Author's Notes: The characters of Staccato, Stretto, Alto, and Rubato belong to me, and will play more prominent roles later on in the story. Otherwise, everything else belongs to those lucky, lucky people who own the rights to Eternal Sonata. Also, please review if you read and like! Thanks!
Chapter Two
Unlike Tenuto and Ritardando, the forest was not meant for habitation by people. There was a dirt and grass path, worn from the tread of the travelers that had passed before. On either side of it, the foliage continued to reach out in an aggressive attempt to seize back the land on nature's behalf. It was futile as those who took the path tended to tromp down upon the land, pushing back at any branches and leaves that got in their way. A circle of growth and destruction, of continued renewal.
Rain continued to pour down, having become a constant companion since the beginning of the trip. Instead of fading away as time progressed, it was growing increasingly worse. The clouds had become angry, dark and menacing in their size and color. They looked down upon the two wayfarers, unleashing torrents of wind and water without mercy. Somehow, their very presence had offended nature and it continued to show its displeasure in being intruded upon.
Frederic and Polka slogged through the muddy grass, moving ever forward. The strength of the storm was such that it was as though they were fighting against crashing waves. They were certainly wet enough to have been.
In truth, Frederic found it exhilarating. Though he wasn't fond of ill weather such as this, the sensation of the icy rain against his face, his clothes and the feel of exercise in his body, his joints made him feel alive.
The irony of that thought was not lost on him.
Right now, he knew he was lying in his sickbed, Death just waiting to wrap its frigid hands around him and steal away his life in its prime. It had been so long since he'd been outside, trapped as he had been in that room with nothing but his piano for entertainment. It was important for his recovery that he stay in bed and rest, his doctor had said. Too risky for him to be around many other people, he'd said. Tuberculosis was contagious, after all, he'd said. And so he'd laid there, waiting to get better...or waiting to die.
Just...waiting.
Thinking on it now, that world seemed so foreign compared to this one. No, this one was the foreign world, the one that existed only in a dying man's dreams.
The booming sound of thunder interrupted his thoughts.
"Did you hear that?" Polka queried. She stared up at the crying sky, letting nature's tears wash her white face. "It's starting to thunder now, too."
He nodded. "We should get out of this storm. Is there somewhere around here where we can take shelter?"
Polka flushed pink. "I don't know," she admitted. "I've never actually been this far from Tenuto before."
"Well, then we'll just have to explore a bit," Frederic said.
Before they could do that, however, a noise not belonging to the tumultuous weather drew away their attention.
"Hold on a second," Polka said, her voice decreasing in volume. "Someone's coming."
That someone turned out to be distinguished-looking gentleman who seemed to look as out of place in this woodland environment as Frederic and Polka felt. He had an ocular lens over his right eye, lending a certain look of intelligence. His clothes were fancy, almost to the point of extravagance. This, however, was all overshadowed by the long, slender sword that dangled down from his waist. Despite the friendly manner in which he approached him, there was something decidedly dangerous about the man.
"Oh!" exclaimed the man in faux surprise. "Why, hello there. Are you two out looking for something in this wretched weather?"
Perhaps it was a special sensitivity inherent in the young, but Polka seemed to know that something wasn't right here, about this man. She inched closer to Frederic who was also watching the newcomer with a wary eye.
"I am looking for something myself," he went on, "but I'm learning that it's not such an easy task when it's pouring down rain like this."
"Indeed," Frederic agreed, still uncertain of the man's motives.
A threatening gleam entered his gaze. "Perhaps...you wouldn't mind providing me with entertainment to ease my frustration?"
"What?!" The disbelief was apparent in Frederic's defensive tone.
"I really do hate it when my clothes get wet, and here I find the two of you just as I was starting to get irritated."
In the time it took for a bolt of lightening to streak across the sky, the man had his weapon out and ready.
"What are you doing?" Polka cried. "Stop it!"
As he'd promised her mother, Frederic had every intention of defending Polka from this madman. He stepped in front of her, pulling out his own weapon.
The enemy laughed, amused. "So, you're going to fight back, are you? More fun for me."
And then he attacked.
- - -
"Looks like all that rain and lightening have stopped," said Beat with relief. "Thank goodness."
Allegretto grinned. "Hey, Beat, did I see you shaking back there?"
