Chapter the Fourth of Part the Third

In which the narrative recounts acts from the life of Brendan McLish in Chicago, Illinois.

“For he’s a jolly good singer! For he’s jolly good singer! For he’s a jolly good sing-er! Which nobody can deny!” sang the choristers.

Chet Maxson guided Brendan’s hand in cutting the first slice of the chorister’s cake, another symbol, along with the white surplice draped over his cassock during the Eucharist that morning, of his full membership into the choir of St. Dunstan’s Episcopal Church. Now, with Evensong under his belt, too, he could celebrate with his fellow choristers and their families without worrying about messing up any of the music.

“Boy! Three cakes at one dinner!” said Craig Pafko, who already had his mouth full of one of the cakes cut by the other two new choristers.

“We should invest three new boys every Sunday,” suggested Davy.

The other two boys who had been invested were chatting happily with their parents and grandparents. Neither Brendan’s parents nor his aunt and uncle had come to the Eucharist or Evensong, even though Brendan investiture as a full chorister was enhanced with his first solo.

“Remember,” said Mrs. Pafko, “it’s okay to drops crumbs drop on your blazers, but not any icing.”

“Does that mean there’s no limit to the crumbs I can spill on my blazer as long as I don’t get any icing on it?” Brendan asked her.

“Of course it does,” said Craig. “My mom loves to clean up crumbs. I’ve given her lots of practice.”

“You were great this morning,” said Chet to Brendan. “It’s boys like you who keep the choir going and who bring in people from miles around to hear us.”

Brendan was pretty sure that Chet was trying to make up for his parents not coming, but he also knew that Chet meant every word he said.

“Thanks to you,” said Luke, “I don’t have to worry about who’s going to be the first soloist when my voice changes.”

“What makes you think I can do what you can do?” Brendan asked him, feeling daunted by the solo Luke sang during Evensong.

“Listening to you,” Luke replied.

Luke’s mother, who was cutting the cake, pressed a plate into Brendan’s hand.

“Just want to make sure you get some before it’s all gone,” she told him.

“Thanks,” said Brendan.

He was getting to know Luke’s family rather well as he spent more and more time at their house. His aunt and uncle were just as glad to have him someplace else and Brendan returned the compliment..

“Don’t forget, you worked overtime to make this happen so early,” Luke said quietly in Brendan’s ear, “and you’re talented besides.”

“You worked overtime with me,” said Brendan.

“You worked overtime giving me practice teaching you music,” said Luke.

“Always glad to help,” said Brendan.

“Congratulations!” boomed one of the basses in the choir who had cake frosting all over his mustache. “Glad to see somebody keep this choir going!”

“Thanks,” said Brendan.

“Don’t forget,” said Miles, “I only let you beat me at ping-pong today because it’s your day. Just wait for next time.”

For the next several minutes, Brendan’s head was a whirl from the kind remarks from other boys, the men in the choir, and the choir parents. Mother Stephens congratulated him warmly, but Father Morton had ducked out without giving Brendan or the other newly vested boys as much as one word of encouragement.

“That’s a great cake you made, Mrs. Mason,” Brendan said to Kit’s mother as he dropped the paper plate into the trash barrel.

“I’m just thrilled to have a new boy to bake a cake for,” she said. “Many happy returns on the day.”

Sue Pafko sidled up to Brendan and slipped a small wrapped package in his hand that had to be a paperback book, almost surely a book Sue had told Brendan about during class.

“To my best music theory student,” said Grant Elliott as he handed him a package that had to be a compact disk.

“You’re my favorite music theory teacher,” said Brendan with a grin.

That wasn’t just default, Grant was really good at explaining the inner workings of music, especially for a teenager.

“Brendan,” said Martha Maxson.

“Yes,” said Brendan, who was always glad to have a word with her.

“I just can’t tell you in words how happy I am for you,” said Martha. “I know how hard you’ve worked. Chet and I think the world of you as a singer and as a human being.”

“Thank you.”

Brendan could hear the sad undertone in her voice, an undertone he had felt all day, and Brendan knew she knew how he felt and why.

“Words also fail me in trying to say how sorry I am that your parents couldn’t make it,” Martha added. “Maybe the music on this disk will give you some consolation.”

Brendan choked and bit his lip as he took the compact disk shaped package. He didn’t want to break out in tears right then, but he knew that he did not have to fight tears at all costs because Martha would understand.

“I don’t think my folks are interested,” Brendan said in a small voice.

“I wish I could assure you that they are interested,” said Martha, “but their absence from your life here doesn’t convince me otherwise.”

“I’m glad you’re here for me,” said Brendan.

“I’m glad to be here for you, too,” said Martha. “I know that nothing quite makes up for the support one’s parents fail to give on occasions like this.”

Brendan reached for Martha and she wrapped her arms around him.

“Thanks,” said Brendan, his voice still choking.

Turning around in the nearly deserted parish social hall, Brendan saw Luke and his parents standing nearby, obviously waiting for him to finish his little talk with Martha.

“Brendan,” said Mrs. Kenney. “We would love to have you stay the night with us.”

“We’ll rent a video and microwave a ton of popcorn,” Luke added.

