Legend of Ransera

Movement the First: Marche funèbre: Lento (B♭ minor with a trio in D♭ major)


"...and now we are lucky enough to have our beloved emigré, Finn Farstrider, playing the Funeral March from his second piano sonata," intoned Master Kavafis, radiant and respectable in the spotlight with his sharp, charming smile and a showman's flourish. Kala clapped politely, curious that she should be under the Golden Peacock's ornamented roof with her friend and vassal's beloved while he introduced his beloved's beloved. She had met Finn Farstrider only in Solunarium, where he was of the Custodes Deorum of the Vigilia Argenti. Here, he was merely a well-traveled local bard. People were never as simple as they seemed.

The consort of the crown prince of Atraxia's Umbrium bowed graciously and sat at the marvelous instrument. Kala let her eyelids droop in the dimly lit house of the theater, opening herself to what was to come as the entire room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Lubricous and pure, minor chords plodded along like pallbearers, alternating with major chords that rang out like temple bells. Her barriers to experience pulled down, she was almost immediatly brought back to her eigth year of life, bundled against the cold while her winged brothers didn't notice it as they followed their father's body up the mountain for his last rites. It was heavy, the grief remembered, too heavy for a young girl's heart even as his remains were for her arms. Heavy and painful, the song was cleansing as well. She felt the farstriding Finn gathering up her feelings, her memories, even as he did the same for the rest of the audience. Together, they faced all mortals' end.

His right hand played the Shokaze's call to war, the call to sacrifice. The music slowly built, grew more complex without seeming to stray from its plodding simplicity.

Then it rang out like a bolt of pain. She remembered it, how she could be numb, dissociating for hours, and then, out of nowhere, heave a ragged breath and loose a primal wail.

The music marched on. Until it soared into major chords again, and she recalled marveling at her father in flight before it had dawned on her to be jealous of what the Gods had held back from her. The bard didn't allow that remembered joy for long before his minor chords made sweet memories bittersweet and tense. Then Vatar Tsuyoshi flew no more, but moved at the pace of those carrying his corpse to a ritual where he himself would be absent.

The music rocked slowly back and forth between the pain of loss and the bliss of having, suspending here and there, feeling purposefully messy as life was messy but few could ken its purpose. Out of nowhere, it became her father's lullabyes when she couldn't sleep, when she was angry with Aquilios for being forever older, larger. And it was him teaching her to dance, her bare feet upon his as a family friend played his wooden flute and their nanny plucked at the fine harp in the salon. She had felt fine enough for Kalzasern court then, hardly out of her swaddling.

Finn held up a mirror of death, which allowed her, in that moment, to see life more clearly.
Movement the Second: A dirge on the road to the Grimlord's abode


During an intermission, Kala considered what she had heard, and it took her back.

I sought the songs.
I sent the songs
when the deepest well
offered drops so mighty
of slain-binder's pledge.

I know it all, Wraedan.
where You turn Your eye.

It was only the steady beat of the huge drums and the droning of several instruments that preceded her voice, reedy with youth, as she sang the opening to the music that would form a wave to crash over her father's soul, pushing it toward the embrace of Wraedan where it now belonged. It wasn't long before Aquilios joined her, supplanting her with his deepening voice. While no basso profundo it was more profundo than her own. Kaus joined them, and their mother. They made a strange, hearbreaking harmony of untried youth, ripening man, and middle-aged woman donning the dark of widowhood.

Ever after, those there present would recall how brave they all were, but especially her and young Kaus, too young to ken the loss they faced. But while they were only eight summers old, they were small for their age, and people forgot they were older than they looked, and wiser too for their bond. But she did try to be brave, summoning the fire within that her father had so prized, and only reached for Kaus' hand when she wasn't singing alone.

who will sing me
in the death-sleep, sling me
when I walk the road to hell
and the tracks I tread
are cold, so cold?

early or in the fading day,
still the raven knows if I fall.

