by D P Rowell
Bard Haefer said, “And for these two verses, how often have you shared alternative theories of the grey with your students?”
The counselor knit brows and huffed a laugh. “Well—I—uh—since the beginning, really.”
“Alternative theories?” asked Bard Lorianne. “I’m barely acquainted with Metaphysical Studies, Counselor Hordren. Would you enlighten me?”
The counselor smacked his teeth and situated himself in his seat. “Well, of course, yes! It’s simple, really. For as far back as the histories go, we’ve always had the grey, at least according to the most used sources. Its origins are debated even to this day. But, you see, the real debate lies in what the grey actually is. Is it a force that surrounds us? Is it something inside each greyan? Is it something inside creation?”
“. . .These are alternative theories?” asked one of the male bards with a mustache and a scar on his left cheek.
Hordren raised a finger. “No, no. These are the most popular theories. But every so often, Counselors of the Metaphysical will propose radical theories that don’t hold much weight in the counselor community, but somehow their discussion remains. Counselor Radaria fifty verses ago proposed that the grey was nothing but a placebo effect. That psy greyans were so gifted at persuasion, they were able to convince people they were singing to creation and creating illusions, when, in fact, all of it was in their heads. Quite a radical theory. Then, about thirty-five verse ago, Counselor Ereten proposed that the grey was actually the utilization of another realm. Similar to the realm spoken of in the ancient tales of the milds. I happen to think she was on to something. . .but she missed something. I do believe the grey is related to this realm, but deeper than this. I think the grey is actually a living entity in and of itself. I think it’s a person from this realm! And I’m not so sure this person has anything but ill intent.”
Smiles of sarcasm grew upon the faces of the bards at the table, but Bard Haefer sat sulking in anger. He couldn’t understand why, but something about this preposterous theory infuriated him. Were the bards paying this lunatic to teach their students? It also bordered blasphemy! To diminish the power of the grey to a single person. . .to then suggest the grey wished illy on them!
“Oh really?” asked one of the bards. “What’s his name? We’ve never been introduced.”
Spurts of laughter came from the other bards. Even Bard Lorianne lightly chuckled, trying to keep a straight face. But Bard Haefer stared viciously down at the counselor, who returned to him a fearful stare. “Alright, alright,” she said finally. “Listen, Counselor Hordren, we appreciate your commitment to your studies, but all this time in these ridiculous theories has apparently disturbed the peace so much it’s entered dream and drawn Bard Haefer here all the way from the coast. Suffice to say, please refrain from teaching your students this nonsense any longer. All in favor?”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
. . .
“Bard Haefer?”
The young bard, still glaring into the eyes of the counselor, said, “Counselor Hordren. If this person’s intent is wicked, should it not be stopped at all costs?”
Hordren blankly said, “Yes. It should.”
Bard Haefer half smiled, then stood to his feet. He began slowly circling the table, saying, “My fellow bards of the West Hall of Counselors, I should remind you that the grey has brought Anchorton into a new world of prosperity and flourishing. Hence the nickname New World City. Without the grey, all would be lost. As bards, it is our duty, nay, our privilege to maintain order and promote the good of our people. This includes an accurate understanding of the grey, and raising up a generation of greyans to join the cause. We have in our midst, a traitor to this purpose. He has just openly stated his desire to remove the grey from among us. This counselor isn’t just a crazy man, he defies everything we stand for. He is blasphemous.”
The room went still. Bard Haefer stopped, now seeing immense fear in Hordren’s eyes. “I move to lock him away in the dungeon for his blasphemy. This type of teaching cannot be tolerated.”
His eyes turned to the other bards, who looked back with looks of bewilderment and awe. At first, they appeared repulsed by the bard’s motion, but as his eyes locked on theirs, he saw their thoughts leading to the same conclusion has his. On top of all this, he’d sensed their growing distaste for this counselor, who’d apparently caused more troubles than they cared to deal with over the past little while. Perhaps an opportunity to be rid of this annoyance persuaded them. Slowly, they agreed.
“Aye,” said one.
“Aye,” said another.
“Aye.”
