Merco Enon (No Mercy).
She knew he would not surrender, even with her blades resting against the pulsing of his blood, she knew she would have to dispatch the sentence warranted by the killing of the king. However convinced she was of his guilt, she could not deny that he did possess the skill to avoid this end and be free, if not from pursuit, then certainly from imprisonment and death. In battle, he was her superior. She knew this. Their initial confrontation had been enough to cement that acknowledgement. However, if any doubt had remained following their battle in the forest, it was removed when she saw him fluidly dispatch King Rendunial, her employer, and ten of his most highly trained guards without suffering any injury himself. She knew well her own limits to her own physical skills, and while she had outdistanced all others she had crossed blades with, his was the first to surpass her ability and perfection of technique.
When she first dismounted to engage the duty she was driven to exact, she was forced to make peace with the knowledge that her end would be met at the edge of his blade. Yet during their battle, he did not press the advantage. There were two or three distinct instances where he could have suffered her injury that would have either ended the confrontation then and there, or caused a slow and steady dissolve of her strength. But he did not strike. Instead he offered her a chance to end the melee with both of their lives intact. Had the pain she felt at his act of indiscretion been singular in its occurrence, perhaps she would have allowed the emotion and connection on the previous eve to maintain its position on the surface of her consciousness; however, as it was not the first time she had cause to feel betrayal from his intent, she allowed her pain to fuel the waves of her behavior, pushing whatever she had been fooled to feel for him to the very depths of her fathoms.
And then, incredulously and completely out of character, he stopped the battle, disarmed himself, and offered himself to the mercy he hoped still breathed within. In that moment, when he decided she would live, she understood exactly how broken she still was. Ages ago, she believed herself to have been healed and become whole again, but having the flood of pain come surging forth to capture all of her again, she realized her pain was but held behind a dam of her own denial. And she could deny it no longer. As justice hung on the balance of her own perceptions and emotions, so too did his life. And this day, she was the judge and executioner. This day, she would not avenge her soldiers, her King, or the stars themselves; she would avenge herself and the young woman whose life he ended when he never returned.
This night was particularly busy. Her time spent with Nadalize and at the tavern had grown her renown throughout the entirety of the city; and they had seemingly all turned out tonight to hear her sing. She did not sing every night, but after a while of the spontaneous moments where she was captured by the hired musicians to accompany them with her vocal prowess, and exercising the foresight that marked Nadalize's tavern as the primer tavern for food within and beyond the city boundaries, her employer had the wisdom to create a schedule for her, and took no expense while having posters made and posted. But tonight was a special night. While Athlorial had, up to this point, accompanied the musicians with one of their original compilations, Nadalize had decided to have her recite an altogether non original song. Advertised and posted for over a month, Nada had picked one of the poems written by the very famous poet, and personal friend, Eriboth Dordrosis.
When she had first presented the idea to Athlorial, the young woman had protested vehemently while professing her lack of talent and worth to recite such inspired and perfected works. Nadalize would have nothing but her agreement and reassured her several times how her voice and presence was possibly the only sound and sight in existence that could rival Eriboth’s words. Yet Athlorial had still feared the gathered crowd's collective rejection of her; but more than that, she feared the implications it might have on the business of The Dragon's Lair. Recently, and in no small amount due to the young serving girl’s success, her employer's business suffered from an amazing boon. However, should there be a substandard performance, she feared word would spread and some of the would be guests would seek their food, drink, and entertainment elsewhere. And her confidence, even after being bolstered by the words of Nada, her surrogate mother, was still lacking when placed astride the likes of Eriboth.
But Nadalize still would hear nothing of her anxiety and arguments. So when the short tavern owner handed a hand-picked poem to both her resident lute player and vocal artist with the instruction to transform it into a song, it was done so with an understanding they would comply to her sense of business and work to produce an expression worthy of his renown. Understandably, the lute player, an elderly gentleman by the name of Rolin de’Guarin, protested as well. However, even his protests, based more on a logical music sense outlining the inherent differences between elvish music and that produced by man and their inability to be combined, could do nothing to falter the resounding confidence Nadalize had with her musicians. She simply said, "You will get it done," and walked away leaving them both in astonished wonderment regarding the gravity of her request.
There were few who could resist the will and confidence Nadalize expressed. If she said it could be done, and it could be done by two grossly underprepared and underqualified individuals, then who were they, even in their own assessments, to contradict her belief? So Athlorial and Rolin met every three days to work on the momentous task of creating a masterpiece out of an already existing masterpiece. And as such, there were many nights spent well past candlelight where they found each other sleeping either on the floors where they rehearsed, or on the open ground when they chose to rehearse away from all other distractions.
