Demon Singer (7 page)

7 WHERE IS THE PROPHET MAN?

“Where to, oh Captain my Captain?”  The demoness sat sideways in the passenger seat facing Lyric.

“We’ll head back to Ru Batoe, to the library there, but I have a stop to make along the way.”

“Whatever you say, Lover, as I’ve said, I’m in no hurry.”

A short drive brought them to the edge of an ancient orchard of fruit trees.  Acheron stepped out of the car and looked around, her eyebrows drew into a frown as she sniffed the air.  

“What is this place?”

“Aunt Bea’s, a crazy old lady from my childhood.  Why?”

Acheron raised an eyebrow at Lyric.

“Lover, no one’s aunt lives here.  I don’t want to go in there.”

Lyric looked at her in surprise.

“Why, what’s the matter?”

Acheron rubbed her bare arms.

“The air here burns my skin.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t show so much skin, young lady!”  

Lyric and Acheron both whirled at the voice behind them.  Lyric smiled and embraced the old woman who came hobbling out of the trees.

“Aunt Bea, how are you?”  He asked enthusiastically, ignoring her sputtering incoherent protests.

“I’m fine,” she managed, “and I’ll thank you to put me down!”

“Yes ma’am,” Lyric set her carefully on her feet.  “I apologize.”

Aunt Bea peered closely at Lyric with a fierce expression on her face then lit up with a happy smile and exclaimed, “Lyric?  Oh baby, how are you?  When did you get so tall?  And muscular?  Land’s sakes you’re gonna make a fine lookin’ man when you grow up, child.”

Acheron was quietly backing away.

“Don’t you move, you hussy.” Aunt Bea snapped at Acheron.

“Careful, old lady, you might hurt a girl’s feelings.”  Acheron shot back.

“Girl?” Aunt Bea sniffed, “you’re as a much a girl as I am.”

Lyric looked back and forth between the two in confusion.  He had grown up climbing Aunt Bea’s trees with his little sister, eating fruit, enjoying her pies and hot cocoa in the winter months.  She was a harmless, crazy old lady with magical treats, an understanding ear and great stories.  Now here she was scolding a demon who was as old as creation.  Was the whole world going crazy?

Acheron swept a hand down her body and her tight leather was replaced with a stunning deep blue velvet evening gown that hugged her sleek body, decked with tiny dazzling jewels.  The addition of matching gloves that went above her elbows left very little skin exposed. Where before she was the embodiment of sex appeal, now she was painfully beautiful.  The knot in Lyric's back twisted and in disgust, he realized he could not deny it was desire.

“Well, at least it’s an improvement."  Aunt Bea sniffed and turned back to Lyric to appraise him more carefully.  "Oh, my poor sweet innocent boy, you've grown up, haven't you?"  A gentle sadness softened her stern expression.  "The years fly so quickly now, don't they child?  Your innocence is gone, and we can never get it back now can we?  I'm so sorry." Tears threatened the old woman's eyes. "Wait!" She dug through her large canvas bag for a moment before crowing triumphantly. "Would you like some jam?  It's from my very last batch."  She produced a jar filled with red memories of Lyric's boyhood.

Lyric sternly reminded himself to stay on task.

"Actually, Aunt Bea, I was hoping you could tell me if anything strange has occurred around here or in town lately."

"Well, none of the children have come to see me in a few weeks now.  I've been terribly lonely."  She gazed off in the direction from which they had come, her eyes seeming to see farther than Lyric could.  "I think I'll be leaving for a while.  Maybe I'll return someday." It seemed like Bea was talking to herself.  Impulsively, Lyric questioned his childhood mentor.

"Aunt Bea, have you ever heard of the Prophet Man?"

"Oh heavens, what do you want with that crazy old coot?"  Aunt Bea rolled her eyes and started walking into the orchard, her hobble oddly absent.  

"You know him? Do you know where I can find him?" Lyric asked eagerly following the old lady.

"Lyric, prophets are rare and wondrous creatures.  They also tend to be somewhat terrifying.  You’re all grown up now, and I can't stop you from looking for him, but you need to know... he's been touched."

