[IVORY TOWER] Sultans of Swing (Self-Mod Amarillo, Private)

[Amarillo]

TRAINING THREAD: Level I - Song

TS: 29 Ponutis - Era I (Celestine) - ERA XV (pf)

The Ivory Tower rises majestically above lesser structures; it is located just north of the Zinn’Sunn Academy of Music and Culture in the city’s Dragon District. Home to all the Arcana training within the walls of City of Song, the Tower has a long and varied history. Centered amid five full acres of sculpted parkland filled with koi ponds and landscaped grottos of reflection, the edifice’s eight massive levels soar skyward as a perennial monument to the Kemish goddess Prensia – and to the durability of the sturdy hard-working peoples who call the city home. The grounds also contain several dozen buildings, ranging from the large Dormitory to the smaller sanctums for the various disciplines.

The Tower’s ground floor contains a reception area (which doubles as the dormitory assignment office), facility offices, a financial aid/work study office, and a supply room. Other levels of the tower include a level for each Sphere, a level containing several workrooms, an entire level set aside for the bonedrummers and one for the bladesingers, a massive lecture hall, and finally an observatory on the top floor. A drum tower station fills up part of the top floor observatory.

Although the sound of the drums coming from somewhere on one of the upper floors of the Tower had stirred the heart and soul of a certain young Kemite, making it a struggle to listen carefully to the human receptionist Marysta, he had done so. As a result, he had learned of a few other things he must accomplish before he could begin. One such detail was that he was expected to attend with an instrument of his choice – in hand. He’d looked morosely at the meager piles of coin on the tabletop and had let his shoulders slump a little. How would he afford an instrument – such as those he’d seen in ‘The Enchanted Note’– AND cover the costs of his training? How would he eat? He’d already lifted a hand to sweep everything back into his sack in preparation for the long walk back to his home when the elfess mentioned the barter arrangement between the Tower and the store. There was no choice to made, really. If he wanted the training, he had to have an instrument. And to have an instrument, he had to accept the deal offered by the Tower. Therefore he had done so, shaking hands with the woman to close the arrangement.

He’d gone to the ‘Note and made his choice; the slender wooden shaft nestled safely amid a few rags in his sack. Now, almost exactly a full brightening later, he climbed the Tower stair to the upper floor where Marysta had indicated his prospective trainer would be found. Passing the second floor, he paused in mid step. He couldn’t remember the room! Or even the correct floor! His pulse began to race and sweat beaded his brow beneath the unkempt nest odf dark strands that crowned his head. Even as his gorge formed and attempted to rise in a choking bile that would have left him drowning in his own fluids several dozen feet above ground level, a sussuration of melody wound down the stairwell from above. The rhythmic patterns caught at his body’s reactions, slowing them. He could FEEL his panic ebbing as the continuous throb of notes, both deep and high, rebounded from the walls of the stairwell. A part of him marveled at the acoustic properties of the stair – was it intentional? Had the artisans who had created the Tower known some trick of nature that allowed them this? Or was it yet another aspect of the arcane might of those who currently called the Tower ‘home’?

Still trying to fathom the mystery, the young man found himself standing on the fourth floor, just outside a closed door that bore the single Kemish word … zuru … engraved in the ancient wood. He been … transported, might be the best description … by the complex beat pattern that had built in power as he’d come closer to this very spot. Now, standing just outside the room that MUST hold the one he had come to see, that same pattern threatened to overwhelm him in its majesty. However, before Amarillo could fall into a swoon, the thundering sound of drumming halted. It was just as incredible – literally between one beat and the next, total silence had fallen on this part of the Tower. The young man marveled at the talent required to perform such a feat; he’d personally heard time and again how the sounds of string or horn drifted onward after the player halted his actions. He was mesmerized!

That is, until a smooth male voice called from the other side of the door. “Serale! It’s about time, young fellow - open the door and come on in! There’s a lot of ground to cover, and there are better ways to spend a brightening than being cooped up in a stuffy old tower!”

With such an exuberant invitation delivered so comfortably, and with the innate desire to both investigate the mysteries of the city’s name-Sphere and to potentially develop in his performance capabilities, what else could the young man in simple clothing do? Amarillo extended his left hand and pushed open the door …

[Amarillo]

… And found himself in what might just be both the oddest and the most appealing room he had ever the pleasure of enjoying in his short tenure under the twin suns. Drums of every size and shape and color lay, stood, or were propped everywhere the eye could see. Everywhere, that is, except for a small cleared space wherein a lean suns-bronzed blond figure stood expectantly. One of his hands rested easily on the tight skin covering a large wooden cylinder; the other casually swept a few errant strands of his shoulder-length hair away from piercingly brilliant eyes the color of the Lauryllian sky during a Priaestas festival.

“Don’t just stand there … you’re the lad Marysta left me a note about, aren’t you? She mentioned something about you wanting to know more about music. And … “ He glanced off to the far side of the drum, where evidently the aforementioned note lay hidden and furrowed his brow in consternation. “… something about performance?”