Bard Lorianne went last, brows wrinkled at Hordren. She slowly raised her hand. “Aye.”
Hordren stood. “But, my dear bards! I meant no harm against you, only to seek out the truth and give us a better understanding of the grey!”
“Get him out of my sight,” said Bard Haefer. One of the bards sang a song, his voice piercing and shrill. Hordren went stiff, now unable to open his mouth as the song held him in place. Eyes wide, Hordren groaned and winced and grimaced, but moved nowhere. The other bards joined him, then they led him away with their combined songs.
“We’ve done a great service for the grey today,” said Bard Haefer.
“You don’t think it was a bit harsh?” asked Bard Lorianne.
Bard Haefer turned a furious eye to her. “Harsh? The counselor threatened our order. An idea like his is like a house fire. Once lit, your entire home is threatened. We take precautions to avoid even a spark, and when we see one, we don’t hesitate. Put it out, or suffer its destruction, Bard Lorianne. We have no time to waste with fools like Bescasti.”
She stared silently back at him, then nodded.
Bard Haefer fixed his coat. “Thank you for your time, Bard Lorianne. Have a blessed day.” He left, eager to return to his home Halls and search dream for the next curse.
THE THIRD CURSE CAME to the young bard nearly as an act of providence, without the guidance of dream. Almost as if the grey was rewarding him for his tenacity. On his way back, he encountered a vendor on a street market and asked the carriage driver to stop. The lady vendor was a lay greyan herself; an elem. She’d set up a meager street shop, selling jewels and decorations she’d made with her songs. The bard first admired her work, but as he inquired, she’d confirmed his suspicions of her not having registered her work with any Hall of Counselors. As a greyan herself, Bard Haefer shamed her all the more, then asked her to report to the halls to determine her just punishment. But this one resisted. She even sang at him and tried to make an escape! Bard Haefer had to sing a song of his own, so the ground beneath the brick alley she’d run through listened, and shot up through the surface, a massive mound blocking her path. As the young bard continued to sing, the wall pushed her further back toward him. He paralyzed her, bound her wrists and feet, and carried her onto the carriage while the civilians watched it all.
Three down, two to go, the bard thought. As he carried the disturbed lady onto the carriage, all eyes of Anchorton watching him, he puffed his chest. That’s right, he thought, looking at all of them. Learn from this lady well. Who are you to defy the bards? All of you are beneath us. Learn your place, or suffer the consequences. The lady fought him not for the rest of the ride back to his Hall of Counselors. He passed by the people, chin raised and scoffing inside. They would learn to never defy the bards. . .never to defy him! The soon to be Headmaster.
CHAPTER SIX
The Lady in Dream
Curses had been given to the bard to keep balance in Anchorton, per the conditions of his blood-signed contract, but as the young bard locked the lady in the dungeon and called for her hearing among the other bards, he couldn’t help but feel giddy. His heart took pleasure in the curses of those who defied the order of the bards. They deserved as much! Once he made his way to his quarters and slipped into dream, he wondered if he’d made a mistake, tying his blood to balance. P
erhaps he should’ve tied them to curses.
Who is that?
The bard had been searching dream, eager to pick the last two of his curses and seal his position as the next Headmaster, when he sensed the presence of a woman spying on him. He followed the sense through the trenches of deep dream and caught a glimpse of her before she slipped away, escaping dream herself! She looked familiar. . .she. . .
The bard shot awake, gasping for air. Being spied on in dream had the sensation of being chased in real life. His heart slowed down and he searched his thoughts for the sliver of face he caught from the lady spying on him in dream. Who was this? She was no bard! Yet she’d followed him into the deepest, most hidden places of dream! She looked familiar. . .
His eyes widened and he stood from his bed. “The lady from the ball!” he said aloud. He rushed to grab his cane, then hurried out the door.
LEANING AGAINST THE brick wall, the young bard awaited the dismissal of her class, rapping his fingers against the gold-plated tip of his cane. He’d spent the entire morning asking around to discover her identity, and now he’d finally had a solid lead. His insides rushed with fury. Who was this lady? Only a primary? Perhaps she’d had the gift of dream and not known it yet. . .but she was spying on him, intentionally! And she also was able to run away when he’d discovered her. As if she’d been trained in dream for verses!