"What?! No way! I wasn't shaking!"
"Oh, really? Because it seemed to me that you were hanging on to that little camera of yours for dear life!"
"I was not!" he defended.
The older boy only laughed, ruffling the top of Beat's head and causing his hat to fall off. He made a small cry of protest, grumbling as he picked his hat off the ground and placed it back on his head.
"Stupid Retto," he mumbled. "Let's just hurry and get out of here, okay?"
"In case you haven't noticed, Observant Boy Wonder," Allegretto said. "We already are out."
Before them were a twin set of picturesque cottages that seemed to have grown out of the surrounding landscape. Vines climbed the sides of the living houses (as they appeared to be made out of large, hollowed-out trees) and little white flowers grew along them giving the impression of a decorated exterior since there wasn't much in the way of man-made design. At the bases were untrimmed bushes and the many trees that had been permitted residence in the natural little village. There was even a small stream running through the place.
"It finally stops raining and only then do we find shelter," he grumbled. "Figures."
Beat ignored his friend's complaining, straining his eyes against the now-shining sun. "Hey, I think I see someone over there," he said.
Without waiting for Allegretto, Beat headed straight up the stairs and towards the little figure nearby.
"Hello, there!" Beat greeted the girl. She looked very imp-like, with a round face, large expressive eyes, and layered purple hair. "Do you live in this house?" he asked.
"Yes, I do," she answered in a falsetto voice. "My name is March, and it's nice to meet you..."
"Beat," he supplied. "And this here is Allegretto."
"Heya," Allegretto piped in, still admiring the environment.
"Do you live here by yourself, March?" Beat asked.
"No, my sister lives with me, too. We're the guardians of this forest."
Allegretto looked surprise. "Just the two of you? Alone? All the way out here? Must be tough."
"Not at all," she replied. "I suppose it can be dangerous sometimes, but my sister always manages to take care of things. Lately though, I must admit I've been surprised at how many guests have been showing up around the forest. We don't get many visitors, as you can imagine..."
Just as she said that, the door to the house behind her opened, revealing a blonde girl. She looked pale if not a little sleepy. Allegretto watched her with curious eyes as she descended the steps towards them, looking around with evident confusion. She looked rather familiar...
"Oh, are you awake already?" March seemed surprised. "You know you could have stayed in bed a little longer if you wanted to."
"Where...where am I?" she asked quietly, seeming on the verge of panic.
March's voice was gentle, soothing as she explained. "You were found unconscious at the upper end of the forest. The Agogos came to me, and told me where I could find you."
"Where's Frederic?"
"Your friend? I think he's out taking a walk somewhere nearby. He kept mumbling to himself, something about trying to find inspiration for his music."
Polka blinked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "I...see."
"Excuse me," interrupted Allegretto. "But what are 'Agogos'?"
March looked at him as if she didn't understand his question. "You don't know what Agogos are? Well, hmm. They're...well, they're round creatures."
"Round creatures?"
"Anyway, they don't approach human beings," she went on. "And recently, the Agogos haven't been showing themselves at all. You're a very lucky person. It's quite unusual for Agogos to take a liking to a human. In fact, I still can't believe they came to me about rescuing a human being at all, let alone rescuing two of them. This is the first time anything like that has ever happened!"
"So the Agogos rescued me?" Polka asked, suddenly looking uncomfortable and even more confused than before. Allegretto couldn't help but feel bad for her, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do. "Even though...even though I'm..."
March touched her arm gently. "I think maybe you should get some more rest right now. You've been through quite the ordeal. I'll fix you something nice and warm to eat..."
She began to head up the steps into the house but paused, looking back at Polka.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I just realized that I don't even know you're name."
"Who, me? Well, I'm..."
"You're Polka, right?" Allegretto put in helpfully. "You sell Floral Powder in Ritardando. Yeah, I heard someone say your name once."
Beat, having tired of being left out of the conversation, piped up. "Oh, yeah! And that healing magic you used on that hurt guy the other day was really great, too!"
At the mention of magic, she seemed to withdraw. Slowly but surely, she began to move backwards until she turned around and, much to everyone's surprise and bafflement, ran away.
"Hey, Polka! What's the matter?" Allegretto shouted after her, feeling guilty though for what he wasn't sure.
