The woods creaked with the tumult of life: chittershaw birds rustled in the undergrowth for Hydra plants to feed on, followed by the clang of two male buckhorns smashing their barbs into each other in the fight to dominate the mating season. A lone jackalope, proud and feisty, turned its antlers to the afternoon sun, basking in the final days of Summer.
As he strode through the woods, Itsano tuned into it all, feeling at peace with the flow of Nature and daiku making their presence known in every tree, leaf and animal he shared the world with. He felt their energy beneath him, rising into the soles of his bare feet and through his body, guiding him where he needed to go.
After some time, Itsano found a waterfall cascading into a large pond. At the far side of the pool, behind the rushing water, Itsano saw purple flowers blooming in the cracks of stone. The dense vegetation surrounding the pond made it difficult to cut around to the waterfall on foot. To reach it, he needed to swim.
Itsano waded into the water, feeling it cool his toes. Before going any further, he removed his rotiro from his shoulder sling and put it on the ground. Halfway through tying back his hair, a sudden splash in the water caught his attention. A head rose above the surface. Skin so pale it looked blue. A tangle of hair the colour of moss.
“Oi, you’re trespassing,” said the young man, forehead creasing with indignation.
“My apologies,” Itsano replied. “I did not know this place held a guardian spirit.”
The young man snorted. “I’m no guardian, trespasser. I’m a prisoner! Can’t ever leave this damn pool. Fate is a cruel mistress and she’s even crueller for sending a wiry old man to my door instead of a lovely lass to seduce.”
“How long have you been here?” Itsano asked, genuinely curious.
“Weeks. Years. Centuries. It doesn’t matter. It’s all shit. A trap and a trick the gods like to play.”
Kneeling at the pool, Itsano said, “I do not presume to know the lot of your life. For you have lived far longer than I and have the wisdom of ages. But there is a saying among my people that he who waits for chance may wait for a long time. From what I have heard of mirgress, time does not stop you from living well.”
“For a paltry mortal, you’re polite and well-informed.” The mirgress mused, swimming closer to the shore. “Did you know I was once worshipped? Village folk used to come from far and wide to be taught the gift of my music. Boys fell at my feet to win their heart’s desire. Moon-eyed maids flocked to hear the sweet serenade of my voice and showered me with affection. Why have you come?”
“I seek the Kalliah flowers that grow in the waterfall. They are the last ingredients for a serum I need to cure a sick boy.”
Whistling through his teeth, the mirgress tilted his head. “Sounds like a story worth hearing. What ails the boy?”
“Idaphor venom. He was playing games out in the forest and stumbled across a nest. His mother brought him to me for healing and here I find myself. He won’t survive without the serum.”
“It never ceases to amaze me how feeble humans are. No hardiness whatsoever.” the migress said, picking up a floating leaf in the water and crushing it into his hand. When he opened his palm, he dropped the particles and let them be carried away on a breeze.
“Little more than dust in the wind. I’ve known your kind, trespasser. I’ve seen your people be brought to heel by the frontiersmen as they reshaped the land in their own image. Is the boy of your kind or is he of theirs?”
“He is the son of the village headsman who holds no love for me. Will you permit me to take the Kalliah?”
The mirgress paused, fixing Itsano with a peculiar look. Laying back on the surface of the water, he closed his eyes and floated silently, soaking in the sun. A minute or two passed and he reached a decision. “Perhaps. That….thing you carry. I’ve seen it before. It marks you as a battle conductor and music is meant to be your forte.”
Gazing at his rotiro, Itsano nodded. “Yes. Music is my way of life and I have been shaped by its design.”
The mirgress smirked. “Pretty words. The measure of a true musician is defined by how well he plays. What would you say to a contest? Match me tune for tune until the sun goes down and I’ll fetch the flowers for you. Stop playing for even a moment and you leave with nothing.”
Itsano weighed his options. Mirgress were proud, unpredictable creatures. If he refused and rushed to get the Kalliah, the water spirit could choose to drown him. If he accepted the wager and won there was still no guarantee he’d make it back to the village in time to administer the serum. He who waits for chance may wait a long time.
“I accept your terms. To test my skills against you is an honour.”
“You may be singing a different tune by the time our contest is done.” Grinning, the migress disappeared beneath the spray and reappeared with a fiddle and bow. Smooth and dark, the instrument gathered beads of water and shimmered in the sunlight.
Picking up the rotiro, Itsano sat cross-legged on the shore. He nodded, a gesture that he was ready to begin.
“Follow my lead,” the mirgress flicked his wrist and launched into a ragged rhythm, using a backbowing style that reminded Itsano of the maritime beats popular in the Province of Frithland. He strummed his fingers on the rotiro, leaping off the lively notes that rippled from the fiddle.
Within seconds, the mirgress switched the tempo, sawing the bow in long strokes to create a faster beat that could bring an entire town of out their homes to dance the night away. Itsano adjusted to keep in time, in awe of his opponent’s dexterity.
Next, came a series of lilts and trilling burrs. A mournful song of lost love, missing friends and bygone days. Itsano slowed his playing, thinking of his daughter Kozuni, using the image to bolster his resolve.
Every time the mirgress seemed to be settling into one style, he changed pace again. It was like trying to hold onto water. Itsano continued to play, slipping into a state of absolute focus. He was on the battlefield again, keeping his brothers and sisters strong in the third Kamuni Uprising as they fought to reclaim their heritage and their lives in a war doomed to fail.
Itsano imagined the little boy back in the village, cold and drenched with sweat, the child of a people who’d brought the tribes nothing but pain and sorrow. There was always a better way, a chance to heal with music and forgiveness.
The sky darkened and shadows fell across the forest. When the sun finally dipped, Itsano registered the tremendous ache in his shoulders, the burn on his fingers. He didn’t know how long the music had gone on for and as he squinted in the harsh twilight, the mirgress bobbed in the pond, pensive. His fiddle was gone and when he noticed Itsano looking at him, he came out of his trance.
“Well I’ll be damned,” the mirgress grunted, vanishing into the pond. Minutes went by and Itsano wondered if the water spirit would keep to their agreement. A sploosh on the right side of the bank startled him and the mirgress swam over, clutching a handful of Kalliah.
“A deal is a deal. Take your flowers and bring your music to the masses. I swear I’ve never encountered a mortal who plays as you do. Are you sure you’re human?”
Gathering the flowers and putting them into a pouch, Itsano smiled. “As far as I know. And thank you. That is high praise and something I will take to heart.”
“As you should. It’s not every day you get complimented by the greatest musician this side of the River Cynon.” The mirgress blinked, stony eyes flickering. “I wish to know the name of the one who stood as my equal.”
“I am Itsano of the Washiri tribe.”
“If you find yourself in these parts again Itsano of the Washiri tribe, stop by. It’s awfully boring being the only real musician in this shit heap.”
“Perhaps I will,” Itsano chuckled, feeling uplifted in the face of a worthy opponent and the connecting power of music.
Leaving the waterfall, Itsano travelled through the night, towards the uncertainty of a child’s life hanging in the balance. He could not know the outcome, or if he’d made the right decision.
All he could do was try. To believe that the daiku were guiding his path and that the so-called monsters of the world could honour their word and were as vulnerable as people to the day-to-day contradictions of life.
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