Chapter the Second of Part the Second
In which the narrative recounts acts from the life of Malcoomb Nordrench in World Drakkenfleiss.
Like all of the other student magi, Malcoomb Nordrench felt the uncomfortable tingle in several parts of his body that lingered after the healing spells had been administered. He was fortunate that Gwendarin was assigned by Healing Master Magus Mandora to him, as she was good at magical healing. Forsikt was the poor victim of Dunsland’s ministrations which left his right arm more twisted than ever. The stricken boy was sitting on the animated carpet in the student magi common room as Raissa worked on him. Owls conjured by the student magi in Transformation Master Magus Daylanna’s class were flying and hooting from wall to wall. Dunsland’s owl with stubby feathers sticking out waddled around its maker in circles.
“Are you doing better now?” Dunsland asked Forsikt.
“Yea, but no thanks to you,” said Forsikt. “Your owl looks like a porcupine.”
The other student magi laughed except for Raissa. Dunsland looked at his owl ruefully and shook his head.
“I guess you’re right. Next time I’ll try to make a porcupine and then maybe it will look like an owl.”
“And while you’re at it,” said Forsikt, “why not try to hurt me next time you’re assigned to heal me.”
“And why not try to heal the student magus you’re assigned to attack?” added Malcoomb.
That brought several laughs. It was Dunsland’s fault that the student magi had so many opportunities to practice magical healing. In combat class, Combat Master Magus Mossritch made each student magus defend the other students from an attack launched by the Combat Master Magus. Malcoomb easily turned away the tornado of flame aimed at the student magi by Combat Master Magus Mossritch. The other students had varying degrees of success, all except Dunsland, whose counterspell only united the arrows of sparks into a fiery spear that ripped through the bodies of several student magi.
“Why did you come here?” Malcoomb asked Dunsland.
“My mother and my father want me to become a great wizard who will make the Dilworths the most powerful family of magi in all of World Drakkenfleiss,” said Dunsland with an unmistakable edge to his voice.
Dunsland smoothed the ruffled feathers of his owl as the other student magi laughed at him.
“Have either of your parents noticed how much talent you actually have?” Malcoomb asked him.
“Yes,” said Dunsland. “That’s why they sent me here.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t so you could torment owls and your fellow students?” asked Malcoomb. “If you can wipe us out with your healing spells, the Dilworths will be in a powerful position.”
The laughter greeting that remark had not subsided when a canary fluttered into the student magi common room.
“The Magical Singing Squad will assemble now,” sang the canary and then it flew threw a wall and was gone.
Malcoomb promptly teleported himself to the music room. This time, the panels were dark green with silver streaks beating out the rhythm of a tune that teased Malcoomb’s ear without letting itself be fully heard. Raissa, the only new student magus besides Dunsland and Malcoomb to be admitted to the Magical Singing Squad looked behind her anxiously as if she was worried about Dunsland.
“In this, the first of practices for this most important squad,” Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner began to the assembled boys, “we—“
A high-pitched hum interrupted the Music Master Magus and Dunsland landed on one foot, and narrowly avoided spilling himself on the floor.
“The tone of your voice is much better than your aim at teleporting,” said the Music Master Magus to the accompaniment of many thinly suppressed smiles. “As I was saying, we will work on ways that we can create a musical army in case there should be need of one. I shall begin with a musical spell that is both modest and rudimentary. It happens that the fourth raised mode is particularly good for creating sources of light. The third, fourth and fifth scale degrees are particularly efficacious. Since this is a simple spell musically and magically, we will begin with a light creating spell. Dunsland, please give us the third scale degree of the fourth mode.”
Malcoomb Nordrench tried to imagine the note Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner asked for before Dunsland sang it but, again, he had it wrong. Somehow, that boy always knew any note that was needed ahead of time without hearing it pitched on an instrument. Malcoomb still could not fathom how Dunsland did it.
“What you sang has some semblance to the correct note,” said the Music Master Magus. “Now, Dunsland, will you please sing the third, fourth and fifth degrees of the fourth mode.”
Knowing what note to start from, Malcoomb could have sung the three notes as accurately as Dunsland. That was something.
“I must say that I can recognize the correct pitches in what you gave us,” said the Music Master Magus. “Now, all of you, sing the three notes.”
All of the student magi sang the notes.
“Well, not too much of a shambles,” said Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner. “I suppose that one of these centuries I can make a sorcery choir out of you at this rate. Now, sing the three notes again on the words: ‘light appear now.’ As you sing the words, imagine a light appearing in front of you at a convenient spot for seeing what you are doing.”
