Discordant Harmonies 2: Severe Notes

Chapter Twenty-Four

Then a strum of notes met his ears. He looked up and the dining hall swirled away in a cloud of mists to be replaced by a workroom. The circle on the floor was the same, so were the stencils hung on the walls, but this place chilled him as nothing else he'd ever experienced. More strummed notes filled the air, roiling the air above the circle as a crushing wall of despair weighed him down. Much more than the impatient foreboding he'd sensed whenever observing one of the workrooms—or even trapped in one with Owée—this was complete hopelessness, an insurmountable wall of helplessness.

And the only hope was in the strummed notes. Géta focused on them, sincerely expecting them to mutate into flute notes, since his music was his hope, but they didn't change. They continued to play as strummed notes. He sought their source, but they continued only to shiver the air over the painted circle, growing more forceful, as if by their strength they could give him the will to survive.

Then something cold touched his forehead, and he awoke, eyes suddenly wide, shocked by the touch.

To find dawn in the camp.

He shuddered at the all-over cold which had seeped through his clothing while he slept. The spot on his forehead lost prominence under this, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing not to see the Inskiti around the fire several paces away. Enemy Mage never put him near the fire. He curled up as well as he could while awkward on his side with his hands bound behind his back, and he couldn't keep back the fierce sob that shook him. It made his body tremble in a new way, and he wished for the strummed notes again, because they had given him hope.

His involuntary cry drew a response. When Géta opened his eyes again, it was to see Enemy Mage approaching. He cringed away despite knowing full well there was no escape. The Mage knelt and grabbed the front of his cloak—they'd grabbed his lighter cloak that required the pin and not his heavier button-front cloak which he wore on patrols or for any extended period of time in the cold.

Enemy Mage grasped his face over the mouth, edge pressing up against his nose so he almost couldn't breathe and turned his head to face the Mage. "Why do you have Gift reaction, musician?"

Too cold to feel any pain besides that which the winter air had set in his body, Géta glared at Enemy Mage, wishing the gag would allow him to bite the hand covering his mouth. It was a thick gag, though, and kept his jaw open and harmless. Enemy Mage scowled at him.

"You would be wise to cooperate. Things will go much easier for you if you do."

He jerked, trying to be released, but Enemy Mage yanked him more upright, holding his head. Géta gnawed on the gag, wishing he could spit in the Mage's face. They stared at each other for a protracted time, then Enemy Mage grinned with glee.

"Since you will not cooperate, I will deny you food." His voice lilted with extreme pleasure on this announcement. "There is one day of travel left before we reach the hold. One day without rations will serve to soften you for my other efforts."

Enemy Mage shoved Géta to the ground and rose. On his way back to the campfire, he spoke to the other Inskiti, who all proceeded to put Géta out of their minds, if their reactions were anything to go by. Géta curled up again, shuddering more. Tears seeped from his eyes, but he fought them back. He would not cry.

But, oh, how he wanted those strummed notes back. Or even discordant flute notes. Any music at all would have given him the hope he needed right at this moment.

★

Géta nearly fell when the floor ended beneath his feet. Enemy Mage laughed at his blindfolded clumsiness, taking the scrap of fabric off.