Song of the Piper

::3:: Music Lessons

Music is Crossing the Sweetwater performed by Tamara Oswald and Jeannine Goeckeritz. Play it!

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It was clear that the mentor-trainee relationship between Elise and I wasn't getting off to a good start. For one, she'd woken me up at an unholy hour in the morning. Two: I might have flung a few perfidious curses at her in my delirious state. Three: she had marched me out of bed, and had forced me into one of the numerous dresses crammed into the wardrobe. She'd offered no sympathy, impassively watching me wince while I pulled a clean shift over my head, the still-healing lashes on my back throbbing angrily.

I cradled the delicate flute in my hands, resigning to an inward groan as I recalled the events of the morning. It had been a week since I'd arrived in Heidelberg, but I hadn't the opportunity to explore the city yet. Lord Himmel had promised me that he would give me a tour of his lands once I was deemed a competent enough sorcerer by Elise.

However, looking at Elise's proud, upright form, it looked like it would take a long while before she'd pronounce me as a decent Magus. Throughout the lesson so far, she'd only explained the theory of performing magic. I knew that it was important, but her drawls only grated my nerves, as though she were implying that I could never match her in ranks.

Still, I learned that what separated Magi from regular sorcerers was their source of magic. Sorcerers had to drink daily from the Fountain they were bound to, while Magi could simply summon magic by themselves, drawing from their 'cores'. This well of energy would be depleted with every spell they cast, but would refill itself within a certain period of time.

"Do you understand what I've just said?" Elise's voice dragged me out of my stupor.

"I'm sorry?" I was absently fingering the music sheets set before me. The musical notations were friendly little squiggles which enticed me to let them come to life.

Elise heaved an impatient sigh. "I said"—her eyes flashed dangerously—"our method of performing magic is precisely the same as common sorcerers. The only difference is that we have a bigger Core to draw up from."

"Oh," I offered stupidly. I looked at my flute. "Does this mean that I'll finally have a chance to put theory to practice?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Not until I've demonstrated first."

My fingers twitched to put the flute to my lips, to savour the feel of flesh upon wood. But I gave in, nodding my head with faux cheerfulness.

Continuing to pin me with suspicious eyes, she reached down and pulled a case up onto her lap. It popped open once she released the latches. Then she drew the instrument out: a violin. Only now did I truly see her slender fingers, its tips marked and scarred with crusted skin—an indicator of a violinist.

In one swift movement, she took out the bow and drew it across the delicate strings. The resulting chord was harsh, piercing, making me jump in my seat. Elise flashed a devilish grin at me, before propping the violin against her chin in earnest.

She began to play.

It was a merry jig: sharp staccatos and quick, agile notes. It struck a vague chord within me. I remembered a festival before the plague, and someone was playing the fiddle like Elise. Men and women were dancing around in circles, laughing, cheeks flushed red with excitement, structure found within their sporadic movements. I remembered the lingering scent of spices and perfume in the air, as well as the powerful stomps of feet against the ground. I had been standing out of the circles then, watching the dance intently. A man was holding my hand. My father? I didn't know.

I tried to picture the man's face. Was it sharp and withered, or was it bold and strong? Did he have a hawkish nose, or an aquiline one? Was his hair thinning out and streaked with grey, or did it retain its original colour, whatever it was?