Lyric barely registered Acheron’s quiet intake of breath at the word.

"Touched?"

Aunt Bea sighed, dug one of her hard sugar free candies from the bag, and offered it to him.  Lyric accepted it automatically with a polite "thank you" and Acheron smirked in the background at this insight into Lyric’s history.

“The story is that the Prophet Man desperately sought the Composer, wanting to know Him.  So earnest was his desire that he was visited by the Voice in a dream.  They sang together and the Prophet Man was able to understand the song.  The Voice asked him what he would ask for and the Prophet Man asked for wisdom and power.  Wisdom was given to him and tremendous power.  He became a soul singer.” Lyric started at this revelation, not realizing Aunt Bea had heard of the soul singers.  He wondered briefly where his adopted Aunt had heard this story, Aunt Bea continued, not noticing his reaction.  “soul singers are a secret organization of men and women who work in service to the Composer.  No one knows much of anything about them.  In fact, only a handful of people seem to know they exist at all.  Most who’ve heard of them dismiss them as legends.”  At this point she looked at Lyric who remained carefully neutral.  “soul singers are real Lyric; as are the monsters they face to protect the Composer’s Score.”  Aunt Bea got out a candy for herself and offered one to Acheron who shook her head.  “The Prophet Man became a powerful soul singer, full of Wisdom.  He did many wonderful things in service to the Composer.  The stories of his exploits have been lost, the only record destroyed in the second war of the Second Sighted.  Unfortunately, even after everything he had seen and done, his pride poisoned him. Pride is one of the deadliest enemies of us all, but perhaps more so for the soul singers than for anyone else.  Because of the tremendous responsibility they have to guard the score, as well as the power they are given to carry their duties out, pride is always at the door, knocking, seeking to come in and drown out the sound of the Song.  Sadly, the Prophet Man’s arrogance grew and he made a decision that had dreadful consequences.  In order to save him, his companion paid the price demanded of his pride and the two of them were separated forever."

Lyric was stunned.  If what Bea said was true, someone
had
survived separating from their Verger.  The old woman continued.

“Soon he had another dream.  The Voice stood before him and sang a song of sorrow.  The Prophet Man in his arrogance attempted to change the song but was unable to sing a counterpoint.  Instead, he unwillingly sang harmony to the Voice.  He struggled for a long time, trying to change the song, but the Voice remained in control.  

Finally, the Voice stopped singing and allowed the Prophet Man an opportunity, which in his arrogance he seized.  Rather than humbling himself before the Voice and turning away from his foolish pride, he attempted a song to control the Voice.  Long in patience and mercy, the Voice did not destroy the Prophet Man, but instead reached out and touched him in the head.  Remember your lessons?”  

Lyric nodded.  

“The Voice sang creation into being.  He is one with the Composer and the Song and together they wrote the score that holds the secrets of our world.”  His mother, Aunt Bea and the Guild, had drilled this into him every day of his life.  Bea nodded approvingly.

“Imagine the power contained in the finger of Voice.  Imagine what that power might do to the mind of a mortal.  The Prophet Man became crippled in the head where the Voice touched him.  From then on, he has been unable or unwilling to sing, some say he has no melody left but can only sing harmony.  Regardless, what most stories agree on is his wisdom remains, but it’s masked by his broken mind.  His power remains, but it is transformed into his ability to understand and interpret soul songs.”  Bea finished her narrative and gazed wistfully at her grove of fruit trees as they passed among them.  “The most beautiful place to spend a lifetime,” she said softly.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Find who, dear?”

“The Prophet Man.”  Lyric said patiently

“The Prophet Man?  Who’s that?  What an ostentatious title!”

Lyric realized Aunt Bea was slipping into one of her confused states and that signaled time to leave.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Aunt Bea?"

Bea turned her eyes back to Lyric and smiled gently.

"No, dear, you’re a sweet boy and I love you dearly, but our time is done.”

“No!” Lyric protested in shock.  “What do you mean?  Where are you going to go?”

