watching from windows and through open doorways. They looked on expectantly as Marebaas waited for
a few moments for the crowd to settle. “After hundreds of years, Rorzan Jetta Diavolo has returned to us!”

  Rorzan flew in front of Marebaas and glowed bright. A collective gasp went up from the satyrs, many of whom cheered openly. Rorzan milked it for all it was worth, doing a few floating backflips before bowing dramatically.

  “Tomorrow, the Proving shall commence!” Marebaas continued. “And we shall determine who among us is worthy to journey with the Metal Lord on his journey! So tonight, eat hearty, and prepare yourselves. For tomorrow, we shall determine who among us is worthy!”

  Another cheer went up from the satyrs, mostly the bucks, many of whom stamped their hooves on the loam beneath them, setting up a rumble of thudding noises like a herd of stampeding horses. Vann felt the ground shake a little as he shared a knowing look with Janaza. The orc didn't look too happy.

  A hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Meet me by the road where we came in later tonight,” Marebaas said in a low voice behind him. “Don't tell any of the others, please.”

  And just like that, the mystery deepened.

  Chapter Nine – The Proving

  “Bring me another!”

  Vann had already lost track of how many massive jugs of mead Janaza had quaffed in the course of her challenging the buck named Bray to a drinking contest. Though in retrospect, it had really been no contest. She stood tall on the table, flexing her powerful arms as Bray sprawled on the ground, hiccuping as if he was about to lose his lunch. Vann bit his lip as he watched those powerful arms flex and bend, feeling a bit of elation that he knew just how strong they were when they pressed against his chest while they made love. The orc seemed to be in a much better mood than earlier. The libations probably had everything to do with that.

  Elsewhere, Arielle and Rorzan sat with the other satyr Elders around one of the many fires that had been built in the square, talking animatedly, though Vann couldn't understand what the satyrs were saying. Ori had disappeared again, probably off to do her own thing elsewhere, leaving him to corner Janaza in her epic battle against the buck satyr.

  “Yeah, that's it!” Janaza said, throwing back more of the booze. A bit of it spilled down her chin and across her chest, glistening in the firelight. “Hoo, boy!” She sat down heavily next to Vann and leaned against him, her breath smelling heavily of honey. “Hi there, Vann.”

  “Hey yourself,” Vann said, pressing his body into her side. “Having fun?”

  “Oh, just a blast.” She took another sip, then turned and planted a kiss on his forehead. “I think when that Bray wakes up I might take him aside and see if he's okay, if you catch my drift.”

  Bray was being helped up by several of his buddies, holding his head and breathing heavily. “Just be gentle with him, okay?”

  “No problem,” she drawled. “I can be gentle if I wanna. You don't mind, do ya?”

  Vann looked at her curiously. “No? Why would I?”

  “I dunno, just wanted to make sure!” Janaza kissed his forehead again. “I care about you and don't want your feelings getting hurt.”

  “That's sweet of you,” Vann said. '”But I don't mind. Go have fun with him if you want.”

  “Yay!” Janaza downed the last of her drink and rose, stumbling only once as she went around the long table to go help Bray to his feet. Vann watched her go, that curious feeling coming back to him again. He and Janaza had a deep connection, yes – he counted her as his real first after the emotionally barren sexual liaisons he'd had with Lady Branna back in Papreon - but there wasn't any commitment between them, they were allowed to sleep with others. She didn't have to ask for his permission.

  So why did it feel really nice that she'd paused to ask him first?

  Vann shook his head and got up from the table, figuring he'd waited a long enough time. He hadn't seen Marebaas among the revellers, and figured the Elder was waiting for him. After getting his bearings, he trekked back along the road away from the center of the city.

  He spotted Marebaas where they'd entered, along with Cel, and to Vann's surprise, Ori. The harpy had both her guitar and his slung over his shoulder. “I was about to come get you myself,” she said, tossing the instrument at him.

  Vann caught it by the neck. “What's all this about?” he asked.

  Marebaas shifted anxiously from foot to foot. “Look, I just... I wanted to see about something. The Proving is tomorrow, and I know that only the bucks are supposed to be able to compete in it.”

  “But?” Vann prompted.

  Marebaas looked to Cel. She had changed out of the cloak into a vest with a hood on it, the fabric drawn up over her head like before. The lack of sleeves showed off wiry arms toned by forest life. She reached into the vest and drew out two slender objects, each about half an inch in diameter and a foot long. She spun them around her fingers expertly, their lacquered black finishes winking in the moonlight. “A chance,” she said, her voice still incredibly soft.

  “You want to enter the Proving?” Vann asked. Cel nodded. “I mean, what's stopping you?”

  “My annoying fellow Elders, that's who,” Marebaas said. “Stupid traditionalists, the lot of them. But Cel and I want to show you what she can do, so that maybe you can put in a good word for her tomorrow with Rorzan to give her a chance.”

