As he walked out of the day’s dedication service, he could hear the bustle of the town two canopies below as they began to decorate and prepare in earnest for the three-day long Deschule festival. The people would probably prepare earlier, were it not for Great Master’s own decree that celebrations be limited so as not to detract too much from the daily work that is so necessary for the soul.
“Hyran, would you help us hang the streamers?”
He turned to see Brother Allega with a pile of blue streamers at his feet, and three novices with him. “Yes,” he replied, though he knew he’d really be supervising the novices while Brother Allega went on to supervise elsewhere. It was the privilege of seniority to tell others how do decorate, he supposed, but he really was the type of person who wanted to do it himself. But then, come to think of it, the other brothers often didn’t appreciate his ‘art.’
“Okay,” he began, “we have a stool for each of you? Good.” He chose one arbitrarily. “Would you please go to that lamp-post? Take an end with you.”
The novice bobbed his head and obeyed while the other two waited for their instructions. Hyran sent them each to a different spot while he climbed a ladder to tie his ends to the flagpole over the passage to the library. The monastery, like all others in elven lands, was a collection of rooms cut into or grown from a giant tree. This happened to be an oak, but elms and sequoias also grew over much of the world and were used just as often. This one had two levels of deck that circled the tree, connecting the various parts of the monastery.
From near the top, he looked down at Allega. “So, you’re just going to stand there and mentor my mentoring?”
“Yep. Hey, I’m old, it’s my privilege.”
“Brother, you’re only sixty-two!” The three novices returned and each grabbed another streamer. “Let me guess— I just made a step closer to mentorship somehow.”
Allega shook his head. “Well, that would depend on how your decoration goes.”
“I find it hard to believe that the direction of a man’s spirituality can be related to his ability to stick to decorating tradition. You realize, don’t you, that you’re sabotaging that plan?”
“What, by being honest and letting you know?”
“Of course! What possible motivation is there now for me to do well?!”
“Well— oh, I’ll talk to you later. I’d better go see to these other brothers...” he said, walking away.
Hyran decided that it was best to laugh at the situation, but he could only chuckle. The novices returned, and their work had created a fan of streamers. Hyran thought it set off the existing red and yellow ones, strung conventionally just from lamp-post to lamp-post, nicely.
“Looks good! Let’s do it again from the chapel...”
Eventually, the decks were covered with intertwined fans of different colored streamers. He’d been meaning to do that in previous years, but he’d never been given novices to do it for him.
"Unusual effect, Hyran," said Anterom. "You did a good job."
“Actually, it was these brothers who did the work,” he said, indicating ‘his’ novices. But Anterom didn't seem to take notice. In fact no one else who complimented him acknowledged the novices.
The bell rang, signaling that it was time for the midday meal and that decorating time was over. After lunch was practice time.
In the Deschule service, every brother had some part to play, much as a children’s theater will use everyone who tries out in some way (even if it is just for the choir). Hyran now had enough standing to be given the A part of the Redemption chant. Such an important part (one of three) required practice, of course.
Most brothers chose a closed cell to practice in, or their bedroom (which itself was little more than a cell), or even the showers. Hyran chose the chapel, unused now because the cathedral was the place for such an important service.
He wasn’t alone, though. The pipist was practicing on his instrument, as well. It had a number of huge mimbaya tubes of various sizes. The one practicing now was concentrating on the bass part, which toward the very end was a particularly loud one. The low notes seemed to set the very walls to shaking, and certainly succeeded in making the floor do so. It was almost possible to feel the air swirling with the music, a tangible picture of the sound.
Brother Reibas came to the end, and put down his ropes. “Hello. Here to practice, too?”
Hyran nodded. “Yes. Would you give me a Red minus?”
“Which one?” asked Reibas, chuckling. “I’ve got nine.”
“The middle-most one.”
A small thwock was followed by a single, beautiful tone that filled the chapel. Hyran hummed along, and as the mimbaya tone died off, his note sounded puny and insignificant. But he knew he could fill the chapel fairly well. The best thing about oak, he thought, was its hardness, which aided in amplification. The sequoias of the southeast just ate sound, such that monasteries there actually grafted oak planks into their cathedral walls.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your practice.”
“Thank you.” Hyran hummed the note again, and launched into his song, envisioning his notes like the tones of the pipes, and feeling the meaning of the words, hoping to fill them with The Great Master’s Respect. He couldn’t know how successful he was, but it was the trying that counted.
When he finished, the other brothers who would be singing the next day were there. “Oh, hello! I didn’t even see you.”
“Obviously,” replied the eldest, Decar, who was about seventy and soon to take the next step in The Most Redeemed Path. “You do realize you have to blend with us, not overpower us, don’t you?”
“Of course. Why, were you singing?”
“No. We would like to be heard tomorrow, though.”
Hyran smiled at the other’s humor. “Don’t worry. I was just trying to fill the space with song. I just can’t compare to the pipes, I guess.”
“Oh, that’s what you were trying to do?” asked one not much older than Hyran. “It is a nice dream, brother.”
“I know. So, shall we practice?”
“Yes. Can we assume that you ended on key?”
Hyran feigned insult. “Me? Off key? Never!” He hummed his Red minus again, and the others chose their notes from that. The song this time was much more full, of course, though still not matching the pipes. That didn’t matter, though, since the pipes were reserved for the end of the service.
“Whoa, whoa!” cried Decar, and the song whithered away suddenly. “Who sang that minus where it’s supposed to be neutral?”
“Me,” admitted the man next to Hyran. “Can we take it from ‘Gruniu ortranip na thwimm’?”
“Sure.” And so, they began again, but the brother got it wrong again.
“Wait,” he said. “What exactly is wrong with it?! It sounds fine!”
“It sounds awful! This isn’t peasant music with discordant chords! This is the song to welcome the Great Master to the world! Harmony, brother!”
“Right. Okay, let’s try it again.”
This time, they got through without a misplaced minus.