Fic: Taking the Cloth
Entry for brigits_flame 's All-Star Challenge, week on prompt of "taking the cloth". I didn't end up cutting much at all from this, unfortunately. The concept is one I've had in mind for awhile and will probably be expanded out into a young adult book... maybe. Anyway, hope everyone enjoys it!
Strangers had come to Tuluth, which should have been common enough to warrant only a few wary glances from the more suspicious villagers. But these strangers weren’t at all the common sort. They were outlandish - foreign. There were four of them standing in the middle of the village square, drawing a crowd about themselves with their presence alone.
More daunting though were the mounted soldiers who had arrived with them: six total, all armed and on horseback. Their faces were impassively cold, letting everyone know that they took official business most seriously.
Sacha was one of the watchers, peering over shoulders as the small group of outsiders continued to speak amongst themselves. He noticed some of the village elders murmuring across the way, saw several mothers, their faces pale with fright, quickly usher their children from the scene. More than a few of the field men wore stormy expressions as they fingered the scythes strapped to their belts.
At first, he hadn’t understood why. The strangers didn’t appear to be armed or dangerous. One of them, a pretty girl about his age whose blonde hair hung in long cords down her back, was even laughing at whatever the older man next to her had said. He didn’t know why their presence triggered such hostility from his fellow villagers … that was until the man turned his back toward him, showing the embroidered symbol scrawled on his vest. It was the mark of the Troubadours.
Troubadours. In Tuluth. No wonder the villagers were scared.
There was only one reason he could think of for why they were there: Auditions. Every few years or so, Troubadours would wander the Seven Kingdoms to conduct Auditions. Children between the ages of six and thirteen would be brought out and tested for musicality. If the child didn’t show promise, they returned home with their family. If they did … they were taken away.
That was why everyone feared the Troubadours. No parent wanted to have their child taken from them, for sentimental as well as practical reasons. The loss of a child was the loss of an extra set of working hands. It was the reason why any signs of musicality were punished in children, sometimes brutally so.
One of Sacha’s earliest memories was of his mother beating him for blowing across the top of a glass jug and giggling. He’d been six years old and hadn’t understood that in the land of Karman music was something to be feared. All he’d known was that if he blew into the jug, it made a new and pretty sound.
He couldn’t help but wonder what his mother would have done if she could see him now. Chances were, she was probably looking down from the afterlife, ripping her hair out and wailing over what an idiot her son had grown to be.
Maybe he was an idiot for dabbling in things he had no business to be, but he couldn’t help it. No matter how he tried to deny it, music always seemed to find him. Whether it was in the rhythm of the field thrashers or water rushing over a stony riverbed … or how the wind sounded passing through the reeds … for some reason, he just couldn’t escape it.
It would follow him every morning to his job as an apprentice carpenter, presenting itself in the fall of his feet down the dusty road. It stayed with him throughout the course of the day in the percussion of hammers on wood and the daily activities of the village. And it lingered in the evening with the insect songs.
He would never admit it to anyone, but part of him - the part not ruled by country stigma - was incredibly jealous of those nocturnal bugs. They were free in a way he wasn’t.
Sacha sighed and shook his head. It didn’t matter. Even if the Troubadours were there for Auditions, he wouldn’t qualify. At sixteen, he was far too old. All he could do was watch as, one by one, the villagers brought out their children with strict instructions to not do anything at all musical.
The man that the girl had been speaking to before suddenly leapt onto the edge of the well, one hand curling around the pull bar to hold his balance. “People of Tuluth!” he shouted. Sacha’s eyes widened and his breath caught; the man’s voice was rich and fluid. It was unlike any voice he’d ever heard before in his life. His voice rang easily over those assembled, earning him immediate silence.
“People of Tuluth!” the man repeated. He grinned, his teeth a slash of white in his tanned features, but it did little to soften the hardened faces staring back at him. “My name is Kartach, and as you’ve probably guessed we’re Troubadours. We’re here to hold the first Auditions in nearly twenty-six years.”
Low, angry murmurs rippled from the crowd and a few hands tightened on knives and scythes. Sacha licked his lips, his eyes darting nervously around his neighbors. They looked ready to riot at any moment.
