The Song of the World (nanowrimo13)

Chapter 16

King Music listened with growing delight as Song presented his Acceptance Song in the music room.

“That’s amazing,” he said with pride in his eyes. “So much better than what we were working on yesterday.”

“I had some inspiration last night,” Song said. 

“Now - I believe all of you have got it?” the king addressed the assembled musicians. They nodded. “Let’s see how you can arrange it. Will you be singing, Song?”

He thought for a while. “I believe that I will,” he said. 

“Your throat’s not bothering you anymore?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” He’d forgotten about that excuse, but he was fairly certain that no one would catch the slight minor difference in his voice. It was so hard to imitate a voice flawlessly. 

“That’s great. I’ll leave all of you to it then,” King Music said as he got up. “I have other things to work on for this evening.”

Leaving the room, he went up to his son’s quarters, where Muse was being tested by a barrage of curious doctors and physicians.

“How are you feeling, Muse?” 

“Battered,” Muse answered from under a mass of moving instruments. “But much better, actually.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Father -”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever have strange dreams?”

Music looked at him curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out what I’ve been experiencing the last ten years. It felt like a waking dream. Some of it, I’ve talked to Mother and she said that they were real conversations I had with her. Some she says that it never happened. I don’t know if I dreamt them up. And then - some of the things I remember, she said that I had told her, but she thought I was babbling something I had dreamt up. I don’t know if there’s any significance in them or if I was merely stuck in that fog.”

“What kind of dreams?” Music asked cautiously. “There have been occurrences in history where the Song of the World communicated to people through their dreams. Most of them were normal soothsayers or hedge magicians, though.”

“I don’t know. Dreams of things happening - but which have not yet happened. Some of it is just a feeling of impending evil coming.”

Music shrugged. “Maybe you should journal it down and see if any of our prophets can interpret it.”

“Yes, maybe I should do that. Thanks Father.”

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back too.”

Once the doctors left Muse alone, Alto slipped into the room. 

“Hello,” he said, lifting his head from the papers he’d stacked in front of him.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously. 

“Oh - um. I was just journalling out all the strange dreams I’ve had.”

“What on earth for?”

“Some of them seemed significant at the time. Significant enough for me to tell garbled messages to my mother,” he said, twirling the pen in his hand.

“Hm. Sounds like a good idea. Do you want to go for a walk first though? You’ve been cooped up in here for entirely too long.”

“Well, yes, that’s true,” Muse said. He stretched as he got up. “Maybe that’s a good idea. This can be done later.”