Chapter 6
“We will accept the gift of your name,” Denson demanded. “All of it.”
I didn’t like Denson’s attitude, but it seemed that my best bet was to be cooperative until something came up that I really couldn’t stomach.
“Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown,” I replied.
Denson raised his eyebrows a bit. My name seemed to get a reaction out of some other boys, but I couldn’t tell what their reactions meant.
“The Brown Clan is allied with the Ambers,” said Denson, as if the Ambers were the scum of the earth and the Browns were even scummier.
“Clan membership is not an issue in a clan-transcendent guild,” said Pollo, one of the older boys who was studying music at the table.
It wasn’t until a bit later that I learned the boys’ names, but I will start using them now as it makes telling the story easier.
“Clan membership is an inescapable issue at a time like this,” Denson replied in heavily measured tones.
“Speak for yourself,” Pollo retorted.
“I speak for everyone for whom what I say is true,” Denson spat out.
I sensed a political tangle behind those words that I knew little about and hoped I never would.
“I did not come here to participate in the war between clans,” I said.
Denson raised his neck stiffly as if to indicate that my words were of no value.
“Then why did you come here?” Denson asked, sounding like a trial lawyer cross-examining me for a crime of cosmic proportions.
“I am on a healing quest,” I answered.
“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Denson.
“His cape clasp is lit,” said Meredith, one of the boys who had sat at Pollo’s table. “That proves he is on a healing quest.”
“And what sort of a healing quest are you on?” asked Denson.
I wasn’t sure how much I should tell the boys, but nobody had told me to keep my quest a secret, either. The boys seemed to be looking at me with a combination of curiosity and anxiety.
“I was sent here to learn a healing chant for my guild,” I replied.
That really stirred things up. The mix of reactions I seemed to be getting had me more confused than ever as to how I stood with them. Pollo seemed to be having a hard time keeping his cool.
“Is it for the strangling pestilence?” asked Tomko.
“Who told you we were pestilenced?” asked a boy next to him, named Bursen.
“You didn’t bring the smothering pestilence with you, did you?” asked Rusentel, one of the drummers.
“Have you come to pestilence us all?” asked Lorisal, a boy next to Denson.
“There’s a lot wrong with you, Lorson that nobody in the Guild of Gifted Healers can cure,” quipped a boy named Stanley, who was sitting with Tomko.
There was no question that the smothering pestilence I’d been asked to help cure was scaring these boys silly. I could hardly blame them.
“I wasn’t sent here because there was anything wrong with anybody,” I assured the boys. “I have never been near anybody who has the smothering pestilence, so I don’t think it’s possible that I’m infected with it.”
“Is Master Lesentrange going to teach you the chant you need to learn?” Denson asked, looking like a tiger about to pounce on me.
That question put me in an awkward position.
“I—don’t know,” was all I could think to say.
“Why doesn’t he want to teach you the chant?” asked Pollo.
“I don’t know,” I stammered.
“Master Lesentrange probably has reasons that the rest of us cannot understand,” said Denson cooly, and with more than a hint of gloating.
“Don’t you want to stop the pestilence?” asked Mirasol, a sandy-haired boy who played the harp.
“Didn’t say I didn’t,” said Denson. “It’s Ambers like you who should talk about stopping the pestilence, considering that you started it.”
“We didn’t start it!” Mirasol yelled. “You Scarlets did!”
Both boys looked like they were about to attack each other with some horrible spell or other.
“I did not come here to find out who started the pestilence,” I said, speaking a lot louder and more firmly than I thought I’d have the nerve to do. “I’m only here to learn how to sing a chant that will cure the sick people, if somebody around here will teach it to me.”
That brought everything to a standstill. Denson gave me a look that didn’t seem to mean any good for me or my quest.
“Well, who are you to talk as if you were in charge here?” Denson asked.
“I’m Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown,” I answered, “and I’m sick and tired of seeing you kids squabble like this when people are going to die if something isn’t done about the strangling pestilence.”
“If Nathaniel needs to learn a healing chant to cure the pestilenced victims,” said Mirasol, “then we should help him.”
“That is up to Master Lesentrange,” said Denson. “I suppose he wants to find out if you can sing at all.”
“Master Lesentrange directed me to rehearse and perform with the choir,” I replied.
“How did you convince Master Lesentrange to direct you to sing with us?” Denson asked.
“I sang him a song,” I answered.
“And what happened when you sang?”
“Uh—Master Lesentrange listened to me.”
Denson gave me a stern look. He seemed to know I was holding something back. Several of the other boys looked at me curiously.
“Something happened to one of the church windows,” I admitted.
That got a few gasps out of some of the boys.
“I bet you made that up,” said Jorland.
“I don’t care if you believe me or not,” I said.
“What happened to the window?” asked Pollo.
“I don’t know. It kind of melted—then it was okay again—sort of like it was before I started—I think.”