Nadalize refused to listen to their finished compilation before the advertised event stating that she was sure of their success and wanted to be as emotionally present as her guests who would be hearing it for the very first time, to better judge its effect. Yet through all of her employer's confidence as well as that extended by Rolin, Athlorial was still unsure of her worthiness to have been assigned such a mountain for a task. She had sung many original works from many original musicians before, yet this was the only time she dared have the audacity to voice what was written by someone whose legend assumed the stature equivalent to a giant's. But as all things do, the days they spent rehearsing soon vanished the way the moon does at the end of night allowing the sunrise to remove the chill of its cool shadow. And much as the daunting shadow of darkness fades with the rising sun, so too did her expectation of failure fade from her awareness with the strumming of the first note.
Being honest with herself, she connected intimately with the words she was about to recite. Her life had been a battle between those forces seeking to break her, and those seeking to mend her already broken soul. Years ago, on a tragic night, she had been broken because her attempts at protecting her younger sister had ended in a tragic accident resulting in her death. Yet on that same night, she was found by a warm and marvelous spirit who gave her solace from all she knew before. Yet even with the warmth of Nadalize, Athlorial still, in the quiet of her bed, when all lights had been extinguished and all hope had passed from her, cried out asking for an answer she knew would never come. Alone, helpless, and tired of replaying the awful night over and over in her mind seeking to grasp the smoke like answer for the death of her sister, she cried an endless number of tears. Sometimes she would wake with her sheets yet damp from the previous eve's steady stream of salt infused sadness. Yet, when she read the poem given her by Nada, she cried again, not because of the sadness a singular soul might feel as it sought a kindred depth, but because she knew she was not alone in her desperation.
But beyond the endless nights and darkness her soul had made her very own, as she read the last line in silence, the audible mechanisms of her voice having been gripped and held fast by the emotions contained within the words, she heard a confirmation vibrating in unison to her hope. There was someone out there, even if he was utterly aloof and b
eyond her existence, who not only understood what it was to be broken and thus, her; but someone who understood why the breaking had occurred. It was with this solidified presence of hope that she poured herself into her rehearsals; the hope of being free of everything. She could do nothing less than offer up everything she could to the first and only understanding of the events that had made her who she was; a broken yet mending woman who was struggling with the concept of fate, reason, and trust. But even more than that, a woman who was searching for the reason for her breaking. And in the span of his rhymes, lost in the rhythmic advance of his lyrics, she had found her answer.
So, amidst all the growing din of the evening's progression and influx of guests, one of whom was even the Lord Frenizek himself, her concern was not upon any singular guest in attendance, but rather, was laid precisely upon a vague and ethereal identity she hoped would hear of her performance. As more people began to gather inside the inadequate physical housing of The Dragon’s Lair, building within her was a sense of hopelessness that no matter how much confidence Nadalize had extended to her, no matter how much practice both her and Rolin had completed individually and together, and no matter the level of her performance tonight, it would still be inadequate to convey the gratitude she had for the words of a man who seemed so distant yet so intimately connected to this phase in her life. But apart from the distance of social stature, she felt an understanding from him that she was convinced would bridge time, distance, and status as if he innately understood her. She admitted to herself, while standing with all eyes upon her, all of which were waiting to be raptured by her soul piercing voice that she wished for the presence of only his ears, though she knew they would never come.
When on stage she was too poised to be visually jolted or rattled by anything regardless of the depth of her doubt. However, the first haunting note produced by Rolin who strummed his lute with a masterful conveyance of emotion, brought her to a singular awareness: what if he was here? She quickly scanned those guests gathered in attendance, but was conscious enough not to miss her opening cue. She saw several prominent looking Lords, but none whom she supposed would carry themselves as the Warrior Poet would have. She saw men and woman dressed in the most finely designed attire complete with the finest material and most intricate lace she had ever seen. All eyes, every pair, were upon her and Rolin as he started to play their composition of pain and redemption. Even Nadalize had focused her attention to only her. Yet there was one man whose attention remained absorbed into his own actions. He was sitting alone, at the end of the bar, with is eyes, pen, and consciousness buried in the pages of a leather bound book. She saw him dip his quill into the inkwell and scribble something on the faded page.
Before she could examine him further, her musical cue sounded and she broke into the auditory assault she and Rolin had prepared over their weeks of rehearsals. Instantly she brought all collateral motion in the tavern to a halt. She and the lute player had both agreed that only a very strong initiation to their musical progression would present as the author had intended. Several heads snapped up from their plates and several conversations quickly faded as all attention was willingly given to her. Yet as much as they had relinquished their attention to her on a voluntary basis, had they not, her voice combined with his words would have forcefully stripped them of their conscious decisions and rendered them captive to her and only her for however long she decided.
As the second stanza began, further plummeting her listeners into the depths of solitude and brokenness, she reached a depth of bass completely foreign to her very feminine appearance. As intended, the third verse broke the acoustic perfection of the chorus so completely that it was forgotten and embraced by the new and hope-giving message reflected by her stunning transition from the low pitched tones carrying sadness to a beautifully balanced soprano laced with the hopeful freedom all of her enraptured guests desired. Her words, still heavy in their importance, conveyed a lightness and carefreeness causing the room itself to emotionally brighten as if the sun itself had chosen to relocated from the sky above and seek residence within the individual souls inside the tavern walls.