“Sure, I accept,” said Brendan, knowing that spending the night at his aunt and uncle’s house would be quite a letdown.

“Let’s get our coats and we’ll go,” said Luke.

Luke and Brendan took the winding route from the church social hall towards the choir room and the lockers. On the way, they heard and felt a rumble under their feet. Both boys looked instinctively at the ceiling. The rumbling stopped without the church burying the boys in rubble.

“God must be angry at something,” said Luke pleasantly.

“This is not a good place to be caught in an earthquake,” said Brendan. “You don’t think God would bring the church down on us because we did something wrong, do you?”

“I hope not,” said Luke as the boys resumed their walk to the lockers. “Mother Stephens said that if God makes bad things happen to people just to punish them for their sins, than God is pretty crummy.”

“But doesn’t she think God is pretty good?” asked Brendan.

“Yea, but look what we did to God when he came to visit us.”

“Does that mean it isn’t worth while being good?”

“I guess it’s worth it,” said Luke. “I’d rather be like my parents and Chet and Martha than some of the awful people you read about in the papers.”

When Luke and Brendan reached the lockers, the hallway was deserted and it looked spookier than ever. When Brendan opened his locker to reach for his coat, his gaze turned towards an open door across from him. Instead of bits of desks and tables, Brendan saw strange lights, as if a bunch of candles had been lit, and then he heard the sound of a violin and a boy singing along with it.

“It’s Merithwell!” Brendan whispered.

“We can’t keep my folks waiting,” said Luke.

“I know,” said Brendan, “but that might be Kyle in there and this might be his last chance to get away from that awful world of his.”

“You’re right,” said Luke, “my folks will have to understand. Let’s go.”

Brendan and Luke dropped their overcoats and Brendan’s gifts and followed the sound into Merithwell. One look at the boy playing the violin made it clear that it wasn’t Kyle. He was dressed in furs and had long, dark tangled hair that tumbled over two large interlocked ear rings the he wore on each ear. Brendan smiled at the thought of how a teacher would react to a boy who came to school looking like that.

“He’s as good as Kyle,” Luke whispered.

“Yea.”

For all of the music’s strangeness, Brendan was swept off his feet by the power of the boy’s singing. It sounded a bit like some of the primitive music Brendan had heard in music listening class, or music by composers like Bartok who used ancient folk material in their works. Four boys, dressed in white night shirts, entered from another angle and soon after them, two boys, looking formidable in their thick gray robes came in. Just on their heels, Kyle rushed in with a reluctant boy behind him. To Brendan’s amazement, Kyle was transformed, with his bright blue suite shining in the light it reflected. Kyle appeared to have suddenly become an inheritor with a disinherited boy to wait on him, but Kyle’s face looked as crushed with sorrow as did before, if not more so. Brendan waved to Kyle and he nodded back, clearly glad to see his friends again. Brendan then noticed two more boys with dark gray cloths, wrapped around them like Roman togas. One was bronze-colored and the other was a redhead. Brendan had the feeling that this gathering was more significant than he yet knew and there was no question that he and Luke had to be there, no matter how awkward things might be with the Kenneys afterwards.

The boy with the violin pushed his song to a heart-wrenching climax, capped by a long-held note that ended in a high-pitched explosion of sound that echoed loudly even after the voice and the violin became silent. A bright cloud floated nearby, throwing off light like a hill of diamonds. Gradually, the cloud of light solidified somewhat until it appeared to be a stone corner filled with dancing light.

“Look what he’s done!” Brendan exclaimed

“That proves this place gets built up by song,” said Luke.

The boy with the violin looked around, dazzled and surprised by the presence of so many other boys.

“You sing of healing, again, Danzigger” said Kyle.

“I needed to,” Danzigger replied. “My heart was torn by the death of the man who gave me this fiddle.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kyle.

“My song tells me his spirit is beyond, where it should be,” said Danzigger. “Do you know these others who have come here to Merithwell?”

“These boys are Brendan and Luke,” said Kyle, “and that boy is Mark.”

“I am Malcoomb Nordrench, student magus of the Academy in World Drakkenfleiss” said one of the boys in the long gray garments. “This is Dunsland. He’s not much of a student or a magus.”

The other boys introduced themselves to those they had not yet met in Merithwell. Brendan took an instant dislike to Malcoomb. Chet would never tolerate one chorister speaking that way about another. Tormo had much the same effect on Brendan, as that boy looked as if he wanted to take over the group in the same way Malcoomb was trying to.

“I think your singing brought us together,” Brendan said to Danzigger. “There might be a reason for that.”

“There surely is a reason for it,” said Danzigger. “A spirit place does nothing without a purpose.”

“As Luke noted just now,” said Malcoomb as he casually ambled over to the corner Danzigger had just created, where the light’s dance was as lively as ever. “we have just seen further proof that singing in this place causes stones filled with magical music to appear. I seems that we have the capability to build quite a—“

Malcoomb was interrupted by a long drawn-out groan that seemed to come from that very corner of light. Mark and Polnar were the first to converge on the spot and the other boys rushed over right behind them.

