A letter from King Marcus, ruler of the country of Koshluk. Addressed to King Orion, ruler of the country of Danbarrah…
Enclosed is the list of ordinances I require you to enforce, as discussed during your visit last month.
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- Theatres are henceforth available only for approved films. Live theatre is banned absolutely.
- All books in the genres of fiction, poetry, and myth are henceforth illegal. Possession of a book in these categories will result in its confiscation and the immediate burning of all personal property.
- Anyone caught in the act of singing will be duly reprimanded by the removal of their larynx.
- Anyone caught in the act of dancing will be forced to choose between the loss of their legs or medically induced paralysis.
- All musical instruments are henceforth, illegal. Anyone in possession of such an instrument will be immediately extradited to the country of Koshluk for just retribution.
I will consider the handing over of any musician, and the destruction of musical instruments, as gestures of goodwill, and will grant your little country suitable rewards.
I have ordered proper measures to be implemented to ensure all who have access to the internet in your country will be kept safe from harmful content.
The sustained health of your wife and sons is my most sincere wish.
Your servant in service to the greater good,
King Marcus of Koshluk
ASH WATCHES HIS PARENTS through the crack of the wardrobe doors. The wardrobe is large enough for the small prince to eavesdrop for years to come.
“His letter reeks of his fear.” Queen Azalea tosses a sheet of paper onto the desk and walks across the circular room to where the King stands. King Orion gazes out the window of the uppermost tower. The Palace of Rubies is named for the red hue of the ancient stones that make up the grand structure. It is a remnant of a time long forgotten, when their country had been a thriving island of plenty.
Ash opens the wardrobe door a bit more and peeks out. His father taps his foot, as he is apt to do when making a weighty decision. “Still, we must move with caution. His army and weapons outnumber ours a hundred to one.”
“Can we not hold him off? Perhaps another diplomatic visit?” the Queen replies.
“You are stalling because you think you will find the instrument.”
“I have found it already.” Queen Azalea takes the King’s hands in hers. “All that remains is the musician.”
“You did not think to tell me earlier?”
The Queen’s lips curve only a little, but her eyes are full of taunting mirth. “The last time we spoke of my quest, you told me to put no store in such old myths.”
King Orion raises her hand and kisses the inside of her wrist. “So I did. That was when I yet had hope in diplomacy and negotiation. Your old myth is now all the hope we have.” He pauses. “King Marcus appears to believe the myth. Why else would he require all musicians be sent to him?”
“What will you do?” She lays her palm against the King’s face and cradles his smooth-shaven jaw.
Ash intertwines his fingers together to keep from scratching the itch that spreads across his skin from the wool coats that hang around him. He hardly dares to breathe as he waits for his father’s answer.
King Orion turns away and the Queen drops her hand to her side. He resumes his foot tapping as he gazes out the window. The King’s office looks much the same as the day it was built, but for the scuffed wood floor, worn in groves from centuries of pacing by troubled rulers. The upholstery of each piece of furniture shows its age and remains as evidence of the lack of prosperity of their country.
The King plants his palm against the wall. “Do you remember the day these stones trembled?”
“Yes. It was the day the musicians played in the courtyard,” the Queen replies.
“Was that what instigated your pursuit of the musician from the old stories?”
“Those stories have haunted me for decades.”
“Tell me again,” the King says.
Ash leans forward, brushing the sleeve of a hanging coat away from where it falls in front of his face.
Queen Azalea joins the King in gazing out the window. “‘The country will plunge into darkness,’” she recites, “‘but stay strong and keep your ears open for the music. Strength and courage will come to you through a musician. She will awaken the stones, and nature itself will come to Danbarrah’s aid.’”
Her words seem to reverberate around the room, carrying hope with them.
“We will hold off as long as we can. Our people are willing to fight to defend our freedoms, but we must move with haste,” the King says.
The Queen strides across the room to the door.
“Dearest.”
She stops at the sound of the King’s voice.
“You know his threats are not empty. He will target the boys, and you as well, as a way to persuade me to concede his demands. I…I am willing to sacrifice almost anything, but not that.”
Ash has never seen his father look so fragile.
“We cannot ask our people to make a sacrifice we are not willing to make ourselves. King Marcus’s bombs will hit them first, shall we fail.”
King Orion stops tapping his foot. “Then we must not fail.”
“Indeed, we must not.” A moment later, she sweeps out of the room.
The King returns to looking out the window.
Ash widens the wardrobe door and creeps towards the door of the room. His father stands unmoving by the window, and Ash opens and closes the door from within.
“Papa?”
King Orion turns and beckons him closer. He scoops him up and holds him close. Together they look out into the bustling city below. Directly below them is the palace courtyard, walled in by the same red stones. From the height of their tower, the river harbor is visible beyond the wall. The busy waterway serves as the primary road from its source in the isolated northern mountains to the palace city at the southern tip.
Ash sees his mother emerge from the side doors below. She has replaced her traditional style emerald green dress for the jeans, t-shirt, and white cap she wears when she wants to attract less attention.
King Orion watches her until she is out of sight. “You have finished your lessons already?”
“He told me to leave so he could teach Coal.”
“And how did you do?” the King asks.
Ash frowns. “Mr. Cobb made me do extra Math because I got some wrong. I tried to read history, but there are a lot of hard words.”
King Orion laughs.
“Papa? Mr. Cobb says it is useless to read history. Why is that Papa?”
“The original texts are written in an unusual musical language. There is no one left to interpret them. The stories that were translated centuries ago are so mingled with myth, it is difficult to know what is real.”
“The myths are.”
“Are what?”