"Why'd she run off like that?" Beat asked quietly. "Did we say something wrong?"
The older boy gave a shrug. "I don't know, but we better go make sure she's all right..."
- - -
Magic. Magic. Magic.
That was what it always came down to, wasn't it?
At the mention of her unnatural abilities, something had provoked a sense of flight within the young girl. It was alright for Frederic to know about her magical powers--he was very much like her in that sense--but these two boys were complete strangers to her. She could not stand to be repulsed by them, too. They only knew her for what she could do, not for who she was. Would they even care to get to know her? Her, the sick, contagious outcast. No, she imagined that they would not.
So she ran.
Barely aware of where she was going, she let her feet take her where they would. The trees blurred past her, their leafy branches not daring to reach out and stop her. The dirt path had dried by this time which was good since she might have tripped or slipped in her haste had it been otherwise. The clouds above drew together in a sentient fashion, appearing as eyebrows to the curious, blue eyes of the sky.
Paying no attention to anything but the ground as it flew beneath the souls of her shoes, she didn't have time to avoid the sudden object that appeared in front of her. Swerving at the last possible moment, she narrowly avoided plowing directly into Frederic. He began to say something, but she couldn't catch what it was as she was quickly regaining her balance and pushing past him. Whether this concerned him or not was unknown to her as she didn't even pause to look back.
Maybe...if she ran hard enough, fast enough...she'd become like the wind. That'd be nice. The wind was forever, simple but perfect in that simplicity. It couldn't get sick, it wasn't strange. It was normal. If she was more like the wind, maybe people would like her more. Maybe...
The monster was so abnormally large that it was a lot harder to miss than Frederic had been. With its massive sword and ferocious roar, Polka skidded to a stop, fear shining in her eyes. She then noticed two other, smaller creatures flanking her, a hungry look in their predatory eyes. Her breath left her, the blood in her veins turned cold as she froze before the unfriendly creatures. Was this what it felt like to face death?
Her momentary shock soon left her along with a scream.
In moments, three heroes appeared in front and alongside her in the form of Frederic, Allegretto, and Beat. Each had their arms spread out to offer more protection for the frightened Polka who stood in the midst of their human shield.
"Polka, are you okay?" Beat asked.
She couldn't find her voice and so only nodded. She'd be okay...now that she wasn't alone in this.
Allegretto looked over his shoulder at Frederic, skepticism in his gaze. "I can understand you want to fight," he told the man. "But are you sure? After all, you're recovering, too, aren't you?"
There was a look of grim determination in his features as he answered. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Right now, we have to concentrate on keeping these things away from Polka."
Just then, the largest of the beasts swung his weapon down towards Polka...but Allegretto moved fast enough to intercept it with his own blade. The force of the blow was enough to send him staggering backwards. Left vulnerable, the monster would have had him had Beat not distracted it with several blasts from his musket. With his attention now divided, Frederic moved towards the creature's vulnerable flank and struck with enough power to pierce its tough hide.
This only made it angrier.
The other two, smaller creatures were easily dispatched by Allegretto but the boss wasn't looking to give up so easy. It fixed its evil eyes upon the defenseless Polka, rushing towards her at such a speed that both Beat and Frederic were violently shoved out of the way. Polka gaped at the monster, but managed to will herself to move just in time as its blade crashed into the soft earth. Scrambling out of the way, the sword came at her again and again.
Polka tired quickly. She'd worn herself out with what little running that she'd done. March had been right, she should have just gone back to bed for more rest. The stranger in the forest earlier had done a decent amount of damage to both she and Frederic--but he seemed less affected by his healing wounds. Her youth, for once, was her mortal enemy, laughing at her frailty. She wanted to help in the fight, but was too weak to do anything other than keep herself out of harm's way. It upset her greatly.
Yet, at the same time, she was able to watch as Frederic, Allegretto, and Beat came at the monster...all while keeping it away from her. Each was selfless as the battle progressed in a touch-and-go manner; any moment, one of them could slip up, the sword would come down, and they'd be gone. Their life snuffed out in an instant. They didn't seem to be afraid, though. They were...determined. To help her? But...she was sick. People didn't help her, they were afraid of her.
What had changed?
