Lux et Veritas Chapter 9: Memoriam, a dragonlance fanfic

Nine's Notes:

Red Malys: I completely understand! I'm taking modern physics this semester, so I'll be in the same boat.

Dalamar Nightson: If you remember how both how Ren/Gwen came to Nuitari, and how Dalamar spent the majority of the time he was trapped in Nightlund in stasis, the basic idea is that sometimes… Dalamar just gets swept there.

---

We only need one more vote from neutrality now. My father thinks that Sirrion, patron of alchemy, might find some temptation in my knowledge of chemistry- even if it's only at a basic level, it's certainly an improvement upon what alchemy. I dislike whoring my Earth knowledge, but if it's the only way to push this resolution through, I'll do it.

I'm growing more nervous about the votes we need from good. I haven't even spoken to Habbakuk or Majere, and their votes appear to be pivotal. I did have the forethought to properly rehearse some Earth music for my next meeting with Branchala. I'd gone to music camp on a voice scholarship the summer before I left Earth, and I still remembered the lines to a few of the songs we'd performed.

Raistlin's acting even more strange than usual. This makes me nearly as nervous as the lack of votes from the good pantheon. It often seems like he's studying me, but now… I feel the intensity of his gaze as he observes me. It distracts me from my reading, and when I tell him so, he laughs.

I haven't had any luck finding Gale. From what Kiba told me, his tale is superficially similar to Dalamar's. Strange, that- my father said that few elves come to him. Perhaps Gale and Dalamar are the only two elves in the Halls? No, surely there must have been more elven Black Robes, at some point in the past. It just seems that they choose not to make themselves visible.

For now, I steal glances at the ring, wrought silver against the blackness of the Halls, and wonder what this token means.

---

Your voices tune, and raise them high,

The voice was clearly that of a contralto, sweet and rich. It wasn't the rambling, half-wild voice of the average man. It was trained and disciplined, supported well by a powerful diaphragm and an open mouth shape.

'til they echo from the vaulted sky,

Raistlin cursed. They'd let a bard into the Halls again, he was certain of it. That half-elf, Tawyn Maianis, who'd died in that messy manner on that strange continent… maybe it was her who dared break his concentration. He'd make her wish her head was still on that pike…

The blessed Cecilia's name,

However, the song wasn't familiar. The phrasing had a quiet sophistication, an open melody, and the lyrics were strange besides. Not standard bard fare.

Music to heaven and her we owe,

The song was obviously revering someone named Cecilia, and crediting her with music. Perhaps a permutation of Branchala's name, although he doubted that.

The greatest blessing that's below,

He rolled up the parchment with the illusion designs and put it into his desk. He sealed it with a sigil and an arcane lock, then gripped the Staff of Magius. He would have to deal with this songbird himself.

Sound loudly then her fame.

---

I cut off the last note of the statement. The mouth shapes don't come naturally to me anymore- I'm definitely out of practice. At least this time I'll have a real representation of Earth music for Branchala- the finale to the little known but beautiful Handel opera, "Alexander's Feast". It's even a tribute to St. Cecilia, patron of music… hmm, the names are close, Branchala and Cecilia… perhaps I could swap them out.

I begin to sing again. The resonance in my chest and the tightness across my diaphragm is familiar and comforting.

Let's imitate her notes above

And may this evening ever prove

Sacred to harmony and love

"So. It was you."

I stop and turn to face Raistlin. "Nothing wrong with practicing."

"The Halls are resonant. I heard you in my study, as loud as if you were standing next to me."

"Sorry." I shrug. "I haven't actually done a mezza di voce since I performed this. It's not really called for in anything but proper choral music."

"Very impressive. Now be quiet."

"I don't see you helping get this resolution passed." I say. "If you'll allow me to put a spell on you- wait, why didn't you cast silence on yourself before?"

He glares at me. "Don't go acting superior, godchild." I feel the flash of magic, and he leaves the room silently.

"Bastard." I say to his retreating back. "I am superior, and you'll see it one day."