“Real. The myths are true.”
King Orion places a hand under Ash’s chin, raising his face to look him in the eye. “Keep your allegiance with our myths. Most of us lose that as we grow older.”
Father and son look at one another in silence for a long moment.
“Will you sing to me, Papa?”
His father tightens his hold on him. “Yes. What will it be today?”
CEDAR WAKES AT THE sound of voices. She is used to hearing music in her mind, but the voices are unusual. She shakes her father where he lies sleeping beside her in their tent. She still hears the voices, but she cannot understand them. She cannot understand them because they speak another language.
She shakes her father again and he opens his eyes. Comprehending the situation, Birch turns to wake his wife. Lavender yawns and he holds a finger to her lips. She sits up, eyes growing wide as their situation becomes clear.
“What will we do?” she asks.
“Take Cedar, and run, into the forest.” He wiggles from his sleeping bag into a crouch.
“Where are you going?” she says, reaching for Cedar. Cedar shrinks against her mother’s body, her eyes never leaving her father’s face.
“I will lead them the other way.”
“No, Birch, no.”
Birch leans down and takes Lavender’s face between his hands.
“I have had more happiness with you than some people have in a lifetime, Lavender.” He presses a kiss on his wife’s head and strokes Cedar’s hair. A moment later, he is gone from the tent.
Cedar and her mother sit in stunned silence.
There is a loud popping, and the sounds propel Lavender to movement. She snatches a sack from the corner and slings it over her shoulder.
“Come, Cedar,” she says, tears in her eyes.
“Mama, the cello!” Cedar says.
Lavender looks over to where their belongings are stacked. The large, curved case does nothing to obscure that an instrument lies within, ignorant of the fight that takes place over its body of wood. Lavender sighs but retrieves the instrument.
She grasps Cedar’s hand and leads her from the tent. They move around their canoe that is stowed in front of the tent entrance. The sound of the river that lies to the east, flowing southward from its northern origin, had yesterday filled Cedar’s mind with happy cascading notes. Now her music is jagged and unpredictable, crashing down in dissonant sounds. Lavender turns west and pulls Cedar into the forest. The path is not clear and Cedar’s short legs make it difficult to keep pace with her mother.
Lavender coughs, and soon is forced to stop walking. Cedar waits beside her. Since they left their home in the south, Lavender’s coughing fits have become increasingly common. Eventually, the coughing subsides enough for them to continue walking.
“Look Cedar, dear, do you see the smoke above the trees? There must be a cabin nearby.” Lavender crouches down to Cedar’s level, and Cedar’s eyes follow the direction of her mother’s trembling finger.
Cedar glances around. “Do you think they are there?”
Lavender kisses her cheek. “You must be brave. We need help to get to Grandma’s.”
Cedar grips her mother’s hand as they pick a path through the trees. Lavender glances behind them every few steps. Cedar steps on a dry twig and it snaps beneath her foot. A spider’s sticky home catches on her face.
They emerge from the trees into a clearing. A cabin sits there, surrounded by summer gardens in full foliage. It looks like paradise after so many days of sitting on the hard bottom of a canoe and nights shielded from the elements with only the thin fabric of a tent. They cross the clearing and Lavender knocks on the door.
A man appears from within. He has a full grey beard, but he looks tall and strong. His gaze sweeps over them and pauses at the cello case. He ushers them inside.
A short time later, Cedar sits in front of the fire with a hot meal on her lap. Her music has changed to a slow, gentle melody.
“Men from Koshluk were here just this morning,” says the man, who introduced himself as Badger. He stands by the window with Lavender.
“My papa is chasing those bad men away,” Cedar says. Badger looks between her and Lavender. Lavender gives a slight shake of her head.
Badger speaks more quietly, but Cedar can still hear his words. “What are they doing here?”
“We have heard reports of kidnapped musicians. King Orion issued a warning for all musicians to hide,” Lavender tells him.
“But for them to follow you this far? What is Koshluk afraid of?”
Lavender shrugs and stares out the window.
“Well, it’s brave of you to take the journey to the north. You are lucky to find my cabin. This forest is nearly desolate.”
“I grew up in the north. My mother lives there,” Lavender says. A fit of coughing overtakes her.
“You need rest.” Badger takes Lavender by the arm into a room off the main living space. Cedar sets down her bowl and scampers after them. She watches Badger peel back the covers and guide Lavender into the bed.
Lavender’s cough impedes her protests. She manages two words, “My…husband.”
“I will go out. I know this forest better than you anyways.” He covers Lavender with the blankets. Cedar creeps across the bed and lies beside her mother. The two of them fall into a restless sleep.
Cedar wakes to Badger’s voice and the sound of her mother weeping. She keeps her eyes closed, afraid they might send her from the room if they find her awake.
“…I am sorry,” Badger says. Cedar’s music begins, hesitant and sad.
Lavender’s weeping morphs into more coughing. The coughing becomes muffled, and when it stops, Badger says, “How long have you been coughing blood?”
“A few days.”
“You need medicine. And a doctor.”
Cedar feels a jerky movement as her mother sits up.
“You can’t leave us. Cedar…she’s so young.”
Cedar’s music gathers intensity.
“She needs her mother to be well.”
“No.” Lavender coughs again. “Please, take her to her Grandma.”
“In the north mountains?”
“Yes. The village…everyone knows her.”
There is silence.
“Of course. I will take her.”
“Don’t take the cello.”
“She supports King Marcus?”
“No. She blames music. Please, keep it here. Keep it safe,” Lavender’s plea is followed by more coughing. She collapses onto the pillow.
Cedar’s music vanishes.