The young Kemite blushed colorfully under the azure gaze of the individual who must be his instructor. He started to stammer out a response, and then clamped his jaw tight. Forcing himself to a calmer state by taking a pair of deep, slow breaths, Amarillo waited a second or so longer before trying once more. “Serale, Master … Luminous, I believe? Or would you prefer to be called Master Darnai? I am the one you were expecting … my name is Amarillo Lu.” Against his will, the rebuttal to the unfair accusation forced its way between his teeth. “And I NEVER said anything about performing!”

His eyes lost their focus as he turned his attention inward. He hadn’t voiced that thought, had he? No, he was certain he’d simply thought about it during the registration and - perhaps - again outside the ‘Note, when he heard the strains of music hammering from the bowels of The Rolling Thunder. Bringing the room and other man back into visual acuity, he shook his head in negation and, in a more helpless tone than he’d first used, mumbled a similar sentiment. “Really, I didn’t.”

The blond man laughed – a peal of pure unadulterated joy that lifted the soul and brightened the very air around him. “Relax, Amarillo. I was only pulling your leg.” He leaned back against one the huge drums to his left and eyed his prospective student. “Well, sort of. Like - if you’re gonna be a bard, or even a simple musician, you’re gonna like need to know at least a few things about handling Joe Public. Does no Jorel-damned good to keep those rhythms and lyrics inside, man. Comprendre?"

Amarillo nodded quietly, his attention rapt on the man before him. His sack hung loosely in his right hand, forgotten except for the reflexive tightness of his grip largely due to the treasured instrument hidden away inside the plain wrappings. The words of the instructor were … difficult … to follow, in part because of his rural upbringing in the hills to the north of the city. The cadences were … wrong … somehow, yet at the same time sounded so … right! He found himself warming to the other’s demeanor and felt some of the tension leaching into the surrounding wood and stone of the Tower’s structure. “I … think … I follow what you’re saying.” he answered somewhat tentatively.

“Of course you do, man. The beat, the rhythm - it’s, like, everywhere when you start to look! For example …” Luminous tapped slowly and softly on a mid-sized drumhead and produced a steady mellow series of beats. It was no coincidence that those beats just happened to match the cadence of Amarillo’s heart, had he been but listening to his own body’s rhythms. “… just about any heartbeat has a steady count, man. Check it out! Like, the dude is getting excited …” Here, the master bonedrummer sped up the beat pattern to about half again what it had been. “… and then he’s not so frightened anymore …” The pattern slowed, even slower than the original speed. To Amarillo’s surprise (but not Luminous’!) his heart followed suit, slowing its own racing throb to match the more sedate drumming.

Luminous once more halted his hand, rendering the room instantly quiet. Into the void, he spoke softly. “Tell me, Amarillo my man, do you have the talent? Can you bust a rhyme? Or surf the beat?” His piercing blue eyes were gazing intently into the younger Kemite’s dark brown orbs. “It’s time to pay the piper, dude. Show me what you’ve got.” He relaxed slightly, waving Amarillo to a spot slightly further from the door, where there was a dearth of drum-related kit.

To obtain a bit of time to gather his thoughts, the bard-to-be turned and closed the wooden portal behind him. Stepping to the indicated spot, he set his sack carefully to the side and – seeing nowhere else to sit – slumped more-or-less gracefully to a seat on the room’s floor. He closed his eyes, picturing what he’d heard and experienced already this brightening, in terms of Luminous’ power. He was almost positive he’d been entranced by something similar on occasion. Now what had it been? Ah yes, the stories and songs of the Trelore elves! Keeping that thought in mind, he cleared his throat and began, in a quavering tenor that gathered strength as he felt the music begin to flow.

(For lyrics, see Amarillo’s Songbook entry ~ I've Never Been To Trelore~)

[Amarillo]

That initial quaver had almost put the bonedrummer off the whole teaching situation. Luckily for the Kemite on the floor that Luminous had had both better and worse students in the past. And that he’d spent the first part of the brightening with his beloved percussion instruments, burning off some of the incredible energy stored in that lean frame. He pursed his lips, the only outward sign he allowed himself in response to the youth’s attempt. When Amarillo had finished, he slowly nodded.

“Not bad, man. Been my own choice, that bit about the music making you want to dance would have been the drums, but …” He nodded once more. “… not bad at all.”

Luminous picked up a thin blue cloth-bound book, emblazoned with a series of leaves and vines in a reddish bronze metal. “You ever seen this, before?”

The dark haired youth shook his head in the negative. The only books he could remember seeing were the farm’s ledgers and the occasional picture book one of the neighbors had brought over after a trip to the city. He said as much, bringing an easy smile to the bonedrummer’s lips.

“Well, then … I assume you can, like, read. ‘Cause you’re going to go through that a couple times over the next brightening or so … and you’re going to, like, know it inside and out by the end of the cycle.” He tossed it casually in Amarillo’s direction. “But you aren’t going to check it until the darkening, dude. We still have stuff to finish.”