---

If one more person prods my chest, I think I'll have to throttle them. It's not like I haven't tried a more moderate approach, but to summarize my last conversation:

"It's not going to heal! Stop prodding it, it hurts like the Abyss!"

"Calm down, Mr. Nightson. Nurse, increase the dosage of morphine…"

Whatever this morphine stuff is, it does deaden the pain, at least temporarily. However, it also dampens my thoughts and makes me less alert. I severely dislike that.

Their strange "digital" clock says that it's four in the afternoon. That means that Adrian will likely be coming to visit again.

My prediction holds true.

"Good afternoon, Dalamar."

"Hello again."

He puts down his pack with a heavy sound, like that of books falling. I wince.

"Your case is still in its beginning stages. You'll likely have to speak with a policeman soon, so they can issue a warrant for your arrest. When you return to Nuitari, thank Raistlin for putting those holes in your chest. They're going to keep you out of jail until they've tried absolutely everything."

"What's everything?"

"I think they'll try to put on skin grafts. What they'll do is take skin from a place where it'll grow back- perhaps the inside of your thigh- and stitch it over the wounds. They're said to be painful, but they take a long time to heal, so they'll keep you here for quite a while."

"Very comforting."

He reaches for the cylinder. "You haven't tried the Vernors yet?"

"What are you talking about?'

He pries up a tab I'd toyed with before and uses it to punch out a hole in the top of the cylinder. "Oh… you couldn't figure out how to work a pop can." He appears to be disguising mirth. "Try it. It was one of Ren's favorites."

I take it from him and give it an apprehensive sniff. There's a sudden snapping and tingling sensation in my nose, and I sneeze.

"Oh, careful. The bubbles tend to go up your nose."

"Great timing." I put the edge of the can to my lips and drink. It tastes like ginger most of the way through, but has undertones of vanilla.

"I've got a lot of homework." He takes out one of the heavy books I'd heard. "Do you want me to leave, or would it be alright if I stayed and worked?"

I sigh. "Anything's better than having those 'doctors' poke at me."

"Be patient." He advises and opens the book. "We'll think of something.'

I'm not reassured.

---

"Lady Renetari."

I hear Dracart's voice, and look up from the spellbook. "What now, page?"

"Your father wishes to inform you that you will be traveling to Branchala's plane this afternoon. He trusts that you are prepared."

"He will be happy to know that I am." I say, and stand, my robe sleeves draping gently over my skin. "Would it be possible for you to watch over Dalamar whilst I am away?"

"With Takhisis keeping the souls of those who should come here on Krynn, I have few other duties." He bows deferentially. "There is no point being a greeter when there are none to greet."

"Greeter… by any chance, do you know of a dark elf named Gale Lammas?"

"Lammas… yes, I remember Lammas. Quite powerful. He could have taken the reins of the Black Robes if he'd figured out how to get to Wayreth without traveling west… had this strange and illogical compulsion to travel east. That's where he got his common name, 'east-mage'."

"Where could I find him?"

"Oh, I daresay you wouldn't want to." Dracart replied. "Considering your fear of Fistandalius."

"What does Fistandalius have to do with anything?" He is mocking me, I know it!

"My lady, Gale Lammas, like his illustrious ancestor Vecna, is a lich."

---

I consider this pleasant revelation as we streak across the stars to Branchala's plane.

"Lichs are invariably evil spellcasters." My father says. "Most of them are wizards, so we get stuck with them… luckily, the clerical ones go to Chemosh, so we don't have to deal with all of them. The only satisfaction I get from granting them the magic to make their phylacteries is the knowledge that they can't regain their youth in the afterlife."

My image of Gale as a handsome elf male suddenly rots. "I don't like them. Not at all."

"They follow me as well as the live ones."

"Except when they overstep their boundaries and go after my godhead."

"Fistandalius has always been trouble." He shrugs. "Hold on. Branchala's isa strange place… you'll see when we get there."