Malcoomb sang the words to the notes and imagined the light as prescribed by the Music Master Magus. As he expected, a fair-sized light appeared. He looked quickly at Dunsland. As usual, his light fizzled.
“I would say that all of you sang enough light into being to light the palm of your hand except—of course—for Dunsland Dilworth.”
Dunsland hung his head. Malcoomb held his head a bit higher.
“Dunsland,” the Music Master Magus continued, “I simply cannot fathom how it is possible for you to sing so well and yet create magic so poorly, even when you are singing it.”
“Perhaps it is because music is not the same as magic,” said Dunsland.
Music Master Hilfersdorner turned three shades deeper into red.
“Dunsland! It is not the place of a student magus to explain to a Music Master Magus the relationship between music and magic.”
“I only tried to answer the question you asked me,” Dunsland replied.
Apparently not sure if the students were laughing at him or at Dunsland, or both, Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner wiped away all smiles with a fierce look about the room.
“Now,” said the Music Master Magus, “if you sing the three notes backwards, that is the fifth, fourth and then third degrees of the fourth mode to the words: ‘light go out,’ your light should be gently extinguished. Dunsland, please sing those notes for the benefit of those boys who can’t hear the notes in their proper order on the right pitches.”
Dunsland sang the notes to the words as asked. His light flickered but did not quite go out. Several boys snickered. Dunsland’s face turned red.
“Dunsland Dilworth, it appears that you will have a light on your pinky finger unless you can find a way to put it out the rest of the way. However, you have sung the notes correctly so whatever your problem is, it is not musical. Now, everybody extinguish your lights.”
Malcoomb sang the notes and the words and his light went out perfectly well. Dunsland’s second effort was little more successful than the first.
“Now,” said Music Master “I am going to split you up into groups. It is our accumulated wisdom that spells sung in the upper pitches work best if sung either by females or boys whose voices have not broken. Young men with deeper voices can sing with both or alone. Boys firest: I want you to sing together and create one light in front of the choir. Sing the notes and words for making a light appear.”
To Malcoomb’s discomfort, there were only two other younger boys besides him and Dunsland to sing the spell. The boys sang the notes and the words and a bright light the size of a watermelon appeared in front of them.
“That is not the kind of singing-light-into-being display that will light up a world or even light up a sorcerous army, but at least you didn’t plunge us all into darkness. It seems that when it comes to a choral effort, Dunsland helps you keep the bottom from falling out of the pitch without totally destroying the magical effects we are aiming for. Now, sing to extinguish the light.”
The boys sang the words and the notes. The light dwindled down to almost nothing, but it did not quite go out. All eyes turned on Dunsland.
“Let us try this,” said the Music Master Magus. “The boys will sing the spell except for Dunsland.”
The other boys sang the spell, but the pitch did not hold and the light did not quite go out. Again, all eyes turned on Dunsland.
“We have a problem,” said Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner. “Let us try this: Malcoomb Nordrench, you sing the spell.”
Pleased at the opportunity to show up Dunsland, Malcoomb sang the spell, knowing the notes were true. But the light did not quite go out. Several student magi snickered uneasily.
“We still have a problem,” said the Music Master Magus. “I could use my consummate skill as a Music Master Magus to extinguish the light for you. If I thought the light harmful, I would do so. The light, however, is not harmful. I will leave it as it is until this choir can put it out. Rehearsal dismissed.”
Malcoomb trailed Dunsland at a small distance to see if Dunsland might return to the strange world fragment he discovered on his way to Drakkenfleiss Academy. So far, all of Malcoomb’s efforts at finding the place on his own had failed. Dunsland pulled something out of his sleeve and tried to eat it. It was a pretty sorry looking sandwich. With students confined to a diet of the food they could produce themselves, Dunsland was eating very poorly. That gave Malcoomb an opportunity and he zoomed in on the boy.
“Would you like for me to conjure up a nice chicken sandwich or something for you?” Malcoomb offered.
Dunsland leaned against the stone wall of the corridor and looked away from Malcoomb. The other student magi gave the two boys a wide berth as they passed by except for Raissa but a sharp look from Malcoomb sent her on her way.
“What do you want for it?” Dunsland asked.
Academy rules allowed student magi to help each other out, provided there was a fair exchange.
“I would like to visit the world fragment with the music library again.”
“You keep saying it’s a crummy place.”
“It is a crummy place. It has possibilities, though.”
“What possibilities are you thinking of?” Dunsland asked suspiciously.
Malcoomb did not want to say. He knew Dunsland would be too squeamish to approve.
“If you would rather starve, go right ahead,” said Malcoomb, secure in the knowledge that nobody else in the academy wanted the one thing Dunsland had to offer in exchange for anything.