The student took one brief glimpse at the book’s inner leaf; he could barely make out the title. A Primer To Arcana. It didn’t LOOK like it had anything to do with music, but the country boy in him wasn’t going to question the powerful bard who had been selected as his mentor. Quickly, he stuffed the book into his sack, beside the still-hidden instrument.

Over his shoulder, Luminous made one last comment in passing. “You know, you just might have some real talent, there dude. Keep writing and, like, performing, man. The only way to keep the beat is to use it – every single brightening.”

“Oh yeah. There’s another one of those, like, pamphlets they want me to pass out, y’know. I don’t always do it – but I think you’re one of those who might actually run with it, man. Remind me to give it to you before we close up for the darkening, would you?”

The suns-bronzed figure turned back toward his student. He tapped quietly against one of the smaller drums, making a light, continuous rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat pattern while he searched for the words to say. Amarillo watched the slender digits - mesmerized at the smoothness of the sound, individual ability giving life to inanimate object. Realizing what he was doing, Luminous stopped, offering a slightly sheepish grin. “Sorry, dude. Helps me think, y’know?”

“I have to, like, ask you some more stuff, kind of like for the Tower’s records, you see. Same questions everyone gets, so don’t sweat it. But you DO have to try and answer them. Okay?”

Amarillo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He’d almost fallen under the spell of those drums again! This would never do! How could one be a bard, if every song triggered such a reaction?

Luminous watched the kid struggle and tried hard not to grin. He’d been there, once, himself … not all that long ago, if you were looking at the whole opera. Maybe back an act, or so, that’s all. That same amazement with the instruments, the desire to learn, the KNOWING of the rhythm … it was all there. All wrapped up in this one farmer’s son who probably couldn’t tell a fiddle from an accordion. The bonedrummer sighed theatrically.

“Pay attention, dude. Here they are. You can answer them in any order, but you’ve got to try and answer them all. First – what is ‘clara’? Second – what is ‘ara’? Third – what is ‘vis’? Fourth – what is the Essence of Song?”

He made himself comfortable; this portion typically took some time as the students tried to work out the meanings for themselves. He’d never heard a really good answer to that last one though – not in the whole time he’d been teaching. It would be … interesting … to see where that train of thought brought this young fellow.

“Let me get this off my chest first, Master. I’ve never heard the terms before you spoke them. But I’ll give it my best shot.” Amarillo took several minutes to think this over. He combed his memory of both the Empire tongue and his native Kemish, searching for phrases or words that matched the rhythm and tone of the three his mentor had asked him to define. He’d worry about the last one once the first three were over with.

“Well, in Kemish we have a phrase pronounced ar’ae. Literally, the literal meaning in the Empire common language is ‘from me’. There are also two … ummm … conditionals, I guess you’d call them. One is ‘va’, the other’s ‘za’. When you run them together, you get a sound like ‘va-za’, where that last vowel sound is barely heard. It translates into something akin to a wish or a possibility; a more literal translation is ‘would/could’. “

“Using that as a basis, I’d have to say that VIS is akin to the possibilities that are out there. ARA would have to be the … strength? Energy? Power? … from within myself.”

“The first one seems pretty easy. CLARA is really close to the Empire word ‘clarity’. So it must have something to do with seeing things clearly.”

He paused a moment longer before exclaiming “No, wait! If ARA refers to the energy from within, then VIS must refer to the energy from without! … and CLARA has to be the ability to ‘see’ the energy!”

He thought back to how he’d felt when the elves had been singing and telling their stories of their homeland. He spoke softly and haltingly, choosing his words with even more care. “To answer the last question, I guess … the essence … of song is the music itself. No … that’s not right. Or not completely right, at least. It’s the silence between the notes, too. And it has to have an emotional content to really impact someone – which may be the listener. … Or it could be the singer I suppose.” He looked up at Luminous, as sure of his reasoning as any youth who’d never seen half the things that Telath could throw one’s way, completely confident in his invulnerability. “My answer would have to be Song’s Essence is emotion.”

[Amarillo]

Luminous was nothing if not patient; having a son who’d become the owner/operator of the Rolling Thunder made for long days in terms of family time. He waited as the younger man pondered the questions, careful not to disturb him. His hands rested lightly on a nearby drum, continuously rubbing the tight-stretched skin. HE thought about how he’d answered those very same questions, patterns ago. And the look on HIS instructor’s face when he’d given his interpretation. A slightly lopsided grin came and went, almost too fast to witness. It was certain Amarillo didn’t see it; the Kemite’s whole attention was turned inward, searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack.

