Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (26 page)

“How’s Jan?”

“Mr. Ferthen, you mean?” replied his father, pouring himself some coffee. “Whatever this Elder did, he seems to be completely on the mend. It’s astounding.”

Raf glanced up at his grandfather who smiled back affectionately and said, “So, I understand the Foreman thinks highly of your musical abilities?”Raf shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

Luka laughed softly in his quiet husky voice. “I imagine your mother’s very proud, Raf, what with our musical heritage. I’m sure you know that my great uncle was the Bard in Yaelstead many years ago. An excellent lutist, I’ve been told. Perhaps you should visit sometime and find out more? Speaking of which, it must be almost time for sojourns, surely? Maybe a trip up north?”

Raf looked down at his plate in front of him, but was spared having to answer by his father, who said, “It’s been a matter of some debate actually, Luka. Raf has some rather… adventurous ideas about his sojourn. There are some safety issues.”

“You can’t be too adventurous with your sojourn, Tarvil,” responded Luka with a chuckle. “I, myself, travelled to the Marshlands and stayed in one of the floating villages there. It was quite an experience really, and -“

“Perhaps we could
not
talk about this?” said Leiana sharply from the end of the table. “It doesn’t concern you, father.”

“But, Lei, the whole tradition of sojourns is about experiencing new challenges and new cult-”

“- then he can go to Dimb’s End or Sayenham! Just leave it alone,” she snapped. The kitchen was silent apart from the sound of Leiana cutting up a watermelon. “And anyway, until we find a cure for
this tree disease - assuming there even is one - nobody will be going anywhere.”

Luka grunted something inaudible and got up from the table to shuffle out the kitchen. Leiana clenched her jaws, carving up the watermelon with long, violent slices as Tarvil stared out the window and sipped his coffee. Raf toyed with some blackberries on his plate, wishing he was anywhere else at that moment.

Fortunately, a welcome distraction came in the form of the chimes suddenly ringing for a Council meeting. Elder Bolyai, it seemed, had returned from his visit to the area where Vince had died.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

The Foreman stood with the Elder at the front in deep conversation when the last few Council members arrived in the chambers. The chattering died down as the Foreman held a hand up.

“Elder Bolyai has returned from visiting the diseased area. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know of any cure himself, but -” there was a loud groan from Nathyn as he continued loudly, “-
but
, he has heard of an expert in iMahliland who he will seek out immediately. Jover and Fester have already kindly offered a wagon with a team of
saanen
.” This quietened the Council somewhat and there were a few hopeful looks cast across the room. “Elder Bolyai has also asked for an assistant,” continued the Foreman. “While it would seem that sojourns are unlikely to happen for a long while, this would be an opportunity for one of our school leavers to travel with the Elder. A rare privilege”

“Who will go?” asked Dalton.

“I will choose,” replied the Elder. “The journey will be long and I would prefer one with… some musical ability.”

“How will you decide, might I ask?” inquired Madame Ottery. “Many are musical.”

“Just bring the students here as soon as possible. I want to leave before noon.”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

“Good morning,” said Bolyai, once the assembled students had finished their response to his
gretanayre.
There were sixteen of them and they looked around at each other in excitement. “I had not expected so many.”

Madame Ottery shrugged. “These are the ones of sojourn age who I would consider musical.”

Bolyai dismissively waved a wrinkled hand, waiting for her to leave the room, and then faced the students. “I am leaving for iMahliland in a few hours and need an assistant. It will be hot and dangerous, but is incredibly important for all in the Forest.” He turned around to point at a table behind him. “You have only one task, play this for me.”

He removed a cloth covering something and underneath lay a wooden instrument that looked vaguely flute-like at one end, with a few unusual loops in the middle and holes down one side. There were some strange levers towards the top as well and the bottom split into two bells that flared out delicately.

He pointed at the boy nearest him. “Name?”

“Err… Lewis Frenk, sir.”

“The Frenks of Abiesborough?”

“Yes, sir,“ replied the boy, impressed. He turned and smiled proudly to his classmates who, as one, rolled their eyes at him.

“You, first.”

Lewis stepped up to the instrument, put it to his mouth and blew into it hard. Nothing happened. Not even the sound of air moving through it. Lewis blew until his cheeks turned bright red.

“I think it’s stuck, sir,” he said, shaking it curiously.

“Yes, that’s fine, thank you, Master Frenk. You may go.”

Lewis placed it on the table carefully before walking out the room, blushing furiously as a few of the others sniggered.

“You, next. Name?”

“Luke Parron, sir.” The muscular blond boy walked up to the instrument and struggled to blow it for half a minute, pressing different combinations of levers and holes to no avail, before he, too, was dismissed by Bolyai.

And so it carried on. One by one, the students attempted to play it and failed, to be sent out the room unceremoniously by the Elder. By the time the last one – a nervous Cisco – tried and was sent away, the Elder’s face had turned flinty. He snatched the instrument up and left the room. Outside, a few of the Council were seated around a bench and looked up in interest.

“So, who is it to be, Elder?” asked Dalton.

“None of them. Not one single student in that miserable bunch could play a single note on this,” he snapped, holding the instrument up for them.

Madame Ottery frowned. “Elder, I am a journeyman musician and well-travelled, but I must confess that I’ve never even seen one of those before.”

Bolyai grunted and started packing the instrument away. “It’s called a
paodrin.
It’s fairly old, but I was sure that there was at least one who would have the gift.”

“And Raf wasn’t any good?” the Foreman asked. “With all his recent surprises, I’m a bit disappointed, really.”

