Discordant Harmonies 2: Severe Notes

Chapter Ten

The scent of the pages of the books in the library filled Géta's nose. It wasn't just the book he held, but every book, every page of music. Music which Téus had taken out his lyre to play. The sounds of the notes added to the weight of the reality, and the lyre-player's voice lilted with the notes. Géta raised his eyes from the journal he was reading to gaze at Téus's head, which bobbed a little in time to the music. It wasn't until then when either the notes changed or Géta simply noticed the oddity.

These were flute notes, not lyre notes.

It was enough to cause him to try and rise, but he couldn't. He felt his limbs moving, swimming as if in a position other than seated, but thick mists rolled in, taking the vision of Téus away. But the notes remained. They grew a little shrill, and Géta opened his mouth, gripping his hair. For a moment, he thought he'd escape the mists and screamed at them to make them dissipate. The half-conscious thought of this being a dream fluttered through him as the mists overwhelmed him. When they retreated this time, he found himself locked to a wall.

The familiarity of this dream caused him more distress, but it didn't leave the bounds of his current confines. His clothes were stained, torn in places, and he hurt everywhere. As if he'd been abused. He'd been captured—somehow—by the Borderfolk, knew it, and understood he would die at their hands—or, if not here, then deeper inside Inski.

Giving them his secrets was out of the question. He'd rather whistle the Gods' Will from his own body than be forced to tell the Inskiti precisely what he and Asthané had been doing with the Obnubilate Codicil. Not even thinking clearly, Géta tried to jerk himself free of his restraints, but he'd been locked firmly to a wall. Shackles held his wrists and ankles, stretching him beyond comfort. The metal cut into his ankles and the fleshy parts of his hands. Gaining leverage proved impossible, and he screamed wordlessly.

There had to be a way out of this. Whistling. He could whistle away the Gods' Will that held the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Out of the wall, the very mortar—as Udé had once said—holding the stones together. Out of the stones themselves.

Géta tried, at first frantic, which made him breathless and his notes frail. It took him a few minutes to realize what he was doing and he tried to relax. He needed to be calm, and he had to try and see the undershadow. There was just enough light, from a low-burning lamp by the door. Concentrating should enable him to see the Obnubilate Codicil. He'd seen it before without whistling or playing his flute.

He had?

The question flitted away, taken by the reality of his situation. Of course he had. He didn't know how or when he had, but he knew he had. It was a fact he felt in the deepest parts of his bones, in the center of his being. He'd witnessed the Obnubilate Codicil without music. And, having done it at least once before, he could do it again.

So now he did. He breathed as deeply as he could, ignored his condition and the pain he was in to the best of his ability, pushed his current disposition out of his mind as completely as possible, and relaxed. It was impossible to feel drowsy, but his eyes slipped half-shut, and he stared at the flame in the lamp as though it held the key to his freedom. In a way, it did. He may gain the will necessary to whistle his way off this wall, if he could touch the Obnubilate Codicil now.

It took a while. Though he had no idea how long he had before someone unlocked and opened the door, he didn't rush himself. He waited for the vision of the mists to creep into the corners of his eyes. Géta concentrated on the flame in a way that wasn't truly concentration and gradually came to sense the undershadow all around him. Even in the air. He'd sensed it before, when he'd been working with it, doing what he could to amplify Asthané's spells. Those times, it had always flowed away from him. Now he let it surround him, and he inhaled it. The Obnubilate Codicil filled his lungs with a sensation not unlike cold air, though without the shock of the temperature. It felt oddly satisfying to take in the Obnubilate Codicil like this, and he exhaled it in a slow breath.