THE MELODY OF THE WALL
“He does seem to like looking at walls.”
“You should have
seen him last fall, staring at it all day long.”
Alton rolled his
eyes wondering why he’d invited Dale and Estral along on this
excursion if all they were going to do was make fun of him the
whole time. Currently he faced the wall of Tower of the Earth,
companion to Tower of the Heavens and the eight others that were
part of the D’Yer Wall. He’d made contact with all the mages who,
like Merdigen, existed in the towers, except for Haurris, who was
responsible for Tower of the Earth. Even the other mages could not
reach him, and though Alton tried, he could not gain entrance to
the tower either. Merdigen said they’d have to assume the worst
about Haurris.
What would be “the
worst” for a noncorporeal projection of someone who lived a
thousand years ago? Not existing at all, he supposed. He shrugged,
for such questions entered a realm of philosophy he was in no mood
to pursue at the moment.
He pressed his hand
against the wall, feeling the cold, nubbly texture of the granite
beneath his palm. The guardians of the wall sang their normal song
and did not show any resistance to him, or any alarm for whatever
was wrong with the tower, yet he could not enter. Dale had tried
with similar results.
There weren’t even
any cracks from the breach extending this far, although there was
no way of knowing how things looked from the Blackveil side. All in
all, there were no clues as to what was wrong with Tower of the
Earth, or what had befallen Haurris. The only way to know was to
somehow get inside.
“Hopefully he won’t
kick the wall,” Dale said.
“He did that?”
Estral asked.
“Oh, yes, and got
broken toes for his trouble. Not to mention smashed knuckles from
beating on it.”
Alton ground his
teeth.
“Karigan never spoke
of him having self-destructive tendencies,” Estral
commented.
That’s it! He whirled around. Dale and Estral sat
on a blanket several paces off, looking rather languorous with legs
stretched out as if they were on nothing more than a picnic. They
had, in fact, broken into a loaf of nut bread and were steeping tea
in a kettle over a small cookfire they’d started.
“I’m right here,” he
said. “You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not.”
Dale stuck her
tongue out at him and Estral flashed him a disarming
smile.
“It’s not easy to
talk to you when you’ve always got your
back turned to us,” Dale said.
“No matter how
picturesque the view,” Estral added.
Alton’s cheeks
warmed.
“Come have a seat.”
Dale patted the blanket beside her. “Take a tea
break.”
Alton flicked a
glance over his shoulder at the wall and decided it wasn’t going
anywhere. He joined the two women on the blanket, Dale pouring him
a cup of tea and Estral carving him a slice of nut
bread.
The tea warmed him
up nicely, and it was a fine sunny day, if still on the cold side.
Why not a picnic? Even the horses were contentedly cropping at any
dormant grasses their agile lips could find, tails swishing at
nonexistent flies. And here he was, being served by two attractive
ladies. If not for the wall nearby, they could be in some artist’s
bucolic scene.
“Did you really
break your toes?” Estral asked him.
“A toe.” He’d been so angry and frustrated that the
wall would not let him pass, that he could not fix it. And he’d
been sick with the residue of Blackveil’s poison in his veins. Sick
of heart, sick of mind, he’d battered his will and his body against
the granite until blood flowed.
He’d lost all sense
of himself during that time, allowing his appearance to go to ruin
until Dale set him straight, reminding him he was still a Green
Rider and that Captain Mapstone would disapprove of his bedraggled
state. He’d once taken pride in his appearance and the sharpness of
his uniform, and now the old Alton, in his opinion, was coming
back. No one, not even Captain Mapstone, would be able to find
fault in the shine of his boots. He kept his hair combed and his
face clean-shaven. He’d found himself being even more meticulous of
late, since ... since about the time Estral arrived. He choked on
his nut bread and spilled scalding tea on his leg.
“Ow!”
“Here,” Estral said,
dabbing at his thigh with a cloth.
He jumped at her
touch near . . . a sensitive area. “Uh, it’s all right.” He took
the cloth from her and dabbed the spill himself. So much for his
perfect appearance.
“So what’s next?”
Dale asked. “Neither of us can get into the tower. Are we just
going to go back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe
if the two of us try at the same time? If that doesn’t work, I
guess I’ll have to go back and ask Merdigen if he has any more
suggestions.”
“He didn’t seem very
encouraging last time you asked him.”
“No,” Alton
admitted. Merdigen had said the situation of Tower of the Earth was
beyond his experience.
“Maybe the tower is
fine,” Dale said. “I mean it looks fine from here. If it’s doing
its job of holding back the forest—”
“It could be a weak
point without Haurris in contact with the others. There’s just too
much we don’t know.”
Estral scrunched her
nose. “That’s not very interesting song fodder: too much we don’t know.”
“I’m afraid life
here at the wall is no ballad,” Alton said.
“So you’ve told me.
But I am patient.”
“Well, I say let’s
give it another try,” Dale said, hopping to her feet. “And if it
doesn’t work, we’ll go back.”
Alton was forced to
stuff the rest of his nut bread into his mouth, chewing and
swallowing hastily.
“I guess I’ll just
practice a little while I wait,” Estral said, reaching for the lute
that she took everywhere with her.
Alton nodded, rose
to his feet, and followed Dale. Behind him came the sound of
strings being tuned. He may have protested Estral’s arrival at the
wall at first, but her presence had done much to raise the morale
of the personnel at both encampments. She was like a library of
stories and music that ranged from centuries long past to pieces
she and her fellow minstrels had created. She was also teaching the
few musicians among them new songs, and in the process they honed
their abilities.
As for himself, he’d
found excuses to often be in her company, whether she was playing
music or not.
By the time he and
Dale reached the tower, Estral was strumming a warm-up piece and he
remembered how effortlessly her fingers swept across the strings,
her eyes so distant when she played, her face placid and
unguarded.
Dale faced him.
“You’ve been blushing a lot lately. And smiling, too.”
“Have not.” Alton
immediately frowned to remove the smile from his face, but he
couldn’t do anything about the blush.
“Have too,” Dale
said with a grin, and pressed her hand against the tower
wall.
Alton cleared his
throat. It galled him he’d been so transparent. Best to let it go,
however. Yes. Let it go and concentrate on the task before him. He
hadn’t the slightest confidence that the two of them together would
get inside the tower anymore than just one of them had, but it was
worth a try. He placed his hand against the wall, passing his other
over his Rider brooch.
Nothing.
Just the harmony of
the wall guardians humming against his palm and up his
arm.
Actually, now that
he thought about it, they felt stronger, brighter. Almost ...
cheerful.
“Do you feel that?”
he asked Dale.
“Feel
what?”
Estral started
singing, her voice so quiet Alton could not make out the
words.
The vibration of the
guardians’ own song intensified.
“I felt that,” Dale said.
“I wonder . . .”
Abruptly Alton left the wall and strode back to Estral. She stopped
playing and gazed up at him. “Do you think you could try something?
Can you do something with this tune?” He hummed the melody of the
wall guardians.
Estral started
humming with him and picked out single notes on her
lute.
“Yes,” Alton
said.
“It’s a strange
tune,” Estral said. “Very rhythmic.”
“Do you think you
could keep playing it? Humming it?”
Estral cocked an
eyebrow, but proceeded to pick out the tune, then filled in with
full chords and hummed the melody. It was eerie. Alton had heard it
often enough from the wall guardians singing in his mind, but to
hear it externally with Estral’s beautiful voice was very
strange.
He turned to rejoin
Dale at the tower, but she was gone.