Julien
by Engor
Chapter 38
Night had just fallen. The moon was rising, huge and red as it climbed above the horizon, its light strong enough to hide all but the brightest stars. It was almost full, and the strange patterns across its face reminded Julien – not that any reminder was needed – of just how far away he was from the Earth. There were a few thin clouds drifting slowly across the sky, high up, and here and there you could see the coloured orb of light that indicated a passing flybubble. The warm evening air carried a faint perfume of vegetation mixed with traces of incense. Julian could feel himself becoming melancholy, so he made a determined effort to shrug it off.
"Niil," he asked, "what do people do here in the evenings? Apart from re-reading the Delights, of course."
"I'm not re-reading it, I'm just admiring the artistry of the illustrations in your copy."
"Of course – I'm sure you never miss a chance to improve your understanding of culture. But, seriously what else do you do if you don't feel sleepy enough for bed? I don't suppose you've got a telly stashed away in here somewhere, have you?"
"No. What's one of those?"
"It's a sort of box with moving pictures. You can watch films - that's a sort of spectacle that tells a story... never mind. I'll tell you about it some other time. I don't really feel like it this evening."
"Well, we could always play cards, although I expect I'll have to teach you how. Or we could play Territories – that's a game you lay on a special board that has divisions on it."
"We've got something a bit like that. It's called chess. But I bet it's one of those games you can't learn in five minutes."
"I could always sing for you, if you want," offered Ambar. "And perhaps someone can play the yangchenn. Did you ever learn how, Niil?"
"Of course! I'll get Tannder to find us one."
Tannder soon returned carrying something that looked a bit like a lute. It was obviously a valuable instrument: the body was inlaid with complex patterns of beautiful marquetry that reminded Julien of the patterns of his friends' Marks. Niil picked it up respectfully and examined it for a moment or two before tuning the impressive numbers of strings with the ease of long familiarity. Tannder checked that everything was well and left silently.
Niil whispered something to Ambar and then started to play a slow prelude, playing the notes of a strange scale – at least, it didn't sound anything like the music Julien had heard on Earth, although as far as he could tell, Niil was playing very well. He supposed that music was a part of a Noble Son's education here, as well as martial arts.
In the soft light of the only lamp that was still burning the sounds stretched into long swirls, modulating here and there and lulling its audience into a state of contentment. Then, in an almost imperceptible whisper, Ambar added his voice to the melody. At first his voice was supported by the yangchenn like a piece of driftwood on a wave, but gradually it began to follow its own path, launching into a series of melismata that resembled sobs, and finally emerging into the deeply moving images of a poem in which the singer is a flower that has just begun to bloom, dying gladly in the hand of a boy who has picked it for his friend.
Nobody could have listened to it unaffected: the way Ambar's pure voice gave life to the simple words of the universal theme of love, beauty and death would have brought tears from a stone. And once again Julien was overwhelmed by a revelation of absolute but unutterably fragile perfection, ephemeral and lost the moment it appeared, but which was completely embodied in the unconscious grace of the young boy.
Ambar sang for a long time, sitting on a cushion. When he stopped singing he moved over to sit on Julien's lap instead, and together they listened as Niil went on playing, improvising on a slow nocturne of a melody, letting each note expand and vanish like ripples on the surface of a lake. Ambar's skin gave off a gentle scent that reminded Julien vaguely of cedarwood, and he thought that he could easily die here, just as he was, or else live this perfect moment for all eternity. Unable to put a name to this feeling of tenderness that was overwhelming him he stayed exactly as he was, with his arms around this warm, delicate being, occasionally gently brushing the boy's incredibly soft cheek with his lips.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