“There is a time for everything Lyrical Sound of the Evening.”  Bea said fiercely.  “And as is the nature of time, it doesn’t come to last but it comes to pass.  That’s my last lesson for you, so learn it well.  It is important, now that you are a man who will face the sorrows of all men.  Time moves, and everything passes.  The only thing eternal is the Composer, the Voice and the Song.  Our time was lovely and I wouldn’t trade a single smile of it.  However, you still have a great many times ahead of you, so remember it.  Times of joy will pass, so cherish them.  Times of sorrow will pass, too, so endure them.  I love you, dear child.”  A single tear threatened the corner of Bea’s eye.  She smiled brightly and Lyric swore she suddenly looked sixty years younger.  “Now you take this naughty girl,” she pointed at Acheron, “and be on your way.  Tell that Uncle Dirge of yours I said goodbye.  Now go on, go! " She shooed them along and taking Lyric's hand she pressed the jar of jam in it.  "And remember, when you're in a jam, share the jam." Lyric accepted the jar, overcome with a piercing sadness.  Unbidden tears filled his eyes as he regarded the jar in his hand.  To think this was the last time he might see Aunt Bea, that this was the last jar of the jam that flavored so many happy memories of his childhood.  As though it were made of delicate crystal, he carefully packed the precious treasure in his backpack.  Wiping his eyes, he thanked Aunt Bea and hugged her affectionately.

“Please put me down.”  the woman said sternly

“Sorry ma’am.”  Lyric gently set her down and jerked his head at Acheron to follow him.  Before he turned to go, he was certain he saw Acheron incline her head to Bea before following him.  The old woman vanished into the grove.

"What was that about?" Lyric asked the demon as they made their way back to the car.

"What, Lover?" Acheron made a gesture and was once again clothed in her leather ensemble.

"All that back there between you and Aunt Bea.  You almost treated her with respect."

“You don’t know what she is?”

“Yes,” Lyric answered carefully, holding tight to his frustration and unreasonable sadness.  “She’s the crazy old lady with the second sight who lives up the road and bakes pies and makes hot chocolate and gives out candy.  She stops bullies; chases fear away and understands children.  She is patience and sweetness and stories...and love.”

Acheron did not speak for a moment, then asked.

“And if you couldn’t find your parents, or had a problem you couldn’t handle at home, where is the first place that would occur to you as being safe?”

“Aunt Bea’s of course." Lyric started hard at Acheron, a sinking feeling in his stomach.  He already knew the answer, but asked the question anyway.  "Are saying aunt Bea is a supernatural?”

“Every creature has a function in the score.  As you know, many of the supernaturals, as you call them, appear as normal human beings to the unsighted.  You’ve been given some discernment to identify these beings, but it doesn’t usually occur to Singer’s to examine people who’ve been in their lives from before their training.”

Lyric considered her words and their implication carefully, wishing to stave off the weirdness of truth with some shred of normalcy.  Aunt Bea was not supernatural she was wonderful and normal.

“She’s not human.”  He finally said.

“No, she’s not even close to human.”  Acheron agreed.  “In fact, she’s a very powerful mute.”

That caught Lyric by surprise.

“What's a Mute?”

“A Mute’s function is to protect children.  They have strong magic that keeps children safe in their presence.  They mute any malignant force that may be pursuing their charges.  Evil not only can’t hurt them, it can’t even find them.  Whenever you are in the presence of a mute or on land in their care, you are protected.  You can find them in most communities.  They are the harmless old people that attract kids, make them feel safe, understood, listened to.  They're usually very close to nature; living things tend to flourish in their presence.  They are one of the few creatures who are incorruptible.  I'm evil.  I'm the embodiment of everything that's corruptive in this world.”

“Neat," Lyric said blankly.  "What's your point?"

“Mutes are practically legends to demons.  We’ve never seen them, we can’t even sense them.  My tie to you must have given me some protection, but I could feel her power.  It’s what was burning my skin.  I’m the first demoness to be in the presence of a mute.  It was weird, I felt completely repelled by her, with the exception of where we are tied.  In that spot alone I felt safe and almost... hap-"