“Which window?”
“Uh—the one with the harpist—King David, I think.”
Several boys exchanged glances. Denson seemed startled by what I said, but was trying hard not to show it.
“Nathaniel Hawthorn Brown,” said Denson, “since you are a Gifted Singer, or think you are, sing us a gifted song.”
That made me feel like the chief stooge in a freak show. I didn’t see how I could refuse just because I thought most of the boys were waiting to see me fall flat on my face. Once again, the boys were intimidating me a lot more than their choirmaster did, and Master Lesentrange wasn’t exactly encouraging. Deciding on what to sing wasn’t so easy. I didn’t know all that many songs, for one thing. I had no idea what songs boys from different worlds might like, if they were willing to like anything I sang at all. I thought of doing one of the obscene songs that kids were singing on the playground back home, but quickly decided against it. I’d tried being cool like that a few times before and it had backfired every time. I’m not good at cool, so why try it? Besides, I didn’t really like songs like that. Mary Ann had told me several times that if I want to make friends, I should be myself. That’s the only way I’ll know when I’m making true friends. So, I thought of a song I wanted to sing, a song about healing a feud like the one the Scarlets and the Ambers were having.
There’s a place for us,
Somewhere a place for us.
Peace and quiet and open air,
Time to look, time to care,
Somewhere, somehow,
We’ll find a new way of living.
We’ll find a way of forgiving.
Somewhere—
There was a stirring among some of the boys. I’d failed again. But then I realized that nobody was laughing at me or making funny faces. Pollo and a couple other boys had their eyes glued on something, something that astounded them. I took a couple of steps so that I could what the matter was. Two large pieces from the board game were melting into each other! I wanted to apologize for wrecking the game pieces, but I didn’t know how to apologize for something like that.
“Isn’t that sweet,” said Denson with withering sarcasm. “The enemies are kissing and making up.”
“Hold your words,” said Pollo.
Then Pollo started to sing to the game pieces. His voice was strong and rich. I’d never heard anything like it. I had no idea what the song was about. If that kind of music existed in my world, I hadn’t heard it. He ended up on a note a lot higher than I thought a boy could sing, and then he stepped away. The two pieces had moved apart, but each was tainted with some of the color of the other. I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was stand there, tongue-tied. I wished I knew what had happened and why. Was I going to mess up something every time I sang a song in this world? I wondered. I tried to read the boys’ faces, but couldn’t. I guessed I had gained some respect from some of them, but I had no idea if that meant they liked me or not.
“I’m sorry about your—your game pieces,” I stammered, feeling that it was easier to apologize for the effect of my singing now that Pollo had more or less repaired the damage.
“Your apology is gratefully received, but it is not necessary,” said Pollo.
A bell rang and whoops of joy broke out among the boys. The doors that had led us into the dining hall earlier reappeared and opened up. I seemed to have been forgotten in the mad rush for whatever food was being served. Masteress Carrasima wasn’t there, but one of the girls was standing at the nearest table, ladling out cupfuls of a hot drink. At each end of the table was a platter stacked high with cookies. This was my idea of an evening snack! Charles came up to me and clapped me on the shoulder.
“You were awe-striking,” he told me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
I felt somebody tap me on the arm. It was the harpist who had said the boys should help me with my quest.
“I gift you with my name of Mirasol Amber,” he told me. “I wish to be called Mirry.”
“I accept the gift of your name,” I replied, not sure what the response was supposed to be.
“If I can help you with your quest, I’ll do everything I can,” Mirry promised as he dove for one of the cookie platters.
“The usual reply is: ‘Thank you for gifting me with your name,’” Charles told me under his breath.
“Thanks for telling me.”
I picked up a cookie and took a bite out of it. Instant heaven! The girl poured a cup of the hot drink for me and I took a sip. Wow! Spiky was hardly the word for it!
But the paradise was wrecked a second later when I saw Jorland pinch the girl’s cheek. When he took his hand away, it was obvious he’d done more than pinch her, for a large ugly growth appeared on her cheek where Jorland had touched her. Denson gave Jorland a congratulatory pat on the back. I was appalled, and I badly wanted to do something, but I was uncertain what I could do.
“Can you help, Gifted Healer?” the girl whispered to me.
I couldn’t bring myself to say I didn’t know how to do anything, true as that was. I could hope that whatever I tried wouldn’t do more harm than good. I freed my right hand by holding my cookie between the cup and my chest. Several other boys were watching with interest.
“Time to heal, time to heal,” I sang to the line in “Somewhere” that went with “time to look, time to care.” To my amazement, the growth shrank quickly, and the girl’s cheek looked normal again. She waved her hand over my cup.
“Nathaniel, in thanksgiving, I gift you with my name of Maranissa.”
“Thank you for gifting me with your name,” I replied.
Looking at her now, I took more notice of her blond stringy hair and her soft oval face.
