Ista's Journey

Chapter Two

The halls of music

Authors note: Chapter two. Yay. Just to clear some things up:

Ista(Iss-ta) Genyi(Jen-yee) Albayah (Al –bye-ah) Rhian (Ree-anne) Johan (Yo-han)

Yes, I know the prologue is separate. But to me, it just seemed right. And I will be used chapters from here on. But that first one was a stand alone I wrote a long time ago. It doesn't feel right to me, the author, if it's chunked in here.

Why isn't Ista in Valdemar? That's for me to write and you to wait for?...not that you have to wait long. It was something I was saving. I'm actually a canon Nazi. I've been referencing all sorts of names in my 'Valdemar Companion'. It's a must have book for lovers of the series. And for those who wish to be able to yell at those who break canon and back themselves up.


Ista had spent most of her lunch hour going over music with her students, and was bright and ready for something new by the time the afternoon bell rang. Ista walked around the commons, gathering up music papers, and awaited Genyi.

Genyi hurried down the halls as soon as she heard the bell. She realised she had forgotten to tell Ista where her next appointment was, and that meant that Ista was lost and likely wandering aimlessly around the common.

Genyi hastily pulled her long ice blond hair into a bun as she ran, so that she would less like a ragbag when she entered the next room with Ista. Ista was set to help devise schooling for some of the new children, aged 6 to 12, and therefore Genyi would not leave them alone together. Ista could be downright scary when faced with arrogant people who thought they were truly talented. It was one thing for Ista to teach a trembling youngster, but a complete other to set her on some young thing who had it in their fool head to be the next Ista when they were just 12 and didn't know their major scales from their minors.

"Genyi," wailed Ista, "Genyi have you seen my folder with simple music?"
"Coming Milady," responded Genyi with a smile. She didn't mind seeming like Ista's servant. Ista was a sweet woman who loved Genyi like her own sister. She just was very ashamed by her own limitations. Genyi realised that by making it seem like she needed to fetch something, it hid the fact that Ista was completely lost.

"There you are," sighed Ista as Genyi handed Ista a simple folder. Genyi turned towards the north hall and walked away slowly, waiting for Ista to catch up. The two walked together down the hall, the rhythmic tapping of Ista's cane punctuating the silence.

Genyi stifled a giggle as they neared the room. No doubt that one of the older students had warned the new ones about the coming of the Blind Bard, who could be the end of their careers. Ista knew how to make an entrance, and would likely scare the daylights out of several of the youngest children.

"I'm told there's a powerful gift in here," slyly whispered Ista as they neared the practice hall, "I might have to take a young apprentice, if that's okay with you."

"As long as I don't lose my spot as your favourite performance partner," said Genyi.

"Never," replied Ista, "I'd rather play with you than anyone. Sometimes, having two Bardic gifts on stage is just as bad as having two bad players."

"Here it is," said Genyi, opening the wooden door.

"I can feel the tension," said Ista, pausing and leaving her stick before walking into the room. Genyi leaned on the doorframe and smirked as the children all took in a collective gasp.

"Now child-lings," said Ista, looking every inch the master bard, flourishing every movement with a hand gesture, of a facial movement, "Welcome to the Jkatha Bardic Institute. I see…well I don't see anything but I can discern that every one of you thinks that you're just the greatest little prodigy ever. You got picked by a bard and sent here. Well, guess what. You're not. There are very few who ever become full bards, and even fewer who become master bards. And I would rather not lie to you. So there's the truth. You are here to become the best player you can be, which may or may not be enough to become a fantastic bard.

"And to those of you who think I am just ranting at you like a lunatic, I assure you, I'm not. I may be blind, but I am not stupid, nor am I cruel. I say what I think, when it's important. I'm a professor, and that is my right. And don't any of you think that you'll never have to deal with me again. I'm here and I run the examinations. The technical ones. Meaning if you're nothing but a fumble-fingered singer, I'll know.

"And now, onto the fun part. Your first exam begins now. You all have a simple piece in front of you called Ironheart. I want you to begin playing it. When I tap you on the shoulder, stop playing and remember the number I give you.

Ista paused and lifted her hands, then gave the downbeat. No one started. Genyi giggled.

"Genyi, why don't YOU conduct them and I'll listen," said Ista, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Ista liked to scare the littles. It made them give her fearful respect until they realised she deserved proper respect.