The man, Kartach, either didn’t notice his audience’s unrest or didn’t care. He reached inside his vest and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment. The crease was sealed in bright blue wax, but the insignia was too small to make out. It looked important though, and that observation was proven true as the man declared, “This is a writ from Lord Galland to hold Auditions in all lands sworn to him. We are here with his blessing.”
Silence settled over the villagers then, one that was tense with shock. Even Sacha, who wasn’t as opposed to the Troubadours’ presence as the others, was surprised to learn that their lord had granted permission for Auditions. He didn’t know much about the practice, but from what little he’d been told it was very rare, if ever, that the Troubadours required feudal authorization. They were generally considered outside the normal structures. Laws unto themselves: that was how his mother had described Troubadours once. She’d then spit upon the ground, a gesture she hardly ever used and reserved only for the lowest of insults.
Rowland Maers, Tuluth’s unofficial leader, stepped forward then. He held his hand out for the writ, which Kartach gave him without so much as a dip in his smile. Rowland broke the seal and unfolded the stiff paper. His eyes scanned over the page once … twice … and then he handed it back with a dark scowl.
“It’s legitimate,” he announced. Startled gasps met his words. Sacha’s heart, however, skipped an eager beat. Rowland returned the writ and rejoined the crowd of unhappy villagers.
“We ask that any child between six and thirteen years be brought forward for Auditions,” Kartach continued as he tucked the document back into his vest. “With your cooperation, we can get through this quickly and you can return to your normal lives. Please, let the children come forward!”
When no one made a move to follow orders, one of the guards jerked his mount into a rear and bellowed, “Gather your children now or we’ll do it for you!”
The threat of having noble guards invading their homes and snatching their children was enough to provoke immediate obedience. Several villagers hurried off, shouting for spouses and children alike and telling them to hurry. Sacha remained behind, watching as worried mothers whispered discouragements in the ears of their offspring.
He sympathized with their concern, but at the same time he couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy that stabbed through his gut. These children were being offered a very rare and, in his mind, beautiful thing. He would give anything to be in their position. To live with the Troubadours, to be taught the intricacies of music… It was something he could only dream of.
And it was likely to remain just that: a dream.
One by one, the children were lined up. Some of the younger ones were crying while a few older children glanced back nervously at their waiting parents. Sacha pushed his way to the front and watched as the first candidate for Auditions stepped forward.
The girl he’d noticed earlier greeted the little boy with a friendly smile. She leaned toward him, hands on her knees and face level with his. “Hullo,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Kessandra. You can call me Kess though if you’d like. What’s your name?”
The boy mumbled something around the fist in his mouth. His blue eyes were enormous and couldn’t quite meet hers, but he didn’t look scared. If anything, he looked shy.
“Vikton?” the girl named Kessandra repeated. “That’s a nice name! Anyone ever call you Vik for short?”
The boy pointed back toward a tall, thin man who was wringing a stained apron between his fingers nervously.
Kessandra’s eyes widened in an exaggerated display of interest. She was trying to put the boy at ease, Sacha realized, and it made his brow furrow. Everything he’d ever heard about Troubadours always depicted them as child snatching monsters who cared nothing about the people whose lives they were destroying. But the way she was acting, the care she took in trying to befriend the boy… It didn’t seem the thing a heartless person would do.
She reached behind her back for something and Vikton immediately shied away from her. “It’s okay,” she cajoled, holding the item out for his inspection. “This isn’t gonna harm you. It’s a flute; it makes pretty music. Listen.”
Sacha watched, fascinated, as she raised one end of the metal pipe to her lips and fit her fingers over the holes on top. She took a breath and released it. High, clear tones cut through the air, sweeter than any bird song and utterly spellbinding. His lips parted as the tones changed, dependent upon the placement of her fingers over the holes. It was magical, a breathtaking wonder that made his chest tight and his hands tremble.
The melody ended and he had to catch himself from crying out in protest. Kessandra favored the boy with another warm smile and asked, “Wanna play a game?”
Vikton, eyes riveted on the flute, nodded eagerly.
“It’s really easy. When I play my flute, I want you to try and mimic the sound with your voice. Think you can do that?”
There was a bit of hesitation before the boy nodded again. Behind him, the man clutching his apron began to weep.
