Dark Muse (31 page)

That scared him more than any zombie or mouth
creature ever could. Corey, Poe and Otis trembled with him. The
twins stood frozen in their spots, but Luke had clearly seen death
on its way and needed more help—soon. Still, the teen refused to
give in to the moment.

As Muddy took in the entire Triton from head
to three feet, he found himself shaking, despite his hatred for
them and what they’d put his brother and friends through. Head,
eyes, blade-like arms with something within them he couldn’t
discern. Their legs were smooth, muscular and gleaming as though
covered by some sort of exoskeleton. They appeared sleek and
powerful. He imagined the speed and dexterity they had. Escape
would be futile, even if they could find a route to escape. Getting
in was a horror; getting out was an even bigger nightmare to
consider, so he didn’t. Hopefully, the twins would help there. Yet
he didn’t come this far to run away. Instead, he took in the scene
around him and saw a palace of sorts.

Paintings or etchings lined the walls of the
odd, geometric-shaped room. Muddy recalled the word Corey used to
describe the room with twelve equal sides. This one had more and
each section was a different size. He attempted to count the number
of sides, but confusion filled his vision and blurred his focus as
the high walls surrounded them in a silvery hue. The floor beneath
their feet comprised of thousands of triangular tiles, every single
one a polished black.

Many openings spread above the Tritons’ heads
and Muddy knew, somehow, that they were now at the apex of the
mountain. Even though he couldn’t discern any glass or other
material, Muddy felt no breeze. There should be some incoming wind,
but the thin tapestries strung from the ceiling hung stagnant. He
recalled the immense height of the peak they saw when they were
miles away. There had to be a way down; one that wouldn’t kill
them.

He mentally catalogued the items around him,
just in case. Windows, tapestries, images, Tritons—everything
mattered. He swore each pictograph depicted a song that spun on
every classic radio station, from various styles, from composers of
many eras, each of them idolized in some way.

Hendrix and Elvis hung on one wall. Buddy
Holly and Mozart hung on another. Janis Joplin, Randy Rhoads, John
Coltrane, Robert Johnson and others smiled down from the one behind
them. On the right side, John Lennon, George Harrison, Bon Scott
and Paul McCartney gazed in awe from lifelike life cells that
appeared to be a something between a painting and photograph.

“Whoa,” Otis said. “I thought you only dealt
in dead dudes here.”

“All gave their innermost magic for the
betterment of the River and more.”

The drummer and Muddy looked at each other.
They heard Poe chuckle and turned to see her smile, in spite of
their situation.

“Um…” He looked at the beings attempting to
frighten them. “McCartney’s still kicking. You do know that,
right?”

The three turned to each other slightly.
Whispers fluttered and limbs flitted that denoted some
communication. “We were told otherwise.”

Poe stood there, leaning ahead of Muddy. “I
think he’s even still touring. You might want to check your facts
before immortalizing someone.”

A sound brought him back to lock eyes with
the center being. Fear splashed over him colder than the River
which nearly claimed him.

It demanded his attention. All of theirs.
Now.

“We’ll give you a choice.”

“I don’t think so. Heard that already today,”
Otis said, his own voice breaking. “We came to take Zack home.
That’s our
only
choice.”

“Where is he?” Muddy struggled to keep his
voice steady.

The three Tritons laughed in tones, a chord
that pained all of them. Muddy watched the light fade from Poe’s
eyes right before his legs gave out. The band dropped to their
knees and blacked out as one. Muddy regained consciousness moments
later, realizing something crucial had occurred in that small
amount of time.

“Go ahead,” spoke the one in the middle. “We
were hoping you would take him, but we’re not sure if he still
wants to leave us.”

“What’s the price?”

No answer.

“Tell us!”

“Give us your music and leave. Or leave her
here with us.” They pointed at Poe, but Muddy already knew what
they wanted. “And you.”

“No!” He would give his life for the band—his
friends, his family, but would never give up Poe, even if he died
with her.

“Why?” Poe cried. “What do you need him for?
Us? You have the greatest minds in history coming through here all
the time. We’re just kids.”

