Sorry if this confuses people, but a helpful review from cathrl has caused me to revise Mordekai's age upwards, making him ten instead of seven. It's amazing the difference three extra years can make...
By the way, Pern's not mine.
Hours later, Brek and Drianne were wandering around the halls. They had both had dinner and attended their rehearsals, and were becoming rapidly more worried about Mor, whom they hadn't seen since he went off for his lesson with Master Domick.
"Mother was awfully worried this afternoon," fretted Drianne. "I hope it didn't have anything to do with Mor."
"You don't think they found out his secret, do you?" asked Brek anxiously.
Drianne shook her head. "No. If they'd found that out, then I would have gotten into trouble too. Father knows that it was me who got him apprenticed."
As they continued to discuss reasons for his continuing absence, the topic of their debate wandered into view. "Mor!" they cried together, and rushed up to him.
"What happened?" asked Drianne.
"Where have you been?" cried Brek.
Mor held up his hands, and gradually, the others quietened. "I spent the afternoon with Master Domick," he began, "who had a heart attack when he saw me." The others stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"You aren't that ugly, surely!" Brek wheezed.
"I'm serious!" Mor said angrily. "He had a heart attack because he thought that I was his son."
There was a shocked silence. "His son?" whispered Drianne. "I didn't even know he had one!"
"Well, he does," said Mor bluntly. "Or rather, he did. His son was my father. Master Domick is my grandfather."
Suddenly Brek slapped him hard on the back, nearly knocking him over. "Congratulations, Mor!' he exclaimed. "You've found part of your family! It's unbelievable! Just last night in the dorm, you were saying you wanted to meet all your relatives, and today, you made a start. Well done!"
"So, how did the singing auditions this afternoon go?" Mor asked, as they turned and strolled down the hall.
Drianne groaned. "Don't remind me," she groaned.
Brek grinned at her, then turned to Mor. "Oh, she was awful," he said, with a wink to show Mor he was joking.
Drianne missed the wink, so she flared up. "I did not! I just messed up a little, because of nerves!"
She threw a punch at Brek, which he ducked, then he turned back to Mor. "Seriously, she did fine. As she said, she messed up a little, but not too much. I, on the other hand," his smile slipping from his face, "messed up completely."
"He forgot the words!" Drianne giggled.
Brek threw her a mock frown, then smiled. "There I was, singing away for the Voice Master at the Harper Hall, and halfway through a verse, I couldn't remember the rest of the words! My mind went completely blank, and I just stood there, my knees trembling, my mouth hanging open, and nothing coming out! I must have looked ridiculous!" He went off into peals of laughter, which set both of the others laughing too.
"Uncle Piemur said you should go see him tomorrow, Mor, so you can audition too. Mother must have told him what happened, because he was a bit annoyed with you this afternoon for not showing up, and wasn't planning to let you audition at all. He wants to see you at the eighth hour," said Drianne, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of her eye.
Mor froze, and the others had taken another half-dozen steps before they realised he was no longer with them. "Mor? What's the matter?" Brek asked curiously, noting how white he had gone.
"You've gotten nervous again, haven't you?" asked Drianne sympathetically. "Don't worry. Just sing something you know all the words to, and you'll be fine," she added, grinning at Brek.
Drianne's words were enough to comfort Mor temporarily, but his fears came back to haunt him later that night and he spent the whole night tossing and turning. When he went down to the hall for breakfast, he was as white as a sheet and jumped at every little noise.
"Morning, Mor! How's it going?" Brek hailed him.
Mor jumped, then said shakily, "Hello."
"What's the matter, Mor?" asked Drianne. "Are you all right?"
"I'm just really nervous," he admitted. "And I'm a bit worried. I'm supposed to be with Master Domick at the eighth hour, but I'm supposed to be with Master Piemur then too. How can I be in two places at once?"
"Haven't you read the noticeboard this morning?" asked Drianne. "Master Domick's lessons have all been cancelled until the end of the sevenday because he's recovering. Now everyone knows that he had a heart attack yesterday, but not why."
