Fractured Melody

by Christine Williamson

  *************

  Schaolr’en struggled to maintain his grip on the present as he fought down the tide of memories that had awakened at the strange mortal’s touch. The soothing words and comforting images had dispelled the overwhelming wave of panicked despair, but it was too easy to lose himself in them. Too easy to forget the present’s excruciating disappointments in favor of forgotten companionship. His brethren were still out there. Soon he would have new memories of them.

  Shuddering, he banished the smiling faces of the past and attempted to focus on the mortal in front of him. With his future unsure, Schaolr’en dared not waste a single moment of the company. His sanity depended on it.

  The flutter of feathers against his cheek abruptly brought him fully into the present. A hand was holding his face, and the tiny bird that had followed him earlier was perching on it. A tiny, impossible bird perched on a warm, callused, and equally impossible, hand.

  Schaolr’en’s gaze shifted back to the mortal holding him and he was gripped by the sudden desire to stimulate the resonances of its soul again. It had sounded so beautiful. Delicate and straightforward, yet elegant in its wonderful simplicity. The mere memory of how its melody washed over him was enough to bring tears of joy to his eyes. It had been so long. Birds and fish and plants and water were beautiful in their own right, but the exquisite song of a higher creature, shifting and changing as it progressed through the infinite variations of a unique melody… There was nothing like it. And nothing, save possibly the light and song of the moon, brought him more pleasure.

  The mortal was speaking to him.

  Everything else immediately faded into the background, and he couldn’t help smiling as it fumbled over the unfamiliar language. Such a small change he’d sung into its heartsong. Caught up in the moment, he’d inadvertently bequeathed a complete fluency of understanding, and the mortal was struggling to adapt its comprehension of the tri-tonal language to the limitations of its vocal cords. Apparently the experience was a frustrating one.

  “What are you?”

  Schaolr’en laughed, pleased with how quickly it had solved the problem, but the feeling was short-lived. His smile faded as he realized what had just been asked.

  The mortal was standing in his home. It had felt his song. Heard his voice. It was holding him in its arms. It had sought his feathers and calmed him with a touch, yet it asked him what he was with complete and total innocence. It had heard him sing with three voices, yet it knew not what that meant.

  How was this possible?

  “Who are you?”

  Schaolr’en frowned, still trying to bend his mind around the implications of its first question. It shouldn’t have been possible.

  A rustling from the far side of the clearing distracted him, and a quick probe told him that four mortals, Star-touched like the first, were approaching. He tried to look, but the first one, still holding his face, prevented him from moving.

  There was a note of urgency in its voice this time.

  “Who are you?”

  What could he say to that? His name by itself was meaningless. A simple label, nothing more. Who he was was so irrevocably intertwined with what he was that to know the former without the latter was to know less than knowing neither. A real answer would take days, maybe years of explanation to reach a satisfactory understanding, and a simple answer could do a disservice to them both.

  The other mortals, who had stopped when Schaolr’en probed them, had caught sight of their friend and were approaching rapidly.

  He made a decision. The tri-tonal language was intricately linked to him and his brethren. Perhaps the comprehension he’d so recklessly bestowed would help the mortal infer meaning from his name.

  “I—”

  A sophisticated melody hummed abruptly through the isolation spell that separated his home from the world.

  He froze, caught between a sudden, euphoric ecstasy of hope and the same irrational tide of fear that had almost prevented him from leaving his house. He felt light-headed. The mortal’s arms tightened protectively as an almost painful tension spread through his body. It was a two-way communication melody.

  “Schaolr’en Ri’eslah.”

  He recognized that voice!

  “Not even free yet and already you’re consorting with mortals.”

  A beautiful peal of bi-tonal laughter rang through the clearing and three of the approaching mortals sank to their knees. The fourth imitated them awkwardly a second or two later.

  “I expected no less.”

  The voice belonged to a friend!

  “Lady Raceal’an,” he breathed.

  The laughter rang through the clearing again.

  “Yes, Schaolr’en, it is I. And I’ve been ordered to deliver a message to you.”

  Schaolr’en’s throat constricted as the irrational fear threatened to engulf him. The mortal flinched and he forced himself to loosen his grip. Almost absently he noted that his hands, clenched against the mortal’s shirt, were shaking uncontrollably.