“But you have something they couldn’t give
us,” said the trio in an augmented triad. “Yes, you have something
else.”

Muddy rushed them, not knowing what they
meant.

The trio turned together and struck a chord
he wished he’d never heard. He crumbled and felt blood drip from
his ears as darkness swirled around him.

* * * *

Groggy, he fought back. Not now. Not again.
He couldn’t fail the band or his brother. He regained consciousness
seconds later, his friends surrounding him.

The group faced the Tritons in a semi-circle.
Even without instruments, Muddy knew they all felt the power of the
River flowing within them.

“We want my brother,” he said boldly. “You
can keep me.”

They laughed once more in that painful chord
and he fell to his knees again. “Take him, if you can.”

They gestured upwards to the right where Zack
now lived.

They looked at Muddy’s brother—and
gasped.

Zack hung in a prism-like machine with
metallic strings holding him up. Each string entered him from a
different place in his arms, his legs, his chest. Others entered
near his heart, neck and skull. They had turned him into a living
human instrument.

The structure rose up over twelve feet off
the floor and stretched out at least six feet on either side of his
torso. He resembled a flimsy Ferris wheel, scaffolding, or clock
bred with the inner organs of a piano.

Corey whistled. “Geez, they turned him into a
musical machine version of DaVinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man.’ The perfect
proportion.”

Otis looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?
Zack’s up there and you’re giving another history lesson?”

The bigger teen shook his head. “No, spaz. It
was meant to show how man is the perfect proportion in
architecture. It depicted the measurements of the universe’s ideal
design for many things.”

The smaller boy snorted. “If only he lived to
see how low humans have sunk since his time. Perfection, my
bony—”

“I know, but look!” He pointed at Zack’s
face.

Zack’s eyes were open and pleading with Muddy
as they met each other’s gaze. They spoke to Muddy, clear in their
intent.

Help me. Or kill me.

A strange music emanated from the
machine.

* * * *

“Look what you’ve done to him!” Poe began to
cry. “Is he still alive?”

“Yes,” they replied in a diminished chord
that kept the band in pain and off-guard. “Actually, he’s growing
stronger, just like he’d hoped. Like we’d hoped he would.”

“But he looks like he’s dying! He’s a
prisoner in there. You’re no better than Hitler or Dr.
Frankenstein!”

Did they just smile?

“Only his body,” they said, “the strings, the
machine will keep his energy, his music, alive. For us. For
it
. Unless you wish to take his place.”

One of them unfurled an arm and plucked a
string from Zack’s side. It rang in a pitch-perfect tone. The
harmonics echoed off every wall and sounded beautiful.

The other two joined in and began to play
him, beautiful music emanating from his being, hooked up to their
palace. He screamed with each note, songs of pain, and they thrived
on it. Each stood on a side of Muddy’s brother, with one directly
underneath and limbs churning like artists, teasing out a melody
and harmony that sounded both sweet and bitter as notes radiated
from all parts of him. His face contorted in agony with each
stroke. The quintet writhed on the floor, the power of the song
paralyzing them in pain. “Join your brother. All of us would enjoy
it. All.” They elicited a pure song from him, his very essence.

This was their future, Muddy thought. The
Tritons had planned on either killing them all or milking them dry,
as they had done to his brother.

Poe stared, incredulous. She looked beyond
Zack. “They really did expect us.”

Four new, empty harnesses hung on the
walls.

Corey pushed himself up, in pain but also in
determination as he rushed the machine and its operators. He was
immediately dropped by a slash of their arms and a piercing wail
that pained all of them. The sax player rolled on the floor in
obvious agony. A thin wound opened up across his chest.

“What do you want?” Muddy cried. “Why
us?”

“We have the brother and the muse is strong
in him, like the others who came before him. He wanted to stay, to
learn; a mistake, that curiosity of his. He is weak, even though
the music in him is strong.”

“We can mold him our way. The others, the
ones whose songs built the trials you passed, they would never
enter our world. Not the way this boy did or like you did.”