We are in a lightly wooded area. A slight breeze blows off the nearby lake. It looks familiar…

A sudden darkening of the sky, and the rain comes down heavy. I pull my hood over my head, and we run into an open-air wooden chapel that materializes around us.

"Lord Nuitari." Branchala steps off what I recognize as a conductor's platform. He takes my hand and allows his lips to linger over it. "Lady Renetari. Welcome to my plane."

"You've remodeled, I see." My father wrings water from his sleeves.

"Ah, the lady carries a most interesting memory in her soul." Branchala replies. "You see, my home is wherever music lives. This plane takes the form of the occupant's fondest musical memory. This is one I haven't seen before."

"This was the music camp I went to last summer." I say. "We- the choir- rehearsed in this chapel. One of our songs was a gospel piece, called "The Storm is Passing Over". We were rehearsing it in full for the first time, and it started to pour… it was nothing short of magical."

"I could possibly have been due to your magical nature." My father comments.

"If you would supply the music?" Branchala looks to me expectantly, and my father nods his approval.

I stand up straight. "Branchala, it's a simple major harmonization, if you want to join in at the repeats." I snap my fingers in time and sing.

Have courage my soul

And let us journey on

Though the night is dark

And I am far from home

Thanks be to God

The morning light appears

The storm is passing over

Hallelu.

Halleluia, a-le-lu-ia, a-le-lu-ia…

Branchala comes in, his baritone falling in beneath my contralto, and the chapel undergoes a fantastic transformation. There- the ghostly apparition of the accompanist, pounding on the piano keys. And all around me, the forms of the choir… my cabinmates, my friend from my hometown, the tenor I'd secretly thought was cute- their voices came pure from my memory. The only difference was that Branchala was the conductor and my father was standing bewildered in the middle of it all.

The storm is passing over

Hallelu.

Branchala gives me a cue, and another deviation- I am improvising the gospel solo. I am singing over the lyric.

Alleluia, a-le-lu-ia, a-le-lu-ia…

The storm is passing over

Hallelu.

Branchala cuts us off, the rain stops, and one by one the shades retreat back into my memory.

"Thank you, Renetari.' Branchala says. "I've never experienced a memory so… exhilarating."

"Now, Branchala… to business."

"Of course, Nuitari." He sits on one of the wooden benches my memory conjured. "I would assume your proposal?"

"Yes, Branchala. My proposal."

"Nuitari, the situation on Krynn is indeed dire. Although it may still seem like my bards have their magic, all they have is their wits- and although those are magic enough for most, I often feel their frustration when they desperately need healing and I can't provide them with the trickle they need to heal…" Branchala says. "And even worse, there are no new memories. My plane stagnates without them… Renetari's will keep it alive for a good while, but without new memories from the dead, my home, my very existence,will wither away."

"Is this an approval or a disapproval?" My father raises an eyebrow.

"Someone who carries such music in her soul would not go against my interests." Branchala nods. "I approve of your proposal. Oh, and Renetari… if it's alright with you, I may have to visit the Halls on occasion to learn some of your Earth music."

"It would be my pleasure, Lord Branchala."

He takes my hand again and kisses it just long enough to make a blush begin to rise in my cheeks, and a bit of a storm begin to rise in my father's eyes.

---

"He means to court you." My father says sternly.

"What?"

"Exactly what I said, Renetari."

"Father, I've got a mental age of about sixteen and admit it freely. There is no way I'd let myself get trapped like that."

His smile goes crooked, and I wonder what I said.

---

I have an announcement to make.

On Tuesday, I'm moving to Kalamazoo to attend Kalamazoo College. Attending college means I'll have homework and rehearsals again. This means that I'll have much less time to apply to Lux and the Replacements- particularly since I'm taking sophmore-level physics my first freshman semester. Also, I've sent my book for review to a publisher, which means I need to finish those last few pesky chapters. So… this is going to slow considerably. Sorry. Couldn't keep it up forever. But never fear, it will continue!