  “It was recently decided by the Council that your isolation no longer serves any purpose. As Speaker for the Council, it falls to me to deliver a decree and a recommendation. You may disregard the latter if you so wish, but the decree is binding. Which would you hear first?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut on the suddenly shimmering world. The decree. He knew what it probably was. What it must be. Raceal would not be laughing if it were otherwise. He would hear that first, if only to banish the terrible uncertainty tearing him apart. It took a couple tries, but he finally managed to force his vocal chords into action.

  “…The decree.”

  His whisper elicited another peal of laughter.

  “Very well. Schaolr’en Ri’eslah, First of the Moonsingers, Keep—“

  He cut her off. The mortal’s ignorance was excusable, but Cho’usen’s was not. “You speak false! I am Eighth, not First. That title belongs to Ri’isrensol. Your error is unbefitting a Speaker and the name Raceal’an Cho’usen. Start over.”

  It was an automatic response. One that met startled gasps from the kneeling mortals and drawn out silence from the messaging song. Schaolr’en immediately regretted the outburst. Raceal gave no sign of either amusement or anger, and every moment awaiting her response fed the new fear that he’d just lost the very thing he’d been waiting millennia to recover.

  “Raceal?”

  Silence.

  “Raceal!” The desperation in the strangled cry was painful to his ears, but it didn’t matter. Anything to dispel the mind-numbing terror growing in him. He’d do anything! He’d stoop to begging if necessary!

  “Say something Raceal!”

  What was she waiting for?

  “Please! Raceal, I’m sor---!”

  And her voice was back, chastising him for the shameful loss of composure. “Stop, Schaolr’en. You have nothing to apologize for, and I would not have you cast off your pride on my account.”

  He stifled his sobs and hid his face in the mortal’s shirt as relief washed over him. She was not angry. If anything, her affectionate sigh possessed an overtone of sadness. His chance had not been lost.

  “However, I did not misspeak, and I fear your ignorance will shortly force me to do you a great disservice.”

  Her words made no sense. Nothing could do him greater service than the message she bore. That it could be overshadowed was inconceivable.

  “Schaolr’en, you are First, and you are Eighth. You are also Last.”

  Implication defied reasoning, refused to be absorbed. He abandoned confusion in favor of the long-awaited pronouncement of his freedom.

  “Schaolr’en Ri’eslah, First, Eighth, and Last of the Moonsingers, Keeper of the Mountain Spring, it has been determined that your sentence of exile is fulfilled. Your past transgressions require no further punishment.”

  There they were! The words he’d waited so long to hear! The wonder
ful, beautiful, exquisite sounds that promised salvation of his sanity! A flood of tears overwhelmed Schaolr’en as the fluttering blend of hope and fearful anticipation constricting his chest gave way to a soul-smothering tide of euphoric gratitude.

  “Upon consideration of the following recommendation, you will be free to move about the world and resume any or all of your previous activities. Providing, of course, that you refrain from the actions that necessitated your imprisonment in the first place.”

  But of course! Such a restriction was expected. No matter that he had no intention of renouncing his previous actions. He regretted nothing, and would do it again if faced with a similar moral dilemma. But there was no need to tell the Council that. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.

  “What is the recommendation?” It was probably something petty, designed to spite or amuse. He fully intended to reject it.

  “The world you will shortly enter is unused to the songs of moonlight. Its harmonies, though stable, are delicately balanced and much more fragile than those with which you were once familiar. Certain parties worry that your voice will disrupt those harmonies, causing irreversible damage to those around you. In the interest of avoiding unnecessary dissonance, they recommend you be muted.”

  “NEVER!!!” Relief and gratitude forgotten, Schaolr’en leapt to his feet, blinded by outraged fury. The ground and air trembled as the full power of his upper and lower registers was released into the messaging song. “My song is my soul! My voice is my life! Sealing it away would kill me more surely than an eternity of solitude ever could! It is a death sentence!” The wind howled, resonating with his anger. How dare they! How dare they even suggest such a thing! And how could his brethren allow such a recommendation to be approved in the first place?! They should have known better!

  “Who is responsible for this? Who is it that dares insult me this way? I WILL NOT BE IGNORED! I WOULD HEAR THE NAMES OF THOSE WHO WISH ME TO COMMITT SUICIDE!” He paused for breath, feeling a rush of satisfaction as the ground beneath his feet rumbled with fury. He was yet alive. The attempt to break him had not succeeded. That he could still feel such passion was proof of his resilience.

