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 Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2015 7:18 am
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2015 7:23 am
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︽︽ ENTRY ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________FREE? FREE!
_________Loaction: Oba
The news came in the evening.
No one understood what was going on at first. A water earthling rode in through the front gate, which was already unusual enough to raise eyebrows -- he was riding, for one, and he was riding in through the front, which was reserved almost exclusively for the Oban lord, his family, and their equally-ranked friends, guests and relations. But here sat this fellow, proud as anything, and not even asking to see the master of the house (who wasn’t around to get all red-faced at the sight anyway, seeing as he had gone off invading). No, no. Just sitting there on his big mount, telling them all -- them all, the water-people, the house-slaves and none other -- to gather around.
“A treaty had been signed!” He announced, and young Vodyanoi, crowded between the other slaves, was sure he had never heard a man of Matori speak with such bold authority. What a brave, melodic voice! They all stood, frozen in anticipation. Rumours of the battle had been rampant in the last few days, with many of the older ones speaking in hushed, excited tones. So perhaps some of them already knew what was coming, but nobody spoke because they wanted to hear it with their own ears.
“Oba is defeated! Matori is free! You are all free!”
“Free!” One of the older slaved echoed. The others stood in silence, stunned. “Free!” The old one said again. Free. Free.
Free.
Silent as their thoughts were, Vodyanoi was sure he could hear that word blossoming in each mind. One by one, faces were lit up with something unlike anything he had ever seen before: joy, worry, vibrancy, fear, anger, exhilaration, everything at once and then some other things.
The rider held a horn to his lips, and the sound broke them out of the spell. A riotous cheer rose from the crowd, howls and whoops and hollers of “Free! Free!”. There was hugging and embracing and the rider was pulled off his animal to be carried triumphantly about the courtyard, as if it was he who had single-handedly taken the slaves out of their bondage. He protested at first but soon fell about laughing and crying with the others.
“Bring food! Drink! Music!”
With the master and most of his men gone, there was no one to stop them from doing what they pleased save for a few of the Oban servants, most of whom were on good terms with the once-slaves and either stood aside or helped them break the locks on the Master’s wine cellar. They ignored the formal dining room (for such a stuffy, private space was no good spot for a celebration of this magnitude) and brought all the provisions out to the courtyard, where a merry bonfire had been started. Other water earthlings, slaves from the lesser households, were already slipping in through the front gate (the front! going in the front! them!), come to hear the news in person even though the truth was plainly clear.
Oh, how many times had Vodyanoi bustled through these hallways, carrying platters of meats and breads and wine? Every day since he was old enough to walk, it felt, or maybe every day since he was old enough to remember. But it had never, never felt like this. He moved in a daze, throwing open all the pantry cabinets he could reach and taking anything he ever wanted. Sweets. Cakes. Honey. Free.
Free. Free. What does that even mean? He wasn’t sure. What do you get, when you were free? What do you do? Where do you go? How do you live?
When he came back out to the courtyard, the musicians had brought out their instruments. Vodyanoi beamed at the sight, for he had loved the music even when it was played to the order of the Master, even when his listening in to it had felt a little like yet another harmless little theft of something that was not his own. But when the players raised their instruments this evening, the sound that came from them was unlike anything the prentice had ever heard before. It was still Oban music, of course --- they did not know any of their own songs, there being no one to teach them (and no place to play them either) -- but it was filled with unrivalled vibrancy and joy. The slower songs sounded luxurious. The sadder songs sounded full of hope. And the happy songs -- the happy songs were bouncing, weaving, splashing about like waves on the beach. Vodyanoi clapped his hands a while as the others drank and ate and cheered around him, and then he decided that he simply had to dance.
Dance? The slaves of this household did not dance. They had never danced, for when there was music they were all busy serving guests and taking orders. But Vodyanoi did not care. This music was not for the Obans anymore. It was theirs, all theirs, nothing but theirs tonight. He saw Reyka among the crowd, another prentice and a close childhood friend.
“Come!” He grinned, reaching out to grab the boy’s hand and pulling him up to the fire in front of the musicians. Laughing, they laced their fingers together and whirled around wildly, clumsily, to the sound of merry music and amused chuckles from the others.
“How do you dance?” Reyka cried out, his messy hair getting all tangled around his ears.
How do you dance? How do you live?
“However you want!” Vodyanoi shouted in reply, and noticed, some time later, that they were no longer the only ones dancing.
[words : 959]
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Posted: Mon Jan 26, 2015 9:29 am
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︽︽ EVENT SOLO ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________'TIS THE SEASON
Quote: The air was ripe with cheer in all of Tendaji. The Oban's King had been defeated and a new and compassionate one put in his place, the slaves were released, and it was time for the Winter Solstice. Friendly faces abounded as the havoc of the war was nearly wiped away and the villages restored. It would seem as if everyone was enjoying the season, and it was very clear to see why. Almost every land in Tendaji were hosting their own winter celebrations, partying and feasting until the early hours of the morning before settling in to sleep for the night. It wasn't a time for work anymore, but a momentary reprieve for play.
_________Loaction: Matori
He heard the sound from afar -- rolling, rolling, bada-dum dum dum, bada-bum bum bum. He heard it before he saw the rising pillar of smoke, and long before he smelled roasting fish. He heard it before he noticed that the once-lonely road he had been following was suddenly filling with people, water earthlings emerging from the smaller paths that must have lead from their houses and all walking together now, clapping and skipping and cheering to the constant roll of bada-dum, bada-dum dum, bada-dum dum dum.
They were all locals here, and at first they did not seem to notice him, too busy greeting their friends and neighbours. Vodyanoi watched them wistfully; he was by no means a loner and wanted very much to join in, but how exactly does one barge into a group of such close acquaintances? He had spent much of his life working in the same Oban household, used to the same group of slaves and servants. He had been loud and sociable there, where he knew everyone and everyone knew him. But here, in what should have been his home, he felt himself like a stranger. He didn’t even know where all these people were going!