  “I mean, Rorzan's far from sexist,” Vann said. “I'm sure that if you just asked him he'd probably be okay with it.”

  “Maybe, but I think coming from you it would be more effective. You are the one holding his guitar after all.”

  Vann shouldered the instrument. “Alright. Got something in mind?”

  Marebaas inclined his head. “Aye, follow me.”

  He led them away from the village, with only the moonlight guiding their feet as they walked. Cel stuck close to her adoptive parent, constantly twirling the sticks around her fingers as they went. Ori seemed to have a fixation on those fingers, almost tripping over her feet several times as they walked.

  It took them a good amount of time to get where they were going. Ahead of them the ground rose up into a tall hill, the forest continuing up the gentle slopes. At the base of the hill in front of them was a gaping hole in the earth from which no light emanated. As they approached, Marebaas took a small metal object off his belt and twisted the ends. A soft light began to emanate from the center.

  “I'm decidedly skeptical about going into a yawning black abyss,” Vann said.

  Marebaas chuckled. “Don't worry, I wouldn't lead you astray.” He held the lantern up as they stepped into the mouth of the cavern. The light managed to reach all corners of the space, the tunnel only wide enough for them to walk two abreast. “I feel like I should warn you what we're about to walk into.”

  “Death,” Cel stated.

  Vann and Ori stopped in their tracks.

  “Oh, don't be so dramatic,” Marebaas said, giving her a flat look. “Though she's not wrong.”

  “That doesn't exactly inspire confidence,” Ori said.

  “Oh, for... this cave is a mausoleum,” Marebaas said, sounding exasperated. “We bury our dead in caves like this all over the woods to return them to the earth. This is one of the oldest ones, dating back to when Rorzan still walked among us. It's here that he left us our charge.”

  “Your charge?”

  Marebaas inclined his head. “Let's keep going, you'll see.”

  They followed the satyr to the back of the cave, where the tunnel began to slope downward. Vann's boots sunk into loose dirt as they descended into the earth, and he wondered how much more was hidden beneath the surface all across the world, given the amount of spelunking they seemed to be doing in the course of their adventure. In the light of Marebaas's lantern, he began to see angular script on the walls, along with stylized pictures. It took him a moment to spot Rorzan – a figure who stood taller than the satyrs by a whole body length, his hair dark and flowing as he held aloft the guitar now hooked over Vann's shoulder.

  A curious smell touched his nose, and it took him a
moment to parse it. It smelled like decay, masked by an overpowering scent. A moment later, he discovered what it was. They emerged into a large chamber, hollowed out with tools. Roots were growing through the wall and ceiling, and large bundles of sage hung from the roots like ornaments. “We change the herbs down here every month or so,” Marebaas said.

  “What's behind these?” Vann asked, pointing to the woven mats on the walls.

  “We're in a mausoleum,” was all Cel said. Vann noticed Ori shy a step closer to the center of the room.

  They went forward through several more rooms until they reached a dead end, a half-moon shaped chamber with a rocky far wall. Ledges had been carved into the rock, holding numerous candles and more bundles of herbs. But it was what was in front of the wall that really drew Vann's eye. “Now how are we supposed to transport that?”

  He had never seen an assortment of drums anything like it. Sure, he was no stranger to seeing them all in a row, each one played by a single musician to accompany the highs and lows of an orchestra, but this was something else entirely. There were two big wide drums resting directly on the floor, supported by a metal frame around them made of a black, shiny material, to which were affixed another dozen or so drums of varying shapes. Over them were affixed cymbals, though instead of being positioned to be pushed together by hand, they were mounted to the frame through the center, the sides within reach of whoever happened to be sitting on the seat behind the arrangement.

  Ori whistled. “That's quite the assemblage.”

  Vann knelt down in front of the drums, running his hands over the flat surface of the front of the bass drums on the bottom. On the front was a strange symbol that looked vaguely familiar to Vann. He looked down at the guitar body hanging at his side. The same rune glimmered on the body, the one that Vann had touched first to bring Rorzan out of the instrument. “Was this Rorzan's?”

  “It belonged to Loktar,” Marebaas said, resting his fingertips on one of the symbols. “He was a friend of my father's who became the drummer for Bonecarver alongside Rorzan. It was his beats that drove the fires of the Revolution across the West. When Uada fell at the end of it all, Loktar took this entire kit with him and hid it away here, with us, until we'd need it once more.” He frittered his fingers along the brass, making almost a metallic hissing noise as he did. “I'm glad I got to see it. We're supposed to move it out tomorrow morning for the Proving, but I told the other Elders I wanted to set it up and make sure it was in good condition.” He smirked. “Of course, none of them know Cel's been practicing on it for years, but I'll save that surprise for tomorrow.”