The Last Musician

Jason Peterson

Description

Kristoffer Snider is an unlikely hero: an outcast musical prodigy. But when an evil force captures the power of music to rule the world, only Kristoffer can save the day.

As music disappears and the idyllic land of Greenwood begins to fall apart, Kristoffer uses his unique gift to battle the malevolent Urizen, his underling Alistair Vull, and a trio of muses who may not be what they first seem. Kristoffer must venture into the mysterious forest outside Greenwood, and with the help of new, much-needed friends, including the poet Colin Williams and his plucky granddaughter Emily, set music free, save the people he loves, and discover the secret at the heart of his very existence.

By turns heart-pounding and heart-warming, The Last Musician is an adventure with heart - and a song.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Epic Fantasy
• Epic
• Fiction
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 23 mars 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456613556
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Last Musician
A Novel
 
Jason Peterson
 



Copyright 2013 Jason Peterson,
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1355-6
 
 
Slim Chance Press
[e-mail]
 
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are creations of the author’s imagination and are not real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Slim Chance Press, [e-mail]
 
 
Original design by Anthony Maro

 
For Lauren

 
How have you left the ancient love
That bards of old enjoyed in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move,
The sound is forced, the notes are few.
 
William Blake
1
I n the land of Greenwood, in a time before this, a very peculiar thing happened on an otherwise very ordinary day. The music stopped.
At Greenwood community church, the music stopped during Edie Westerboum’s solo performance of “Thy Hymn Remains the Same.” The rest of the congregation thought Edie finally, thankfully, blew out her off-key voice until they realized they also couldn’t hear Bessie Mae Miller’s spot-on accordion accompaniment.
At Joe’s Barbershop in downtown Greenwood, the music stopped right as Joe’s Actual Barbershop Quartet started a rousing rendition of “Sweet Greenwood Eyes.” Joe, who was cutting Carl Anderson’s hair while he sang, was so surprised by the sudden silence that he lopped off the chunk of locks Carl used to comb over the rest of his bald head.
At Greenwood’s infamous Overlook Point, the music stopped just before Herb Gillespi was about to debut the love song he’d written for Maria Keys. Maria, certain Herb had gotten too nervous to actually play the song, kissed him anyway. Herb suddenly did not care about the strangeness of strumming a soundless guitar.
At Greenwood’s Biograph Theatre, the music stopped during a performance of Puppet Time with Pigwilly Pete. Pete flailed away at his one-man-band gear to no effect while the audience, thinking this was a part of the show, roared with approval until it became clear this was no mere act. A wary hush settled over the crowd.
On that fateful afternoon, all throughout Greenwood, people slowly began to realize something was amiss. Once the realization spread, it quickly turned to concern, and the concern to panic.
Greenwoodians gathered in front of each other’s homes, trying in vain to sing or play their instruments. They stopped each other on the street, asking if they could hear any music. One by one, family by family, they began filing towards Greenwood’s town hall. No one knew where else to go, and it seemed as though something must be said about the matter.
All of Greenwood gathered together that day. All except for one boy. The boy’s name was Kristoffer Snider, and, although he did not know it yet, he was about to have the greatest adventure of his short life.
2
A lmost exactly thirteen years before The Great Silence (as Greenwoodians were starting to refer to the inexplicable event), a baby in a basket had been found on the edge of the forest near the main entryway to Greenwood by a Mrs. Ethel Snider.
Mrs. Snider, a widowed, childless woman around the age of sixty (though she never would tell anyone her actual age), was going for her morning walk when she saw it.
She later told anyone who would listen that immediately before she spotted the basket, she had seen a blur shoot out of the forest and back again. No one quite believed her of course, but then again, she had found a baby in a basket, so who was to say?
The baby became the light of Ethel Snider’s life. Her friends tried to convince Ethel to give the baby up to a young family to raise him, but Ethel would hear none of it. He was a gift to her, she would say, and if she was given this precious gift, then she would also be given the strength and longevity to raise the boy.
After Greenwood’s elders approved her adoption, she named him Kristoffer, after her beloved late husband, and set about the task of raising him the best way she knew how.
None of this, of course, was on anyone’s mind as they sat in Greenwood’s giant town hall waiting on one of the elders to speak. They gossiped and theorized and speculated and worried.
“I’ll bet its God’s punishment for Edie Westerboum’s voice. He finally had enough.”