Master Darnai’s ears perked up some time later when the student began to speak, softly and slowly. His own attention zeroed in – after all, a drummer had to have a LOT of attention to maintain some of the complex rhythms! He heard the explanation – and almost gasped. The kid was nearly spot on! If he hadn’t confused ‘ara’ and ‘vis’ …

The rubbing of the drumhead increased in speed and intensity as the bonedrummer waited for Amarillo to finish. When he was sure the explanation was over, he asked one more very important question … more because he wanted to know the answer than because it was part of the normal curriculum. He simply had to know THIS answer, or he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the coming darkenings.

“Close, man. REAL close. I’ll explain it all in a second – but I need you to give me one more answer.” All casualness dropped from his manner as he leaned toward the younger man. His blue-eyed gaze telegraphed the importance of the next question, even before a syllable had passed his lips. The wording, however, was so casual as to be offhand. “Do you already hear the music?” He didn’t try to be any clearer; if the he was right, the kid wouldn’t NEED anything further. And if he was wrong … well, the dark-haired youth wouldn’t need more then, either.

Amarillo was aghast. How had the bonedrummer known? He’d been VERY careful to keep the secret of the symphony that continually played in his mind out of every single conversation – in part because he wasn’t sure that everyone else didn’t have the same occurrence, and in part because he was very frightened that he WAS the only one to hear it. However – Luminous had asked, so he would respond.

“Yes. There’s a continuous wave of sound, just below the level of hearing. It’s like … like … a symphony, or a concert, rising and falling, cresting and breaking. It sometimes gets so low or so fast that I don’t understand it … and other times so loud and insistent that I almost can’t take it.” He thought back to his travels, as he headed from his erstwhile home on the northern reaches of the Laroo toward the City of Song. “Is it … umm .. normal? Or does this mean I’m not going any further?”

Luminous rose slowly, and moved to Amarillo’s side. “No, dude. You’re not going to be turned away. Not even if I lose my job over this. I’ll teach you.” He laid a hand gently on the younger man’s shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. “Most folk can listen to music created by others. Some can even tell the difference between notes, or follow a beat. But there’s only a handful of us on Telath … let alone within the Empire … that truly hear the Music.”

Amarillo could picture the capital ‘M’ in the way his instructor said that last word. He felt … he didn’t have a way to express what he felt. Vindicated, certainly … but far, far more than that.

Luminous moved away, a gruff tone in his normally smooth voice. “Don’t be getting any uppity ideas, man. You’ve got a long way to go yet. Like, take those answers you gave …” He returned to where he’d been seated, and again caressed the nearest set of skins. “You were part right … it all has to do with energy, dude. Where you got it reversed was ‘ara’ and ‘vis’. ‘Ara’ is the energy in everything, man. It’s, like, everywhere – including inside you. Inside the these drums, inside me. It’s in the tress, the chairs, the … well, everything. To keep it straight, the bookworms decided that a ‘caster has to have a way to differentiate self from the surroundings. So what’s inside someone is THEIR ‘vis’. It’s still ‘ara’ to anyone else, but it’s their own personal store.”

“To do things, a ‘caster needs to, like, tap the energy. Little things only need a little boost … maybe only what they hold inside, their ‘vis’. Bigger things need more juice … so they start working with ‘ara’. And when you get to the really big stuff … well, you need a big source. And there’s no bigger source than the Planes, man. Us bards – we can hear one tune and reach a single set of pipes. Others – those mind-benders have their own tune, their own taps. The tree-huggers have their own … and so on. All that extra energy that’s, like, taken from the Planes is called ‘Essence’, man.”

“You WERE right about ‘clara’, though. A ‘caster needs to know what he’s doing – what he wants to do. Needs to have focus, y’know? That’s ‘clara’. A clear purpose.” He paused, considering the young man’s other answer. “I can’t say for sure what Song’s essence is, man. I mean, it affects everything – people, plants, stone, metal … maybe it IS emotion. It certainly helps to play with it, to perform with it. But is it the whole enchilada? I just don’t know. I will say this for you, dude … you’ve got one of the better explanations I’ve heard in all my time as an instructor here at the Tower.”

“So here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna sit back … lean against that drum kit, it won’t go anywhere. Close your eyes. Breathe deep and slow. Then I want you to, like, empty your mind. Of everything. Then, when I think you’re ready, I’ll start the show.”

Amarillo didn't know what would happen during this 'unbinding' process. He wasn't entirely sure that having someone else do things to his way of thinking was going to turn out. It all came down to trust. His trust in the bard - his trust in the music. With a resolute cast to his dark brown eyes, he looked directly at Luminous’ blue ones. "If unbinding is necessary, then I am ready."

He composed himself, attempting to focus on a clear mind. It was hard … harder than he’d imagined. The only time he’d been totally blank was when he’d succumbed to the smoke inside the burning croft. And THAT wasn’t a memory conducive to clarity, or relaxation, or …

Luminous waited for Amarillo to arrange himself comfortably, and then stepped toward him again. The young man was obviously thinking about SOMETHING that agitated him. On the other hand, he was so focused on it that he didn’t register the bard’s movements. The master bonedrummer’s right hand reached out, drawing the younger man’s eyes closed. His left hand tapped softly on the drum against which the Kemite leaned, producing a soothingly hypnotic rhythm that felt rather than heard. Luminous then slipped into his own state of meditation – something that by now came as easily as breathing.