“Look!” cried Mark, “I see somebody’s hand sticking out!”

“And I see his face!” Polnar added.

“Get him out!” Brendan urged.

The boys crowded around the strange object that Brendan began to see as a glittering pile of rubble. He and the other boys tried to move rocks and debris around to free the person trapped in it, but nothing yielded to their efforts.

“Stand back everybody,” said Malcoomb. “The student magus will zap this thing with a spell.”

Brendan and Luke looked at each other, both thinking they probably should stop Malcoomb if they could. They couldn’t, but a grand gesture on Malcoomb’s part had no effect except to dull the brightness of the stone fragments entrapping the person. That the younger-looking boys with Mark started giggling. That did not brighten Malcoomb’s eyes.

“I think we should try singing,” said Dunsland, who seemed to be seriously at odds with Malcoomb about everything.

“That’s it!” Mark exclaimed. “If Danzigger’s singing started this, than his singing can finish it.”

“Kyle should sing,” said Danzigger, “he sang the first lights into shining here.”

Kyle’s expression still gave every indication that still felt that he had no right to sing anything anywhere.

“We should all of us sing,” said Kyle.

“Play the harp, Kyle,” said Danzigger.

“Okay.”

“What do we sing?” asked Polnar.

“We should sing whatever we can sing,” said Danzigger. “Kyle and I did that and more light appeared here in Merithwell.”

“Singing the song ‘The Western Wind’ with Brendan and Luke made more light here, too,” added Kyle

“Then it’s settled,” said Dunsland. “Every boy sings what he can sing and Merithwell will do what it wills to free the trapped person.”

Kyle played a few notes on the harp and Danzigger played a few notes on his violin. Gradually all the boys began singing. Somehow, it all sounded better than Brendan thought possible. Brendan sang his first solo: “O taste and see how gracious the Lord is.” He noted that Luke sang his solo from Stanford’s Magnificat. To Brendan’s surprise, Mark seemed to be singing a Magnificat as well. Did Mark’s world get it from his? Brendan asked himself. Or, did his world get it from Mark’s? Kyle sang the song “The Western Wind” and then Taverner’s Gloria based on that tune. With his own solo being short, Brendan joined in with Kyle and Luke switched to the same song soon after. Mark and Peete and Dunsland all fell in with “The Western Wind” as well, seeming to have learned it somewhere. Eventually, all of the boys were singing the song “The Western Wind,” with some boys struggling with it, and the words coming out a bit differently:

Western wynde, when wilt thou blow,
The small raine down can raine.
Christ, if the trapped boy may be free
And free of pain and injury.

The song itself seemed to take over, carrying the boys with it, an effect Brendan remembered Chet encouraging the choristers to keep themselves open to. The singing worked its magic on the flickering stones, causing them to flame out like a bonfire doused in gasoline. The conflagration stopped the singing, but the song continued to echo in the flames as the mangled body of one boy, followed by a second, came oozing out as if the stones were ejecting them the way the great fish spat Jonah up on the shore. Mark and Polnar gently pulled the first boy free while Peete and Tormo brought out the second until both boys, covered with blood and their bones crushed, were lying next to each other.

“What do we do now?” asked Timmon in a small voice.

“Call an ambulance and take them to a hospital,” said Brendan.

“What’s that?” asked Danzigger.

“We have places with doctors who heal these injuries,” Luke explained.

“I can use a magic spell that will heal them without our having to call anybody or take them anywhere,” said Malcoomb.

“Danzigger is a healer,” said Kyle. “His singing can heal them.”

“I can’t heal all that,” said Danzigger. “If we take them to the spirit speaker Maranzigga, she can do it and I can help her.”

“We have to get them to a hospital right away or they’ll die!” Brendan insisted.

“All I have to do is perform a few spells,” said Malcoomb.

“Like the spell you just did to free these guys?” Mark asked him.

Malcoomb gave Mark a fierce look but Mark did not flinch.

“We have to do something besides argue if we’re going to save them,” said Luke.

“I say we do what we can do right here,” said Mark, “and then take them to another place if we need to.”

“If these guys have healing houses,” said Tormo with a nod at Brendan, “then let’s take them there right away.”

“I think Mark’s right,” said Kyle. “Danzigger will sing a healing song and Malcoomb can do a spell.”

“I think all of us should sing the healing song,” said Danzigger. “That will be stronger. I heard healing in your singing already.”

“Teach us the song, Danzigger,” Luke urged him.

Brendan looked at Luke questioningly, wondering why Luke would go along with primitive rites and spells instead of the hospital down the street from the church.

“Think of all the tubes they’d put into those guys,” Luke whispered, “and then, how would we explain to the hospital who they are? Besides, I trust Kyle’s judgment.”

“Malcoomb,” said Danzigger, “sing the notes of your spell and I will use them in the song.”

“No,” said Malcoomb. “I will cast my spell without music. Sing away if you want to.”

“I will sing the notes,” Dunsland offered.

Then Dunsland sang a brief phrase in a highly pleasant voice. Already, Brendan felt that anything wrong with his own body was being put right by it.

Proceed to Chapter the Fifth of Part the Third

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