Or maybe everything was the same--it was just these people who were different. These incredible people whom had come to her rescue with nary a thought towards their own safety.
Her friends.
Illustrating a special move that seemed much like magic, Frederic seemed to use the darkness in the creature's own shadow against it. In a single moment, the creature's soul was thrown upwards, instantly killing the fiend. It disappeared in a flash of light, nothing remaining afterwards.
She saw the weary expression on Frederic's face but he said nothing, did not even ask for a thanks. Allegretto was the first to reach her once the monster had been vanquished, with Beat right behind him.
Concern covered his features. "Did you get hurt?"
In the sudden realization that these people could possibly be the friends that she'd desired all her young life coupled with her exhaustion, she'd fallen to her knees. This must have been what leant him his worry about her.
"No," she said, quiet. "No, I'm alright. Thank you."
"Thank goodness you're all right--" Frederic began, but his attention was suddenly stolen away. "What...what is that thing?"
Everyone's eyes, including Polka's, turned to regard the little glowing creature headed towards them. It bounced in Polka's direction, little musical notes ringing out every time it hit the ground.
"I bet it's one of those Agogos that girl was talking about before," suggested Allegretto.
Beat quirked his head, completely curious about the thing. "It's kind of weird. Look, Retto, it's glowing..."
Polka wasn't listening to any of the background conversation, enraptured by the delightful creature.
"Agogo, thank you for saving me earlier," she told it. It bobbed up and down in response, as if to say 'you're welcome'.
"I've never seen one of those before," Beat continued. "Oh! I know! I'll take a picture of it!"
But as he fumbled for his camera, the Agogo suddenly grew shy and disappeared as quickly as it'd come. Silence fell on the group.
Polka was the first to speak. "Where did it go?"
Allegretto looked angrily at the younger boy. "Great job, Beat! You scared it off by taking that stupid thing out!"
"Gee, I'm sorry, Retto..."
"Don't worry...Beat," Polka said, using his name for the first time. "Agogos are probably naturally shy creatures. I'm sure it'll come out again."
Standing, she turned towards the older boy. "And your name is Retto, right? Is that short for something else?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Yeah, it is. It's short for Allegretto."
Frederic silently observed the conversation, noting that it would not be polite to interrupt.
"I have a little store in Ritardando," Allegretto continued, lying now. For some reason, he didn't want Polka to know about his true 'occupation', if thieving could even be called that. "It's small, but we have a tough time keeping stuff in stock each day." As a result of this outrageous lie, Beat had to make an effort not to laugh aloud. "Anyway, enough about me. What's a powder seller like you doing all the way out here? You headed somewhere?"
"I'm on my way to Forte," she said.
"As am I," Frederic finally put in.
"Well," said Allegretto. "Seems like Forte is the happening place to be right now, then. Because you two aren't the only ones headed there..."
- - -
The failing light of dusk entered the throne room in the form of slanted rays, barely able to pass through the tinted mosaics of the glass windows. Everything was cast about in a warm glow, highlighting the golden hues of the place and giving it an increased royal atmosphere. Even an enemy of Forte could not deny that there was a regal charm to the castle.
"Well, Fugue," Count Waltz prompted, "did you learn anything new?"
The man stood upright, his prior arrogance in the forest against those two pathetic strangers seeming to pale in comparison to the Count's own ego. The Count had merely to assume his bored countenance and Fugue was able to get the point quite well.
"Yes, my lord. It was relatively easy to find the creatures in question, but unfortunately I could not find a single one that glows." He waited for the other shoe to drop.
It did, as expected. "I've no interest in hearing about your failure," growled Waltz, slamming his hands against the armrests of his seat.
"Yes, but--"
"We know from experiments that mixing those creatures into the powder doubles its effectiveness," he continued. "And we've also heard several eyewitness accounts of some of them glowing. Are you implying that my information is faulty, Fugue?"
"No, my lord."
The Count leaned back, appeased by his servant's pacifism. "I must have them," he told Fugue. "No matter what."
Fugue nodded. "I will keep looking."
"See that you do." A noise behind the doors leading into the room signaled the arrival of the Count's guests. Immediately, he assumed a more friendly facade. "After all, Fugue, it is our duty to protect the well-being of our citizens."