Amarillo could feel something going on inside his mind. Something was changing. There was a pressure, pushing and twisting at places that seemed to be immovable one moment and nonexistent the next. The subtle rhythms of the drum at his side carried the probe deeper, guiding it …

It wasn’t always easy, and it wasn’t always painless. No matter how the younger man squirmed in perceived agony, the bard kept his fingertips stroking both the drumhead and Amarillo’s forehead. New and strange emotions – some similar to what he’d felt when he was with the elfess Mn`dharrowrynn, others totally foreign – raged inside the Kemite. The entire experience was unique, unrepeatable. Visions of things danced within his mind as the last of the restraints was eased aside by Luminous’ gentle ministrations.

… millions of tiny spheres, each on its own path, circling endlessly in search of … of what? A race that would never be won, a journey that had no end, no reason for being other than the simple joy of the moment. If in fact the spheres could HAVE enjoyment! His perspective changed as he tried to get a closer look …

… and a heavy, choking fog of some caustic ingredient ripped at his throat and eyes. It permeated everything, breaking down the body’s normal reactions to food, light, water. The skies were a complex interweave of multi-colored clouds, clouds that had no equivalent on Telath, or anywhere Telath’s suns’ gave forth their light. Thunderous sound rolled in the distance as the ever-present storms swept onward carrying …

… a small leather case, the old man made his way carefully to the seat that had been reserved for him. The chair was heavy, made of wood. It looked as if it had been well-used in its time, the seat and back polished smooth by the countless others that had gone before. The metal bands on the arms and legs weren’t intimidating – not to the one about to sit in the chair. Neither were the ropes of metallic cable that poured from the cabinet off to the side toward a metallic band that hung suspended approximately where one’s head would be, if one were seated. In fact, he welcomed the restraints! It meant those who were going to oversee his performance still feared him. Reassured, the white-haired man set aside his case and took his place among …

… the line of warriors stretched from one horizon to the other. He glanced at those to his right and left; each had their weapon of choice and a small bag containing whatever charms and portents the individual thought would let him survive the day – or at least pass comfortably into the afterlife. Before them, the enemy ranged in a huge mass of red coats and white trews, arms glistening in the morning light. The dew was not even yet dry! As he watched, the red mass formed itself into a series of distinguishable blocks, each separated from the other by several lengths of open ground. His limbs quailed and bile rose in his throat. He knew those beside him felt it also, that they were counting on him to lead. Therefore he choked down the fear that threatened to overwhelm him and, screaming the ululating war-cry for which his people were so famous, swung his sword overhead and began the downhill charge. Directly into the waiting enemy, who now leveled their weapons and braced for the collision. Faster, faster … hair streaming in the wind of his passage, feet flashing as he sidestepped loose stones and bounded over small depressions. He could see the whites of his enemy’s eyes, now. The two forces came together and …

The world (as the youth undergoing the Unbind process knew it) darkened to a black so impenetrable as to be overwhelming. Time passed – how much, he never knew. The bard wouldn’t tell him, either. It was not more than a brightening, though – that was something that he would receive knowledge of later, after the session was complete.

It was done. Amarillo had been unbound. The strange visions he had seen as the bonedrummer lifted the bonds from his mind had disappeared, he was back to normal again – almost. One thing had changed; one thing would forever be different – unless a mage bound him again. He was able to feel, to access, to manipulate … to tune into the vast sea of Essence that was available to those who practiced Song …

[Amarillo]

Master Darnai continued to stroke the younger man’s forehead, although his teasing of the skins had ceased. Now, concern lay openly upon his bronzed countenance. He had intentionally blocked the worst-case possibility from his mind while he performed the Unbinding, but in truth it was always there - the chance that the newly-unbound wouldn’t have the strength of mind, of body, of SOUL to want to return. That they’d be forever lost in the swirling maelstrom of the process until … well, until it was too late. He watched the youth for any indication of a return to consciousness …

… and was rewarded by the flicker of first one eyelid and then the other. Amarillo’s eyes opened slowly, then squinted tightly closed. Luminous could guess what was going on, but had to be sure. “Dude! Hey man! Amarillo … are you with me? How do you feel?”

The younger man grinned weakly. “Yeeee-aaahhh. I’m fine.” This was an outright lie, of course. He was NOT fine! Everything was so different – brighter, colors seeming a little off what was normal, sparkles where there was nothing to catch the light from the room’s windows. Amarillo gradually succeeded in damping down the newness; he’d had to, as a matter of survival. He was NOT going back into that darkness!

He realized his instructor was talking again. “… through a lot, man. My hat’s off, dude. That was, like, the roughest reaction I’ve seen in, like, eras.” The older man grinned, exposing those perfect teeth. “Let’s try to stand, hmmm. It might help clear those cobwebs I’m sure you’ve got.”