“Who’re you?” A voice spoke up from behind him. Vodyanoi glanced around instinctively, and was startled to see a pair of yellow eyes looking at him. Apparently.
“Me?” He asked, pointing a decorated hand at his chest.
“Yeah, you. I ain’t seen you around.” The boy was a little older than him -- and a little taller, broader in the shoulders, with a wide, confident walk. He wore a loose pair of green shorts and he smelled like fish, with bits of what looked like kelp tangled in his matted shoulder-length hair.
“I’m not from here.” Vodyanoi waved his hands about to indicate ‘here’, this place he did not know the name of. “I’m coming back from Oba, see.”
The other boy seemed to warm immediately, his big lips cracking into a grin (literally -- they seemed to be a little dried out and rimmed with the drying white traces of sea-salt). “My brother just came back too! Come, meet him!”
He snatched up Vodyanoi’s hand and tugged him away from the periphery of the path, straight into the middle of the slowly-moving crowd. “Ryn!” He shouted, pushing aside some people until they were walking by the side of a tall, short-haired water earthling. Vodyanoi figured that this must be the boy’s brother, for he had the sorts of scars on his shoulders that could only have been left by a cruel Oban master.
“Ryn was in Oba for three whole years, working hard labor. He just came back last week, and we haven’t been so happy in years! Hey, Ryn! Look, this one is come back from Oba too.”
He pushed Vodyanoi towards the older man, who quirked an eyebrow at him. “That’s good to hear. But what’s ‘this one’s name, and where is he heading?”
Vodyanoi did not answer at first -- not because he was shy or scared, but because he was staring, wide-eyed, at the thing that Ryn was carrying. It was big… vase shape, almost waist high to him, but made of painted wood and rope. It had no opening, for each end was covered with a piece of stretched animal skin, and it hung off Ryn’s strong shoulder on a beaded strap. What was it? It was beautiful.
“Hey, stranger!” Ryn spoke again, and Vodyanoi looked up, blushing.
“I’m Vodyanoi. I don’t really know where I’m going, I left when I was… kind of young. I don’t remember my family, or where they live. But what is that?” He pointed at the object of his curiously.
“My drum?”
“That’s a big drum.”
“It makes a big sound.” Ryn shrugged again. “Listen.”
He jerked his chin upwards, and Vodyanoi knew exactly what sound he was supposed to listen for. Bada-dum, bada-dum dum.
The man laughed at the look in his eyes. “Come with us, if you like it so much. It’s the midwinter festival, and you can hear us play all night if want to.”
“I do!” Vodyanoi clapped his hands excitedly, and now found himself walking gladly with the others.
***
It was dusk by the time the path opened up into a clearing, full of people and laughter and music. The sky was orange-red above their heads and the festival grounds were lit by fires. Ryn and his little brother (Noiko, it turned out) headed for the circle of drummers. They weren’t playing now, but taking a break to drink something out of a big jug. It gave Vodyanoi a chance to look over all their instruments -- drums of every size and color, from little ones you could hold inyour hand and dance with to ones so big they needed a whole stand to sit on and big sticks to hit.
He was going to ask Ryn what they were all called, but the drummers were all moving into a wide circle. Noiko took him by the hand again and tugged him back to it’s edges. “We watch the ceremony first.” He explained. “They will dance the story about Atun and Ome Essd, and how the sun was born again. Then later, everybody will dance. I will teach you.”
There seemed to be no place for Vodyanoi to protest or hesitate, but as it turned out he had no need to. Once the costumed dancers of the story took to the circle and began to move to the rolling sound of drumbeats, bada-bada-bada-dum, bada-dum, dum-dum, he knew he wanted to join them. And when it came time for all the festival goers to jump and leap to the music, he needed surprisingly little teaching.
[words : 975]
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Posted: Tue Apr 28, 2015 5:00 pm
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︽︽ SOLO ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________EAGER STUDENT
_________Loaction: Matori
It was late morning, and Vodyanoi was rushing straight into the town of Nated -- it was the largest Matori settlement he had seen yet, and on any other day he would have spent hours wandering the streets, looking about wide-eyed and poking his nose into places he shouldn’t be poking his nose into. He’d been doing that just about everywhere else in the land, anyway... but this time, the prentice was on a mission.
* * *
The night before, a storm howled towards the coast. Vodyanoi had found shelter in the home of a lonely old woman. It wasn’t much of a home, to be honest; just an old fishing shack with a rag for a door and a reed mat for a bed. Things had turned tough for her a few years ago; her two sons had been taken to Oba, and had not yet returned. She did not seem to think that they would, now, although the prentice tried to convince her that they might.
There was a sad look all over her -- sad as the shack, sad as the door, sad as the bed. But she promised Vodyanoi that she was in fact quite happy for his company, and shared with him her simple meal of grains and salted fish.
“And where are you going, son?”
A small fire crackled in the middle of the hut, warming them against the draft that pushed through countless cracks in the walls.
He shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with a bracelet. This question had been asked a lot, and he still did not know the answer. “I’m just… going, I guess. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be, you know? I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”
“You have no family?
“None that I know of. I went to Oba when I was very little. Too little to remember much, except things like the sand and the sea and all that.”
She sighed, running a tired hand through her dark hair. “I guess mine have forgotten me too.”
The prentice looked down at his hands, not sure what to say.
“Oh, well.” She tried to smile. “I suppose you’ll have to start your own family. Are you going to be a warrior? Girls like warriors.”
Vodyanoi laughed (and blushed a little) at that. “No!”
Her smile seemed to come easier now, still sad at the corners but altogether calmer, even somehow warm. “What then?”
The prentice was still blushing, though. “Well I… I… I’d like to be a musician.”
“A musician?”
He stared at his hands again. “Y...yeah. With one of those big drums? I’ve saw drummers at a party once -- they had so many different drums, and each one makes a different sound, and when they play together everybody is dancing and… it was so much fun. So I’d like to be a drummer, I think. But I don’t know how. And what if I’m no good at it? Maybe it’s kind of a stretch.”
