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A muted voice asked, ?Is he the one??
?We shall see, Magister Guivret. We shall see.? The two men standing in the Rotunda of Neophytes pondered their young pupil a moment longer before retiring to the Domicile of Sages for the night.
Gavin Delbaeth lay slumbering in his bed, the slightest of grimaces flickered across his face. A few faint beads of moisture had escaped from the pores on his forehead and had pooled together at his hairline, creating a mat of unruly flaxen hair at his right temple. Gavin?s chest rose and fell rhythmically, keeping time with the metronome ticking softly on his nightstand.
An hour earlier, the cherry wood metronome had been set to the walking pace of andante and its inverted brass pendulum had begun its imperceptible yet inevitable deceleration. The hypnotic tempo quickly lured Gavin into deep, nearly catatonic sleep. The rhythm of his heart and lungs became inexorably linked to the ever-slowing cadence of the metronome. By morning, the metronome would drone out the languid pace of largo. No one knew what would become of Gavin if the metronome?s beat reached its unavoidable cessation. No one, least of all Maestro Fabrizio, was willing to test the theory, but everyone was relatively sure that the silence of the metronome meant the death of Gavin Delbaeth.
Gavin rarely felt rested after his nights spent with the metallic clicking of the metronome. In fact, he usually awoke, if you could call it that, feeling more fatigued and exhausted than if he had spent an entire day of hard labor in the fields. Once a fortnight Maestro Fabrizio allowed Gavin to attempt the art of the dream. The art had been lost for centuries and was regarded, by some, as the most preposterous of myths. The last man said to have seen such nocturnal visions, Morpheus Papaxylos, was deeply enshrouded in the blurring mists of legend and few believed that he was anything more than a product of some bard?s imbecilic mind.
Maestro Fabrizio, however, was a great scholar and had studied the ancient fables and myths. Most, he thought of as clever tales devised to provide children with small doses of adult knowledge and wisdom, packaged like bitter herbalist?s potion sweetened with honey so that children drank it for its sweetness instead of for its salubrious qualities. A few, though, including the stories of Morpheus Papaxylos, he believed contained seeds of historical truth.
When Gavin attempted the dream, the beads of perspiration resulted from the most intense concentration imaginable. Once he was lulled into a trance by the hypnotic rhythm of the metronome, every drop of his exertion was spent focusing on the art of the dream. He had been attempting for a sixmonth with only modest success. He had glimpsed a few brief, disjointed images, like snatches of a confusing play. Most of the dreams unsettled and baffled him. Gavin wasn?t even sure that they were dreams after all and not hallucinations induced by excessive stress. Maestro Fabrizio, however, was ecstatic with hope and more than encouraged Gavin to continue with the attempt.
Tonight?s attempt started out as every other. The herbalist, Mistress Orenda, drew a bath for him in a portable enameled copper bathing tub from heated water from the sea and the essences of bergamot and rosemary. Gavin soaked in this soporific brew for a quarter of an hour, until the biting cold began infiltrating the water?s cloak of warmth. Afterwards, he quickly toweled off, donned his woolen shift and stockings, combed his golden hair, and cleaned his teeth with an orange stick. Although the Otonia Festival was a mere fortnight away and the air was more than a bit cool, Gavin opened his window to free the mugginess of his bath. The chilly breeze brought with it the scent of salt and fish and the somniferous sound of the ocean waves breaking upon the rocky shore.
Gavin climbed into his bed and, within moments, Maestro Fabrizio arrived. The middle-aged Sage secured the boy under his woolen sheets and feather-filled quilts, gave him a few last-minute words of encouragement, extinguished the child?s lantern, and set the metronome to its hypnotic task. Gavin closed his eyes and was almost instantaneously engulfed in the device?s predestined rhythm. He fell victim to its momentum and seemed to exchange his life force for its clockwork. Maestro Fabrizio joined Magister Guivret in the rotunda and, after a brief pause, they left, taking the last flickers of light with them.
Entirely embraced by the darkness, Gavin could begin his task of clearing his mind in order to invite the dream. This night something unprecedented happened.
The strain and agony of concentration dissipated after a few brief uncomfortable moments. He resigned himself to the emptiness and welcomed the immense tranquility that ensued. Shortly thereafter, he experienced his first true dream, not just mere snatches of images. He felt as if he were entering a different reality, a realm of the extraordinary.
He felt the sublime sensation that he was soaring over the earth, witnessing the spectacular landscape that laid before him. He lifted up above the Academy, higher even than the Eyrie, and could view the entire campus in one glance, from the working fields to the Cloisters. The sage green sea foamed and thrashed against the isle?s cliffs and a cloak of fog hugged the shore. Although it was night, the land emitted a spectacular glow, seemingly from within. He instinctively felt that, if it were daytime, he would see the workers laboring in the fields, the Sages walking serenely from edifice to edifice, and the childish Abecedarians tromping rambunctiously about the gardens.
The realization dawned on him that he had complete control over his journey in this mysterious land of dreams. His first desire was to visit his father country, but it had been so long since he had been there that he had not an inkling of which direction to take. He did not think that he could recognize his parents? faces. He felt a pang of guilt for even having such puerile thoughts. Now that he had been elevated to the rank of Neophyte, he was forbidden to yearn for the comforts of his past.
He decided instead to experiment with this intangible domain of dreams. He wanted to visit exotic lands never before seen by the human beast. Within a second?s lapse, the island vista seemed to melt and was replaced with a strange panorama of sun-baked earth, rust-hued and reflecting the dance of colors played upon it by the setting sun. He had never before witnessed land so barren of life, so desolate and lonely. Gavin thought it was the most beautiful landscape he had ever seen.