“When I tell Masteress Carrasima what you did, the whole Guild of Gifted Culinary Artists will be ready to help you in your quest in any way we can,” said Maranissa.
“Thanks,” I said, wishing I could say more.
All the other boys had gone back into the common room except Charles, who was waiting for me. I followed him back, and the dining hall door closed behind us and disappeared. Denson looked at me in a way that made me fear he had some new trick up his sleeve in reaction to what I’d just done for Maranissa. Tomko came up to me, balancing his cup on his fireball that he held in the crook of one arm and using his other hand to stuff cookies into this mouth.
“Nathaniel,” he said with his mouth full, “you don’t know how to catch a fireball, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” I admitted.
“I’m sorry I hit you the way I did. I’ll show you how to do it tomorrow. Then you can have fun playing with the ball and you won’t get hurt.”
“Thanks.”
It was nice to know that Tomko wasn’t trying to hurt me after all. All of a sudden, he was looking like the friendliest boy around. Dominic came up to him and bumped his hand with his nose until Tomko gave him a piece of cookie.
“For somebody who doesn’t know anything about the Gifted World, you’re doing awfully well,” said Charles.
“Thanks.”
Dominic hit on me next, and I had to give him a piece of cookie, much as I hated to part with it. Charles also felt blackmailed into doing the same. Meanwhile, Pollo eased his way over to me. I looked at him uncertainly, but I saw no hint of hostility in his face.
“You are a highly Gifted Singer,” he said to me.
“I am?” I responded. “I’ve hardly done any singing in my life until today.”
Pollo’s eyebrows shot way up.
“How can you possibly have a Singing Gift like yours and yet not have done much singing?” Pollo asked.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t asked to sing much except by my mom, and she’s dead.”
“I suppose the Guild of Gifted Healers waited until they needed a singing gift and then started looking for someone who had it,” Pollo suggested.
“I think that’s true,” I admitted.
“Most people think the Guild of Gifted Musicians is useless until they suddenly find out they need us after all,” Pollo complained. “Then they wonder why we don’t cooperate with them.”
“Are weird things going to happen every time I sing?” I asked.
The question startled Pollo. The sound of harps and drums started up. Apparently even Mirry had had enough cookies to satisfy him for one night.
“Are you telling me that you were not trying to join the king pieces of the Bakalog Game?” he asked.
“No, I don’t know how anything works around here.”
“I guess you don’t,” said Pollo, showing some sympathy. “Your singing Gift is even more awe-striking than I thought, then. You will have to learn to control it, but I’m sure you can do it.”
“Master Lesentrange said that Master Harold Galleon will instruct me in singing,” I said.
“I wouldn’t count on him for anything helpful for your quest,” said Pollo. “If he doesn’t truly help you, I will.”
“I don’t want to break the church windows during every rehearsal.”
Charles and Pollo both laughed at the thought.
“Don’t you British say that would be smashing?” Pollo asked Charles.
“Uh—not in my Britain we don’t,” Charles replied.
A few sharp cries and whoops of laughter caught our attention. Little jets of flames were flying in several directions with boys dodging the jets and chasing each other about the common room. Mirry and the other harpist were shooting flames as if their harps were bows and arrows. Jorland and a few boys with him played pipes that doubled as pea-shooters.
“Mirry, halt your hurtful thrusts!” Denson yelled sternly.
The whole room froze with several arms suspended in midair.
“He started it,” Mirry protested, pointing to one of the boys with a pipe in his hand.
“How come you always think that somebody else is the one who started every single strife you get involved in?” Denson asked in mocking tones.
“Because somebody else is always the one who starts every strife against me,” Mirry retorted, “just as some other clan started the present warfare.”
“It seems to me that the Amber Clan has a short memory when it comes initiating warfare,” said Denson stiffly.
“You Scarlets have a lot shorter memory than we do!” Mirry charged. “You never notice if Jorland or Lorisal or Carl attacks me, but you always notice if I fight back. And besides, I haven’t hear you offer to help Nathaniel learn his healing chant.”
Denson’s face darkened and I knew something bad was going to happen and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. He pulled a pipe from under his cape and shot a flame out of it that struck Mirry’s harp. The boy’s scream knocked out my ears. A small pool of blood appeared on Mirry’s finger. Denson looked at me, his eyes full of the challenge he was giving me.
“Nathaniel, show us how great a Gifted singer you are.”
All of the boys seemed alarmed at the injury, but I couldn’t see the problem.
“Can’t you put a Band Aid on it?” I asked.
“There are no Band Aids around here,” said Charles, looking very pale.
“Nathaniel, the only thing that will really cure that cut is a healing chant,” said Pollo in a trembling voice. “If the cut is not healed soon, Mirry will never play that harp again.”
“I don’t know any healing chants,” I confessed.
Mirry groaned loudly. His desperate, but failing, attempt to hold back his tears made it clear that this was no joke.