Chapter 24
The Others

If I could recollect before my hood days
I would sit in bliss and reminisce on the good days
I stop and stare at the younger; my heart goes to 'em
They stressed and goin' under
We never really went through that
'Cause we was born B. C. – you and me Before Crack
Today things change, it's a shame
They blame it on the youth 'cause the truth look strange
For them its worse, we come from a world that's cursed
And it hurts
'Cause any day they'll push the button.
And y'all condemned like Malcolm X and Uncle Bob
They died for nothin'
Make the people teary, the world looks dreary
But when you wipe your eyes, you see it clearly
There's no need for you to fear me
If you take the time to hear me, maybe you can learn to cheer me
It ain't about black or white, both doin'
I hope you see the light before its ruined
My ghetto gospel
-2Pac

"Shit!" Jonathan let out under his breath, searching for others. He tried as hard as he could to pull his legs in front of each other, struggling to keep walking. The water and mud seemed to drag at him, pulling him farther down.

To his left, he caught someone else struggling amongst the reeds on the banks. Pushing forward even harder, Jonathan made his way to the restricted, yet fighting, movement.

Pulling out one of the knives he always carried with him, he threw his clarinet case to the side, praying it wouldn't slide on the mud back to the water of the swamp. Hacking away at the tall and flourishing grass, he soon saw the strands of unnatural hair color. He stopped for a moment and sighed, contemplating as to whether continue.

"You leave now, then, once I get out of here, I'm gonna make sure you never abandon a Flute ever again," Kristina was quick to say.

Sighing again, Jonathan finished the work he had started and pulled her from the mess.

Making their way up the sloppy hill, Jonathan fell while bending down to grab his case. Annoyance on her face, Kristina didn't bother to help him. However, instead of continuing, she waited for him to get back up.

Getting back to solid ground and regular grass, Jonathan immediately tossed his case to the side. It was old, usually coming unlatched, and had his nickname (PBJ) tapped to the side, so he made sure – despite his throwing – it landed properly.

Kristina, however, kept Rusty's case in her arms, almost as if cradling the case and instrument.

Gazing around, the two heard an owl coo.

"What the fuck?" Kristina asked. "It's broad day."

"It's Chelsea," Jonathan told her, heading towards the noise. "We used to use animal calls as a way to find each other and tell each other what was going on during the long battles. It means everyone's alright but she needs help with something."

The two headed over bushes and fallen trees, probably due to the fight that had ensued earlier. They found Chelsea squatting next to one fallen tree, content in some examination.

"Everything alright, Chels?" Jonathan asked upon approaching.

The usual grin and good-natured or quietly withdrawn attitude wasn't there. Worry had replaced it, though with obvious slight annoyance.

"It's Laura. She panicked during the fighting and got struck on the head by a falling branch," Chelsea told them, still looking at the wounded girl.

Jonathan rolled his eyes in frustration. "Great. Her memory was bad enough…"

Kristina's eyes blazed and she shot Jonathan the dirtiest look she could possibly muster.

It was then Jonathan noticed Mike, who was also bent down, inspecting Laura. He was far more involved in and concentrated that he had not noticed anything around him.

Feeling partially guilty, Jonathan asked, "She gonna be okay, Mike?"

He looked up at his name and just nodded before going back. "She's still breathing and has pulse. I'm hoping it's just a bruise."

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A fire burned lightly in the cold air of the night. The Flute, two Clarinets, and Tenor Saxophone sat around it, munching softly on what little bread and snacks they had taken from Keeremp-ierkay. They had nothing else to eat.

Laura lay off to the side, the rest waiting for her to wake.

"So, where's everyone's hometown?" Mike asked, disrupting the silence.

"Goldir," Kristina said, being the first to respond since she'd already explained this all before.

After a few seconds of silence, Mike spoke next, taking the responsibility since he had started the conversation. "I'm from Tenorinn. It's a small town in the Sax Mountains. We don't do much mining but we do some. There's kind of a joint government we have with the other surrounding Sax towns and cities, such as Saxzinire and Altrinion, along the base. I've served in the legislative and lent my time to studying the history of Saxophones."

Recognizing it was her turn, Chelsea said, "I lived near Ezgarnth. No specific town, really, but close to. It's basically why I was even there for the Battle of the Five Instruments – I lived in the area. Obviously, had I lived somewhere else, I would have been part of a different army."

"Wait," Kristina started, "does that mean Jon lived in Ezgarnth?"

Chelsea hesitated for a moment. "No…." she said slowly. "You didn't, did you, Jon?"

Jonathan finished the stroking of the fire he has been doing, tossing the branch then to the side. "No," he told them, scratching his left ear. "I don't really have a hometown. My parents moved from clarinet town to clarinet town and then I ran away and never really settled down. I really don't know anyone I've stuck with, other than Victoria and Chelsea. And Chelsea was mostly due to the fact we both had been in the same army for so long." He shrugged, taking another bite of his limited meal.