“Maybe it’s a disease. What’s the thing that happens in your throat? Larynmidas?”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s not just voices, you know. And it’s laryngitis. Larynmidas would be if your throat turned into gold.”
“Good one, Val.”
“But what does it all mean?”
“Maybe it’s Urizen.”
“Please don’t say that name,” someone said.
“What?”
“Urizen!”
The crowd hushed at once.
The council of elders slowly began arriving to the stage. Because of the rush to get there, the five elders were not wearing their usual robes, though no one seemed to care.
Carl Anderson, Greenwood’s chief elder, spoke first. While no one in the crowd noticed the lack of Carl’s official robes, everyone noticed his awful toupee, which was perched on top of his usually combed-over head. The ridiculousness of his appearance broke some of the tension building throughout the hall.
“Thank you all for coming,” Carl said as he unconsciously patted the top of his head. He thought the snickers and guffaws around him were caused by nervousness and fear, not his toupee, which he thought made him look ten years younger.
“I know you’re all concerned about what is going on. We, the Council of Elders, are concerned as well. We do not know much about what happened, but this is what we do know: at approximately 11:30 this morning, people ceased to be able to play or sing music of any kind.”
He paused, and the murmuring was replaced by an eerie silence.
“We don’t know why this happened, what it means, or if music will suddenly return as quickly as it disappeared.”
Edward Rogers, an elder and the bass in Joe’s Actual Barbershop Quartet, spoke next. He squeezed his large frame out of his chair and waddled to the front of the stage, carrying a few instruments with him.
“Is there anyone here who can still play or sing?” He strummed a ukulele, and, like every other instrument played since the music stopped, it made no sound.
“What I find so strange,” he said, “is it’s only music that’s gone. Not all sound.”
“What do you mean, Edward?” said another elder, Missy Davis. Her large, pointed glasses sloped down her pointy nose, and she pushed them back up.
“I haven’t tried out everything I’d like to,” Edward said, “but if I just hit the ukulele, you can hear it, right?”
He hit the instrument, and its sound rang throughout the hall.
“But if I try to play music, the sound disappears.”
He picked up a drum and gave it to Connie Scopes, another elder and an accomplished percussionist. Her gray hair had a streak of blue in it, and she pulled at it nervously.
“Connie, hit the drum like you’re just knocking on someone’s door.”
Connie did as she was asked, and the thump, thump, thump resounded.
“Now play me a groove.”
Some of the teenage Greenwoodians giggled at Elder Rogers’ use of the word “groove,” and were quickly hushed by their parents.
Connie began a simple, repeating groove on the drum, and to everyone’s amazement, though not their surprise after the rest of the morning’s events, no sound could be heard.
The only person who did not react to this incredible display was Horace Heckle, the oldest elder, who had not heard music, or anything else for that matter, for many years. He appeared to be sleeping on stage.
Carl Anderson stood once again and shifted the unruly batch of fake hair on his head.
“Thank you Edward and Connie,” he said. “I would like to repeat Elder Anderson’s question: is there anyone, anyone at all who can still play or sing? If there is, maybe we can figure out why no one else can.”
As Carl Anderson’s question echoed throughout the room, the huge door to the town hall slammed shut. Everyone inside, including Ethel Snider, who at that very moment was scanning the crowd for her son, turned to see who had entered.
It was Kristoffer.
He walked slowly toward the stage, and in a cocky tone that Ethel had never heard him use before said:
“I can still play music.”
3
A collective gasp followed Kristoffer’s words.
This gasp was soon replaced by an explosion of muttering and murmuring, as the entire hall reacted to what the boy had said.
Carl Anderson was so surprised that, without realizing it, he pulled the toupee from his head and began fanning his face with it.
“My word,” he said again and again.
The rest of the council of elders reacted in much the same way, as if the sudden rise and fall of emotion was too much for even them.
It was Horace Heckle who got everyone to settle down.
Staggering to his feet and shuffling to the podium, Elder Heckle cut through the crowd’s noise with a strong, stern, “Enough.”
The voices stopped.
“Come forward, boy,” Horace Heckle said, curling a shriveled finger at Kristoffer.
As the crowd stared, Kristoffer walked toward the stage. Any cockiness was gone. His knees shook as he walked.
All eyes locked on Kristoffer as he wobbled up the stairs and made his way to Elder Heckle at the podium.
“We all know I do not take kindly to liars, boy,” Horace said. He was addressing Kristoffer, but the crowd hung on his every word. “You had better not be telling tales.”
Ethel Snider held her breath. What was Kristoffer doing?
“No sir,” Kristoffer said, his face flushing. He breathed in and leveled his gaze at the elder. “I’m not lying.”
“Well then, boy. Prove it.”
Elder Rogers rushed over with the ukulele and thrust it toward Kristoffer, while Horace H