All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [185]
The song was simple, slow, and full of that loss. Each note was leaden and painful in the still air. He felt completely alone up on the stage.
It was a stupid little baby thing . . . but it was his.
He put himself into the song, all the love and happiness of his perfectly imagined family that had never been: growing up with a real father and mother . . . having Audrey’s tenderness, Louis’s guidance—not 106 rules.
But that was a lie. The notes soured under his fingers, and he shifted to a minor key.
About him, the spotlight flickered and dimmed.
He’d never had real parents. Nothing about his family was normal. He cast aside his dream and faced the fact that he was the son of the Eldest Fate, Atropos, and of Lucifer, the Great Deceiver. Maybe that made Eliot a freak, or a nerd, but something in him had to be part divine and part darkness.
The simple song under his fingertips now spoke of the heavens wheeling overhead, and among them a boy . . . ascending to stars—or falling like his father, crashing and forever burning.
One day he would be very much more than simple Eliot Post.
He finished, the last notes echoing throughout the grotto like the beating of his heart.
There was no clapping.
Eliot couldn’t see any faces in the dark.
He trembled from the exertion and from the humiliation that he’d put everything he was out there for strangers to see.
Ms. DuPreé set one hand on his shoulder. “That was good,” she whispered. “Real good, kid.” She smiled and her eyes sparkled. “Stick with me, and one day I’ll make you a star.”
49. “Muses to laugh, to leap, to lament, to perish, and to be born anew.” Translated from Latin. —Editor.
50. Rhonchial means “pertaining to snoring,” and musicaster is a mediocre musician, so in this context “one who’s moderate musical talents sounds like snoring.” —Editor.
51. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” was first published as “The Star” by Jane Taylor in 1806. It is sung to the French melody “Ah! vous dirai-je, Maman.” The older French lyrics (among many variations) are translated here as: “Ah! I shall tell you, Mum, / What causes my torment. / Papa wants me to reason / Like an adult / I say that candy / Is better than being right.” Perhaps closest to the original source is this couplet from the obscure Benedictine Hymn scroll, Obsequium Angelus, authored by Father Sildas Pious ca. thirteenth century: “ ’Ware young child the Morning Star. / Look away and you’ll go far. / Like a jewel ablaze in dark, / fallen angel casting spark. / ’Ware the dark and ’ware the light. / Naught but trust in God at night.” Origins of Art and Power in Music, Erin DuPreé, M.F.A, Ph.D., Paxington Institute Press, LLC.
53
CHALLENGE
Fiona followed her stupid map to the far side of the Ludus Magnus. She was irritated they thought she needed a map when she’d been wandering around here for a half a year already . . . more irritated that she had needed the map.
Although she had seen the far side of the Ludus Magnus before, had even had a bird’s-eye view from the top of the obstacle course, she’d never noticed this tiny sister coliseum.
Instead of columns, giant statues stood along curve of its outer wall: an armored knight, a one-breasted Amazon, and a gladiator with trident and net.
She passed through the wide entrance. The inside training grounds were the size of a softball field, with sand and mud and grass and concrete surfaces, dotted with wooden practice dummies; steam-powered, multi-armed robots; barricades of spikes and razor wire, racks of swords and shields and spears—and lots of open space to fight.
In the center stood Mr. Ma. About him in a loose circle were ten boys in their Paxington school uniforms (not gym sweats).
Fiona’s heart skipped a beat. Of course Mr. Ma would be the combat instructor. Who else but sadistic, by-the-book Mr. Ma?
She did a double take, though, as Mr. Ma laughed and smiled and patted one of the students on the back. He