“Of course you’re no good at it!” She laughed, but there was no malice in her voice. In fact, even the sadness seemed to be gone. “No one’s ever been good at anything without trying it. And you, son, are in luck. Because I was in town just last night, and wouldn’t you know --”
* * *
So that was why he had come to Nated -- to find the troupe of musicians the sad old woman had told him about. She had told him that he’d best hurry up, because they would likely leave by the afternoon, so the prentice ran most of the way there.
By the time he arrived in the market square he was short of breath and panicked. It was almost lunch-time; were they gone? Had he missed them?
Then he heard the laughter, the hollow musical sound of instruments getting loaded onto a cart. About a dozen water earthlings were gathered in one corner of the square, packing up what remained of their performance from the previous night. They were all older than him, tall and beautiful and strong; some were obviously dancers, dressed in elegant robes and moving with unmistakable delicacy. Others had calloused but nimble fingers, and all had in their eyes a kind of special glimmer that Vodyanoi felt immediately drawn to.
These were the people the woman had told him to talk to. She said they would teach him, if he asked properly.
But… Vodyanoi did not know what that meant. And suddenly he was terrified, rooted to the ground with his heart hammering loud in his chest. He clutched his hands in front of his stomach and stood there like a statue.
They were so many of them. They were so… happy, and easy-going. They looked like they belonged here, the way he feared he never could.
* * *
“Hi?” His voice felt tiny, like the wind whistling through a shell.
The musicians turned towards him, some of them taking a moment to locate the source of the greeting; one young prentice, bracelets around his wrists and trinkets in his braided hair. Vodyanoi tried to smile, but it felt more like his face was cracking.
“You lookin’ for someone?” One of them asked -- a tall man with a long, glossy braid. He had sharp, pointed features, and Vodyanoi thought he was quite handsome… which didn’t really help.
“Well, not really.”
“Seems like you are. You been hanging around and staring for the last half-hour.”
The prentice blushed a dark shade of blue. “Sorry.”
“Don’t bother us, people watch us all the time. So, out with it. What do you want, then?”
Vodyanoi swallowed. There was nothing for it now but to give it his best shot. “I, uh, I’d like to come with you. And learn to be a musician, I mean. Someone told me you would teach me if I, you know, helped out with chores and things? I can do that. I’m good at chores, cleaning and fetching things and all that? That’s what I used to do, in Oba I mean. And I don’t want to do it forever, because I want to play drums, see, but I’ll do it if you teach me.”
He held his breath. They stared at him, all twelve of them.
The man with the braid gave him another look-over, then turned towards the others. Vodyanoi felt tears well up in his eyes -- was that a no?
“Eilin, you still going to pick up supplies?”
That had to be a no. They weren’t even looking at him any more. He took a step away, trying to find somewhere to go where he wouldn’t embarrass himself by crying.
“Yeah.” Eilin drawled -- one of the dancers, long-legged and stunning. “What about it?”
Vodyanoi felt a strong hand close around his shoulder, tugging him back into the circle. “Forget about it, I need you to sort out the costumes. Tell this kid what we need, and see if he can keep it all straight. If he doesn’t run off with the money… maybe we got ourselves an eager little student.”
[words : 1186]
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Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2015 6:37 am
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︽︽ SOLO ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________ALL WORK AND NO PLAY
_________Loaction: Matori
“I guess you’re staying, kid.” Eilin had drawled, one hand hanging on her curvy hip. “Word of fair warning, though -- we aren’t likely to teach you much until we’re sure that you earn your keep. Can’t be hanging off all our secrets to any wanderer that washes a couple of dishes and runs off, you know.”
“I won’t run off, I swear.” Vodyanoi had protested vehemently. “I’ll work hard. I’ll do whatever you need done.”
She smiled -- a sly sort of smile, like something that belonged on the face of one of those skinny Perzi creatures the Obans kept as housepets.
“We’ll see.”
* * *
Kid was what they had taken to calling him, after that. Most of them weren’t all that much older than him, to be fair (with the exception of Yano and Oriole, an aging couple who had first formed the troupe in their prime) -- but he was the youngest, the shortest, and the shyest.
Being shy was sort of a new thing, for Vodyanoi. It had only started when he arrived in Matori and found himself… so completely out of place, with no friends or family to welcome him and laugh at his jokes and listen to his stories. Before that, in Oba… well, he had been a slave, but he had been a confident one. He had spent his whole life in one household, and he knew where everything was, who everyone was, and what was expected of him. He knew when it was time to wake up, and when it was time to prepare the meals, when it was time to serve and bring in the entertainment. He knew the little quirks of all his masters, and more importantly he knew when was the right time to sneak off and have a little bit of fun.
These days he knew very little, and his earlier confidence had retreated a fair bit. The troupe of drummers wondered if such a quiet, nervous boy would really ever make a good entertainer… but figured there was no harm in giving him a shot (especially since free labor was part of the bargain).
* * *
“Hey, kid? Go get some fish. Make it… twelve blue-bellies, five red razorbacks, four hidefish and... two of those big white squids they got here.”
It was only his first day on the job, and Vodyanoi had a somewhat startled look on his face as he glanced up from the side of the wagon that he had been scrubbing. He had been doing a bit of fishing now, with some success… but that was an awfully specific (and large) order for someone who was only just getting the hang of spearing whatever came close enough to the tip of his spear-stick. “Uh… where do I get them?”
The musician gave him an odd look. “The market, of course. We’re just a couple of minutes’ walk out of town, that-a-way.”
“Oh.” Vodyanoi nodded, somewhat relived. Markets were good. He knew how to shop at markets -- he’d done that back in Oba.
He just… hadn’t quite expected twenty-one fish (and two squids) to weigh this damn much. He wondered if this was some sort of joke. He considered going back to camp and asking for help, but was afraid that they would think he was useless, or weak, or… any other of the other discouraging qualities he was afraid they would see in him. So he squared his shoulders and dragged the basket alone down the path, his back aching for rest every few steps.
