neetha Napew - Spellsinger

for the magic. It's not like a wizard as great as Clothahump, even if his powers

are failing, to make such a mistake."

Try for the magic, he thought. Huh... try for the sound. That's what the lead

bass player for a very famous group had once told him. The guy had been higher

than the Pope when Jon-Tom had accidentally run into him in a hall before a

concert playing to twenty thousand. Stuttering, hardly able to talk to so

admired a musician, he'd barely been able to mumble the usual fatuous request

for "advice to a struggling young guitarist."

"Hey, man... you got to try for the sound. Hear? Try for the sound."

That hastily uttered parable had been sufficiently unspecific to stick in his

mind. Jon-Tom had been trying for the sound for years, but he hadn't come close

to finding it. Most would-be musicians never did. Maybe finding the sound was

the difference between the pro and the amateur. Or maybe it was only a matter of

getting too stoked to notice the difference.

Whatthehell.

He fiddled a little longer with the pseudo-treble/bass controls. They certainly

improved the music. Why not play something difficult? Stretch yourself, Jon-Tom.

You've nothing to lose. These two critics can't change your career one way or

t'other. There was only one sound he'd ever hoped to reach for, so he reached.

"Purple haze..." he began, and thereafter, as always, he lost himself in the

music, forgetting the watching Talea, forgetting Mudge, forgetting the place and

time of where he was, forgetting everything except reaching for the sound.

He played as hard as he could on that strange curved instrument. It lifted him,

juiced him with the natural high playing always brought him. As he played it

seemed to him that he could hear the friendly prickling music of his own old

electric guitar. His nerves quivered with the pleasure and his ears rang with

the familiarity of it. He was truly happy, cradling and caressing that strange

instrument, forgetting his surroundings, his troubles, his parents.

A long time later (or maybe it was only a couple of minutes) he became aware

that someone was shaking him. He blinked and stopped playing, the last rough

chord dying away, soaked up by the earth and trees. He blinked at Talea, and she

let loose of his arms, backed away from him a little. She was looking at him

strangely.

Mudge also stood nearby, staring.

"What's going on? Was I that bad?" He felt a little dizzy.

" 'Tis a fine chap you are, foolin' your mate like this," said the otter with a

mixture of awe and irritation. "Forgive me, lad. I'd no idea you'd been toyin'

with me all this time. Don't go too harsh on me. I've only done what I thought

best for you and..."

"Stop that, Mudge. What are you blubbering about?"

"The sounds you made... and something else, spellsinger." He gaped at her.

"You're still trying to fool us, aren't you? Just like you fooled Clothahump.

Look at your duar."

His gaze dropped and he jumped slightly. The last vestiges of a powerful violet

luminescence were slowly fading from the edges of the instrument, slower still

from the lambent metal strings.

"I didn't... I haven't done anything." He shoved at the instrument as though it

might suddenly turn and bite him. The strap kept it seeure around his neck and

it swung back to bounce off his ribs. The club-staff rocked uncomfortably on his

back.

"Try again," Talea whispered. "Reach for the magic again."

It seemed to have grown darker much too fast. Hesitantly (it was only an

instrument, after all) he plucked at the lower strings and strummed again a few

bars of "Purple Haze." Each time he struck a string it emitted that rich violet

glow.

There was something else. The music was different. Cold as water from a mountain

tarn, rough as a file's rasp. It set a fire in the head like white lightning and

sent goosebumps down his arms. Bits of thought rattled around like ball bearings

inside his skull.

My oh, but that was a fine sound!

He tried again, more confidently now. Out came the proper chords, with a power

and thunder he hadn't expected. All the time they reverberated and echoed

through the trees, and there was no amplifier in sight. That vast sound was

pouring purple from the duar resting firm on his shoulder and light beneath his

dancing fingers.

Is it the instrument that's transformed, he thought wildly, or something in me?

That was the key line, of course, from another song entirely. But it

rationalized, if not explained, he thought, what was happening there hi the

forest.

"I'm not a spellsinger," he finally told them. "I'm still not sure what that

is." He was surprised at the humbleness in his voice. "But I always thought I

had something in me. Every would-be musician does. There's a line that goes,

'The magic's in the music and the music's in me.' Maybe you're right, Talea.

Maybe Clothahump was more accurate than even he knew.

"I'm going to do what I can, though I can't imagine what that might be. So far

all I know I can do is make this duar shine purple."

"Never mind 'ow you do it, mate." Mudge swelled with pride at his companion's

accomplishment. "Just don't forget 'ow."

"We need to experiment." Talea's mind was working furiously. "You need to focus

your abilities, Jon-Tom. Any wizard..."

"Don't... call me that."

"Any spellsinger, then, has to be able to be speeific with his magic. Unspecific

magic is not only useless, it's dangerous."

"I don't know any of the right words," he protested. "I don't know any songs

with scientific words."

"You've got the music, Jon-Tom. That's magic enough to make the words work." She

looked around the forest. Dusk was settling gently over the treetops. "What do

we need?"

"Money," said Mudge without hesitation.

"Shut up, Mudge. Be serious."

"I'm always serious where money be concerned, luv."

She threw him a sour look. "We can't buy transportation where none exists. Money

won't get us safely and quickly to Clothahump's Tree." She looked expectantly at

Jon-Tom.

"Want to try that?"

"What? Transportation? I don't know what kind..." He broke off, feeling drunk.

Drunk from the after effects of the music. Drunk from what it seemed he'd done

with it. Drunk with the knowledge of an ability he hadn't known he'd possessed,

and completely at a loss as to what to make of it.

Make of it some transportation, dummy. You heard the lady.

But what song to play to do so? Wasn't that always the problem? No matter

whether you're trying to magic spirits or an audience.

Beach Boys... sure, that sounded right. "Little Deuce Coupe." What would Talea

and Mudge make of that! He laughed wildly and drew concerned looks from his

companions.

His hands moved toward the strings... and hesitated. "Little Deuce Coup"? Now as

long as we're about this, Meriweather, why fool around with small stuff? Try for

some real transportation.

He cleared his throat self-consciously, feeling giddy, and started to sing.

"She's real fine, my four-oh-nine."

In his cradling arms the duar began to vibrate and glow mightily. This time the

luminescence spread from the strings to encompass the entire instrument. It was

like a live thing in his hands, struggling to break free. He hung on tight while

awkwardly picking out the notes. Rising chords sprang from his right fingers.

Talea and Mudge stepped back from him, their eyes wide and intent on the open

grass between. A pulsing, yellow ball of light had tumbled from the duar to land