Amarillo nodded … carefully. Movement set off all kinds of alarms in his already-overtaxed psyche. He leaned on the drum kit and steadied himself for a moment. However, as soon as he removed his hand to try to straighten to his full height, he lost his balance and crashed heavily to the floor. Through pain-glazed eyes, he looked up at Luminous and essayed a weak attempt at a jest. “I’m okay, Master Darnai. Really. It was just a really moving experience…”

The young man’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he was out cold for the second time in less than a candlemark. Shaking his head and biting his lip, Luminous propped his protégé up where he wouldn’t fall further, straightening the limbs and arranging him for maximum comfort. Then he went back to his drums; it was going to be a long day.

Several candlemarks later, a weak voice interrupted the bonedrummer’s rhythms. “Water?”

Luminous nodded, poured a large glass, and let Amarillo swallow as much as he could take. While the liquid was going down, he brought forth another small book, similar in design to the first except that this one was covered in green cloth and had the title Treatise On Arcana. “This here’s that other thing I was going to give you, man. It’s … well, you can see for yourself. I said I’d get it to you by brightening’s end, and … well … we’re there, dude. Time for you to wander back to the dorms, or wherever you hang your shingle. I’ll be here for the rest of the cycle, man … come on back when you’re feeling recovered enough to continue. And, like, spend some quality time with those books!”

He escorted the youth to the door, watching as he staggered slowly down the stairs of the Tower. He hoped the kid had it in him. Luminous thought he did, but one could never be SURE …

[Amarillo]

The next day happened to be Lunaria, the end of the third cycle of Ponutis. It was not until a few hours after rosyun that the young man managed to make his way back to the Tower. Quickly, he climbed the stairs, following the path of he had taken the day before. Even as he passed the second floor, the sound of the drums began to fill the stairwell. By the time he’d arrived outside the door marked zuru, he was bursting with eagerness to begin. It was as if the trials of the brightening before had never occurred!

He removed his footwear outside the door, conscious of Kemite courtesy. With sack in hand, he pushed open the door and immediately paused to watch the master bonedrummer in action. Hands flew over the taught-stretched skins; rhythms rebounded off every surface. Mellow tones mixed with deeper bass notes, the whole becoming a transcendent display in honor of Luminous’ craft. He did not know how long he stood, transfixed; however, at some point the older man must have noticed his presence because the pounding percussion abruptly ceased.

The older man eyed the student closely. He didn’t see anything in the way of ill effects from the previous brightening’s unbinding, but it was possible there was something layered underneath that wouldn’t appear until stress brought it out. “I see you’re back for more, dude. Go on, set your stuff down somewhere. Did you, like, want something? Water? Juice? It’s a little early yet, but there might be some wine around …”

Amarillo’s eyes glowed in anticipation as he replied. “No thank you, Master Darnai. But I AM ready to continue. I’ve read the books, but I’m not sure I understand everything. How do we find clara?” He didn’t mention that he was still having a bit of trouble with the … color? sharpness? detail? … of the world around him. It seemed as everything was just that little bit brighter, had higher contrast, cleaner edges … He had put it down to residue from the Unbinding, but now he wasn’t so sure.

The bonedrummer laughed. “Easy, dude. All you have to do is … relax. Tune out the world and look inside. Slow down and, like, take a breath.” He suited actions to words, folding himself neatly to the floor with his back against one of the largest drums. “Close your eyes if you need to, man. It helped me, back when I started. Once you get better at it, it’ll come faster. There’s some that can, like, cast when they’re moving or in pain … but they’re the exception, not the rule.” He showed the younger man what he meant, resting his hands on his knees and breathing rhythmically, gradually deepening and slowing. His voice was deeper and slower as he spoke as well, saying “Clear your mind, dude. Get rid of everything – when you’re there, it’ll be clear and … well you’ll know. Try to, like, hold the feeling as long as you can, dude.” He visibly shook himself, and looked to Amarillo. “Your turn. Don’t sweat it if you don’t get there first try. It may take a bit of doing, but it will get easier with repetition.”

The younger man settled himself on the floor as well, leaning back slightly against the same drums he had used the brightening before. His hands lay open on his knees, palm down. He relaxed the muscles in his eyelids, allowing the force of Telath to bring the lids down. He slowed and deepened his breathing, reaching for that inner calm that his instructor had described. As he quieted his body, he became more aware of the symphony of sound that had been part of him since he’d left his home. It pounded at the edge of perception, beckoning him onward. He shook his head slightly to clear away the remnants of memory that had been inadvertently stirred up as the intensity of the music increased. He … pushed … the thoughts away, setting himself adrift in a sea of green – the texture and color of young grain.

Master Darnai watched as his protégé relaxed and his breathing slowed. He nodded silent approval as the younger man didn’t force his eyes closed, but instead let gravity close them for him. He noted the open, easy way the hands rested on the knees – supported, but not strained. Everything looked like it was set up for success … until Amarillo’s eyes blinked twice, rapidly and a sheepish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “What happened?”