Following the transition between darkness and hopelessness in the second verse, and a return of hopeful redemption in the third, she continued with her unique rendition by employing a depth of voice forcing a physical response from her captives. She more than sang the words; she felt them as a reflection of her life. She longed to feel as the words suggested, but further than that, she longed to believe that it was still, even for her, possible. Yet she, just as the words implied, felt a fear that should she be fortunate enough to feel what they suggested, a redemption from her own mind's cage around her heart and soul, it could be taken away. The connection of so many emotions to such a perfectly orchestrated musical accompaniment produced within her the exact same physical response her guests were currently experiencing; tears. But not enough to halt the performance or detract from its beauty; rather, just enough to allow a single tear to track the outline of her sadness now standing bare before her captives as theirs was before her.
As if she was being led by the hand of a gentle soul who had crossed the threshold separating pain and joy, the words revealed to her a path of systematic continuance up the mountainside all the while avoiding the treacherous pitfalls, slopes, and missteps inevitably certain to catch someone who was attempting the journey on their own. She had read, sang, and felt the words before during her countless rehearsals with Rolin, but never had she stood in the midst of so many who were exhibiting the very same emotions she was feeling. The mass effect of an energetically charged room overflowed her with a gratitude resulting from the vocal invocations accompanying the fifth verse. Her eyes were closed, but her soul stood open and transparent to all who were present in the room. While Nadalize was the only person who knew her story and the depth she felt, now everyone felt her, and everyone cried. So complete where her emotions during this recital, and so perfectly blended was her voice to his words, that none now focused on the condition of their own souls. Rather, they all stood gazing at the beauty of hers. When she briefly opened her eyes, she noticed that even the man who was previously writing in his leather bound book had set down his pen and given all his attention to her. Yet unlike all others, he shed no tears.
As if the greatest Elven mages had combined all of their skill to descend the stars from heaven and place them within the sounds of her soul reflected in her voice, she began the final verse. Just as there is a timeless pause before the final strike of a warrior’s sword meant to slay life, the pause before the final line slayed any and all binds holding her captives to their previously trapped souls. She had them, and let them go. Her pardoning of their attention did not come before she imparted to them the final understanding of the reason she, and all others, broke - Freedom; a freedom impossible to explain, yet beautiful to behold, even for only the span of her song. She and Rolin had rehearsed the end of their song many times, and each time, they had decided to allow her voice to trail off first and his final note to be the singular sound exiting her captives from their auditory chains. However, being immersed in this magical moment, she held her vocal vibrations long after his lute faded.
When she opened her eyes to silence, she saw several wet faces, each mimicking hers as she tried to dry the tears from her cheeks. Nadalize stood in awestruck wonderment as she too wiped the binds of her soul. Eyes were red, linens were wet, but hearts were opened and souls were healed, at least in the beginning stages of healing. As her inhalation pierced the fallen din of the room, a slow and methodical applause began to build. Extended and deliberate, the clapping was laced with an overwhelmingly solemn gratitude. She nodded politely several times over the several minutes the applause continued. She offered her thanks to Rolin with a gentle yet full embrace and proceeded to walk toward the rear exit of the tavern. Normally the crowd would want to all thank her personally after her performance by approaching her almost all at once, but this night was
very different. Instead of enthusiastically baring her escape, the gathered crowd parted as she approached and allowed her passage during their continued applause. She glanced over and saw Nadalize speaking with the man who had been writing in his book. She noticed that her two peacemakers had taken up a position behind her and she assumed he had attempted to leave without paying his bill during the commotion created at her completion.
In this moment, she lacked any compulsion to further watch the unfolding scene and just wanted to step outside to breathe the fresh, clean air un-thickened by the numerous bodies packing the tavern dining room. She was able to make her way to the exit without any hindrances, which she was thankful for. As she walked through the parting crowd, she offered silent nods and smiles, but did not speak or pause. All she could think about was the memory of her dead sister. While she had become comfortable with the attention from people and their praises for her talents, she still craved solitude and would often times hide in her room following her performances. But today she just needed to be alone outside; alone to inhale, and just breathe.
She finally reached the exit which seemed to dwarf her small frame. She placed her hand on the deadbolt, unlocked it, and turned the latch allowing her exit into the unconfined solitude she was craving. Out here, in the alley when all other distractions were locked inside, she could be free to visit her sister's memory without interruption. As she took a few steps away from the tavern, she let her hand come to her eyes to catch the tears now starting to freely flow. She sobbed as if she was the one listening to a performer with her gifts sing her entire life's hope to be freed from her broken past. So intense were her tears that she did not hear the door open and close behind her.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 34