“I accept your deal,” said Dunsland, betraying his desperation.
“Good.”
Malcoomb took pride in his own work and so he exerted himself to create a really good sandwich with ripe tomato and crisp lettuce. When the sandwich appeared, he handed it to Dunsland who downed it quickly.
“Now for the world fragment?” Malcoomb asked.
“Do you want to create a room here for us to use as an entry?” Dunsland asked.
“If you want,” said Malcoomb, thinking that perhaps if there was a room for the purpose of entering the world fragment, he might be able to use that himself in the future and then Dunsland could starve.
“I suggest I sing while you do the spell,” said Dunsland.
“Okay.”
Dunsland sang a brief, pleasing melody while Malcoomb sang along with him and worked the spell that created a room off the hallway with a door that only the two boys would be able to find. What they were doing was well within school regulations. It was expected that students would create rooms for various purposes, including one for sleeping in. The door appeared and Malcoomb opened it, ushered in Dunsland and closed it again.
“Now it’s your turn,” said Malcoomb.
Dunsland nodded. He closed his eyes and sang the short spell he sang before to open up the place where they met another boy who had also stumbled into it. Malcoomb listened carefully in the hope that he could reproduce the tune himself but, as far as he could tell, he had sung it right without being able to make the spell work. When Dunsland finished his singing, the dark opening appeared and he stepped through with Malcoomb following.
The space looked the same as it did the last time they came except that several more clusters of sparks enlivened blocks of stone and some bright golden letters were inscribed on one of the stones.
“What’s this?” Dunsland asked.
Malcoomb followed Dunsland over and read the words for himself:
MERITHWELL WILL RETURN TO LIFE WHEN BOYS SING THE STONES BACK INTO BEING WITH HEARTS BROKEN FOR THE LOVE OF SINGING
“Well, my heart is not exactly broken,” Malcoomb scoffed, “I suppose yours is.”
“Yes, it is,” Dunsland replied.
Malcoomb ran his hand over the letters and heard confused music sounding in his ears, but he found no trace of magic.
“There’s no enchantment to those letters,” said Malcoomb.
“I know, it’s music. Now we know what this place is called and we know it is made of music.”
Dunsland walked over to the nearest stack of paper and picked up the piece on top and squinted at it.
“Could you use a light?” Malcoomb asked Dunsland.
“What do I have left to give you for it?”
“I’ll count this as part payment for the entry you already gave me.”
Malcoomb cast the light-making spell that had been routine for him for years, but he only produced a couple of sparks that went out as quickly as they appeared.
“You might have to sing a spell to make it work here,” Dunsland suggested.
That made sense to Malcoomb. He stifled his flare of anger and sang the spell he had just learned from Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner. To his chagrin, Malcoomb only produced a small, dim light that would be no help in reading the music papers. Seeing the problem, Dunsland sang the spell himself and doubled Malcoomb’s fury by producing a large globe of light that lit up the music papers generously. Dunsland appeared to be at least as surprised at the outcome as Malcoomb was. This was turning out to be a repeat performance of Dunsland’s outdoing Malcoomb in healing that injured boy they met the last time. Malcoomb began to fear that the whole world fragment might have a grudge against him.
“How did you do that?” Malcoomb asked through clenched teeth.
“Same way you did the spell during class,” said Dunsland.
The boy took advantage of the light to look at the top papers of the nearest stack. Malcoomb was curious enough to do the same, interested as he was in finding clues as to what this place was all about. To his added frustration, he had trouble making sense of much of the music. Dunsland interrupted Malcoomb’s thoughts by singing from the music he was looking at:
Western wynde, when wilt thou blow,
The small raine down can raine.
Christ, if my love were in my armes
And I in my bedde again!
The tune sounded interesting, almost pleasing to Malcoomb, but he was pretty sure that neither the words nor the music would be of any use in a spell.
“Sounds like a love spell that won’t work,” said Malcoomb.
“It’s music,” said Dunsland. “Can’t you think of anything else besides forcing people to do what you want?”
“Isn’t that what sorcery is all about?” Malcoomb asked.
“I suppose it is.”
“It seems that this place was a music library and it fell apart or something,” said Malcoomb.
“Something like that,” said Dunsland. “I think singing is bringing it back.”
“Did you make those words appear by singing?” Malcoomb asked.
“No, somebody else did it.”
“Who?”
Malcoomb heard a high-pitched gasp come from a short distance away. Dunsland heard it too. In a direction where there had only been darkness when the boys entered, there was an opening into what appeared to be a haunted library lit by moonlight where two ghosts in white stood in front of the books.
Proceed to Chapter the Third of Part the Second