What neither of them had understood about death then was how it would make their mother cold, how it would make Aquilios mean, and how much of the support they needed would have to come from each other as those who ought to have been there for them were facing their own loss and couldn't be their best selves. They had called her a firecracker, and Kaus a breath of fresh air. Soon, she would have to face the conflagration within, and Kaus the tempest, before they could become the people that they would be. Death didn't only happen to the one who died; it reached out and left a mark on everyone else connected to them. They were all interconnected. The twins began to understand this now.

Now, people would notice the fire and wind within them, but with greater nuance, changing meaning. Soon, they would call her old soul, call him young son. These were the new people that death would make them.

Certainly, they had free will; they had agency to choose. They were also children in a specific family, members of a specific community, and they had been fed talk of duty and responsibility along with their mother's milk.

when I stand by the gate of hell,
and when I must tear loose,
follow You I shall
across the bridge of death's river with my song.

you become free from the bonds that bind you.
you are free from the bonds that bound you.
Movement the Third: Danse Macabre: A symphonic poem for orchestra in G minor

"...and now our esteemed guest will play the solo viol with our orchestra, his Dance Macabre." Aurin pronounced the last word in three syllables, perhaps to point out its humble origins. "Following this, he will fiddle some of the original music that inspired it, while our dancers perform village dances to please the Grimlord..."

Kala noted the woman who would be singing the country dance, glancing once more at her program to be certain Finn Farstrider himself would be singing for them before the evening's end. It was said his voice had matured in the desert air and was more wondrous than when he left. She had heard it in Solunarium, and greatly desired to hear it once more.

Even his more sophisticated piece brought laughter to the audience. She thought of stories of will o' the wisps leading travelers astray in the night, of wanderers wandering into the Everwilds only to be beguiled into dancing until their hearts burst or their bodies otherwise gave up the ghost. She thought of the first-hand accounts of battles she had heard, how soldiers thumbed their noses in gentle blasphemy at the Grimlord, saying, 'not today, Wraedan', and daring to live another day. Some even admitted how the nearness of death made the body seek to reaffirm life, to ensure its survival, with a lust that only seemed counterintuitive at first glance.

Death could be terrible. Death could be a friend—or a lover.

She had met Him, and wasn't sure what He was to her, other than an Elder. Would He eventually embrace her or would she survive the millennia?

zig, zig, zig, death in a cadence,
striking with his heel a tomb,
death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
zig, zig, zig, on his violin.
the winter wind blows and the night is dark;
moans are heard in the linden trees.
through the gloom, white skeletons pass,
running and leaping in their shrouds.
zig, zig, zig, each one is frisking,
the bones of the dancers are heard to crack—
but hist! of a sudden they quit the round,
they push forward, they fly; the cock has crowed.
Movement the Fourth: Threnody in Memory of the Victims of the Godspire

"...and now I must beg you to brace yourselves for what Master Farstrider calls an intentional attack on the senses. It is a war song, and no war is without horror, hence why it should be a course of last resort..."

The initial screech of the strings—there were fifty-two instruments now by her count—gave her a physical jolt. Master Kavafis was not wrong: it was an assault. She had been educated in the arts, of course, and knew that some things, especially those that were considered avant-garde held a beauty that was difficult to hear. Gritting her teeth, she opened herself up to her semblance and was caught up in the music.

She remembered her first time reading the histories about the Godspire. Their tome had been ancient, one of the oldest in the Leukos library. Of course, she had been warned that magic was dangerous, but she had found that Semblance helped her digest information, helped her make connections between facts that encouraged knowledge to grow into wisdom. She hadn't been prepared for the memories left behind by the hand that had penned the first-person account.

Kala had wept for days, terrified of the glorious Skar, horrified that her father had been to war, that her brothers might be called to war. It was too much. It was insane.

