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reaching for the sound.
He played as hard as he could on that strange curved instrument. It lifted him, juiced him with the natural
high playing always brought him. As he played it seemed to him that he could hear the friendly prickling
music of his own old electric guitar. His nerves quivered with the pleasure and his ears rang with the
familiarity of it. He was truly happy, cradling and caressing that strange instrument, forgetting his
surroundings, his troubles, his parents.
A long time later (or maybe it was only a couple of minutes) he became aware that someone was
shaking him. He blinked and stopped playing, the last rough chord dying away, soaked up by the earth
and trees. He blinked at Talea, and she let loose of his arms, backed away from him a little. She was
looking at him strangely.
Mudge also stood nearby, staring.
"What's going on? Was I that bad?" He felt a little dizzy.
" 'Tis a fine chap you are, foolin' your mate like this," said the otter with a mixture of awe and irritation.
"Forgive me, lad. I'd no idea you'd been toyin' with me all this time. Don't go too harsh on me. I've only
done what I thought best for you and..."
"Stop that, Mudge. What are you blubbering about?"
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"The sounds you made... and something else, spellsinger." He gaped at her. "You're still trying to fool us,
aren't you? Just like you fooled Clothahump. Look at your duar."
His gaze dropped and he jumped slightly. The last vestiges of a powerful violet luminescence were
slowly fading from the edges of the instrument, slower still from the lambent metal strings.
"I didn't... I haven't done anything." He shoved at the instrument as though it might suddenly turn and bite
him. The strap kept it seeure around his neck and it swung back to bounce off his ribs. The club-staff
rocked uncomfortably on his back.
"Try again," Talea whispered. "Reach for the magic again."
It seemed to have grown darker much too fast. Hesitantly (it was only an instrument, after all) he
plucked at the lower strings and strummed again a few bars of "Purple Haze." Each time he struck a
string it emitted that rich violet glow.
There was something else. The music was different. Cold as water from a mountain tarn, rough as a file's
rasp. It set a fire in the head like white lightning and sent goosebumps down his arms. Bits of thought
rattled around like ball bearings inside his skull.
My oh, but that was a fine sound!
He tried again, more confidently now. Out came the proper chords, with a power and thunder he hadn't
expected. All the time they reverberated and echoed through the trees, and there was no amplifier in
sight. That vast sound was pouring purple from the duar resting firm on his shoulder and light beneath his
dancing fingers.
Is it the instrument that's transformed, he thought wildly, or something in me?
That was the key line, of course, from another song entirely. But it rationalized, if not explained, he
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thought, what was happening there hi the forest.
"I'm not a spellsinger," he finally told them. "I'm still not sure what that is." He was surprised at the
humbleness in his voice. "But I always thought I had something in me. Every would-be musician does.
There's a line that goes, 'The magic's in the music and the music's in me.' Maybe you're right, Talea.
Maybe Clothahump was more accurate than even he knew.
"I'm going to do what I can, though I can't imagine what that might be. So far all I know I can do is
make this duar shine purple."
"Never mind 'ow you do it, mate." Mudge swelled with pride at his companion's accomplishment. "Just
don't forget 'ow."
"We need to experiment." Talea's mind was working furiously. "You need to focus your abilities,
Jon-Tom. Any wizard..."
"Don't... call me that."
"Any spellsinger, then, has to be able to be speeific with his magic. Unspecific magic is not only useless,
it's dangerous."
"I don't know any of the right words," he protested. "I don't know any songs with scientific words."
"You've got the music, Jon-Tom. That's magic enough to make the words work." She looked around the
forest. Dusk was settling gently over the treetops. "What do we need?"
"Money," said Mudge without hesitation.
"Shut up, Mudge. Be serious."
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