The sun rose.
To Song, that was the only good thing he could say of the day. He woke up with the sun's rising, his head groggy and heavy. It was as if the great grandmother of all headaches had decided to pay him a visit.
Why now? He grumbled silently. He had not felt anything so excruciating as this since he was about seven. That was the day he had first discovered his talent. He hoped it was as great a harbinger of good news as it was then. Almost robotically, he went through his morning routine. Fifteen stretches, ten jumping jacks, five push ups. He lay flat on the floor, panting. What’s wrong with me? Everything that was usually effortless to him suddenly seemed so difficult and tiring. He stared at himself in the mirror in displeasure. He had done more than that before, without even breaking a sweat.
He headed to the showers. Maybe the steaming hot water would ease his muscles and clear his head. Standing beneath the shower, he watched the steam billowing around him and waited for the morning song. Nothing came. A light scowl played over his features. Instead, he started humming a song he had written a few days ago. At the end of each section, he waited for the new song to rise, for the new melody to emerge from his mind. Nothing came. Biting his lip, he turned off the tap and waited for his retainers to dry him off.
Maybe I’ve exhausted my ideas for morning showers, he thought. I’ve done so many morning songs here anyway. Maybe there’s only so much you can sing of about the beauty and comfort of warm water. Or not.
The problem was, he just wasn’t sure. And he didn’t like that feeling. He felt as if something was missing. An important part of him seemed to have slipped away in the night but he couldn’t figure out what it was. A smart new tunic hung on the hook by the bathroom door. He smiled a little - his mother had insisted on requisitioning a new tunic for his testing day.
“Mom, there’s no point,” he’d said. “It’s just another day. It’s just another test. I’ve done thousands of them by now. Why do I need a new tunic?”
“So you’ll look good in front of the King and the Judges,” she had replied.
“Mom, I see them every day.”
“It doesn’t hurt to turn up looking smart on that one important day of your life.”
He’d rolled his eyes at that, but Beauty had backed his mother up on that one. “You don’t want to look a slob when you win, Song,” she had said, that familiar look of disdain in her eyes. “You need you dress for the part. Dressing often leads to success.”
“That’s nonsense,” he’d replied. “I can go dressed as a road sweeper and still I can sing my songs.”
But he’d gone along anyway, followed Beauty to the fitting, listened to the women’s advice on the right tone for his skin, the right material to complement his height, the better cut to use. Actually - he’d just stood there while they did things to him and when it was done, he’d gone home and sung a song of frustration on the futility of making new clothes. That had gotten a chuckle out of most of the men in court, with the exception of a handful of fops who twittered over clothes as much as the girls.
Beauty hadn’t talked to him for three days.
He allowed himself to be dressed in the tunic and admired how good he looked in it. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe if he performed dismally today, they would over look it because he looked the part. Such desperate thoughts. Are you convinced you will fail? He scowled at himself. There was no room for failure. He knew in the depths of his bones that he was the One. It was his name, it was his birthright, it was his prophecy.
He was Song.
Except suddenly, he couldn’t find any more songs to sing. Pushing the growing dread aside, he smiled at himself in the mirror as he combed back his hair. It will come to you in time. You’re just nervous now. Nothing will go wrong.
He desperately hoped he was right.
A knock came at the door. Someone scuttled towards it. There was whispering at the door. He ignored it, still studying himself in the mirror.
“Sir, the King awaits,” a servant came up to tell him. Not for the first time in his life, he wondered what the boy’s name was. Never mind – it didn’t really matter. Did anything really matter? As long as he could sing, everyone sought to serve him. It didn’t matter if he knew who they were.
He strode out of the room, ignoring the unsettled feeling in his belly. His head ached as much as ever despite the soothing drinks he had ordered and the massage he had demanded.
He stopped abruptly.
“Sir?” someone enquired.
“I forgot my baton,” he said, turning back to his room.
“Sir, the King is waiting.”
“Well, he can wait. I need my baton with me this morning.”
“We will send it to –“
“No. You will not touch it,” he said, harsher than he intended. He took a deep breath. “Please ask Beauty to bring it to me.”
He stepped into the dining room, a rush of memories hitting him.
~
The dining room was at least three times as big as their mansion back in Chai. Small lanterns floated across the room, casting soft light across the faces of the nobles who glided across the room. Song stared at them, mesmerised. A small lantern, like a wispy cloud, came to hover over his upturned face. He reached out to touched it, and it gently danced away just out of reach.
Song looked around at the softly murmuring crowd decked in fine cloth, mostly dark and staid, proud looks on their faces. A handful of colour seemed to flit amongst them, mainly younger ladies in sweet pastels. There seemed to be a steady flickering shine all across the room.
The little whispy lantern butted softly against his shoulder. Song turned to look at it, a vague look of confusion on his face. It bumped him again and moved a little away, wiggling as if it were beckoning him. Song looked around. In the corner of the room, an old man sat, staring at him. He stared back. The little lantern bumped him again and Song turned toward it and followed it as it led him away. He threw a look back, but the old man was gone.
"Watch where you're going," a sharp voice said. Song mumbled an apology as he swerved to avoid a tall, dark lady. "Children these days," he heard her gripe to her companion, "really need to be taught manners."
“Sorry,” he mumbled again, but she had moved away. He turned his attention back to the little attention-seeking lantern.
"Pretty, isn't it," someone said near him.
"Very. It's mesmerising," Song answered, looking at the speaker for the first time. He was a short, jolly looking man. His eyes twinkled at Song as he smiled.
"So you're a singer," he said.