Now, in the Theater of the Golden Peacock, she wept anew, the sounds serrated. They cut into her. Such was the poet's gift. It made her uneasy by choosing to refer to an event too terrible for string orchestral screams. There was something precise and planned behind the chaos, but she could also sense each individual performer had been given license to some variation in the moment. Their vibratos did not match. They slapped their instruments, played the strings behind the bridge where they could only scratch. The music itself was violence. And then, just as if she was holding that book once more, she felt it.

She felt the Godspire fall.

The song was eight and a half minutes of mistborn hell. In the end, she could not stand, could not applaud. It was too much to hold. Perhaps that was why there was another intermission. She used it to shut out the world and turn her attention inward.
Movement the Fifth: A whimsical doodle of a song

"Thank you," Finn said, "to those of you who remain." He offered a tight smile. "I knew it would be too much for some, too terrible for some, and it ought to be..."

He looked more warrior than bard anymore, and she supposed he had his reasons for that. For herself, she had compartmentalized the feelings that had come up and she would meditate upon them later.

"For those of you who do remain," he continued, "I offer something lighter and, I think, just as true."

and if I die today, I'll be the happy phantom
and I'll go chasing the nuns out in the yard.
and I'll run naked through the streets without my mask on
and I will never need umbrellas in the rain
I'll wake up in strawberry fields every day
and the atrocities of school I can forgive;
the happy phantom has no right to bitch.

the time is getting closer, time to be a ghost.
every day we're getting closer.
the sun is getting dim.
will we pay for who we've been?

yeah.

Kala was smiling again, and she heard laughs from the less robust and populous audience. Finn offered them another kind of release from their emotions. Laughter through tears was one of her favorite miracles. Death could be a release. She wondered sometimes about her bondmate Marda Ahtivan. Their bond was light, more a memorial to her promise to keep Kala's secrets. For that, she hoped to be able to offer the woman wings before she died. The woman carried on after the death of her husband; it reminded Kala of her own mother carrying on after the death of hers. They were both strong women, capable, but sometimes she wished her mother would take a lover, someone to make her the center of her world. She hoped Marda had that as well.

She must be weary. Perhaps death would be a reprieve for her when He came.

so if I die today, I'll be the happy phantom
and I'll go wearing my naughties like a jewel.
they'll be my ticket to the universal opera.
the cabaret girl takes an ascetic by the hand
and then these seven little men get up to dance.
they say the master does his crossword with a pen.
I'm still an angel to a girl who hates to sin.

the time is getting closer, time to be a ghost.
every day we're getting closer.
the sun is getting dim.
will I pay for who I've been?

yeah.

Once again, Kala wondered whether she would ever know Death herself as intimately as those who died, or whether those such as what she was becoming faced a different end if end they found. With power came responsibility, and change. There was a comfort in knowing one's life was finite. She didn't have that anymore, knew she was too young to fully understand that, though she had her worries about surviving Kaus and such.

There was time and time until such things became eminent disasters, but still, they weighted her down sometimes.

or will I see you, dear, and wish I could come back?
you found a girl that you could truly love again.
will you still call for me when she falls asleep
or do we soon forget the things we cannot see?

the time is getting closer, time to be a ghost.
every day we're getting closer.
the sun is getting dim.
will I pay for who I've been?

yeah.

Would they pay? Were there transactions involved in the course of reincarnation? Was it better to abide in the realm of a specific god for eternity or was eternity itself something they couldn't understand in any helpful way. Already, her mind was expanding to encompass new truths, ineffable truths. She wondered suddenly if the draconic language was better suited for articulating the ineffable. Certainly, this night had given her quite a lot upon which to meditate.

The more she learned, the more she realized she didn't know. That seemed to be a problem for a young goddess. She was handed power; she would have to earn wisdom.

and if I die today, and if I die today,
and if I die today, and if I die today,
I'll go chasing nuns out in the yard.

Later, she was sharing a few hours with a friend. She shared her thoughts with Nessena, who listened carefully. And then she uttered three words, the which she deemed her divine friend ready to learn.

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