By the time he’d dragged them back to camp he didn’t even have any energy left to eat any, and collapsed into a little pile by the wagon wheel while the others cooked and sang by the fire.
* * *
It took him a few days after his apprenticeship started to actually catch up on all the tasks they had given him; on the evening of the third day, he dried out the pots he had been cleaning and slipped over to the campfire, where the drummers were practicing a new song.
It was low, and rumbly -- about the storm-god, Drach'ti. It reminded Vodyanoi of a song he had heard in the fishing-villages, and he briefly entertained telling them about it… but figured they wouldn’t want to hear from him, who barely knew anything about music at all. So he kept as quiet as possible and listened, following along with the complex beat in his lap when he could.
Which he couldn’t, not after Eilin tossed a fold of colorful fabric into his lap. It was a part of her dancers’ costume, and the embroidery glimmered in the firelight.
He looked up, startled and confused once again.
“The seam on the side’s come undone. Fix it.”
He looked at the costume, than at the drummers. “But… but --”
“But what?” She gave him a sour look. “You aren’t even doing anything, kid.”
“Well I… I just want to watch the practice.”
Her expression softened -- only a little. “Fine. Just have it fixed for tomorrow evening. And not a single loose thread!”
* * *
“For Kiyom’s sake, do you think you’re gonna hurt the thing? It’s a drum, kid.”
“I’m trying.” The prentice whined, rubbing his sore hands against his trousers. Seko, one of the younger drummers, was showing him how to repair the skin on one of the bigger drums. It was quite complex; the hide cover was laced around the wooden body with a maze of rope, looking somewhat similar in design to the fish-traps he had seen on the shore. Figuring out where the rope was supposed to go hurt his head, and now the job of pulling it tight was hurting the palms of his hands. And apparently, he still wasn’t pulling hard enough.
“Here, listen.” Seko picked up a drumstick (one of the simple ones they used in practice) and whacked the top of the drum they were working on. It emitted a rather sad sort of sound, floppy and loose. Vodyanoi giggled.
“See? C’mon, work those muscles. Put a foot on the side and give it a good pull.”
Vodyanoi bit down on his lip and followed the instructions, balancing one blue foot on the side of the drum so that he could leverage his weight against it. The rope pulled tighter. “Done?”
Seko shrugged, and hit the drum again. “What do you think?”
The sound resonated better, but it had none of the thunder Vodyanoi was getting used to hearing. “More?”
“Definitely.”
They repeated the process until the sound came out right (and until Vodyanoi’s palms burned from holding the end of the rope). Then there was some complicated knot-work to learn in order to actually secure the whole thing, which took him several attempts to get… somewhat right. Seko re-did it himself after, but told him not to take it personally. “It’s good enough to me, to be fair, but if a drum goes loose at the performance… well, I don’t want anyone blaming you.”
“Thanks.” The younger water tribesman nodded, breathing a sigh of relief and lying back in the soft sand, exhausted.
“Hey, kid?” Seko called out, poking him in the side with the drumstick.
“Yeah?”
“So… what’s your name again?”
[words : 1220]
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Posted: Fri Aug 14, 2015 6:45 pm
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︽︽ CLASS QUEST ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________THE CONTEST
_________Loaction: Matori
“Mm, slow down a little.” Seko warned him, holding his fingers up to mark the correct rhythm. Vodyanoi nodded, and adjusted his pace.
After what felt like months of scrubbing wagons and gutting fish, he could hardly contain his excitement; Seko had taken to showing the prentice his way around some of the smaller drums used by the troupe, spending an hour or so by his side after they had finished their evening meal. Vodyanoi was not sure if someone more senior had asked him to do this, or if he had just decided to do it himself – but he was glad for the opportunity, and determined to prove himself to anyone within earshot.
“You need to know how to keep the same rhythm. That’s the first thing. If you mess up on the rhy --“
“Stupid… stinking… animal!”
An indignant howl cut through their conversation, followed by the loud rustle of leaves as a figure staggered towards the campfire. There was laughter at first, then silence as the troupe recognized Tomoki, their lead drummer; his arm was hanging swollen from his side, and he was wavering with every step. Eilin, one of the dancers, trailed behind him with a dark flush across her face.
“We were out by the beach,” she explained, glossing over any unnecessary detail or explanation (as if there was anyone at the fire who didn’t know what they had been up to – they’d been flirting around each other since they met). “And there was a sleeping bushi. Just sleeping there, calm as can be, not bothering anyone. And obviously this drunk idiot decides to go and play a song out on its’ shell. I told him it was a stupid idea. And then of course the thing wakes up and bites him right on the arm!”
Once again laughter bubbled up from the troupe… then died away as everyone came to the same realization at once. A wounded arm was no joking matter for a drummer, and especially not the troupe’s lead.
“It’s fine,” Tomoki hissed, perhaps sensing their thoughts. “I’ll be fine. Get me a healer, and I’ll be fine.”
* * *
They sent Vodyanoi to get a healer from the nearby town. It was a young woman, shy and demure – she stayed by the drummer’s side for most of the night, and while she did a good job on lessening the swelling and removing venom, the morning itself saw Tomoki lying dazed on his bedroll and unable to lift his arm more than a few inches high.
“We’re playing in Setal tomorrow,” they debated in the middle of their camp, everyone but Tomoki was gathered around in a tight circle, hands folded or propped out on hips. “We can’t cancel that show; there’s good money to make there, and people are coming from all over for the market that day. If we wait, it won’t be anywhere near as good a crowd.”
There were nods. They all knew that was true.
Finally, Oriole spoke up. She was an older water earthling, with long and unusually pale hair. She was one of the troupe’s founders, and although she rarely played herself she (and Yano, her partner), still had final say on most of the group’s decisions.
“Somebody else will play for him.”
Glances were cast everywhere – mostly at the three players that everyone knew were the closest in skill to Tomoki himself; Satiya, Kitaro and Seko. Each of them opened their mouth to speak, and it seemed like there might be an argument brewing – but then Oriole spoke again, holding her hand up for pause.