"Yes, Milady," said Genyi, walking to the center of the room and raising her arms, mouthing to the children to start when she waved her arms. Several of the smaller ones smiled for the first time, all nerves gone.

"Begin," said Ista. Genyi began to conduct and the children began to go through the song. Ista listened, and immediately walked over to the corner of the room. A small drummer was tapping the beat, but it was being overshadowed by a strong gift. Ista couldn't feel the gifts of any others because of this one child.

"Sweetling," said Ista, crouching down to be on the child's level, "What is your name?"

"Rhian Carter," the child sputtered.

"All right Sweetling, you're number one. I'll speak to you after class," said Ista, touching the girls face with her hand. Rhian seemed to be no more than seven or eight; the same age that Ista had been when she arrived at the Institute.

"Do I have to return to my village?" asked Rhian, trying to hold back tears.

"No, little one, of course not. I stopped you for a good reason. Now, just be patient, okay?" reassured Ista.

"Yes ma'am!" piped Rhian.

Ista began to walk again, listening. It was much clearer now that Rhian had turned off that mighty strong gift of hers. There were sixteen other children. And out of them, seven had the gift, five had real musical talent, and four had somehow managed to bully, bargain or badger their way here. Ista sighed as she walked around the room. As the music stopped, Ista motioned to Genyi to continue. The song struck up again, and Ista stopped two girls sitting near the door. They were talented. A fiddler and a guitarist, Ista thought they might be twins, because their music meshed to well, but no gift. Then Ista stopped the four who really weren't very good. Then slowly, Ista counted off the gifts from weakest to strongest. By the time she finished, everyone in the room was buzzing with Nerves.

"All right, everyone but Rhian should go to the performance hall now. You'll know your new schedules in a week, and for now you'll just attend the basic classes."

"Basic classes?" said one of the untalented, ungifted boys, "I'm way beyond basic. I've been composing since I was 7."

"Really?" said Genyi, "We've never heard your name here before. And that means your music has never been submitted, which means NO bard has ever found you to have the gift of composition. In addition, your sight reading was atrocious. Now, please listen to Milady Ista."

"Thank you Genyi," replied Ista, "Basic classes are something you'll do now till you graduate. Basic simply means something everyone does. But don't think that because you have some sort of rudimentary grasp of musical notation that you can slack off. We train some of the best bards around. You will do your work, or you'll be out on your ass. Now, off with you!"

"Well plays Ista," said Genyi quietly as she stood next to her friend, watching the littles run for their lives out of Ista's room, "I think you put the fear of god into them. The ones who actually matter anyways."

"Now," said Ista, "Rhian. You're likely wondering why I kept you."

"Yes ma'am," said Rhian.

"I have plans for you, my little drummer girl."

"Anything you want Ma'am."

"You'll let me do whatever I want."

"Yes ma'am."

"Rule one," said Ista, kneeling down at the level of the girl, "Is that I am not some sort of god. I'm a bard, and a damn fine one if I do say so myself. You don't have to be so meek and mild around me."

"Yes ma'am," said Rhian, hanging her head in shame.

"Where are you from?" asked Genyi, taking over for Ista.

"Atabar," said Rhian, "I was raised there."

"Parents?" asked Rhian.

"My mother works in the tavern and my dad…" trailed off Rhian.

"You want to be here, we need to know everything about you," said Ista gruffly, "I'm an orphan born in Rethwellan, grew up a little in Karse, and then lived in Valdemar until I was bounced here to Jkatha. I never had a family until I ended up here, but now I do. I have the music, I have Genyi, and I hope to have you."

"I'm the bastard daughter of one of the fifty families of Mornedealth. A high ranking noble and a guardsman. As soon as I was old enough, they packed me off to here, to the school. They don't love me, and never have. But I'm happy here," said Genyi, trying to soothe the poor frightened child.

"My mother…she worked in the taverns," said Rhian, "She's younger than you, Ista."

"How old are you?" asked Ista.

"Eight. My mother is twenty one. She couldn't take care of me. So she sent me to live with my aunt. Who died. And left me to the woodcutter. He…hurt his other daughters, and then he tried to hurt me, but his oldest daughter killed him," whimpered Rhian, "And then she sent me here. She knew I played well."

"Rhian," said Ista, "You know what. You're going to stick with me. I'll take care of you, at least for the first little while. How old are you?"