"And Laura?" someone asked. Mike laughed slightly. "I guess we'll just have to ask her when she wakes up."

A rustling from some trees immediately made Mike's hand travel to his sheath, Chelsea and Jonathan's to their blades, and Kristina's to her bow and arrows. They relaxed as soon as they saw it was Jeff.

"A Brass in a group of four Woodwinds?" Kristina questioned. "Get ready for Hell, kid."

Jonathan, who had befriended Jeff already, got up immediately and greeted him, leading him towards where he had been sitting with Mike and Chelsea. And their inquisitive glances, he just told them, "I'll tell you later."

Silence again settled amongst them. Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, Kristina asked, "And what of us?"

There were quick, questioning answers from all of them.

"What do we have left to do? We have no clue where those two from the Nyre were taken and I doubt any of us here know how to find out. And we don't have the Valve Ring with us, so we have nothing to destroy. I mean, what are we gonna do? Go back home?"

None of them responded; none of them knew.

"I mean, we don't have any importance in the grand scheme of things anymore, do we?" she put out at last. Before any of them could contemplate it though, Laura made a soft noise in her sleep. They quickly turned towards her to see how she was doing, but she was still asleep.

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The rider looked down at Emily with hesitation, almost. "Don't take it personally," he told her. "We are not allies with Miseri, yet we are not yet at open war with them. We do not trust travelers easily anymore. State your purpose!"

There was not much reaction from Strider, despite the pressing looks of doubt upon Victoria, Andrew, Michelle, and Emily. He sort of laughed, while making no noise. He then met his eyes evenly with the rider, never removing his smile.

"My only purpose is to recapture my friends that are pursued and taken. I serve no one. You ask my name?" He withdrew the Clarinet of Enders from where he had casually hid it beneath his cloak. It shone brightly, the writings and runes of the many hands that forged it – in a time when angst between instruments was near unheard of – being illuminated in the sunlight. "I am Mark son of Dave, and am called Vrekmelklot (Wÿè), the Grendstone, and the heir of Gildor Engeloth's son of Goldir. Here is the Clarinet that was Broken and is forged again. Will you aid me now?"

The other four viewed him slightly; rarely had they ever seen Strider attribute himself with his royal lineage.

The rider stepped back for a moment, awe upon his face. He lowered his eyes, the haughtiness of them gone.

"It is strange times, indeed, when legends and names of old spring from the grass like rabbits. My name is Aaromer. What brings you here? What dark news do you bring us?"

"Choice," Strider responded, no longer smiling but with little gloom upon his face. "You cannot stay with what you have always done – you either face Rowell or join him. There is no middle ground. The Orch-host we were pursuing – what can you tell us of them?"

"You need not pursue them longer," Aaromer told them. "We caught and killed them."

"And our friends?"

"We found none but Orchs." Aaromer glanced to his surrounding soldiers and ordered them to depart a bit away.

"I hope you feel we can speak more freely now, if you would," he told the five. "What is your story?"

"We set out from Rendellin many weeks ago. With us departed Barimir of Mithnel Goldrenad. He would have liked that I went to that city to aid his people in their war against Rowell. But my company, and my fellowship, had other plans. I can tell you of those later. Handal the Legato was out leader."

"Handal!" Aaromer exclaimed. "He is known in the Niddenmark, but he has fallen out of the king's favor. He is the memory of many coming and going is this land as he pleases. But they say now of ill events that he, supposedly brings.

"It was in the summer that much went amiss, then being when Handal visited us to tell us to abandon trust in Rowumell. We had been ready friends with Rowumell, but Handal told us that he brewed war in Miengard and that Handal himself had been captive there. He begged for help but the king had refused him. Probably in retaliation, Handal took Exigir, the most impressive and grand of the king's steeds, which only the Lord of the Mark may ride. Exigir returned but none can tame him now. Speak not Handal's name to the king – he is wroth."

It was here that Strider's cockiness faded. "Then he has no more worries. He fell into darkness in the Mines of Mornia."

Aaromer's face became grief stricken. "I take this harshly, though not all in these lands would. And what of Barimir?"

"He fell due to the very Orchs which you hunted."

Aaromer just nodded. "His brother will miss him," he added as an afterthought.

"At the moment, we worry about Rowumell," Aaromer continued. "He has declared his take on these lands and now we worry about a battle from the east, Rowell, and from the west, along the Gap, Rowumell. The Orchs we had pursued, upon overtaking them, more sprung from the forest, bearing a white Treble and Bass clef. They were stronger and sturdier than normal Orchs."

"And of your king?" Strider interrupted. "I've heard strange talk of him."

Aaromer's expression changed to one of thought. "Questionable," he stated. "A percussionist and yet claims to have blood in the royal linage."

"And his treatment of your people?"

"The Percussion are good-working and reliable people, when you need it. This one seems to have missed those traits and kept the others. His humor is of Percussion: crude," and Aaromer spat upon the ground.

Victoria smiled lightly and Andrew said, "Yes, but I could certainly say the same of some of the other Brass…"