“Who is this?” asked Bolyai, his eyes narrowing. “I thought you brought me all the students who were musical?”

“My son,” replied Leiana frowning. “Was he not there?” She turned to Madame Ottery. “Resma, I thought you had collected them all?”

Resma pursed her lips and turned to Abuniah who shook his head. “Apparently we must have missed him.”

“Well, never mind,” said Tarvil, “he’s just over there.”

They looked to where he was pointing and saw Raf talking with Cisco, walking away towards the schools.

“Raf! Could you come here for a minute?”

Raf looked up, and then grimaced when he saw them. He trudged up towards them with a nervous look on his face, and mumbled a greeting, avoiding eye contact with his mother.

“Do something for me, boy,” said Bolyai. “Play this
paodrin
.”

“I… er… I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one of those before, Elder. Sorry. Perhaps someone else w-”

“Just try playing it, Raf,” muttered Leiana in irritation. “It would be nice if, just for once, you did what you were asked instead of immediately finding any way possible to avoid doing it.”

Raf went bright red and he glared at her.

She tilted her head at him, exasperated. “Just try!”

“Fine!” snapped Raf.  He took the instrument from the Elder and looked down at it, turning it over in his hands. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he slotted his hands into position and put the mouth-piece to his lips. A reedy but powerful note warbled out of the flared end and Raf played a few more different notes before thrusting the instrument out to Bolyai. “There. Can I go now?”

They were all looking at him with baffled expressions and the Elder’s expression was intense and penetrating, his white eyebrows arched up to deepen the creases in his forehead. “How did you do that?”

“What, play it? I don’t know. It’s just obvious, isn’t it? You have to suck the air through it,
otherwise it won’t work. It’s a bit squeaky, but I think that’s just because I’ve never played one before.”

Bolyai took the instrument gently and looked at it blankly for a few seconds before turning to the Foreman and nodding almost imperceptibly.

The Foreman turned to Leiana. “Are you all right with it?”

“Of course,” she said in a frosty tone. “It’s for the good of the Forest after all. But you’ll have to see if he’s interested; I’ve found him less than amenable recently.”

Raf looked at them suspiciously. “What?”

“The Elder is requesting your company on his journey to iMahliland,” said the Foreman. “Will you go, Raf?”

Raf looked at the crowd of Council members standing in front of him.

It’s an important trip, I know, but it sounds so boring! I mean
, iMahliland
? It’s just sand and stuff. Nobody even sojourns there.
He looked up at all of them. His mother tilted her head impatiently.
Still, anything’s better than staying here, surely…

H
alf an hour later, Raf walked with his father up to the East Ulnus path carrying a sack over his shoulder. In front of them, the sturdy wagon crawled along with the Elder and Orikon sitting on the driver’s bench. It slowed and pulled up to a creaky halt as they reached the small crowd waiting to see them off.

“Ready?” asked the Foreman. “I’m sending Fergus with you to Luanchester, Tarvil. He’s the most able of all of us to navigate around the rot. If you smell anything unusual – anything even slightly wrong - take no chances. Between Fergus and Orikon, you should find safe passage.”

Tarvil nodded. “We’ll reach Luanchester tomorrow morning if we travel hard; Orikon and I will try to get back straight away.” He walked over to where Leiana was standing and embraced her.

Raf walked up behind him and stood awkwardly. “Bye, mom.”

Leiana moved to hug him fiercely and then pulled away. “Look after him, Elder.” She wrapped her shawl around herself tightly and walked away with Resma.

The Foreman started singing the
farwelayre
and the others joined in. Bolyai nodded to Orikon who flicked the reins and the wagon creaked back into motion. A few hundred feet down the path, they rounded a bend and the village disappeared from sight.

Raf looked over at Fergus who grinned back at him excitedly. It had all happened so quickly. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to Cisco or Nedrick; he’d literally shoved some clothes into his bag and then left. He was actually leaving the Aeril Forest. And if that didn’t feel bizarre enough, he was on his way to iMahliland!

Pulled by the three wiry
saanen,
the wagon moved along at a steady pace on its way down along the path. Tarvil and Orikon walked in quiet conversation in front of the wagon while Fergus skipped along the path singing to himself, staying far ahead of them.

“Play the
paodrin
for me again,” said Bolyai suddenly. “We have a ways to go yet.”

Raf took the odd instrument from the Elder’s out-stretched hand. He turned it over in his hands, examining it a bit closer than he had earlier on. It really was an odd shape; the loops in the middle winding around each other with the strange levers on top. It reminded him a bit of the instrument he had made in his hidey-hole yesterday.

He held it up to his mouth, positioned his fingers where they felt most correct, and then inhaled softly through the mouthpiece. A simple tune came to mind and, although it took him a few goes to work out how to use the two levers perfectly and get the breathing right, he managed to run through the song a few times with increasing skill.

“That was nice!” said Fergus from the path ahead.

Bolyai stared at him silently.

Raf held out the instrument. “It’s got a funny sound though, Elder. Am I doing it right?”

Bolyai shrugged. “No idea. I’ve never heard it played before.”

Raf looked up at him. “Never? Cisco said you asked everyone to play it.”

“And?”

“I….er…” he replied falteringly. “Surely it’s not that complicated, Elder? Anyone can play it, you just have to breathe
in
through it.”

“I’m sure they could if they knew it worked like that. But perhaps still not as well as you just
played it. You have some small amount of natural talent, boy, I’ll give you that.”