Page 50 of Muse

“They make me dizzy and nervous.”

“Is that all the time, or just when you’re using the silks?” he asked. “Were you distressed when I used levitation with you before?”

“I’m never fond of heights, but there is a difference between levitating with an enchanter and climbing on my own,” I clarified. “On the silks, I am relying entirely on myself and my own strength. But with levitation…”

Levitation wasn't something a muse could do solo. An enchanter was required to channel magik, which could affect physical reality. Muses worked primarily in illusions, glittering lights, and dazzling spectacles, but nothing with substance. The show was the conduit, transferring the magik of the physical world to the ethereal one beyond ours.

But with a true master of the arcane like an enchantrix, the magik could be guided into a singular force that could affect the physical world. Moving objects, levitating bodies, and the like.

“Levitation is different for you,” Soren supplied when I lapsed into silence. “How come?”

“Because I’m not the one in control,” I confessed. “I don’t trust myself, but I do trust you. I know you won’t let me fall, and if I do, you’ll catch me.”

His smile deepened, and something flickered in his eyes. “That is true, and I’m glad you trust me. But we’ll need to work on your self-doubt.”

“I don’t think we have enough time to tackle that by Samonend,” I said.

"Fair enough. Do you want to hear some of the ideas I have been playing around with?" he asked.

“Yes, please!”

“Aerial silks but with levitation,” he announced excitedly. “You’ll do a scarf dance with magik and lights, and as you dance, I’ll levitate you higher into the air. Not too high, not anywhere near what’s expected with climbing the silks. More like 5-6 feet, just above the heads of the people.”

“Can I keep my eyes closed?” I asked.

“If that’s what you prefer,” he said. “And as long as you keep your eyes open to help me choreograph this.”

“You want my input on the routine itself?” I asked in surprise. Enchantrices usually decided the routines themselves and dictated them to the muses.

“Of course.”

“Okay. So where do we begin?” I asked.

"I usually start with the music." Soren began humming a low, somber sound, and he waved his fingers in the air.

Candles were lit all around the room to combat the morning darkness brought on by the dark clouds. Now, the flamesflickered before glowing even brighter, and the air was filled with the sound of an orchestral arrangement of the same tune he'd been humming.

"I put this arrangement together last night, but we can change any part of it," he explained. "Since it's for Samonend, I picked sections of Lupo Paluhart's 'Elegy,' but I tried to lighten it with a playful undertone."

Paluhart's "Elegy" was a piece of classical music that most muses were familiar with. It was a dense composition, with melancholy vocals singing ancient incantations. As it began to play, I noticed the changes that Soren had made to it. Pizzicato strings added a touch of whimsy, and woodwinds introduced a playful melody.

An elegy was traditionally a subdued funeral hymn, which was why it was a good fit for Samonend. The festival honored our ancestors and embraced the impending darkness of the coming winter. But Samonened was still a festival, a celebration of both life and death, of light and dark.

Soren's additions reflected the duality of the Samonend and made Paluhart's legendary piece infinitely more danceable.

While the music played, I closed my eyes and started swaying, letting it flow through me. I felt Soren's hand on mine, which startled me into opening my eyes. He slipped a few long, colorful satin scarves into my hand.

“Keep dancing,” he instructed. “See where this moment takes you.”

So I closed my eyes again, focusing solely on the music and the moment. Even here inside his house, the air felt charged, like a thunderstorm chasing the wind.

Soren began singing, his beautiful baritone soaring through the updated requiem, and I let it carry me around the room. The balls of my feet brushed against the cool floor, and my body felt weightless and free.

I could feel the fabric of the scarves dancing around me like a breeze as I twirled. I flicked my wrist, throwing the scarf high in the air, and with my eyes still closed, the scarves found their way back to my hand at the fevered crescendo.

The music started to slow, and my steps became more deliberate. Finally, I collapsed to the floor on my knees. I tossed the scarves back over my shoulders so they would land on my back like wings at rest after a flight.

“How did that feel?” Soren asked while my forehead was still resting against the floor.

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