CHAPTER ONE
WRITTEN BY SOLACE AND PLAYED BY THE BARD
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Lysander
Lysander was happy, and his retirement had nothing to do with it. No, it was all thanks to the beautiful serving girl.
“Thank you for the service,” Lysander said. His voice was croaky and a bit too cold for the emotion he was feeling, but still, the beautiful serving girl smiled at him before turning and walking toward the kitchen.
He sighed and looked around the Saints Inn again for signs of O’rityon or Lora. They should have been here already, especially Lora; she was their Archon, after all. When he couldn't see them, he couldn't help but look around the inn once more.
The Saints Inn exuded warmth and grandeur. The spacious hall was filled with the scent of pine and roasting meats, with long wooden tables bustling with patrons. Laughter and the soft strumming of a bard's lute blended harmoniously. Colorful banners adorned intricately carved beams, and a statue of a regal queen watched over the revelry. Lysander looked at the statue and felt warmth take over him.
No wonder bar fights don't happen here; the patrons are dosed with enough sense of peace to make Warren Klatch help humans instead of eating them. he thought, continuing his admiration of the place.
To the right, a polished bar area buzzed with activity as the barkeep poured drinks. A grand staircase led to private booths on the upper balcony. Soft light from chandeliers and a roaring fireplace added to the inn's tranquil atmosphere, casting a warm glow and flickering shadows across the room.
A round of applause was given as the bard got off the stage with a bow and smiles. Lysander also clapped. The bard's lute had helped him with his writing to kill time. He had written three poems and was surprised that they weren't sad but actually happy, and he loved them.
Maybe the job was the problem, Lysander contemplated. He had written happier and less depressing poems and stories since his uncle's letter informed him and O’rityon that they were free to drop out of the military and that he had even left behind a business for them to take over.
I wonder where he is now. I wouldn't have minded a...
“...sitting here,” the bard said as he placed his lute on the bench across from Lysander and sat down next to it.
“Good afternoon,” Lysander said, offering the bard a handshake and a smile. Although he had grown not to possess the kindest of voices and faces, he still tried to be humble.
“Afternoon, my good man. Ahhh, I'm parched. I had to finish off the performance with only the lute there; I thought my throat was going to shrink into oblivion,” the bard said, his hand gestures dramatic and descriptive. “The name is Bowen.”
“I'm Lysander,” replied Lysander while gesturing towards the wine and glasses on the table. “You can share my bottle of wine.”
“What a kind young man.” Bowen did not waste time being overly thankful and filled his glass to its limit. “It’s always a pleasant surprise to me when I meet someone who's willing to share anything with a bard these days. I'm currently on an adventure to find and beat the good-for-nothing bard who spilled about the drinks and free room we receive for our performance.”
Lysander smiled. He enjoyed the way Bowen spoke like he was always telling a story, his voice rising and falling to put more focus on a certain description than the other, and his hands also helped. Lysander realized he was jealous.
I'm definitely being jealous, but why?
“I think he is already dead. Bards are, after all, a merciless bunch and greedy as well, I hear.” Lysander knew for certain that the bard who had made the benefits public was dead.
“Probably. I was a bit too slow on the uptake, I admit. What have you been writing about? I could see you scribbling something all through my beautiful music,” he coughed in what Lysander recognized to be fake embarrassment. “At least if I do say so myself.”
Lysander realized something at that moment. The echo imprint on the statue isn't working on him.
Lysander had already been wary of the man, but now he was even more so. Although it could be easily explained since most bards were echoists, Lysander always knew a little caution didn't kill anybody, and the bard was covered in throwing strings.
“Just some stories, poems, and songs,” Lysander answered a little more enthusiastically. This, after all, was something he had never had someone to talk to about. “You can have a look at the first one.”
Lysander opened the first page and showed it to the man, Bowen.
“Well, I was actually going to ask, so thank you, friend. Let's see what you can…” He trailed off as he looked at the first song. “You wrote this?”
Lysander felt a bit of pride at Bowen’s dumbfounded expression, but that jealousy still lingered. Why?
“I certainly did. It was the first I wrote in this note. I started with this note about a year ago,” Lysander said, trying to smile gently. He thought he got it right.
“Lysander, this is beautiful,” Bowen said for the first time, his voice not holding that sing-song tone, and it seemed sincere. When he looked at Lysander, tears framed his eyes.
Lysander was shocked, and he felt his eyes getting moist. He was rarely praised. At least for something he loved this much. All the praise he had was from something he had very little love for, but today was the first day he had received praise for something he had been doing all alone for so long with people not even caring about. Lysander did not cry, but he had to wipe his eyes.
“T-Thank you, Bowen,” Lysander said, his voice a bit brittle.
“Can I sing this?” asked Bowen. Lysander felt his jealousy increase and finally understood.
Singing, telling tales, and adventures of different characters was something Lysander had fallen in love with but could never do because of who he was. After all, he was one of those characters they sang about.
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Why jealousy? I should change that.
“Sure thing, but remember to mention that it was written by Solace. Okay?” Lysander said. If he could not become a bard himself, he'll just make sure he becomes something close enough. Something he already was: a writer.
Retirement is already blissful. Now, if only those two idiots would finally come so we can get the hell out of the capital.