Muddy felt his entire world unravel inside
his mind.

“You
showed us the strength that we
truly need. You’re the stronger ones.”

“Stay and he can go.”

The eyes of the Tritons bored into each of
the band members. “You’re still pure, not sullied in spirit like
the others had become.” They gazed up at the images on the
wall.

“Not all of them got hooked on the bad
stuff,” Corey said. “Some had been in accidents.”

“Yes,” one said, “accidents.”

What? No freaking way. Muddy’s mind continued
to spiral.

“They all came to the River pure as a
spider’s silk, but many couldn’t resist the pull and compensated
when not swimming in it. There are things in there which can kill a
soul.”

Muddy recalled how he nearly drowned in it.
How he almost wanted to do so and leave his pain behind, but that
wasn’t really him, was it?

“You haven’t been tainted. That is what we
need here. We thought we had solved the puzzle with your brother,
and we still might. His soul runs deeper than most. We have seen
this only once or twice before. Maybe you can help him hold onto
it.”

Muddy’s mind swirled in indecision. Could
they? Or would they die either way?

The Tritons continued their song and the band
collapsed again. How could they win? As the song from the
Zack-thing grew in intensity, so did the vibrations. The floor
shook and somehow Muddy knew it wasn’t just the bass notes. The
entire mountain shook with the song, almost as if something lived
beneath it and was fed by the song.

Muddy looked to each of his friends and saw
confusion mixed with fear.

Another voice suddenly entered Muddy’s
head.

Don’t give in. Those who do, agonize within
them for all eternity.

Silver Eye? But how? Why? He turned to Poe
then to the others and knew they’d heard it as well.

Remember how you hear a song on the radio and
it always seems to play, every day, without fail? You’ll become
something worse, a recording of this place—of them. We, as people
will be gone, but the music in us will live on.

Definitely not!

Remember what you have within you. Don’t
give in.

Muddy hung his head. “Okay, you win.

“What?” The others echoed each other.

“What are you doing?” Poe’s voice screamed as
she rushed him. A force, something unseen, stopped her from
reaching him.

“We’ll give you our song—I will—but they
leave, all of them, with Zack.”

More laughter. “This isn’t some romance
ballad, boy.” The tone of its voice shook him.

“I’m not kidding,” Muddy continued. “Take me
and leave them behind.”

“You’re nothing by yourself,” said the left
one. “We need you as a whole.”

The right one spoke his turn. “Yes, the music
as a collective is sweeter than any one voice ever could be. Solo
efforts never measure up to the collective. Think of even the
greatest musicians.”

Muddy prayed the others heard the same song
in their heads that he did. “You said we had a choice!”

Their eyes almost twinkled in a smile. “Did
we?”

The band stood like tombstones, resigned to
whatever fate befell them, but Muddy doubted any were surprised by
the lies. Silver Eye had trained them, but really, he only awoke in
them what he knew would already be there, which was why he allowed
them to cross over. Their song was strong.

“Okay, but he lives. Our father needs
him.”

The rest of the band nodded their assent.
They knew.

“Come up to the stage before you begin,” said
the middle one. “We need to hear it, feel it, as it flows from
you.”

Muddy flashed a smile that would have made
any rock star proud. “You asked for it.”

They reached for their instruments and found
them missing.

“What the?” Otis cried. “Where’s my
drum?”

“My guitar!”

“My sax!”

Another laugh sounded in triplicate. “In
time.”

Muddy knew before they spoke.

What about Luke? He’d betrayed all of them,
standing off to the side, limping away from the group. Muddy felt
the dream, his hope for their lives, drop to the smooth floor and
shatter.

“Why?” His sister cried, balling her fists.
“Why have you turned your back on us? You’ve suffered through all
of this with us. You almost died to get here. They
saved
you!”

He hung his head. “I still might perish,” he
answered in a little voice. “They promised me that our village
would be free, that we could finally enjoy our lives. I only had to
guide them here.” He shrugged. “These guys were coming here,
anyway. It was a small price to pay for our people.”