From the very first note to the last, Vikton matched her tone for tone. He was still very young, perhaps seven or eight, and his childish voice was high and just as sweet as the flute. Once again, Sacha felt a rush of joy flood through him at the sound - as well as the return of jealousy. There was no doubt in his mind that this shy, blue eyed boy would be chosen.
Finally, Kessandra stopped playing and reached out to muss the boy’s nearly white hair. “That was really good!” she praised, earning a happy smile from him. “Did you like that game?”
Vikton nodded. There was a newly found confidence in the way he was standing. He wasn’t the shy little boy anymore. He was an excited child who’d just had one of their dreams come true.
It occurred to Sacha then that maybe he wasn’t the only one who harbored a hidden passion for music. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who heard the daily rhythm of life in everything from footsteps to insects. Unlike him, however, this boy was going to have a chance to live that dream openly.
Kessandra leaned toward the boy again until their eyes met. “Where I live, we play games like that all the time. Do you wanna come with us and play, too?”
Again, the boy nodded. The man in the apron very quietly slipped free from the crowd and disappeared, unwilling to watch as his son took the female Troubadour’s hand and was led to join the rest of their group.
One by one, the children were brought forward. The Troubadours took turns holding Auditions, each of them doing so in varying ways. Kartach tended to Audition the older children, plying them with challenges and daring them to do better. A woman with dark skin and greying, frizzy hair would ask the child she was with to beat out a pattern on what looked like a circular box covered in tanned animal skin. The other man was tall and almost as well muscled as the guards. He carried an item that looked quite a bit like the Troubadour’s emblem. He would pluck out a melody with his fingers before handing it to the child to duplicate. Kessandra tended to take the younger ones, particularly those that were frightened, and would have them repeat the copying game she’d done earlier.
Each time an Audition was held, every time a new musical discovery was unveiled, Sacha became more and more entranced. The sounds almost seemed to move through him, become a part of his very being. It made him wish more than ever that he could be one of those children.
Sacha stopped counting the candidates at thirty-three, and still there were more waiting to be tried. The majority of the children were heeding their parents’ warnings and either refusing to participate or purposely doing badly. One of those children, a girl he recognized as the butcher’s daughter, was caught faking as she intentionally picked the wrong strings. She was chosen, and the moment that was announced she began to sob hysterically.
“I’m sorry, papa,” she cried, looking over her shoulder at the enormous butcher. “I tried, I really did!”
His dark eyes were hard and unforgiving. He spit in the girl’s direction before shoving his way through the audience. Sacha’s hands tightened into angry fists. How could he turn his back on his own daughter? He made a silent promise to never buy meats from that man again. He’d learn how to cut apart a carcass himself if he had to.
Out of all the children brought out for Auditions, only six were chose: four girls and two boys, including Vikton and the butcher’s daughter. Those whose children failed to impress the Troubadours quickly vacated the square, hugging their children close to their sides. Those whose children had been chosen immediately made their way to the local tavern to alleviate their grief.
Once again, Kartach climbed up onto the well to be better heard over the dwindling crowd. “Thank you, Tuluth, for your cooperation in making this a successful Audition!”
His words fell on deaf, disgruntled ears. The soldiers remained behind on the chance that some of the villagers might return with the mind to cause harm. It didn’t take long for the square to become empty of everyone except the Troubadours, their new charges … and Sacha.
He simply stood there, watching as Kessandra attempted to sooth the children who were in tears while Kartach and the others picked up their travel packs to move onto the next village. Each of the children were given dark green tunics with the sign of the Troubadours stitched across the back to wear over their normal clothes. A few put theirs on right away while others, such as the butcher’s daughter, merely stared at the fabric like it was a death sentence.
At one point, the other man traveling with them happened to look up and notice that not every villager had left.
“Auditions are over, boy,” he called out. His voice was low and rumbling, befitting to his large stature. “Go home.”
Sacha ignored him and said, “I want to go with you.”
A sick feeling twisted through his gut at the outburst. He didn’t know where the words had come from or what had prompted them to leave his lips, but he was surprised to discover that he didn’t regret them.
Every single Troubadour turned to look at him and some of that newfound resolve vanished. What was he thinking? They wouldn’t take him. He was too old. They had no use for someone like him.