"Yes - well -"
"Sing us a song."
"Here and now?"
"Why not?"
"But wouldn't disrupt the festivities for the night? What would the king say?"
"Ah, but if the king himself orders it -"
"Are you - oh my, Sire, I mean, i - but..."
The man raised his eyebrows. "I'm just pulling your leg, Song. The King is still on his throne, very much alive. But I am his Mage and Aide so if you wanted to, I could arrange for it."
"Oh - err, I don't know," Song said, blushing furiously.
"Shy? or modest? Either way - it doesn't matter. You'll perform for him soon enough. Anyway - have you met anyone yet?"
"No, I just arrived, sir - uh," Song racked his brain for the man's name. How embarrassing, he thought, that on my first day in the City I've been acting like a small town hick. He felt like he was letting down his town, his parents, his good name by acting so stupid and ignorant in front of the King's own Second! Something finally clicked. "Prince Bass."
"Here, let me show you around," the prince said, smiling at him and taking him by the arm. They walked back into the crowd of nobles, who parted ways for them, most with a fawning smile and bow, some with vague frowns or looks of suspicion.
Prince Bass murmured their names and positions to Song under his breath.
The sharp voiced woman Song had almost knocked into turned out to be Princess Alto, lady in waiting to the Queen, who stared at both Prince Bass and Song with distaste.
"She hates me," Bass whispered. "She thinks I'm a good for nothing wastrel. Mostly because I refused to have anything to do with her when she came hankering after me for marriage."
Song didn't know how to reply to that, so he just nodded. He looked around and hoped for someone to appear that was even remotely closer to his age. There were only a few scattered children in the room, most of them with their parents. Song wondered why and when he had drifted so far away from his. He supposed it was the lantern. None of the other children even seemed to spare it a second glance.
Soon enough, servants came to usher them to their seats. Prince Bass had a quiet word with the chief butler, and to Song's amazement, he was led to sit at the high table. The prince winked at him as he took his seat on Song's left.
The King leaned to his right and spoke into Prince Bass' ear. They shared a laugh. The King turned to Song.
"So you’re the one," he said simply. "We felt your presence in the song room."
"Sire?" Song said uncertainly.
"You'll find out soon enough," Prince Bass said with another wink. "Let's just enjoy dinner tonight. Work can come later."
Song wasn't sure whether to be flattered or to be worried with all the attention. He was used to the attention - after all, he was the promised son in Chai - but then again, these were the King and the Prince who ruled the World. It should be he who should flatter them, but he found that he had nothing to say. All the witty things and nice phrases and words that they had schooled him in back home in Chai and bandied about as they pretended to be nobles felt stupid in front of these practical looking rulers. Why would they care about what a mere kid said anyway?
"ah, everyone is seated," King Music said.
Song turned back to find all the eyes in the room looking at the king, and by default at his direction. From the second table, his mother waved at him. his father smiled, but didn't make any further gesture.
"Today we have the honour and the privilege to have seated at our table the newest candidate for the throne - Prince Song of Chai."
Song looked at him, startled.
"Yes son, that's right. It's not a title to be worn lightly and I do hope you bear it well, but as a Mage with the Talent of Song, I'm sure you will have what it takes," the King turned back to the crowd. "So tonight we shall celebrate with Song and his family. Next week, he will take his first challenge to prove his worth, and if he comes through, his title will be confirmed. On his eighteenth birthday, he will then face the Rights of Kingship. If you pass the test, son, you will be next in line to the throne. If you do not, well, the search will go on for my successor."
The King's face turned serious. "We have been looking for a new king for the past ten years. Fifteen strong young mages have faced the test and failed. Some of them are among us now. Some of them have been lost to us forever. It is a difficult path to walk, Song of Chai. You have ten years to prepare for it, and after those ten years, many more years to grow into your role. Do you accept this path?"
He looked at the eight-year-old expectantly.
The words stuck in Song’s throat. It felt as if a storm of fear and panic was welling up in his head.
“It is a long journey for you, Prince Song. But the rewards are great,” the King said as kindly as he could. “We need you to commit to it. I am growing old. By the time you come of age, I will be nearing seventy. I don’t expect to die then, but it would be good to know that I will finally have an heir.”
“It is a pity,” Prince Bass said softly, “that the Queen cannot bear children. You will be the King’s adopted child.”
“I do,” the words stumbled out of Song’s mouth. And then he closed his eyes and let the words flow.
"For the sake of the World
For the sake of my life
For the sake of all we hold dear"
The hall hushed as he sang.
"Here my future unfolds
Here I will strive
Here I leave behind my fears"
“A Song Meister and a prophet,” the King declared as the dining hall burst out in cheers and applause. “I do hope you are the one.”
~
Song now smiled wanly as he took his seat. Why were these memories plaguing him now? He had all but forgotten that song – the first song he had sang in the city, the first song he had sang so spontaneously within these walls.
Why now? The words kept plaguing him.
“How are you feeling, Song?” the King asked as he watched the young man play with his breakfast. “Are you alright?”
“I – I’m fine, Sire. Just feeling a little…” he paused, wondering how much he should tell the King. Was it possible to postpone the test until he felt better? Or would he miss his chance altogether? “Tired.” He ended the sentence.
“Didn’t sleep well last night, did you? A touch of the nerves?” the King asked.
“Maybe.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. You’ve aced every task and every challenge we’ve pitted at you so far. I don’t doubt you’ll pass through the Rights of Kingship just as easily. After all, the song is in your blood and your heart.”
Song smiled as confidently as he could.