Page 152 of Envious Of Fire
“Oh, it ain’t no big deal, I’m sure,” comes Cindy, appearing next to Kyle. How much she overheard, no one can know. “He is a man of his word, Markadian is, and I can vouch for the fact that he wants youwelloff his plate.” She nudges Kyle in the ribs with surprising force. “And ontomine.”
“Do we have ourselves a deal?” asks Markadian once again.
Kyle starts to reach, hesitates, then finally shakes the hand of Lord Markadian.
The smile that spreads over Markadian’s face is, to Kyle’s surprise, one of great relief. “You … will never know how muchthis night now means to me.” He lets out a laugh, glances at his sister, then Cindy. “Both of you, witness to our deal. Please do hold me to my word, will you both?”
“Sure will,” agrees Cindy. “Keep your paws off my Kyle.”
Still shaking Markadian’s hand, Kyle peers at Ashara. Her eyes seem to sparkle with pride. She winks playfully at Kyle.
Kyle cannot make sense of any of this.
Then the lights in the room flash. Markadian gasps. “Just in time!” he cries out, lets go of Kyle’s hand, then spins around to grab himself a glass, which he taps over and over with a fork, quieting the room with impressive speed. “Attention, attention! My guests, colleagues, friends, and pathetic subordinates …” A ripple of laughter is cast across the room, then silence again. “It is time for our main event!”
“Oh, I do hope it’s them hunky fire jugglers!” hisses Cindy half to herself, licking her lips. “Or those naked acrobats!”
Light spills from the ceiling over a curtain at the center of the room, which had evaded Kyle’s attention until now. As the room dims, the spotlight grows brighter, and soon, the curtain is lifted, revealing a large round stage—which itself is enclosed by bars that curve upward into a dome, creating the appearance of an enormous birdcage.
In the middle of that stage stands a lone performer.
A violinist.
He slowly but confidently lifts the violin to his chin, then the bow to the strings, an artful air to his movements, and at last, he makes the instrument sing.
A melody of solemn celebration fills the air.
Proud and robust, every note that comes from the strings.
With each measure, climbing higher, a steady pace.
Kyle is struck, but doesn’t yet understand why. He studies the violinist’s eyes, gentle and familiar.
His face. His posture.
The disciplined way he pushes and pulls the bow.
So precise, yet carefree.
Kyle steps forward, confused, captivated, listening.
As the man continues to play, he closes his eyes, lips curling with determination. The notes ascend, as does the tempo, and with seeming effortlessness, the melody takes flight.
Kyle knows this music, even though he’s never heard it in his life. He recognizes the rhythm somehow. Knows every one of the violinist’s instincts, sensing the notes before they come.
Then his Reach takes flight with the melody.
Touches the man on the stage.
A flash. Kyle’s teenage bedroom. Brother by the window, struggling with notes on his violin, then finding the melody and gaining confidence. A slip of a note. The teenage brothers look at each other, then burst into laughter.
The laughter in that memory fades, leaving two men and the music singing out of that birdcage, radiating from the stage like poetry. How music builds and shatters simultaneously. The violin, how the man so expertly inspires it to weep.
Kyle doesn’t even notice the tears forming in his eyes. Now drawing glassy trails down his cheeks.
That violinist …
“No …” Kyle murmurs to himself, barely heard under the rich, swelling song. It isn’t him. It isn’t Kaleb. This is a trick of the eye, a trick of the heart. Wishful thinking. This is just … “An illusion,” he decides out loud. “Just another illusion.”