The dark-haired Kemite student spoke quietly. “Everything was good … except it got TOO quiet. The beating of my heart broke the focus. I started listening to it, and I found my mind was searching for other notes to put with it. Does that mean I have to stop here? That I’ve failed?”

The bonedrummer smiled in return. “Not at all, man. I’d guess you’re still getting used to how things feel after the Unbind. Brighter, sharper … stuff like that. It’s to be expected. You looked as if you were almost there though … so keep trying, dude. We’ve got all brightening - there’s no rush.”

Amarillo stretched the muscles in his neck and shoulders, rolling them gently under the thin cotton of his tunic. When he was once again settled, he repeated the process he’d used before – damping out everything around him, including the presence of the older Kemite. His breathing slowed, entering by the nose and exiting through the mouth. His eyes closed, again through no active effort on his part. He could feel the solidity of the drum behind him; that, too, he closed out by shutting down his tactile sense. The field of green surrounded him, cushioning him and protecting him.

He was there once more, without quite realizing it because the transition had been so gradual. All he knew was that he was there – and nothing could disturb him unless he chose to let it. Nothing would intrude …

Seated across from the younger man, the instructor watched for any sign of an interruption of focus. A change in breathing, a movement of muscles, an awareness of the room around him … and there was nothing. Five minutes passed, then seven. Still the younger man remained calm and relaxed. Using just a hint of Power to insinuate his message into the realm that the student had gathered to himself, Luminous whispered. “You’re there, dude. That’s clara. Remember how you got there – treasure this moment. If you can remember what you did, you can always find it again.” It didn’t matter if Amarillo failed to listen this time around … the words would hang there, just outside his consciousness, until he chose to hear them. The bonedrummer continued, just as gently and just as quietly. “Remember what we said about ara? That it’s the energy all around us? You should be able to sense it up, if you try. I can’t tell you what it looks like – everyone ‘sees’ it differently. But you’ll recognize it…”

Amarillo felt a stirring at the edges of his perception. It appeared as a rustle among the waving stalks of grain; first from one direction, then another. Realizing that it was his own pursuit that made it appear to move, he relaxed further, allowing the sound to come to him. Hearing the words “… you’re there …” nearly made him lose his contact. He struggled for an indefinable moment, hanging onto the feeling of clara by the merest of margins. As he regained his center, he noted a few more phrases accompanied the first. Most notable among them were “… all around us … sense it … try …”

He let his perceptions expand slightly, careful not to disturb the calmness of clara. He tried to sense what lay a short distance in a single direction, and then shifted attention to another heading. Gradually the circle of awareness expanded, an indeterminate period of time passing as he slowly eased his way into the unknown. Eventually, a darker shadow could be discerned. Slowly, so slowly, the younger man slipped toward the disturbance. Checking it from every angle, he allowed the overall image to coalesce into a single figure. It was Luminous! The figure was shielded – not so much with an image, as with a sound. Into that melody poured the entire history of the bonedrummer – past, present, and future. Always the notes passed too swiftly to comprehend, yet the overall flow remained to define the older man precisely.

Marking the position in relation to his ‘center’, the younger man let his perceptions wander further afield in other directions. He soon picked out the … quieter … fields surrounding the nearest drums, which made him wonder if the strength of the melody was related to either the presence of life or perhaps depended on whether the object was magickal or not. He couldn’t tell; the instructor was both a life AND contained magic, whereas the drums were neither.

Slowly, he withdrew back to the quietude that was his ‘center’. He needed to ask the questions, but didn’t know how …

The dark brown eyes snapped open once more, to see the suns-bronzed figure of the older man lounging casually nearby. Cautiously, Amarillo spoke of what was uppermost on his mind, explaining the questions his search for ara had raised. Luminous thought a moment and replied “Good questions, man. I’m not sure I know the answers, either. But it’s been my experience that the … most noticeable sources are those containing life. After all, life’s a bit of magic in itself, right? Then comes items containing some magic, and finally there’s, like, everything else.”

He leaned forward, bringing his blue-eyed gaze to bear on his pupil. “You’re doing real well, dude. Want to try some of the things you need to accomplish, or do you want to rest? If you’re up for it, we’ll try a technique called ‘shaping’ first…”

[Amarillo]

The younger man shrugged eloquently. He could continue, in his opinion. Saying as much, he let Luminous continue with this brightening’s lesson. He listened intently as the bonedrummer explained how shaping took place. "You’re gonna have to find that sweet rhythm of clara again, man. Then you, like, take the ara and mold it. Don’t rush it, don’t push it. Let it flow, dude! Feel the beat! Pick a shape … use your mind to bring the ara together. Go ahead … try it …"

Amarillo allowed his posture to relax and slowed his breathing once more. To him, the pattern of blanking out the external reminders of the world around him and the locking away of extraneous thoughts occurred slightly quicker. Of course, that was a subjective appreciation; perhaps it only seemed that way because he now recognized where he needed to go and the path to take to reach it. Whatever the true passage of time, he was quick enough to enter clara once more.