"Six," whispered Rhian. Genyi smiled, for she knew they had uncovered the trouble with Rhian. Cut-off age for entrance to the Institute was 8, without a patron.

"Genyi, fetch Angie for me. She's going to show Rhian around the institute. I'm going to go to the headmaster and speak to him about keeping her here. I'll be her patron if I have to."

With that, Rhian burst into tears. Ista looked shocked, and Genyi stifled another giggle. Ista never understood small children and their little habit of bursting into tears at moments when they should be happy.

"Also, fetch a mind healer or something," said Ista, in quick Rethwellian, "I think she may be deranged."

"She's six Ista," said Genyi, "Give her a hug."

Ista looked at Genyi like she had just said 'Shove yourself in a pile of horse dung', and then turned to the small child. Ista opened her arms and Rhian just buried her face in the bards shoulder. Ista grimaced as her lovely cloak was drench in snot, but held the girl tightly.

"I swear I am never having children" fumed Ista in her head. And at that point, she was glad she was not in Valdemar. No witch-y heralds reading her thoughts in good old Jkatha.


Ista sat back in her chair and stretched out. For the first time in the day, she was truly alone with herself. Genyi was off getting Rhian settled into her new home, Johan was with one of his students, the headmaster was teaching a master class in harp, and all the students and other professors knew better than to bother the temperamental blind bard when Genyi was not around to keep her from ranting.

Not that Ista truly liked going off on students, but she honestly could not handle the work all the other professors did. Ista knew she would never be a bard like the headmaster. She would be a professor for the rest of her days, always teaching. She might even be the Queens Own Bard, but never like the rest.

Ista would never travel to far off lands. She couldn't even dress herself, let alone survive like every other bard. Every year, she helped send bards to all the corners of Jkatha, while she herself had not been outside throne city since she arrived. It was just not possible.

The headmaster often wondered if the fact that Ista WAS a prisoner in the city was the reason she wrote such beautiful music. There was no such thing as a legendary bard with a happy life, and Ista was on the verge of legend. Her music was spread from Vanterlunde to Valdemar, from Acabarrin to Iftel and everywhere in between. Ista was leaving her mark on the world of music.

And yet she was unhappy. She was unable to care for herself, relying heavily on young Genyi to make sure she kept up with what was expected. The more she did, the more was expected and the more she needed Genyi. The headmaster often longed to tell off the king and queen for requiring so much of the blind bard. He knew that she could cope with her professorship, if she didn't have other duties to attend to.

The only good thing in Ista's life was a pair of old fogies named Kiore and Trivet. Kiore was a mage, and a good one in her day, but years of magic left her tired. Trivet, her husband, was an artificer. Together, they invented a creation to allow Ista some freedom. It was a metal device that was laden with keys. Each key produced a sound that only the user could hear. And as the user stuck the key and held it, it made a mark on a piece of paper. A melding of magic and machinery allowed Ista to write her own compositions without the need of Genyi. It was one thing to ask Genyi to write down lyrics, but another to ask her to do Ista's entire musical notation.

Ista sat with her device, known as a Rasch, and began to run her fingers over the keys, allowing the music to flow. It was like she was in her own little world, running her nimble fingers over the keys, holding chords with one hand while tapping out complex inverted arpeggios with the other.

It was a lovely new song, an arrangement for two harps, a brass horn and one very talented fifer. Ista figured she could use it at the next court function. It was complex and deep and beautiful, but at the same time it wasn't so off the wall that the nobles of Throne City would think she was nothing but a rebel.

As Ista finished the song, she stood up and stretch. She reached up towards the ceiling, then back until her hands were resting on the ground behind her. She arched her body and brought her feet over, in some sort of weird and awkward acrobatic trick. Ista giggled as she rose to her feet again, and then settled back down in her chair. She had finished the piece that Noran, the bard in charge of the Bardic musical repertoire, had wanted.

Ista realised that soon it would be her time to attend to the needs of the palace. She had a meeting with the king and queen, as well as a short performance. No doubt some visiting dignitary wished to see the music of Jkatha, which was indeed.

Ista sat and pondered, as she often did. She wondered about her life in Jkatha, if maybe it would've been different if she'd done something different. If she'd never met Genyi, or become famous.

She often wondered how they did things in the Bardic collegium in Valdemar. It was one of Ista's favourite daydreams. One where she could be with Petra and Cleria, he dear friends. Or maybe even with Bergen, the man who changed her life. It all could've been different.