“Good day, Bard Haefer,” said a voice. The voice pulled his mind from the focus of guessing who this lady was. He looked up to find Bard Siphon and Bard Nao walking the halls opposite him.
“Oh—hello! How are you this afternoon?”
“Well,” said Siphon. But something about the look in his eye worried Haefer. The way it gleamed against the firelight as he passed through the hall. “I trust you’re still on those errands. Yes?”
The young bard’s heart thumped his chest. “Unfortunately. But I’m almost done. . .perhaps then we can have that lunch!”
Siphon snickered and nodded, a wicked twist to his smile. Nao and Siphon waved again as they continued through the hall, past the wall so Haefer could no longer see them. His mind went several places. Siphon had to know something was up, clearly. Should he do anything about it? But the Headmaster was on his side, and Siphon couldn’t outsmart the Headmaster could he? Besides, this mysterious dream lady was a more pressing matter.
The door opened to the classroom and the primaries scattered out, greeting Bard Haefer along the way. He snapped his attention back to the door, hesitantly returning the greetings due to his lack of focus. Her face came into view amid the sea of primaries spreading the halls to their next study. . .
“Excuse me,” said Bard Haefer. “Claudia, I believe it is?”
The young lady’s eyes went still and cold as they locked on the bard’s. He grinned and motioned for her to come toward him. She did, stiffening the entire way. “I regret to inform you, bard, that I’m still happily married and must refuse your offer to dance.”
He chuckled, but picked up on the nervous shakes in her voice. “Dear Mrs. Claudia,” he said as he leaned close, nose in her face. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She visibly trembled.
“I need to speak with you in private,” he said.
Claudia looked both ways. “Okay, follow me.” She led him through the dining hall, into the Grand Passing, found a corner in one of the book aisles, and then pinched the air with her fingers as she plced a spell around them, disguising their voices from any psy trying to listen it. This lady was no primary.
When she’d finished her spell, Bard Haefer wasted no time. “You’re a bard!”
“Shh!” she turned around, a finger at her mouth. “No I’m not. It’s different for me.”
“You were in dream. What’s worse, you were following me. Tell me what you saw!”
“Nothing. Please, keep your voice down.”
“Nothing? Unlikely. Tell me what you saw or I will report you to the Headmaster.”
She held up her hands in defense. “Bard Haefer, calm down. All I saw was you searching the people of Anchorton as every bard does. That’s it.”
The bard rested both hands on top of his cane as he eyed her. “Mmm. Tell me, then, Claudia. How long have you been able to dream? How have no bards ever found you in dream?”
She shrugged. “A long time. I don’t really remember. I’ve dreamed off and on since I was a little girl, really, before I even knew what the grey was.”
Dazed, the young bard brought one hand to his chin. “Interesting. . .no matter! The point is, you can dream, and as such, that means you have the fourth, and with it, you are a danger to the city and must begin your training as a bard.”
Claudia’s face flushed with worry. She took a few steps closer to him. “Bard Haefer I beg of you. I’m not meant to be a bard. If I’ve gone all this time, even since being a little girl, without causing mayhem, surely I will be okay in the long run.”
The bard lowered his gaze as an intriguing idea came to him, twisting a smile on his face. She seemed put off by this, taking a step back. “Perhaps there is a better use for you. You can dream without any bards knowing. . .you can dream in secret, can you not?”
She nodded hesitantly.
“I will make you a deal, then. You’re going to watch over me in dream. Keep my dreams hidden from all the other bards, and make sure none see what I’m doing, and I won’t turn you over to the other bards.”
Her facial ticks implied her processing of this request. “One condition,” she said. “You leave me and my family out of your curses.”
The bard rubbed his chin, raised an eyebrow, then stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
Claudia shook it, and the bard smirked and walked away, but paused after a few steps.
He slowly turned to face her. “Curses? How did you know I was giving out curses if you saw nothing in dream?”
Fear came over her, then her face stiffened. “Does it matter? The deal has been made. We shook on it.”