Seeing that this was his time to depart, he took his leave of the Count as soon as the doors opened. In passing, he recognized who had come--it was the renowned band, the Deceptive Cadence. He himself had heard them play before and he could only hope that their unique sound would please the Count. It would be better for everyone if Waltz was in a good mood. Fugue, however, would not be sticking around for the performance...He had work to do.
"I hope we're not interrupting," the woman of the group said. "Your man, Legato, told us that we were expected."
The Count smiled pleasantly, his youthfulness providing a certain disarming charm. Standing, he walked to meet the woman and her band members. The seemingly ragtag group certainly weren't much to look at, he thought, but their skills were said to be exceptional. The price for if they were not was high--it was not good for the longevity of ones life to displease the Count of Forte.
"Expected, indeed," the Count said, looking them over with a critical eye. His gaze ultimately settled on the woman who he would guess was the lead singer and, thus, the leader of the Deceptive Cadence. "I was just explaining to my associate that the role of a government is to serve its citizens to the utmost of its ability. You understand, of course."
If she was skeptical of the Count's manner, she did not show it. "Of course, my lord."
He looked to the others. "I'm eager to hear the famed Deceptive Cadence play. It has been too long since a band of reputation has graced Forte Castle. But first, I think, some introductions are in order."
"I'm Staccato," she said, her tone succinct and to the point. "With me are Stretto, Alto, and Rubato. If it pleases you, my lord, we will begin immediately."
"Indeed," he agreed. "It would please me greatly."
Giving them his back, he strode back to his throne where he then sat down and motioned for them to begin. The smile on his face was decidedly ambivalent, and it did not reach his eyes. There was a tension in the room, as though the predator was paying careful attention to the antics of his prey. The Deceptive Cadence wasted no time in getting started.
Rubato began with his double bass, low mournful notes breaking forth from the stringed instrument. Squat and bulky, the player much resembled that which he played. His red hair smoothed back allowed no strand to enter into his face which was marked by concentration, cheeks flushing with emotion as reflected in the music. With no need to open them, his amber eyes stayed hidden beneath closed lids as he played.
Soon, the double bass was joined by the soft harmony of a violin. Stretto raised the wooden instrument and slowly, methodically began to play. It did not match up exactly with what Rubato was playing but in its difference was its beauty. With his messy brown hair--much resembling a bird's nest--flopping into his brown eyes, he constantly had to toss his head to clear it of its bothersome strands. This, however, almost always looked as though it were on purpose, the sharp twist of his head coming at just the right interval of time, overlapping the beats that he was playing.
But it was not the skills of the musicians alone that made this band great, as evidenced when Alto began to sing. His voice was deep, much deeper than one would expect out of such a young-looking man. Looking as plain as he did, one could hardly guess that such a voice could issue forth from him. Much like the mournful sound of the double bass, Alto's baritone song found substance in the deep emotion of it. It echoed off of the carved walls, resounding throughout the throne room.
The three presented a challenging act in their trio, but it was Staccato who proved theirs was no trio, but a quartet. With sharp, ringing notes, her soprano voice came as a delightful complement to the lower tones that had already been presented by her fellows. The combination of varying lows with a single high was something that the Count had never before heard done well; many had attempted such risky music but had fallen short. The Deceptive Cadence had proven themselves to be more than just rumored greatness, however.
Waltz watched with approval, listened with pleasure. The three men were each talented in their individuality, but it was the combined efforts of theirs with the lead singer that truly made their music wonderful. His eyes were continually drawn back to the female who seemed enraptured by the song she was singing--a tale of woe, to be certain. Her emerald eyes were rarely shown, but they expressed an obvious emotion when they revealed themselves. The Count himself did not understand why musicians got so emotional about their music--he'd never heard anything that he'd consider 'heartwarming' or 'touching'. After all, it was just a song...Just notes arranged together.
After the song had come to its conclusion, a judging silence filled the throne room. The members of the Deceptive Cadence were quiet, none daring to take their eyes off of the Count of Forte. If he wasn't pleased with them, well, they knew their fates.
Finally, the Count raised his hands and clapped them together. "Well done," he said. A shimmer of relief rippled across the band. "Well done."
Perhaps there was hope for the pitiful people of the land, after all, if such musicians could be produced.