Karadra's Shipwreck

The Ship - Chapter 17

The violin lay next to its leather case. The bow balanced on the instrument’s strings, its edge touching the unmade sheets.

Hesitantly, Arsik entered the room, his eyes locked on the violin. “Maestra?”

No answer.

He examined the instrument. There was something familiar about it. The scent of old wood tickled his nose and memory. The main part of the violin was weatherworn. Certain spots needed fixing – slight damages that would surely be affecting the sound it produced. He wondered if Maestra would want its sound corrected by repairs or if she preferred it this way.

His thoughts traveled to Saraport’s shipyards, to the workers building and repairing ships. Arsik had always been in good terms with them. When he traveled, he wished his vessel to be strong – he didn’t want to die at sea. He had spent many an afternoon at the shipyards, learning the craftsmen’s secrets, in order to be useful if need ever demanded it. He liked the smell of wood, glue and ropes, all the parts that combined into something magnificent, like necessary ingredients in a meal.

Maestra’s clothes were tossed aside in a pile. Her scent lingered in the room. It took him back to the night before. Her clothes’ colors were vivid: purple, red, yellow, and blue fabrics with golden or white threads, patterns intricately weaved on silk.

He reached towards the violin and stroke a string, listening to its characteristic sound, like a tiny squeak, and trailed his finger on the bow. No resin on it, he thought and frowned.

Where had that come from? He didn’t even know what this resin was and yet, for a moment, he had felt it, felt how dry the hairs of the bow were and his mind had immediately decided the material needed. He marveled at this piece of knowledge he didn’t even know he possessed.

A strange desire came over him, shooting through him like a lightning bolt. Reaching out, he lifted the violin. Its weight was so familiar. The wood felt cold in his hands but fit well. He placed his fingers on the strings and supported the instrument against his neck. It locked there perfectly. He raised the bow and touched it on the strings.

A fearful, lonely note started murmuring as if struggling to walk on a straight line. But it didn’t perish – it held on. The tune didn’t falter until his hand completed the movement from one side to the next.

He scrunched up his brows. Something inside him lit up, like a candle in the dark, and he couldn’t explain it. It was a hunger, different than that for food.

He felt the music calling to him.

Arsik played another note, this time louder, straighter, livelier. He sucked a short breath and played another. He didn’t know how to do that – even his breathing felt odd. He’d seen Maestra breathing this way between the notes, in a measured, rhythmical manner.

His hand took control. His cut fingers didn’t hinder him – the stumps stubbornly put pressure on the strings. The melody started crawling and changing course. It opened pathways, it covered distances, led him to a mournful summoning.

His eyelids fluttered shut. Nothing else existed anymore; his mind emptied like a lonely field under the burning sun. His emotions untangled and spread out like clothes on a line. An odd clarity defined his soul. He felt peace as his hand, his breathing and his heart had surrendered to the music.

The song became quicker, more complex. He kept playing. Now his body swayed too, another expression of the music. The movement was in accord with the melody, changed with its verse, reacted to the notes. His hair fell in front of his eyes. He pushed it back with a sharp shake of his head; he’d done it countless times and so it didn’t bother him. Sweat trickled down his mouth and onto his unshaved chin.

The melody was reaching its climax. He was playing for her now; he could feel it, see her body naked inside the earth. She was different, younger. Behind her were innumerable spiders, swelling like a wave around the walls while she remained still.

Her eyes were fixed on him.

It scared him. Electricity shot through his mind. His hand slipped and produced a hideous false note. He stopped playing and listened to its echo in the room.

“Well, isn’t that a surprise.”

He whirled around. Maestra was staring at him, astonished, but Arsik was panicking. His eyes had opened like gates, and through them, Maestra saw entire worlds, undiscovered.

Arsik looked down at his hands, seeing the violin and the bow. Sighing, he stepped back, almost falling on the bed, blanching and feeling faint.

Maestra rushed over to him. “Easy, Arsik!”

She helped him sit down, gently taking the violin and bow and setting them aside. Arsik hadn’t returned to this world yet; he was aware of it. Her figure was hazy now, far away. He could see her through a small crack in a tunnel – he was reaching out with his white fingers, staring. Insects crawled on his back and a powerful fear clenched his insides.

Tears rolled down his face. He let them. A moment later, he turned to look at her. “Maestra?”

His voice sounded broken. He could see her clearly now. She hugged him tight. He smelled her shoulder and kissed her neck.

“What happened? How? I…”

Maestra touched a finger on his lips. “You traveled a little, my sweet Arsik. You encountered… your other self.”

Arsik swallowed. “You mean… The spirit? The Berserker?”

Maestra smiled and nodded. “Sometimes he wins.”

Her voice was tired. Arsik hadn’t noticed it until then. She was different from the last time he’d seen her. Somewhere between her disheveled hair and tired eyes, her grace had vanished. Her skin appeared dry, she was hunching; her parched mouth had acquired a sick, purplish color. “What’s wrong?” he asked, touching her cheek.

She lowered her head. “Nothing, Arsik… I’m just exhausted these days. I don’t feel very well.”

“What’s going on? Where were you yesterday?” he insisted.

She seemed to be having a hard time in the face of his intensity. “Nothing is going on, Arsik. I just need a little time. There are some things I need to deal with. I will come to you when I am ready.”

Arsik got angry; his voice changed. “I can help you! I’ve learned a lot now, you’ve seen it. You saw what happened with the violin. And it’s not just that. I talked to the others. Maestra, let me help you with whatever it is that burdens you.”

Her eyes turned thunderous, her voice high-pitched, revealing the strange accent again. “Help me? You have no idea what is going on! We don’t have time for this!”

Standing up, he looked at her, hurt. Her eyes softened. “Arsik… I am sorry. I didn’t mean to talk to you like this.” His lip trembled. “I promise you that as soon as I feel better, I will find you and talk to you, alright?”

She took his hand and kissed it. Balm.

Arsik gulped and nodded, with difficulty, even though he didn’t truly want to.

Before he crossed the threshold, he heard her say “Arsik.” He turned. “Don’t ever touch that violin again without asking me first. Ever. Do you understand?”

Arsik stared at her for an endless moment, nodded and left.