Mor heaved a sigh of relief. No one would know he was Domick's grandson. Like Drianne, he knew what the children (or in his case, grandchildren) of Masters went through in class.
"What have you decided to do for your audition?" Brek asked.
"I thought I might do Moreta's solo from the Ballad of Moreta's Ride," Mor replied absently.
"Down an octave, of course," said Brek.
"No," said Mor with a frown, sounding puzzled. "Why should I do it down an octave?"
Brek looked shocked. "Are you really a girl, then?" he exclaimed. "Is your full name Moreta?"
Mor, looking stung, replied, "No, I'm not a girl! And my full name is Mordekai, not Moreta. Why would you think I'm a girl?"
"Because I've never heard a boy able to sing high enough to do Moreta's solo!" Brek exclaimed. "I didn't know that a boy's voice could be that high!"
A cunning look came across his face. "I get it. You tell me you'll do it that high, but you won't. No boy can sing that high. Not many girls can, for that matter."
"Well, if you don't believe me, then come and listen to my audition after breakfast," offered Mor, annoyed that one of his best friends wouldn't believe him. "I'll show you I can sing it."
They sat down for breakfast, Mor still fuming that Brek wouldn't believe him, then afterwards they went up the stairs to the third office on the left; Master Piemur's office. Mor hesitantly tapped on the door, and from within came a merry, "Come in!" Mor took a deep breath, and opened the door.
"Ah, Mor!" exclaimed Piemur, rising from behind the desk he had been sitting at. "You're here to audition for me, correct?"
Mor nodded. "Yes, sir."
"And what of Drianne and Brek? What are they doing here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as the two children came in through the door and settled themselves on two of the stools against the wall.
"Well, sir, Brek didn't believe me when I told him what I intended to sing for you, so I said he could listen to this audition so I could show him I meant it. And Drianne decided to come along too," explained Mor.
"Very well," said Piemur, a grin creeping across his face. "And what are you going to sing for me, young Mor?"
"Moreta's solo from the Ballad of Moreta's Ride, sir," replied Mor.
"At the proper octave? Many singers use that for auditions, but boys usually do it an octave down," said Piemur, settling back in his seat and gazing at Mor.
"At the proper octave, sir."
"Very well, Mor. Please begin," he said. Mor took a deep breath (properly, Piemur was surprised to note) and began. His voice rose sweet and true, and he didn't miss a beat throughout. His dynamics were spot on, and as the final note died away, Piemur admitted to himself that Mor had done as well as he himself had during his boyhood.
Brek was sitting on the edge of his seat, his eyes so wide they were nearly falling out of his face. "He… he did it…" he gasped.
Drianne, sitting next to him, quietly said, "Of course. Mor always does what he says he's going to." Inside though, she was impressed. It had been a quite a while since she had heard Mor sing, and from what she'd just heard, he had improved immeasurably in that time.
"That was very well done, Mor," Piemur said, a smile on his face. "You're the first boy in fifteen Turns I've heard do it in the right octave."
"And who did you hear before that, sir?" Mor asked. He felt that he had never sung better, and from the look on Brek's face, that feeling was probably right.
Piemur grinned cheekily. "Myself. Off you go now, young Mor. I'll add your name to my timetable. Is there any time that isn't any good for you?"
"Well sir, I have lessons with Master Domick at the eighth and tenth hours every day, and orchestra at the twentieth, but any other time is fine."
"Very well. I'll schedule your lessons for the fourteenth hour, then. That gives you plenty of time for lunch, and doesn't interfere with your other lessons."
"Thank you, sir," said Mor, heading out of the door, Drianne dragging a still-gaping Brek with her. "Goodbye."
After the door had swung shut, Piemur got to his feet and stared out of the window. It was rare to find a boy soprano; even rarer to find a good one. Mor was the best the Hall had seen since Piemur himself, and that was without proper training. Imagine what he would be with training! Piemur lost himself in dreams of days gone by, and of days to come.
Sorry, kind of shortish. Will update soon!