His wicked smile widened, then he let out a laugh. Not a hysterical laughter, but more of a laugh than he’d had in a while. “Like it or not, young lady, you have the makings of a bard in you.” He tipped his cane and went about his way. Two curses left until he’d become the Headmaster.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Another Curse
The fourth and fifth curse came with less contest than the previous three. Now with Claudia protecting his dreams, he freely roamed them in search of whom to curse without the added pressure of having to watch his back. He worried, with his previous two curses already affecting the city, the last two would be difficult to find, but they weren’t. They came with an even greater ease, it seemed. Of course, to appease the grey, any curse would do. If the bard wished, he could pick any fool wandering Anchorton and sing a curse over them and be done with it, but the people of Anchorton hadn’t reached the understanding of the grey yet. They had yet to learn the importance of balance. Cursing so blatantly for no reason would turn the people against the bards, as he’d seen play out in many futures of dream, so Haefer had to find at least some guise of reason for his curses, each time following the curse through to its effect on Anchorton’s future, and picking the best one. For the last two, he’d found a beggar conning men and women out of their money on the streets, for which he’d cursed the beggar’s tongue, removing his ability to speak; and last, he found a lady at the bank who took pity on a family and forgave their loan, thus robbing the bards of their money. Of course, she’d agreed to take the loan on herself, but forgiving a loan in any circumstance was forbidden by the bards.
She deserves it, Bard Haefer thought. Pathetic woman.
These curses took less than a lapse to discover and execute, and after his final curse, he rode a carriage back to the Halls and immediately went for the Headmaster to give him an update. Oddly enough, no master bards awaited at the entrance to the Headmaster’s chambers. Usually two stood there on watch, but today, Bard Haefer entered with no contest, and the Headmaster
sat on his leather chair, a cup of drink in his hand as usual, his face draped in shadow, just as before.
“Headmaster,” said the bard. “If it’s alright with you, I’ve finished the task you’ve assigned me, and I’ve come to present it to you.”
“Good, good,” said the Headmaster, waiving him in.
The young bard stepped closer, eager to receive his reward for following the Headmaster’s orders.
“There is one last thing I require of you. A sixth curse.”
“A sixth?” asked the bard.
“Precisely.”
The young bard curiously squinted into the shadows. “But why? Five for five, that is balance, is it not?”
“Balance. . .” The Headmaster positioned himself in his seat. “Balance is a tricky thing, young bard. But if you are to lead Anchorton into a new era of the grey, you must do more than create balance. You must prove to me once and for all your willingness to do what is required. Give me one final curse! Curse me, Bard Haefer! Curse me and I shall become a part of you, and you shall take my place as Headmaster!”
The bard stepped back, unnerved by the request. The Headmaster wanted a curse upon himself? This strange request gave the young bard mixed feelings. One the one hand, his blood had been sealed to the promise of balance, on the other, something about these curses gave him a sense of purpose he hadn’t realized he longed for over these past lapses. Not to mention, the seat did belong to him rather than Siphon. If he had any shot at fulfilling his vision of the grey, he had to become Headmaster. His focus tunneled on Headmaster Bard Vile.
“Do it!” said the Headmaster. “If you want this seat, you must do what is necessary, bard. Curse me!”
The bard looked both ways, stepping back nervously.
“Curse me, Bard!”
“I—I—”
“Now!”
The young bard swallowed, and his fear compelled him to action. He opened his mouth and sang a curse upon the Headmaster, his voice filling the shadows with a fierce intent to kill. The song requested the breath of the Headmaster’s lungs, suffocating Bard Vile with every note. The Headmaster’s eyes widened and he fell to his knees before Bard Haefer, eyes glowing and skin growing paler as he gagged in air to no avail. Bard Haefer turned away, continuing the requested song, when another song met his through the skies. Shocked by another voice, the young bard ceased to sing and looked around him to find the culprit. He raised his eyes and stepped back in awe as the darkness faded around him. He looked to the Headmaster, still on his knees, when the image crumbled to dust and faded away, revealing Bard Siphon standing in the bards’ lounge alone with Haefer. He’d been tricked! It wasn’t the Headmaster he was speaking to!