He let his senses expand, searching for the ‘sound’ that represented ara. There was enough close by – after all, everything had SOME energy to it! He pictured himself standing with arms outstretched before him, hands open and empty, waiting to pick up the ara as it arrived. Only then did he pause … how to capture a sound? It wouldn’t be like gathering wool or sand; he couldn’t simply reach out and grab a handful! He carefully waited, maintaining the focus required for clara, as he let his unconscious dwell on the issue. He thought about the music that had poured through his being for the last several cycles, and suddenly a method was evident. Music ‘poured’! Like a liquid!

He cupped his hands as if lifting water to his lips, and passed them through the ara, that portion his intellect registered as a ‘flow’. Not knowing quite what to expect, he was somewhat startled at the warmth of the stuff; not only was it slightly warmer than his body temperature but it actually had a recognizable texture, like the syrup made from certain plants used for sweetening. He smiled inwardly, and willed the stuff to flow toward his cupped extremities. Slowly at first - then with more speed as it gathered sufficient mass – the ara arrived in his outstretched grasp. He didn’t actually ‘pull’ it, more like gave it a nudge to start it moving and then sat back to watch it happen. It was hard – extremely so, in fact. But he was nothing if not stubborn, so as the stuff drifted away each time, the young Kemite only resumed his gathering, learning a little more from each mistake.
Eventually, he had gathered to approximate the size of a large tuber. At this point the young man mentally turned off the incoming flow. He brought one hand over the other, and watched as the ‘fluid’ followed the movement and began to change shape. This was amazing! Yet even as he congratulated himself, the stuff of ara began to leak away from his grasp. Realizing he’d let his attention slip, Amarillo quickly recovered his focus and halted the leakage.

Again he passed his hands around and through the material, shaping it into a rough sphere. It also took far more concentration than he had expected - particularly to hold the shape once formed. It was only after several attempts that he managed to hold a finished design. Curious, he attempted to toss it from one hand to the other. As it flew slowly from one place to another, it began to return to its original semi-fluid state – that is, until he concentrated on the shape itself. Got to remember to stay focused! Once he had the knack of it, it appeared that he could control both the shape and direction of the toss with relative ease.

Outside, in the real world of Telath, master Darnai watched as the young man essayed his attempts. He noted how quickly the dark-haired youth resumed contact with clara and nodded approvingly. There was some talent indeed! He lips quirked upward as Amarillo’s hands moved, shaping the ‘ball’ of ara. That would change in time, he knew. Almost all beginners couldn’t separate their imaginative movements from actual muscle control … at least, at first. However, if this one’s actions were any indication, he’d shape up quickly with a bit of practice.

Tapping his own Power, the Song instructor spoke directly to his student while he was still in the state of clara. "Pretty good, man. Now you’re gonna try something as little tougher. There’s more energy out there, dude … the essences, remember? So, like, you’re gonna tap that essence we use for Song and make a shape from it as well. Be slow, don’t take too much. You’re still pretty new at this …" Luminous then withdrew and waited to see what transpired.

The younger man absently nodded his understanding of the new instructions, and released his hold on the material plane’s energy. He thought about what they’d discussed previously about Song and the essences, including the fact that it was drawn from another plane entirely. He wondered how he was supposed to affect this, then mentally shrugged. He’d do what he’d already done, but extend his awareness in another direction. Already, the material plane’s force appeared to be sound, so what would be the difference?

Amarillo therefore quieted himself, listening for the slightest hint of something beyond what he’d already experienced. There was nothing – except the constant symphony he’d been hearing for more than a month. He wondered if this was the essence to which his instructor had been referring. Mentally stepping forward into the wall of sound, he let it wash over him, cleansing him and revitalizing his innermost being. He cupped his hands before him, allowing the stuff to pool in the small hollows of his palms. This sensation felt different from the first – yet at the same time, it felt similar. The essence – the mana – was cool, light, and refreshing … whereas the ara had been warm and thick. Both had a certain liquidity, which required constant attention to shape.

The essence was tougher to manage: perhaps because it was a stronger flow, perhaps because it did not have the consistency of the other material. Whatever the reason, the dark-haired Kemite had a much tougher time creating and maintaining a shape from the rushing passage of music. Eventually his patience won out, and a small misshapen spheroid sat glowing dimly in his palm. Excitement lit his features as he recognized his achievement. Luminous, still present in the Tower room, saw the smile upon his student’s face and reacted with one of his own. It seemed that Amarillo had mastered ‘channeling’.

The bonedrummer waited as the younger man slowly came back to the present, dropping his contact with clara. When he was sure that Amarillo was fully returned, he extended his own hand in an upright position, palm facing the shorter man. "High five, dude! You’ve got the beat down! You’re, like, cooking!"

Even as he spoke the last words, however, he was d