“We’ll hold a contest. Tomorrow, at noon. Everyone who wants a chance can play Evening Storm on Tomoki’s drum, and the best performer will play in Setal. No arguments, no foul play. Understood?”
There was a murmur of agreement… and perhaps excitement, as each drummer realized the opportunity being presented. And Vodyanoi, too, was altogether intrigued; Oriole had said anyone could compete. Anyone who was there – and he certainly was, standing to the edges of the crowd and listening to every word. He could play Evening Storm! It was one of his favorites, and Seko had already been practicing the first little bit of it with him in the evenings. He had until tomorrow afternoon to practice the rest, and then he’d get his chance to prove himself while everyone was listening!
* * *
“I want to play in the comtest.” He told Seko, sitting down on the soft sand beside him. Like many of the others, the drummer had wandered away from the camp to practice in relative quiet. Vodyanoi followed him out with a borrowed drum, and now turned towards him expectantly. “Will you show me the rest of it? I’ll practice it myself.
“You’re joking.” Seko looked at him, quirking a dotted eyebrow. “You can barely play a steady beat, and you want to take Tomoki’s role?”
“I want to play in the contest.” Vodyanoi repeated stubbornly. After several long weeks spent travelling and working for the troupe, his shyness had begun to wear off and he was starting to feel a little more like his old self: outgoing, curious, and ever-so-sly when he wanted things to go his way. That was the way he had acted back in Oba, except back then he had been a slave and nothing more. He had had nothing to strive for but an extra helping at mealtime, or a decorative trinket that had caught his eye. Today things were different; he was free, he was in his own land, and he had a lot more to gain than a sweet roll.
“Well, kid, I’m impressed by your determination but I think you’re a little outclassed, if you know what I mean? Some of us have been playing for years, and you… you started last week.”
Vodyanoi did his best casual shrug, and traced blue fingers over the drumskin. “You said I was doing well. So I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“Yeah, you’re doing well for a beginner . Not a lead.”
“Well don’t teach me, if you’re so opposed to it. I’ll just watch you practice and figure it out on my own.”
Seko rolled his eyes, then shifted to sit closer to the boy. “That’s ridiculous, you’re just going to embarrass yourself that way. I’ll… walk you through it a few times. But I have to practice myself, so after that you better find yourself another spot to play, got it?”
“Yeah,” Vodyanoi grinned, moving his borrowed drum into position. “Got it.”
* * *
Evening Storm was music meant for the drums. Usually it was performed by the whole troupe – a dozen drums, from huge ones shaped like fish-barrels to little ones that you held in your hand. The beats were supposed to imitate a stormy sea-side evening – first a little light patter of rain, then the persistent tap-tap-tap of fat raindrops, followed by the crash of thunder and finally the loud boom of overturning waves. When they performed it with the whole troupe, the singers howled and wailed to make the sound of the wind and the shouts of fishermen out on the water, while dancers moved chaotically through the musical fray. It was a lot of fun, and for the most part, it did not look particularly different; there was no one set way to play it, and the musicians were free to improvise and make their own additions where they pleased.
But that was in a group. With only one drum to play the whole piece, it was a genuine challenge. Your hands rarely ever rested – the music just rolled on and on, starting off quiet and then growing louder, then dropping down to murmur and raising up to be louder still, thunderclaps marked with big, open-palmed slaps on the top and sides of the drum. Vodyanoi’s hands were hurting after his third go-through with Seko’s help… and after that the only thing he had to look forward to was spending the rest of the night, and tomorrow morning, playing it again and again and again.
But this was his chance. If he missed it know, who knew how long it would take for the troupe to give him another chance to play? It wasn’t that he minded the cleaning, or the fishing, or the gutting… but he wanted to play. Every time he listened to them perform, all he wanted to do was join in, to move his hands in rhythm and listen to his fingers add just the right beat at just the right time.
He just wanted to play. Not months from now, not years from now… he wanted to play tomorrow.
* * *
The time of the contest drew close; they had a quick and silent lunch in camp, then followed a long and winding trail to the beach. Tomoki’s huge drum was carried high over their heads and finally placed on a sandy rise near the shore. They all settled down around it, and waited for Oriole to speak.
“Those who want to compete, rise and sit on the other side of the drum.”
Six of them rose. Satiya, Kitaro and Seko stood as they had been expected to, and with them also stood Oni and Lea, one a younger drummer and the other an accomplished flute-player who sometimes played the drums himself. Vodyanoi rose with them, and earned a couple of chuckles as a result; but for the most part the troupe was far too excited to see the results to care. The six of them sat on the far side of the drum while the others watched, and waited once more.
Oriole chose Kitaro to play first. He performed well, as everyone expected. Oni was better than people expected her to be, and Lea’s variation was… different, to say the least. Then Oriole called on Vodyanoi, and once again there were curious grins from the group.
Tomoki’s drum was tall; almost too tall for the prentice, who was growing but not yet full-grown. You had to stand to play it, and until this moment Vodyanoi had never even dared to touch it (well, he hadn’t been allowed). But it was, in theory, similar to the smaller drum he had been practicing on, except for the fact that the sound was so much… deeper, and richer, but also sharper and louder and bolder. It was a beautiful drum, and for a second Vodyanoi thought that… even if he failed miserably, it would have been worth it just to lay his hands on the thing.
He took a deep breath, and let his fingers fall onto the skin.
The first part was the whisper-like sound of a drizzle; his fingers barely rose from the surface, just dancing and sliding across the top. Sometimes this part was barely audible, but the troupe knew what to listen for, and Vodyanoi felt a bit of an adrenaline rush when he realized that they were, in fact, listening; they were listening to him the same way they had listened to Kitaro, Oni and Lea. Encouraged by this, he picked up speed, his fingers working harder as the rain picked up. The drizzle became more of a pitter-patter, mostly steady and consistent except for when it was pushed and twisted around by the wind.