Kartach cleared his throat, his dark brow furrowing slightly. “Sorry, but did I just hear you ask to come with us?”
Swallowing hard, Sacha nodded and replied, “Yes, I did. I want to become a Troubadour.”
More than one face registered shock at his request. The dark skinned woman was eying him critically, her amber eyes sweeping him from head to toe. An amused smile tugged at the corners of the other man’s lips and Kessandra was flat out grinning at him.
Kartach, however, shook his head. “Sorry, but Auditions are over. Besides, you’re too old.”
“Please, give me a chance!” Sacha pleaded. Never in a million years would he have imagined an Audition being held in Tuluth. He loved music and was sick of hiding. This was his one and only chance to live his dream and if he had to beg shamelessly to get it, then he would.
“Sorry, but like I said you’re too old for Auditions.”
“Aw, c’mon, Kartach!” Kessandra interrupted. “We’re not likely to get many more candidates than what we have now. So what if he’s older? Would it really kill us to at least see what he can do?”
Sacha’s eyes met hers, surprised that a complete stranger was standing up for him. She glanced his way just long enough to give him a reassuring wink before leveling an expectant look at her apparent leader.
Kartach scrubbed a hand back through his brown hair roughly and sighed in resignation. “Okay, fine. Let’s see what you’ve got boy. If you’re any good, I’ll make an exception to the rule.”
Barely able to believe what he was hearing, he quickly nodded and said, “You won’t regret it, I promise.”
“That remains to be seen,” the Troubadour replied. He swung his pack around and reached inside, pulling out an item Sacha had never seen before. It looked like a bunch of hollowed out tubes strung together. There were five tubes total, arranged from shortest to longest. There were no holes like on Kessandra’s flute, no indication really how it was meant to be used.
“Kartach,” Kessandra cut in sharply as he held the item out for Sacha to take. “That’s not fair and you know it! Panflutes are tricky to play, even for someone who knows how!”
“Shut it, Kess. This is my Audition. If he wants to come along, then he’ll figure it out.”
She let out an irritated huff and folded her arms across her chest, but she didn’t argue any further.
Kartrach arched a brow in challenge and jiggled the panflute on his palm. “Well, boy? It’s your move.”
Slowly, Sacha took the panflute from him and examined it more closely. He’d never seen something like this before and had no idea where to even begin. He glanced up at the waiting Troubadours and brought the panflute to his lips. At the subtle shake of Kessandra’s head, he quickly flipped the panflute over the other way.
He took a couple deep breaths to steady himself. His fingers were trembling as they cupped the outermost tubes. Even now that he had it facing the right way, he wasn’t completely certain this was how it was meant to be played. Which tube did he start with? Did he blow into it hard or soft? Did it matter how he was holding it?
His mind brought up a memory from his childhood, of when he’d gone with some of the other children down to the riverbank to fish. It’d been windy and the land surrounding the river was covered in thick, reedy marshes. He’d been so transfixed by the sound of the wind blowing through the reeds that he’d ended up losing his fishing line completely.
Sacha kept that memory in the forefront as he closed his eyes, took a breath … and blew steadily into the first tube.
A low, breathy note quavered in the air as a result. It made his heart leap wildly in his chest.
He tried it again, this time with another tube. The sound was a little higher than the first, reminding him of drawn out owl calls at night. Another breath and another sound discovered. He went from tube to tube, testing the music each produced. Once confident he knew their tone, he began to experiment with different patterns and rhythms. With each new discovery his heart beat louder. He felt light, as if the shifting wind could lift him up without any trouble at all. A thrill rippled through him, indescribable with words but represented perfectly through the sounds he was creating.
He was so enraptured with the moment that he forgot about the others until a voice called out, "Hey, that’s pretty good!"
Sacha came to a trilling halt, nearly dropping the panflute in shock. Kessandra was grinning at him across the way, her green eyes glittering brightly. All the other Troubadours, even the children they’d collected, were staring at him in varying degrees of awe.
Somehow, he managed to find enough voice to ask, “So, do I get a tunic or not?”
Kartach nodded, a slow, amused smile curving his lips. “That you do, boy. As soon as we commission one big enough to fit you, that is. Welcome to the fold.”