“Why not? Okay, do you have a tone in mind for the song?” asked Bowen, staring at the note.
“Well, I had one, but, you see, I've forgotten it,” Lysander said with an embarrassed smile.
“Perfect.” Bowen laughed as he jumped onto his bench and shouted to the bar. “I've got a new song for you, my beloved audience!”
There were startled yelps throughout the inn and curses, but soon claps began to come from different tables. Bowen, the ebony-skinned man, jumped to the floor, loosed his thin dreadlocks tied in a bun, which fell down, reaching just below his chin, which was quite far from his shoulder due to his long neck.
He did all of this slowly, watched by everyone, and picked up his lute. He tested the tone and adjusted it as he walked towards the podium where he had performed previously. The whole bar went silent; not even the sound of a spoon hitting plates could be heard.
Then Bowen spoke,
“This is a song called: My Lady Aldy, Oh, My, My, written by Solace.”
All Lysander could see was his back, but he could feel a deep sense of sorrow and loss from him, just from his back.
Is this echo magic? No.
It was pure acting and connection to the story. Before Lysander could think any further, Bowen started playing his lute, and it was the sound of a lament.
The song hadn't even started, and people were already crying. Lysander didn't remember the first song he wrote being so sad. In fact, he remembered it as a fun story, at least until the end.
“Ohhh, eyes as green as emeralds of the west,
Lips as pink as the blossoms from the stories,
Hair, oh, golden like the shine of the sun,”
Lysander had been the one to write the song, but he had never realized it could be this beautiful. He leaned forward on his bench towards Bowen.
“Oh, my lady, my Lady Aldy.”
The world exploded. Lysander was shocked. This was not an echoist doing; this was Fantis—the world— itself recognizing the emotions, sound, and maybe even memory of this song.
Around Bowen, dull green, blue, and violet burst into being, and the sound of the lute seemed to come from everywhere. Lysander was stunned. He had heard of this kind of event before, but only very few things could cause the world to react like this, and he wasn't informed on them.
“Oh, my, my,
Oh, my, my,
Oh, my, my,
Hmm.”
Although only Bowen sang the song, it felt like a whole choir had joined in, and the colors began forming into people, a man, and then more colors manifested into being above the podium: bright golden, light pink, and emerald. And then, like a painter's brush on paper, they drew a beautiful girl that made Lysander's heart quake.
The story was true.
“Golden, oh so golden, you're all I can see,
My eyes, oh, they hurt from your godly radiance.
Oh, give me, please give me the visions of my dreams.
Bless me and take, I'm yours, oh, my lady, Aldy.”
Lysander now remembered how he had written this song. It was after a particular battle during the Black Rain when he talked to their mentor after wiping out a warren. The man had been seriously injured, and Lysander had asked him why he seemed so happy. He had replied, "Because this was the only reason I joined the Black Army. Now, now I can see my love again."
Then he told Lysander the story of how he joined the Black Army. And this song was the result.
“Caress me and kiss me, you're all that I want.
I'll praise you and sing to you, oh, Lady Aldy.”
The figures of color continued to act out a story above the podium, and the crowd was totally captivated. The staff had gathered, and everyone stared, enraptured.
The sound of Bowen's lute was fluid and expressive, just as the man had been.
“My lady, my lady, oh, where have you gone?
Please come and hold me, even just once.
My brother and sister, oh, where is the sun?
Oh, my lady, my lady, you've gone to the sun.”
At this part, Bowen lowered his voice and slowed down. The sound of the lute also slowed, and like a heavy emotion, the sound of man and instrument held the hearts of all who listened.
Sobs began to echo at the last line as the colored figures played out a very sad scene of the golden figure losing all color, scattering into the winds, and being carried up into the sun.
“My Lady Aldy, oh, my, my, oh, my, my,
Please come hold me, even just once.
The sky and ground do not want as I.
Hold me, oh, hold me, oh, please don't go.”
Lysander felt a tear run down his face. Had he truly been the one to write this song? No, he had to give the credit to Bowen. The man was a master.
Patrons laughing just a moment ago were now wailing, and like their voices were instruments, it made the last parts of the song all the more sad.
“I'm sorry, so sorry, I never told my heart,
You've left this world; now we're worlds apart.”
Lysander felt a deep sadness from the podium, like a wave of heat blowing through the desert, and soon nearly all the patrons of the Saints' Inn were crying.
The sadness kept pouring out, like a person finally letting out his or her emotions after years of holding it in, like Lysander's mentor.
The performance was brilliant, but there was no applause, only cries and tears.
Then, all of a sudden, the sadness from the echo stopped and gathered to form an old man and a young girl. The man was Lysander's mentor, Old Man Jin, and the girl was his lover, whom Lysander had named Aldy. They both bowed, and like lightning, the colors they were made of shot towards Lysander and Bowen. The bright colors of the girl shot towards Bowen, and the dull colors of Jin shot towards and into Lysander.
He was an echoist, but first and foremost a soldier, so everything happening was beyond him, and he knew he had to get the hell out of the inn.
Boom! The door slammed open.
Lysander dashed towards Bowen, who was still in a bow and seemed more like a statue than a man. With one last look at the inn, Lysander picked up Bowen like a piece of cloth, threw him over his shoulder, and jumped out the window behind the podium.