Ista sat with her head between her knees, trying hard to not think of Bergen. His death was still a raw wound on the eight year olds heart, but she knew she had to be strong. He would want it.

A young woman dressed in Scarlet walked over and sat down next to Ista, looking at the young girl. Her intuitive gifts said she didn't have the Bardic gift, but the last minstrel who spoke to them said she might have the other two requirements.

"Hi Ista," said the Bard, "I'm Brea."

"Hello Brea," muttered Ista.

"I'm a bard," said Brea, using the tone she reserved for 'special children', as was her forte.

"Really?" said Ista, "That's nice."

"You know why I'm here?"

"No."

"I think YOU should be a Bard."

"No."

"No?" asked Brea.

"No," insisted Ista, "I'm going to be a weatherwitch. I'm going to stay here."

"They told me you're a gifted player, and that you can write music," said Brea, trying to be cheerful. Brea was a little unsure of what to do about this girl. Brea was a new journeyman, with no real experience of recruited the young ones for the Collegium.

"I don't want to play music and I don't want to leave this place and I don't want to talk to YOU!" shouted Ista, her eyes hurting. She was screaming inside for this woman to leave her alone. Didn't she understand? Bergen was gone and Ista wanted nothing more than to follow him. Bergen was the first person who really cared about her.

"Ista, please," said Brea, "I just want to hear you play."

"I said I don't want to play," screamed Ista, her face a picture of childhood rage, "I want you to leave me alone! I don't want you and your stupid collegium or your stupid training."

"Ista, you're making a mistake. Come on. I want to take you to haven."

"I don't want to GO TO haven," ranted Ista, "I want to stay here. I want to be a weather witch and not worry about your stupid music, or your stupid rules."

"The law says I can take you."

"I am not going," screamed Ista. Brea got to her feet and walked over. The twenty year old bard towered over the young child, and in her head decided that this child needed help. She reached out to the girl, taking her wrist in her hand. That did it.

Ista screamed like a banshee and began to thrash. This woman, in Ista's mind, was trying to take her away from Cleria and Petra and Ista did not want to go. As Ista thrashed, she remembered her lessons with Bergen. She began to kick at Brea, until she finally landed one on Brea's wrist, then Ista pushed all her weight down. With a snap, Brea's wrist snapped like a twig.

Brea let go of the child and screamed back. While listening to Ista wail was normal, the bard's scream brought Cleria and Petra running.

"That child is unbalanced," said Brea with disgust, "Even if she could play, who wants a hellion like that. Are you sure she's not deranged?"


Ista often wondered if things would've been any better in Valdemar. Brea returned to the capital, and Petra and Cleria sent Ista off to Jkatha. Although she might have been accepted to the collegium, Petra and Cleria both figured it was not the place for Ista. She'd been branded by her act of defiance, and she could end up a low level bard for her entire life if she went there. Bard Brea was a highborn, and could hold it over the child, or so thought Petra and Cleria. Petra and Cleria had only really dealt with Heralds and stuck up, gurdge-holding nobles. And Brea had not dealt well with the child. Instead of waiting for the child to come to her, she demanded things of a grieving child. It might've all been different with a more expirienced Bard, but Brea was so young and so new. Her circuit was normally peaceful. No one expected a half mad, blind, grieving musical prodigy.

Ista knew now, from her dealings with Valdemar, that she wouldn't have been treated any differently. Her transgression would've been forgiven in a few years, but Petra and Cleria didn't know that. They were healers who had never paid much attention to the Bardic Collegium while in their collegium. It wasn't truly anyone's fault that Ista didn't stay in Valdemar, just a series of unfortunate, or fortunate, coincidences. Petra decided it would be better to send her somewhere else, somewhere to start fresh with no memories of Bergen, or the broken wrist she caused Brea.

It had been hard, moving to Jkatha. Ista was sent with a Caravan. It had taken months to reach throne city, but they were happy months. Ista lived happily with the merchants, healing the wounds in her heart. By the time she reached throne city, Ista couldn't wait to throw herself back into music. She wrote Bergens Song on her first night in the city, but it was almost four years before she was able to write it down. And it still had never been performed. Ista wondered if she'd ever find a group of people she felt able to appreciate her music.

As the dinner bell rang, Ista rose from her seat and walked out to the dinner hall. She had still had a long night ahead of her.