Читать книгу The Last Musician - Jason Peterson - Страница 12

Kristoffer stood at the edge of the fence separating Greenwood from the vast, unknown forest. He had been near the fence before, but never with the intention of going through it. The thought terrified him.

To call the fence mearly a fence would be an understatement. It was a towering structure, built by Greenwood’s founders out of the soaring trees just outside the community it protected.

Although crossing the fence was not forbidden in Greenwood, few ever considered it. What more could anyone want than what Greenwood had to offer? And those who had ventured beyond Greenwood’s gate reported back of the terrible magic of the woods. It was no place for a child, and Kristoffer knew he was not much more than a child. A child with no idea of what he was doing.

Kristoffer looked up and down the giant trunks that made up the fence, and settled on a small door near the base. The door was usually guarded by a volunteer from the community, but the volunteer, like the rest of Greenwood, had been driven mad.

Well, thought Kristoffer. Here goes nothing.

The door creaked open, as a door that seldom opens is wont to do, and Kristoffer stepped through it. The door slammed behind him. Kristoffer felt more alone than he ever had in all of his life. He had been lonely before, he realized, but never alone. There was a difference.

The air grew colder with each step, darker, as if the brightness of life he had once known was being erased from his memory. Or maybe it was just the blocking of the sun from the trees.

Where to go? The note had mentioned something about the muses three. Kristoffer had heard of muses before, usually when it came to writing or playing music. Maybe that was a good place to start.

Perhaps he should call on the muses. But how?

Kristoffer opened his bag and fished around for ideas. He felt the wooden flute Elder Heckle had given him for good luck. It may be too early in the journey for good luck, Kristoffer thought, but then again, it might be a good place to start.

Kristoffer took out the flute and held it. It clearly wasn’t much more than an early whittling attempt, but as Kristoffer eyed its shape, he knew he could get something out of it.

He took a deep breath.

“Muses, whoever or whatever or wherever you are, I could use some help getting started here. The note told me to seek you out, so here I am. And here’s a tune.”

Kristoffer blew into the end of the flute. He moved his fingers over the rough holes Elder Heckle had carved into it, and he quickly found the right combinations. It was as though he were a professional whittled wooden flute player, if such a thing existed.

As the music played, Kristoffer felt the entire forest paying attention to him. It was as if the trees were listening, the rocks had ears, and the wind meandering around him was carrying his music to throughout the whole forest. In fact, it was.

Kristoffer sat down on a rock and waited. He didn’t know if the muses would find him, but he knew he couldn’t find them by just randomly walking through the woods. He would wait and see.

It did not take long.

Leaves rustled and voices mumbled in the distance. They were women’s voices, and Kristoffer could hear them getting closer.

“Do you remember hearing more beautiful music?”

“Of course I do, but how can it be?

“Yes, how can it be?”

“Oh yes, we shall see.”

Kristoffer sat, completely unprepared for what he was about to encounter, as the muses came forward out of the darkness of the deep woods. He felt a chill run up his spine as they circled around him. They were clearly sisters, but each had a distinct beauty about her. And something else. Something slightly frightening, or maybe just exhilarating. Kristoffer couldn’t quite put his finger on what that something was.

They were blonde, brunette, and redheaded, and as they whirled around him, Kristoffer became lost in the mystery of the moment. Their words snapped him back into focus.

“Did you play that?” the blonde said, smiling at Kristoffer in a way no woman had ever smiled at him before.

“Why Aiode, how rude to ask the boy a question without first introducing ourselves,” the brunette said. “How very rude indeed.”

“Rude shmood, Mneme,” Aiode, said. “I want to know.”

The redhead chimed in. “Well Aiode, if you were playing attention, you would see the boy is holding a wooden flute. Yes, rude. Not shmood.”

She stared at Kristoffer, and he felt her eyes burning into him.

“Melete, you and Mneme are always such buzzkills,” Aiode said. “But very well.”

With that, the three muses stop circling Kristoffer, curtseyed, and said together:

We, we are the muses three.

Melete, Mneme, and Aiode.

We sing and dance and always play

We invite all to seize the day

With creativity

And majesty

And tea.

“I remember when we would sing that song,” said Mneme.

“Hush now,” said Melete, pulling out four cups and a steaming pot of tea seemingly from nowhere. “What is your name, boy? Where are you from?”

“Kristoffer Snider,” said Kristoffer. “And Greenwood.”

The redhead nodded.

“And what is your business in these woods? Not many from your land venture into ours.”

Melete poured the cups of tea and passed them out. Kristoffer took his and thanked her.

“I’m looking for…something,” Kristoffer said.

“Ah yes,” said Melete. “The elusive something.”

“You called on us,” said Aiode. “What do you want?”

“Aiode, remember your manners,” said Melete. “How can we help you, noble Kristoffer of Greenwood?

Melete stopped for a moment and gave Kristoffer a look like she was sizing him up. She looked back at her sisters, who didn’t appear to notice. Or maybe Kristoffer was just imaging it. It was all happening so fast.

Kristoffer’s head was spinning from the sisters’ back and forth, their beauty, and their attention to him. He thought of the note – something about not watching to see who was friend and who was foe. They seemed friendly, and willing to help.

He sipped the tea and felt soothed to the core of his being. Everything would be all right, he thought. The muses would help.

“Well,” said Kristoffer. “Something strange happened in Greenwood this morning.” Could it only have been this morning? It felt like ages ago already.

“Strange?” said Aiode.

“Yes,” said Kristoffer. He proceeded to tell the three muses all that had happened. The music. The townspeople’s reaction to his being able to play. The note. Everything. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kristoffer though he might be saying too much. But he felt so loose, so comfortable. He could trust these women. He took another sip of tea.

“Strange indeed,” said Mneme.

Kristoffer suddenly realized he was the only one drinking the tea.

“Aren’t you going to have any tea?” he asked.

“Soon, Kristoffer, soon,” said Melete.

The loose, comfortable feeling that had embraced Kristoffer was turning into blurriness. He felt fuzzy, like the time he accidentally drank from Mr. Parson’s mug of coffee. Ethel later said it was filled with more than just coffee.

Kristoffer sat back in a stupor and watched as the three sisters huddled together. He could only hear snippets of their conversation as they whispered.

“You told us all music would be gone…”

“That we would rule…”

“…do we kill…”

“How can we…”

“…that Alistair…”

Kristoffer swayed from side to side. He wanted to talk, but his tongue felt like a thick slab of meat.

“You…poisoned me,” he said, though to him it sounded like a garbled, “Yapoyme.”

Melete broke away from her sisters.

“Ah, Kristoffer,” she said. “We didn’t poison you, just gave you a bit of the inspiration juice. It’s the nectar of creativity, really. You just got a stronger dose than normal. Not fatal.”

Melete turned to Mneme and Aiode.

“Not fatal. Right?” she said.

Through his groggy eyes, Kristoffer saw Mneme and Aiode huff and kick the dirt.

“We shall accompany you on a journey, young Kristoffer,” Melete said. “I must first straighten a few things out with my lovely sisters, but we shall find what you seek. Yes, we shall find it.”