  “SPEAK! Why did my brothers and sisters allow it to reach my ears? RACEAL! I COMMAND YOU TO ANSWER!”

  He stared up at the sky, shouting with the wind as he willed the Starsinger to answer him.

  “Curb your voice, Schaolr’en.”

  “NO! I WILL NOT BE SILENCED!”

  “I care as little for the idea as you do, but you must consider your surroundings! The Elden cannot withstand your fury!”

  An icy horror swept over him. Whirling, he looked and saw the truth of her words. The mortals had collapsed, writhing in agony as the harmonies of their lifeforces resonated with his anger. Blood was running from their ears, testimony to the physical damage caused by the mere volume of his voice. The strange half-bird creatures were sprawled by the path, lying ominously still.

  Remorse flooded Schaolr’en and he choked, forcing himself into silence. They had done nothing to deserve such treatment at his hands! He rushed among them, frantically repairing the damage his voice had wrought. Tears ran freely down his face, but he paid them no mind. He deserved them. Deserved to be muted. He would never have made such a selfish mistake in the past. Never!

  The bird was the hardest to save. The fragile threads of its melody were shredded beyond recognition, shattered by his first shout. But Schaolr’en remembered how it had sounded. He sang softly, stimulating the broken chords and gently coaxing the tattered pieces of its heartsong into their proper order.

  Night was falling when he finally finished.

  Weeping with relief as the tiny creature fluttered to the ground and started preening itself, Schaolr’en turned to the watching mortals and begged forgiveness. He would make it up to them. Anything they wanted that he could provide was theirs for the asking. “Anything at all. I didn’t mean you harm. It was furthest from my intentions. You must believe me. How can I prove my sincerity?”

  They gave him their forgiveness willingly, though he did not deserve it, and professed to want nothing in return.

  “That we stand in the Choir’s presence is enough,” the eldest said.

  Schaolr’en laughed, bitterly. “That you stand in my presence almost killed you. No, no. You must accept something.”

  “Quite unnecessary, I assure you.”

  They went back and forth like this until he was forced to sing a light to see their faces by, at which point the first mortal he’d met, who’d suffered the worst because he’d been closest, collapsed with laughter at the absurdity of the conversation. His four companions turned horrified expressions upon him.

  Schaolr’en couldn’t help but laugh as well. The situation was indeed absurd.

  An amused chuckle caught his attention and his euphoria from hours earlier returned full force. The messaging spell was still active, and Lady Raceal also deserved an apology. There’d been no call for the violence of his outburst. She was only carrying out her orders as Speaker for the Council. He could deal with the offenders later, after he’d reunited with his brethren. Now that he was free, they could be his first priority.

  “Lady Raceal’an, forgive me. I should not have raised my voice to you so. You merely carry out your duty. Tell the Council of the Star Choir that I have taken their recommendation into consideration and rejected it out of concern for my health.”

  She laughed, a beautiful, wonderful reminder of his change in fortune. Yet her voice contained a strange sadness, the reason for which remained hidden from him.

  “Apology accepted. I will deliver your message to the Council.”

  “Thank you. Now please. Change the harmonics of the isolation spell and tell me where I might find my brothers and sisters. It cannot be done from inside, and I wish to be with them when the moon rises.”

  Silence met his words. Then a sigh of regret emanated from the spell. A nameless apprehension took root and began to grow in the back of Schaolr’en’s mind. Something was wrong.

  “I’m afraid that will not be possible, Schaolr’en.”

  The apprehension abruptly turned to dread. “Why not? It’s a simple harmonic shift. I can teach you the release resonances from here!”

  “The spell is not an issue here.”

  Such sadness in her voice! He had heard its like only once before, when she sang the chords that sealed him away.

  “Then what? Surely my brethren desire to see me!”

  “Schaolr’en, I—”

  “They promised they’d wait for me! They promised to sing down the moon for me!” With mounting fear, he looked back through his day. Warnings that something was dreadfully wrong jumped out at him from everywhere. Warnings that something awful was waiting for him. Warnings that he’d been too far gone to notice.

  What had she said earlier? Something confusing. Something important.

  Something he’d ignored. First, Eighth, Last.

  Terror gripped him, and he was suddenly afraid of what she would say next. They should have been the first to arrive in his garden!

  “Why haven’t they come yet! What has transpired in my absence!”

