Lyra was surprised at the simultaneous ease and difficulty with which she slipped back into her old life.
Just as Canto had predicted, she had no trouble joining the Any Weather Bards for the brunch gig. Her fingers picked out the well-known chords of each song effortlessly, and her brother Largo was grateful for her support on the melody line. She even remembered the old descant she had written for herself on ‘All Gather Round.’
And, since the party was at the home of a longtime family friend, Lyra soon found herself surrounded by people who had known her since she was born. This was both comforting and disorienting. After three months in the baking world, she had to keep reminding herself that no one else in the room cared about the correct use of Master Chiffon’s Aeration Charm, or even knew of Master Chiffon’s existence.
As the day wore on, Lyra found herself growing weary of this once well-loved scene. She tried to muster appropriate levels of interest for all the old conversational topics, but it was difficult with her mind and heart still so full of the academy.
Even her old school friends didn’t want to hear about Bumble and Sprinkle, or marvel at the idea of personality powders, or speculate which Presentation spells had been used on the elaborate birthday cake Thespy had purchased from a local bakery. Everyone at the party was consumed by the same neighborhood issues Lyra remembered, as if from another life: the community’s monthly talent show at the café, and if the traveling Dawn Dancers might visit again this spring, and rumors about a new kind of magical fire for theatrical lighting, designed to change color according to the play’s thematic progression. Mostly, of course, the party was abuzz about the next possible collaboration between the Any Weather Bards and Thespy’s theatre troupe, the Constant Company.
When people did ask about the academy, their inquiries always followed the same tired track, and Lyra was tired of repeating the same tired answers. Yes, she was glad to be home. No, she wasn’t home for good, just on break until second term. Yes, the Royal Academy of Magical Baking was a wonderful school, though rigorous. No, she didn’t sit around eating cake all day. Yes, she was making friends with the other bakers. No, she didn’t miss music all that much. Her family, sure, but music…
This was the point where the other person’s eyes usually glazed over with total incomprehension. Again and again, Lyra heard the same basic idea, uttered with little variation and always with the same blank, vaguely disapproving stare:
“But you’re a Treble. Trebles are bards. How can you not miss making music?”
Thankfully, Thespy had requested ‘The Joy Song’ to close out the party. This was Lyra’s all-time favorite of the Any Weather Bards repertoire. Like a perfectly executed Texture spell, it left one feeling both secure and lighthearted, anchoring the feet while sending the soul soaring. She could understand why it had formed the inspiration for Canto’s latest painting. In fact, she had sung it frequently to herself while practicing her cake for the academy’s final entrance exam.
As all six Trebles took their places once more on the permanent ‘stage’ in Thespy’s living room, Lyra breathed an inward sigh of relief. It did feel good to be making music again. Not only was it simply fun to play and sing with her family, allowing herself to get swept up in their expert flow, but she always thrilled at the showcase of their signature spells. Bardic magic was so very different from baking magic, and the Trebles stood out even among other bards.
Most bards focused all their training on pre-performance spells. They spent hours learning how to gauge an audience’s mood, casting charm after charm at a dizzying rate until they had formed a mental map of each listener’s surface-level emotions. Then they would tailor the performance to that map, constantly shifting the program to suit the audience’s changing whims.
Lyra had heard her father rant against this practice so many times, she knew the speech by heart. She recited the climactic point to herself now as Largo tuned his violin and Canto settled himself behind his cello:
“A bard’s first responsibility is not to the audience — not to cater to them, anyway. It is the music that holds our allegiance. We use magic to get inside each song, so we may reveal that song’s truest nature. True music is what the audience needs. A performance of pure music will soothe anxiety, comfort sorrow, and deepen gladness. Be true to the music, Treblette, and you will serve the audience well.”
Instruments tuned and ready, Lyra waited with her brothers, watching their parents carefully. Harmon Treble sat at the piano while his wife stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Their eyes were closed. Lyra knew they were breathing in unison, mentally reciting the preparation spell to unlock the heart of ‘The Joy Song.’
Then, as if some invisible signal had passed between them, Melody squeezed her husband’s shoulder and stepped back. He lifted his hands, all six Trebles took a breath, and — as one — they began to play and sing.
Lyra felt the familiar wave of magic instantly. Unlike baking magic, bardic magic did not manifest visibly. There were no streams of colored light, nor a lingering shimmery afterglow. Yet the effect was no less tangible.
The music activated and continued the spell Lyra’s parents had begun in that silent shared moment, sending a tide of magic across the stage. It flowed on every side, without and within, pouring from her mother’s voice and her brothers’ hands and her own faltering heart. The tide swept out into the room, swirling around each listener and catching them up in a moment of carefree wonder.
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This was the spirit of ‘The Joy Song’: its truest nature, discerned by magic and revealed by performance. For a bard, this was the highest possible achievement. This moment was the fullest expression of life’s deepest meaning.
Lyra was aware of the moment, and appreciated it, and even enjoyed it deeply. Simultaneously, she found her eyes and thoughts wandering to the kitchen, where the remains of the birthday cake were just visible on Thespy’s long table.
Maybe Master Glaze’s Shine Spell? Or something even more advanced…
Canto caught her gaze and raised his eyebrows, silently reminding her to stay focused. She nodded, smiling as she forced herself back into the Treble groove.
For now, anyway.
It doesn’t fell quite right to be here, she acknowledged to herself, lifting her voice to join Canto’s high harmony for the chorus. But it’s a nice place to visit once in a while.
