May 17
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Dragon Singer by Eric Deschamps
one of my favourite things in this world is when people take habits away from media they love/loved intensely, it adds complexity to your being methinks
some examples:
the method of putting a cup down without it clinking from Ouron High School Host Club
the way Menolly rubs her hand as a stim thing from Dragon Singer
listening to Tears For Fears because of Stranger Things
things get engrained into your soul when you care about them enough, from friends to books to movies, it's beautiful
Although the lesson began with a totally unexpected scolding, Menolly left Master Shonagar’s presence with a feeling of considerable accomplishment. They had gone over “The Fire Lizard Song,” phrase by phrase, occasionally accompanied by Beauty’s trilling. By the end of the session, Menolly stood in further awe of Master Shonagar’s musical acumen. He had drawn from her melody every possible nuance and shading of tone, heightening its total impact.
“Tomorrow,” Master Shonagar said as he dismissed her, “bring me a copy of that latest thing you wrote. The one about Brekke. At least you have wit enough to write music you can sing, that lies in the best part of your voice. Tell me, do you do that on purpose? No, no, that was an invidious question. Unworthy of me. Inapplicable to you. Away with you now, I’m excessively wearied!”
His fist came up to support his head, and he was snoring before Menolly could express her gratitude for his stimulating lesson.
Morshal’s dislike of the feminine sex is a standing joke in this Hall, Menolly. Give him the courtesy due his rank and age, and ignore his biased thinking. As I said, you don’t have to sit classes with him. Not that Domick will be any easier to study with. He’s a hard taskmaster, but Domick will take over your tuition where Petiron left off in musical form and composition until I can. Unfortunately,” and the Harper’s smile of regret was sincere, “I am badly pressed for time with all that’s happening, much though I would prefer to undertake the task myself. Still, Domick’s understanding of the truly classical form is superior, and he’s keen to monopolize any instrumentalist capable of playing his intricate music. Don’t miss your lessons with Master Shonagar, for you must be able to sing your songs effectively, but,” and he lifted a warning finger, “don’t fall for Brudegan’s importunings about fire lizard choruses. That can be scheduled for a later time when we’ve settled you properly in your craft.
“I’d like you to concentrate on your instruments… as far and as fast as that hand of yours permits. How is it healing, by the way?” And he reached for her left hand. “Hmmm, you’ve done too much by the look of those splits. Does it hurt? I won’t have you crippling yourself in your zeal, Menolly, understand that!”
Menolly, sensing his kind concern, swallowed against the lump in her throat and managed a tentative smile.
“It is never easy, sweet child, to have a real gift: something else is withheld to compensate.”
Menolly was startled at the sadness, that melancholy in his eyes and face, and he went on, almost to himself, “If you won’t surrender the mark, you’ll never be more than half alive.
Master Domick cleared his throat. “It is customary with music you’ve never seen before.” He tapped the music with his pipe. “That,” and his tone was very acid, “is no children’s exercise. Despite your display for Talmor yesterday, you will not find this easy to read.”
Rebuked, she skimmed the music, trying an alternative chording in one measure to see which would be easier on her hand at that tempo. The complexity of the chording was so fascinating that she forgot she was keeping three harpers waiting. “I beg your pardon.” She turned the music back to the beginning and looked at Domick for him to give them the beat.
“You’re ready?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Just like that?”
“Sir?”
“Very well, young woman, at the beat,” and Domick sternly tapped out the time with a strong stamp.
It had been fun, always, for Menolly to play with Petiron, particularly when he let her improvise around his melody. It had been a pleasure yesterday to see new music in Talmor’s lesson, but now, the stimulation of playing with three keen and competent musicians gave her such impulsion that she seemed to be an irrelevant medium for fingers that had to play what her eager eyes saw. She was lost completely in the thrall of the music, so that when the rushing finale ended, she suffered a shock as keen as pain.
“Oh, that was marvelous. Could we play it again?”
Talmor burst out laughing, Domick stared at her, and Sebell covered his eyes with his hands as he bowed his head over his harp
Talmor grinned so broadly at her, his eyes dancing as if he knew so exactly her feelings that she took encouragement from him. “I’d really love…” Then she hesitated because of what Domick might say and she dreaded his clever-edged tongue.
“What do you really want, Menolly?” asked Sebell kindly.
“You’re frightening her, Domick,” Talmor said at the same time.
“Nonsense, are you frightened of me, Menolly?” He sounded surprised. “It’s having to train idiots that sours me, Menolly,” said Master Domick, but his voice was suddenly gentler. “Now tell me what facet of music appeals to you most?”
He caught her gaze and would not release her eyes, but his phrasing had given her the answer.
“What appeals to me most? Why, playing like this, in a group.” She got the words out in a rush, gesturing at the rack in front of her. “It’s so beautiful. It’s such a challenge, to hear the interweaving harmonies and the melody line changing from instrument to instrument. I felt as if I was… was flying on a dragon!”
Domick looked startled and blinked, a slow pleased smile lighting his otherwise dour face.
“She means it, Domick,” Talmor said in the pause that followed.
“Oh, I do. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever played
As Audiva began to pick out the chords, nodding her head and tapping one foot at a much slower rhythm than the musical notation required, Menolly’s perplexity grew. Well, she thought, charitably, maybe Audiva was a new student. If she was, she was far more competent than Briala, who apparently had trouble just reading the music.
Talmor dismissed Briala to the table to copy the score for later practice. Pona was no improvement on the other two. The sly-faced, fair-haired girl played with great banging against the gitar belly, at time, but with many inaccuracies. When it was finally her own turn, Menolly’s stomach was roiled by frustrated listening.
“Menolly,” said Talmor at the end of a sigh that expressed his own frustration and boredom.
It was such a relief to play the music as it should be that Menolly found herself increasing the time and emphasizing the chords with a variation of her own in the strum.
Talmor just looked at her. Then he blinked and exhaled heavily, pursing his lips together.
“Well, yes. You’ve seen it before?”
“Oh, no. We had very little occasional music in Half-Circle. This is lovely.”
“You played that cold?”
Only then did Menolly realize what she’d done: made the other girls look inadequate. She was aware of their cold, chill silence, their hostile stares. But not to play one’s best seemed a dishonesty that she had never practiced and could not. Belatedly she recognized that she could have hedged: with her scarred hand she could have faltered, missed some of the chordings. Yet it had been such a relief, after their limping renditions, to play the music as it was meant to be played.
“I was the last to go,” she said in a lame effort to retrieve matters. “I’d more time to study it, and see…” She’d started to say, “see where they went wrong.”
“Yes, well, so you did,” Talmor said, so hastily that Menolly wondered if he’d also realized what a break she’d made.