Vanity, valor, veracity

Chapter 2

Erwin found a slightly frantic Hange waiting for him at the entrance of another grand reception room where chairs had been set up in front of a slightly raised stage with a small orchestra tuning just to the right.

"Where have you been?" scolded Hange, "It's about to start—Levi and Mike are saving us seats so scoot!"

The room darkened slightly as the two managed to find their spots in the far section of the audience, which appeared to be separated into three parts by two strategically placed aisles.

"About time," mumbled Levi, Erwin and Hange sitting just seconds before the audience started applauding and the young singer took the stage.

As she stood in front of the crowd, Erwin could hardly believe it was the same woman he had encountered only moments before. That woman had been fearful and uncertain.

Now wearing long opera gloves and a frilly lace choker that fanned out around her throat, the woman appearing before them was an enchantress. As soon as she swept a curtsy and the applause dwindled, a spell was cast over the room. Just her presence was magical, her shining eyes moving over the audience, her lips in a soft smile, her head held high with a relaxed but regal lift.

And then she opened her mouth. The swell of awe was palpable in the room as her voice spun in a slivery sweetness over the crowd, blossoming into rich emotion, climbing to highs that sparkled like a carillon and swooping to lows that spilled forth like rich cream.

He had never heard anything like it in his life. For 30 minutes he and the crowd were enraptured, held in thrall as her voice alternated from dancing with joy in happy major keys to lowering with dark tragedy in moody minors, conveying the full spectrum and essence of what made human life worth living. She wove stories in sound, her voice dipping and soaring with the eagerness of first love, the warmth of companionship, the melancholy of loss, the mystery of death and separation.

After a particularly delightful and dramatic concoction of runs and jumps, which concluded with a flourish of such heights the audience were certain it was the grand finale, she stood quite still until the din of the applause died down. The entire room was intently focused on her graceful and suddenly pensive form.

After a lingering pause, her chin slightly lowered, her eyes closed, a soft sweet melody drifted from her lips. There was a slight but noticeable intake of breath as the crowd recognized the silvery tune. It was a simple folk song that every child, every parent, every person knew. They had sung it at bedtimes, at campfires, at weddings, at funerals—any time or any place or any event where people gathered to share their love, to enjoy camaraderie, to mark moments in their lives. Over the years, it had come to represent with its humble lyrics and uncomplicated air the bittersweet life within the walls—the longing to live, to strive, in a world free from fear.

And now, since the fall of Wall Maria, its yearning and poignancy was tenfold—no, a thousand-fold. It now, more than ever, seemed to encompass all the hopes and wants of humanity.

The sentiment was as profound as the melody was uncomplicated, as she moved to repeat and embroider on the simple tune, this time bringing in the orchestra to emphasize the glad yet wistful tidings that the song portended.

But as stunning as the rendition was, she wasn't near done. With the third repeat, she signaled with outspread arms—and the audience understood instinctively to join in, the orchestra falling away. Enthralled, every voice in the room rose to be a part, the tune almost muscle memory. And as if that wasn't enough, she then gestured at the first section of audience to her left, indicating in a way that only a group of people who had been exposed to the song from childhood could comprehend. They all knew what to do. After the first portion of the melody, she then gestured to the center who then began the melody as the first continued on. Then one more time, she indicated the third section of the audience, who started after the second had finished their first portion.