—
“Friends! Aspiring bakers! Victorious conquerors of the first term!” Boysen stood on his front doorstep, spreading his arms to greet Lyra, Ginger, and Mac. “Welcome, all, to the house of Berry, for —”
His grand tone was immediately drowned out by the laughter of his older brother.
“The house of Berry?” Razz appeared in the open door and clapped Boysen on the shoulder. “You missed your calling, Poison. You should have been a ringmaster for the circus. Or a maître d’ at a particularly pompous restaurant.”
Mull and Whortle, the younger Berry twins, poked their heads around Razz.
“I dunno,” Mull said, his face serious. “Our house is pretty grand.”
Whortle nodded, mirroring his twin’s solemn expression. “I’d say it’s BERRY grand.”
Then they, too, burst into raucous laughter.
“All right, all right.” Boysen waved them away good-naturedly. “I’m BERRY certain Mom ordered you lot to clear out before my guests arrived.”
Razz, Mull, and Whortle groaned.
“That sounds berry lame,” Mull pouted.
“And berry boring,” Whortle chimed in. “Which one of you is Lyra?”
“We want to meet Lyra,” Mull agreed. “Boysen says —”
Boysen covered Mull’s mouth with his hand. “Boysen says you both better scoot, or you’ll be BERRY sorry.”
“C’mon, little seedlings.” Razz grabbed a twin with each hand, hauling them down the front steps by their shirt collars. “Let’s leave Poison in peace. Hyacinth is making us dinner.”
“Yay, Hyacinth!” Mull and Whortle cried simultaneously. They wrenched themselves from Razz’s grip and took off down the sidewalk, waving and calling over their shoulders, “Bye, Boysen! Bye, Lyra and Not-Lyra and that other guy!”
Razz chuckled. “You guys have fun. Better head on in soon so Mom can meet… everyone.” He winked at Boysen, then ran to catch up with Mull and Whortle.
Ginger raised her eyebrows. “Not-Lyra?”
“That other guy?” Mac protested.
Boysen shook his head. “If you don’t have brothers… be grateful.” Turning, he motioned for them to follow him inside. “Come on. Razz was right about Mom wanting to meet all of you.”
The Berry household reminded Lyra of her own home. It was another townhouse, long and narrow, with multiple floors to provide living and sleeping spaces for a big family. But there was one key difference. While the Treble house was always full of music, the Berry home was full of smells — the rich and wonderful aroma of constant culinary creation.
Lyra breathed in deeply as they followed Boysen down a hallway and past a flight of stairs.
“I hope your mom didn’t go through too much trouble,” she said.
Ginger agreed, “I’m sure she’s busy enough with six Berry boys to cook for. Seven, including your dad.”
“Straw and Cran have their own place now.” Boysen paused before a closed door at the end of the hallway. Cheerful sounds of bubbling, steaming, and stirring emanated from the room beyond. “With me and Razz away at school most of the time, Mom’s been coming out of her frame. Dad too, though he won’t admit it. They miss cooking for a crowd.” He pushed through the door, standing aside to let them all enter. “Trust me. You’re doing them a favor.”
They stepped into the room, and Lyra caught her breath.
The Berry kitchen was… well, ‘berry’ amazing.
Directly in front of the door, a long dining table stretched nearly half the length of the room, with benches pulled up on either side. Dried vegetables, fruits, and flowers hung from the ceiling. A fire blazed merrily in a large brick fireplace halfway down the right hand wall.
Beyond the fire was the ‘kitchen’ portion of the room. A wide counter wrapped around from the left wall, jutting across towards the fireplace. It divided the room neatly but left ample space for dishes to be carried back and forth. The counter continued along the back wall, breaking only for a door in the back right corner before resuming along the right wall.
Above the counter, the back wall was dominated by three tall windows. Lyra noted they must be facing north. The early evening glow streamed in, mixing beautifully with the hanging light fixtures to ensure sufficient illumination, but the room would never be in danger of getting too warm.
It was an incredible setup for cooking. Still, what made the room truly special was the activity happening inside it, and the person performing that activity.
“Welcome!” Boysen’s mother bustled around the corner and practically skipped the length of the room, holding her floury hands out in greeting. “So glad you could join us. We are honored to have the academy’s future here in our home!”
Lyra adored her immediately. In fact, Lyra adored the whole house. She felt instantly at ease in this new environment.
That’s how I felt the first time I visited Whisk, she reflected as Boysen’s mother shook hands with each of them. Maybe that’s just the Berry power. They carry the welcome with them wherever they go.
“Thank you for having us, Mrs. Berry,” Ginger said.
Mrs. Berry beamed at them. Her green apron marked her as a Flavor expert, like Professor Honeycomb, but her wavy brown hair was tied back in a multicolored scarf embroidered with wildflowers. She had Boysen’s dancing brown eyes, and the same kind of grin that lit up her whole face. She was also nearly as tall and lanky as her son, though she moved about her kitchen with a graceful confidence that would send The Meringue into spasms of violent envy.
“Thank you,” she insisted. “And thank your parents. The break between terms is a precious time. Only two weeks! We are sorry to take you away from your families for even a single night, but I did so want to meet Boysen’s friends, and express our gratitude. You made the first term so wonderful for him.”
Somehow, her smile grew even wider and brighter, lighting up the room as well as her face. With a look in her eye that told Lyra exactly where Razz had gotten his sense of humor, Mrs. Berry exclaimed, “The least we can do is give you a berry wonderful evening!”