After a while he forgot his audience. Even thought that was all he had cared about at first, playing in front of an audience, he soon found that it was just too much to focus on once the song became quicker, louder and more complicated. Even with all of his focus on the drums, he found himself stumbling, fingers slipping or landing on an off-beat. He corrected himself after every error, though, biting down on his lip in an attempt to keep focus. His arms ached, his back screamed from the awkward angle of his shoulders (he should have probably found a box to stand on, or something of the sort), and eyes were watering. Sweat dripped down from his chin onto the drumskin, one actual drop in a cacophony of musical ones.
When he was done, there was first a little silence, then scattered claps that grew into proper applause.
“Hey, the kid’s not bad!” Someone shouted from the back. “Not bad at all!”
* * *
When all the drummers had played their piece, they once again settled before the drum. Oriole and Yano were talking off to the side… quiet, long out of earshot, but the focus of everyone’s attention. Finally the two older women walked back into the circle and took their seat in the sand. A rumble of murmurs rose from the group.
“Alright, quiet down.” Oriole rolled her eyes. “You’ll have your answer in a moment. You all played well, but it’s not easy to be the lead. The lead must be confident, bold, and decisive. We have listened to your performances… and we choose Seko to take Tomoki’s place in the performance in Setal.
There was loud cheering from the group; a few of the other competitors looked let down, but joined in all the same. After all, they would all get other chances to move up in the ranks, and the more time they spent playing their instruments, the better they would get. Vodyanoi clapped and smiled as well; to be entirely honest, he had never even considered that he might win, but he felt as if he had accomplished something all the same. The troupe had heard him play, and they had clapped for him like he was one of them – surely, he would get another chance someday as well?
It turned out, however, that the chance would come sooner than he thought.
“Since Seko will be playing Tomoki’s drum, we will need someone to take his usual place. That role we will give to Vodyanoi, our apprentice. He’s shown us all that he can play by himself… so let’s see if he can play with the group.”
This time the cheers (although not quite as excited as the ones that Seko had received) put a huge grin on Vodyanoi’s face.
[words : 2366 ]
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Posted: Thu Aug 27, 2015 10:06 am
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︽︽ SOLO ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________LITTLE THING
_________Loaction: Sulburi, Oba
The troupe’s stop in Sulburi had been a resounding success. They had played several nights in the central marketplace, and each evening they would be surrounded by a tightly-packed crowd of Obans, Matorians and others.
Vodyanoi felt great. He felt amazing. After spending a couple of years or so drifting alone through Matori, looking for a stolen a native identity that he felt had been stolen from him in the course of his lifelong slavery to Oban masters, he finally felt like he meant something when he played for those crowds. He was a water earthling, a person who came from someplace, a person who did something, a person who was going somewhere. He had a skill, and a passion, and a knowledge of traditional Matori songs that was unique to him and his fellow performers. He had something special, something he hadn’t had when he left Oba as a freed prentice.
He loved it. He really, really did.
He loved it so much, in fact, that he didn’t even mind doing all the chores the troupe still had him doing. He was an official musician now, but still the youngest – and that meant that all the hard work was still left to him. They had been joined by Takaia, a tiny little leaf girl who had taken to following them around… but she was too young and small to lift a drum or water bucket, so her chores tended to be on the significantly lighter side. This was sometimes more tiring than helpful, because it meant that Vodyanoi was left only with the heavy lifting and finger-bruising jobs. But he liked that odd little kid, and the heavy lifting was starting to get easier, and his fingers were starting to develop defensive callouses in the right places.
On this late morning Takaia was still napping in one of the wagons, and Vodyanoi began with the back-breaking task of packing away the troupe’s drums and instruments. They had decided that it was time to pick up and travel further though Oba, towards some of the other settlements (Vodyanoi had some reservations about this, but he kept those to himself for the time-being). They would set out in the late afternoon, when the market quietened down enough to give their wagons room to move, and there was a lot of work to be done before that. Of course, all the other musicians were suddenly struck with a compulsion to do some last-minute shopping and sight-seeing, so it didn’t look like Vodyanoi could look forward to getting any (age-appropriate) help.
This was, however, not entirely without its benefits. He had been left alone with all of the musician’s instruments… including the big standing drums that he loved so much. He stood one of these up and ran his fingers over the smooth skin and elegant, curving barrel – tracing the painted patterns, the tight patterns of rope. How long would it be until he could play one of these? He loved everything about them, their looks and their sound and the way they commanded attention in the midst of even the most lively performance.
He flexed out his fingers, took a quick look around to make sure no one was around, and began to play a quiet little rhythm on the big drum.
Bumm – bum bum – bum bum BUM, bumm – bum bum – bum bum BUM, bum bu –
BAM BA-BAM BAM BAMPF!
A frantic, panicked sound broke through his steady rhythm, and Vodyanoi stepped back with alarm. What had he done? Had he broken the drum? What would Tomoki say? Could he get away with putting the drum in the wagon and pretending some freak accident had happened during their travels? Was that terribly dishonest? It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t meant to do it, he wasn’t doing it out of malice or jealousy or –
BA-BA-BAM! BAM BAM! BA-BAMF!
Vodyanoi’s yellow-gold eyes narrowed as he studied the drum. No. No, hold on a second. This drum wasn’t broken. When a drum broke, it didn’t decide to play itself – not even badly.
BA-BA-BA-BAM!
He crept towards the instrument, and took hold of one side so as to tip it over. Sure enough, there was a curious thumping sound followed by even more frantic beating, against the sides and the skin and even the bottom.
Something was stuck inside. Something living was stuck inside.
Whatever it was, he hoped it wasn’t dangerous, because he was going to have to get it out – it wouldn’t do, to have a drum that played itself to no particular rhythm. He tugged back on his hair to make sure that nothing would get in the way, and settled down on the ground with the top of the drum in his lap.
“Easy now, easy.” He told the thing that was inside, not really expecting it to understand. “I’ll get you out, I’ll get you out in a second.”
There were a few more thumping beats, and then the drum went quiet. Hm.