  “Schaolr’en, please forgive—” There were tears in her voice. Tears and sympathy.

  “Raceal’an, where are my brothers and sisters!” No. Don’t say where. Don’t answer. First, Eighth, L—Don’t say—Anything bu—

  “They’re gone, Schaolr’en. They perished in the making of this world.”

  He felt his heart stop.

  His brothers and sisters were…dead… Dead? They were immortal, like himself. It was not possible for them to be dead. Dying was something mortals did when their songs ended. His song, like theirs, was never-ending. Nothing could end their existence. Not even the Choirmaster. They could not be dead. It was musically impossible for them to be dead.

  “I don’t b
elieve you.” His whisper sounded dead. First. Eighth. Last.

  “Its true. A great betrayal occurred during the singing of this world. They tore their heartsongs to pieces resolving the dissonance that resulted from it.”

  Her words rang dully in his ears. Such an act might be possible if the dissonance was powerful enough.

  “They gave their lives to save us, Schaolr’en.”

  His heart started beating again.

  A glowing sphere of light coalesced out of the messaging spell, and a crystal orb dropped to the ground and rolled to his feet. It was a Seeing Stone. The same one he’d cast from his presence a few short millennia after his imprisonment. The same one he’d cast away in a fit of despair for showing him the destruction of everything he’d loved and worked for among the peoples of the first world.

  It contained the history of everything. And he did not want to look in it.

  But he was going to look.

  “I’m sorry Schaolr’en Ri’eslah.”

  He stared at the dimly glowing sphere.

  “The barrier is spelled to the Stone so that you may lower it as you wish.”

  Yes, he could see that. A clever addition to prevent him from casting it away again. Someone cared. How nice.

  “Schaolr’en, I—”

  “Leave me.”

  “I’ll be waiti—”

  “I SAID LEAVE ME!”

  The messaging song cut off as he doubled-over with the strain of containing the resonance of his outburst. The mortals were still present. He had to get them out before he lost control. Already he could feel the growing pressure of emotion as his forced indifference began to falter. He had to get them to safety.

  Tearing his gaze from the Seeing Stone, he sought the one who could understand him. He was close, and swiftly approaching. Sympathy was in his face.

  Schaolr’en choked as the mortal’s intention tore at his heart. He couldn’t bear for such kindness to perish at his hand.

  “Leave me!”

  He called the half-birds and sent them scurrying to their riders.

  “Go!”

  He shuddered as a high-pitched, keening wail managed to tear itself from his upper throat. The mortal wasn’t listening! Didn’t he realize his life was in danger?

  “Get out of here! Get off my island!”

  The tears were coming now. He could feel them burning the corners of his eyes as he fought to suppress the inevitable wave of grief that poised to engulf him.

  The other mortals left, submitting to the insistent nipping of their mounts, soaring out through the safety of the barrier. But the first one, whose heartsong he’d touched, was still there, fighting his hold on the half-bird’s mind. Making it wait.

  Schaolr’en choked off a moan as the tears escaped and started flowing freely down his cheeks. There was nothing more he could do! If he spoke again his cries would not stop! Then the mortal had him in his arms and fingers were once more running through the feathers on his back.

  He sobbed as images of his brothers and sisters started swimming through his mind. The calming effect of the preening was trying to take hold, but this time it wouldn’t be enough. “Let go!”

  Shuddering, he pleaded with the mortal to leave. It was a futile effort. He remembered the mortal’s song and knew what drove him, but he had to try.

  “You don’t understand, I can’t— I can’t—”

  The mortal ignored him, redoubling his efforts and resuming the comforting monologue he’d employed earlier.

  “You fool…”

  Schaolr’en felt the tide within him shift as the preening daze shattered the last vestiges of his control. At that same instant, the moon cleared the treetops.

  A moment of clarity seized him as the ecstasy of moonsong washed over his exposed feathers. As in slow motion, Schaolr’en watched the surprise in the mortal’s face as he was pulled away by invisible hands and placed on the half-bird’s back. Then he was gone, eyes protesting the retreat even as he disappeared into the barrier. Almost as an afterthought, the tiny yellow bird went sailing after him.

  No one would die on Schaolr’en’s account this time.

  The displaced fabric fluttered back into place, shielding his feathers from the moonlight. The ecstasy left him.

  Black grief descended, obliterating the clarity as if it had never existed.