He worked as quickly as he could, not wanting to frighten this odd thing any more than he had to. Still, the job took a bit of time – he had to loosen the ropes that held the skin taut against the top of the drum, and that required some deft-fingered rope-work. Once he had the bottom knot undone, he had to feed the rope around to give it some slack along the top, and only then could he lift away the skin to peer into the dark interior.
Contrary to his fears, nothing shot out to bite or sting him in the hand.
“Hello?” He called softly, feeling a little silly now. He was talking to an empty drum; had he imagined the whole thing?
But no, no – there was something, colorful and yellow-blue, tiny with fluttering wings. An imp! It fluttered out through the little gap and shook itself off in the mid-day sun, moving in dizzy circles around his head. Then it landed back on the drum-top, and looked up at the water earthling with unflinching curiosity.
“Hi, little thing. Where’d you come from?” He laughed, reaching out and fully expecting it to fly away. It didn’t; it hopped onto the palm of his hand instead, and knelt to toy with one of the many bracelets he had on. The bracelet made a soft chiming noise, and this seemed to please the creature. Maybe they had something in common, the two of them!
[words : 1078]
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Posted: Mon Oct 19, 2015 8:29 am
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︽︽ SOLO ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________THE WEDDING
_________Loaction: Oba
The troupe had been hired on to play at a local wedding.
Held in a small village some hours’ away from Sulburi, it wasn’t exactly the event of the year. The couple were both commoners, from families just barely affluent enough to afford some special luxuries for this occasion. Half the village was in attendance, with another dozen or so people travelling in from elsewhere. This made about fifty people in all, most of them also commoners, farmers and small-time merchants in their very best garb.
There was, however, one particularly special thing about this wedding, something to set it apart from the pageants of beauty and glamor that Vodyanoi had seen in the Oban cities.
It was a wedding between an Oban man and a Matori woman, a rare thing even in the days since the war. That was the reason, no doubt, that the other half of the village had forsaken the chance to eat well and celebrate alongside the rest.
Nonetheless, the place looked cheery as anything when the troupe’s caravan arrived at the groom’s house. A big red canopy had been set up in the courtyard, the edges of which were decorated with white and gold fabric streamers. Long wood tables were being set up with plates, cups, and little gifts at each place setting. From behind a wavering red curtain Vodyanoi caught the mouthwatering scent of frying fish.
“You’re just in time!” An older water earthling clapped her hands joyfully when she saw them. A dark-colored perzi trailed after her as she moved. “Oh, it’s so good to see so many of you. It’s mostly Obans here, you see, except Otai and her friends. I came, of course, and took as much of my family from back home as wanted to make the trip, but… well, having you around, that will help make up the difference! And don’t you all just look splendid. Come, come. Is this enough room for you to set up?”
She lead them to a clear spot at the edge of the canopy, where they could overlook the center and be easily seen without getting in the way of the goings-on of the event itself. Yuna and Oriole assured the woman that the set-up as sufficient, and the troupe started making trips back to the caravan to unload their instruments.
Soon, the sounds of clattering plates and cooking fish were joined by the thu-thumps of a dozen moving, shifting, jostling drums.
* * *
The Matori woman had been right – the crowd, when they arrived in all their modest finery, was predominantly Oban. It wasn’t much of a surprise. This was an Oban town, and even in the time of slavery few of its residents had been rich enough to own water earthling slaves. Most of the Matori who did live here now were the ones who had moved out of larger cities and big households after they had been granted their freedom, oftentimes to escape angry and jealous ex-masters. There weren’t many of them, and as had already been suggested, they were mostly the bride’s friends – or the startled-looking relatives of her excited mother.
The former were well-adjusted to Oban life, by the looks of it, sporting local fashions and speaking with the common accent. The latter seemed… decidedly unsure about the entire matter, likely having come to Oba for the first time. They eyed the fire earthlings with uncertainty, and kept to themselves in a corner.
The groom, a handsome young Oban by the name of Sahor, had tried once to approach them… but soon enough their guarded pleasantries bored him back to the swell of his own kin.
The whole thing left a peculiar tension in the air, Vodyanoi felt. He stretched out his fingers for the Ceremony Song.
* * *
They began to play when the bride appeared. She was a common woman, Vodyanoi knew from the talk he had heard in the courtyard. She wove cloth for a living, a skill she had learned while enslaved. But as she floated down towards the dais at the other end of the canopy, she looked like a Matori sea-goddess with long dark hair and a shimmering dress. The drummer cast a particularly envious eye at her rings and bracelets, which glinted in the early-evening torchlight.
The troupe played the Ceremony Song, an ancient Matori wedding tradition from long before the Oban conquest. The fire earthlings listened to the odd rhythm with tilted heads. But when the bride joined her groom on the dais, and with Oriole’s signal, they began to add more Oban elements to the music. The beat half-stepped into something more familiar to the locals’ ears, then finally cut to silence for the ceremony itself.
* * *
At the end of the ceremony there was the usual bout of eating, drinking and merry-making. The music stayed low-key for this, so as to allow people to chat and congratulate the couple. The musicians were allowed to partake providing they took turns, and Vodyanoi got to spend a pleasant quarter-hour chatting with a local Matori girl over a surprisingly strong drink. Still, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the native water earthlings were keeping to themselves and avoiding the rest of the crowd – despite Otai and her mothers’ best efforts to get them to be social.
When he returned to the musicians’ area, he exchanged glances with Yuna and jerked his chin meaningfully towards the Matori huddle. She nodded and winked in response.
* * *
The time came for dancing, and for their plan to take effect.
With a loud, attention-grabbing howl, Tomoki lead the drummers into a rousing dance number. Vodyanoi, with his smaller and more mobile drum, moved out through the tables, encouraging the guests to get to their feet. But this time it was the Obans’ turn to look uncertain. This was not one of their songs, and they didn’t know how to dance to it. The Matorians, however…
Quiet as they had been, they had still had their fair share of strong liqueur, and with giddy grins they moved to the center of the tent. They moved in time to the erratic rhythm, jumping and whirling and stepping in beat. The local Matori, perhaps remembering the song from their childhoods, soon joined in – and began to pull in their Oban friends, one by one.
The music swelled, and once more Oriole cut in with a more Oban rhythm. More and more of the locals began to join the crowd, even as the music staggered between the foreign and the familiar.
They just moved, and they stopped caring so much. If this was how the world came to change, Vodyanoi thought – through drinking, eating, and dancing – well, that was alright by him!
[words : 1134]
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Posted: Tue Nov 10, 2015 9:02 am
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︽︽ SOLO ︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽
_________THOSE GOLDEN GOOD THINGS
_________Loaction: Oba
It had taken him a while to finally work up the courage to do this.
He wasn’t afraid of his old masters, not exactly; they had no sway over him now, no legal or moral right to pull him back into their service or anything silly like that. Nor was he anticipating any threats or violence. They hadn’t been the worst of masters even when he had been their slave, after all. Vodyanoi had gotten punished for his petty thievery from time to time, but usually it had been with things like skipped meals or being made to spend a night outside in the courtyard, with only a thin blanket -- not the whippings and beatings he had always heard rumours about.
“Well, if you don’t figure they’re gonna whip you, why the nervous face?” Seko asked him as they walked through uncomfortably familiar streets towards the old manor where he had lived. “And while we’re on the subject, why do you want to go back in the first place? I wouldn’t want to go anywhere near a place like that, if I were you.”
Vodyanoi had begged Seko to come with him to the home of his former masters -- he hadn’t wanted to go alone, and the other drummer was older and had confidence enough to quell some of his nerves. However, Seko had never been a slave. Living in a remote island village accessible only by small fishing-boats, he had escaped the Oban slave-traders all the way up until the days of their emancipation. His outlook on the whole matter was… well, it was different.
Seko hated the rich Oban nobles well enough -- but maybe too well. To him, the situation was black and white. Slavery was a cruel and evil thing, and slavemasters were cruel and evil people. He hated them simply, without any second thoughts and with no remorse.
But for ex-slaves like Vodyanoi, the emotions were a little more… complicated.
He had never really hated his masters. They took away his freedom, of course, and that was something he prized greatly. But when he had been enslaved, he had never spent much time thinking about freedom, and so much of those negative thoughts had been dulled to him. He had been, at the worst, frustrated and annoyed. Annoyed that he had to do all these little, petty tasks for people who were too lazy to do them for themselves -- and frustrated that he couldn’t do the things he wanted, not unless he stayed hidden and very, very quiet (which was not one of his favorite things to do). That wasn’t right, he recognized now. His masters had no call to rule over him like that. They were wrong, and that was final.
But then… there had been the good times. The times he played with the children, the little gifts he had received during festivals. He had been taught how to read and write. He had seen performances, both theatrical and musical, that he would have never had a chance to see if he had grown up like Seko. And so he was… conflicted.
He knew he wasn’t alone. Older slaves had had friendships and even romances with the Obans. There had been kindness, and understanding, and mutual respect. There had been… these golden good things, amongst all the bad.
“I don’t know.” Vodyanoi finally groaned, dragging a braceleted hand across his forehead. “It just feels like I should.”
“Well, what are you gonna do, even?” Seko shrugged, clueless as ever. “Knock on the door and say hi? Say ‘I used to be your slave, now I’m a drummer, are you proud’?”
“Well… no.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I want to say anything. I don’t have much to say. I just sort of want to… look at it.”
“Does it look any different from all these?” Seko gestured at the rows of fine houses they were walking through. This neighbourhood was inhabited exclusively by the upper crust or urban Oban society, and the two of them looked rather out of place here -- water earthlings walking side by side in their performance uniforms, shrugging off glares and glances cast in their direction.
“Well, yes, of course.” Vodyanoi had to roll his eyes. Trust a sea-dwelling Matori hick to not be able to tell the difference between all the households, which Vodyanoi still knew by name. “It’s larger -- you’ll see, as we get to the top of the street. There’s a big black gate with gold ornaments, and it opens onto a courtyard with a pool in it, and some big trees. Then there is a door there that leads into the inner courtyard, which was my favorite place. That was where all the parties and things took place, and when it got very very hot everyone just sort of lived there. There were even special beds for the nobles and their kids, with these light canopies to keep out the bugs. We’d bring them out when it was too hot to sleep indoors.”
Seko, used to sleeping outdoors regardless of what the temperature was, scoffed. “So?”
“Well, it’s just different, that’s all. Not all of these houses have two courtyards.”
Seko rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t impress me much.”
* * *
As it turned out, Seko was in fact reluctantly impressed by the manor they finally came to. It was right at the top of the road, overlooking everything else, and it was much bigger than the other houses they had passed. The big, black-and-gold gates stood high over their heads, and the Oban gate-guard gave them a suspicious look. Vodyanoi gave him an odd look of his own. There hadn’t been Oban servants when he was a child, and the sight was a strange one.
“You used to live here?” Seko whistled, putting his hands on his hips and squinting through the bars of the gate, out onto the outer courtyard (with it’s trees and pool just as Vodyanoi had described, except perhaps not quite as clean and immaculate as he remembered them to be. The Oban guard listened in to their conversation.
“Yeah. The slaves’ quarters were on the other side of the building, at the back. But see the small door there on the side, that was one of our entrances. And that door at the side of the fence, too. We didn’t use the main doors and gates. Well, except… except for the day we were freed.”
He stood silent for a moment, recalling the sight of the Matori warrior on his janarim mount -- the first time Vodyanoi had ever seen such a thing. He remembered the shocked look on the slaves’ faces when they were told that they were free. He remembered the bonfire, the music, and the celebration.
“I guess that’s mighty fancy.” Seko admitted, crossing his arms over his chest now. “Are you having second thoughts about living in a caravan with a flour-sack for a pillow?”
Vodyanoi laughed without even thinking about it, and waved his hand dismissively at the old manor. The guard glared.
“No! Not one bit. Come on, let’s go back. I’ll take you through the market, you’ll like that better. There’s sweets!”
[words : 1202]
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