Gavin had the sensation that he was in two places simultaneously. The seemingly palpable wonders of the dream surrounded him, but if he concentrated, he could still feel the warmth of his bed, the itch of the wool against his flesh, and the cool breeze licking at his face. It was a confusing yet delightful feeling. He had lost all sense of time. He didn?t know if he had been in the dream for mere minutes or lengthy years. All he knew was that he never wanted to leave.
Once Gavin had visited every land his mind could fathom, he began envisioning fantastic devices. Orbs materialized out of the void of darkness. They epitomized the spherical perfection of the planets and stars. Some glowed with a fantastic inner light, while others undulated with a mystical opalescence. Gavin could control their size and movement. With a single thought, he could cause one to increase to the size of a child?s play ball or to shrink to the size of a single spark.
After some experimentation, Gavin discovered that the orbs sang when they spun. The faster they revolved, they higher the pitch. A small pea-sized sphere squealed with the fervor of a fife, while a ball the size of a bushel bellowed with the deep intensity of a bass viol. With enough concentration, Gavin could conduct the orbs in an eerie but spectacular symphony.
While Gavin enjoyed the art of the dream, the metronome slowed imperceptibly. As his symphony of orbs reached its climax, the sun breached the horizon, spilling its splendid light over the isle, and the metronome?s metallic click neared its penultimate tempo, larghissimo, as its pendulum slowed to an inevitable halt.
Maestro Fabrizio, already dressed in his academic regalia, approached the portal of Gavin?s bedchamber and peered inside. With a gasp, he sprinted out of the Rotunda of Neophytes, knocking over a startled chambermaid, and ran to the Domicile of Sages. There, he brusquely wakened Magister Guivret and dragged him back to the Rotunda, still wearing his night shift.
The Magister and Maestro stood at Gavin?s portal with their mouths agape. A crowd of curious Neophytes gathered around the two Sages, wondering what could have possibly brought the schoolmaster to their humble quarters undressed. Some of the younger pupils giggled at the elderly man?s wrinkled knees, which had taken on a blue hue from the autumn chill. Finally, a few of the boys wriggled around and caught a peek of Gavin?s bedchamber.
What they witnessed could only be described as magical. A glow of euphoria illuminated Gavin?s face. Five glorious orbs danced about Gavin?s room, glowing and shimmering with iridescence. One looked like a ball of molten silver, displaying the sheen of quicksilver in places and the radiance of red heat in others. Another replicated in miniature the blue and green beauty of their planet Alarica, enshrouded in the wisps of clouds. A child?s glass marble floated in the air and a spherical opal slowly spun above Gavin?s pillow. The last and smallest, a brilliant star the size of a needle?s eye, had escaped from the bedchamber and frolicked in the dawn breeze just outside the open window.
The onlookers noticed something else, too--something arguably more incredible than the orbs themselves. The orbs sang. An elaborate and melancholic tune crescendoed, quieted, and swelled again, permeating the room with exquisite, unearthly music. Tears of rapture brimmed in Maestro Fabrizio?s eyes, Magister Guivret beamed with pride, and the children were immobilized by awe. All the while, the metronome ticked ever more slowly.
Finally, one of the boys emerged from his cocoon of enchantment and shook the Maestro to alertness. ?The metronome, Maestro! The metronome!? The tick of the metronome had stilled to near silence. Maestro Fabrizio practically flew over to Gavin?s side and vigorously woke him, just as the little rhythmic device came to a halt. Gavin awoke with a start and the orbs vanished like bursting soap bubbles. The rest of the audience jerked to reality and rushed to comfort the distraught boy.
None of the Neophytes had ever seen a sorrow so vast and its seemingly fathomless depth surprised even the aged Sages. Concern etched crevasses across Maestro Fabrizio?s forehead and his chin puckered with trepidation. The Magister ordered one of the boys to fetch Mistress Orenda as he and the Maestro attempted to calm the boy.
After a moment, the herbalist arrived with an ornate pewter-capped glass vial containing a milky yellow liquid. Gavin had tasted the vile stuff before, and he quailed against the idea of sampling it again. As the Magister sat astride the boy?s chest and the Maestro grasped Gavin?s flailing head, Mistress Orenda released most of the amber-colored ooze down the boy?s throat. The rest of the malodorous elixir dribbled down his chin and across his ruddy, tear-stained cheek. Gavin coughed and struggled against the putrid juice but eventually succumbed to the sedative.
Later that day, while Gavin Delbaeth languished in a dreamless sleep, Magister Guivret called a meeting of the Sages. After an hour?s deliberation, they decided, with no small amount of sorrow, that Gavin should no longer attempt the art of the dream. Maestro Fabrizio somberly trudged to Gavin?s bedchamber, touched the sleeping boy?s cheek, picked up the dormant metronome, and departed with moistened cheeks and a heavy heart.
Prior to his first dream, Gavin was taciturn and reticent. He was neither blithe nor forlorn and he possessed neither friends nor enemies. In fact, few students paid Gavin any attention whatsoever. He kept his own company and rarely ventured beyond his bleak, emotionless world.
The only time he displayed any spirit at all was when he was enveloped in his music. He was an accomplished viola da gamba player and a talented composer. All of his music, whether performed or composed, exhibited a level of passion unheard of in a middle-aged man, let alone a fourteen-year-old child.
From his music, one would believe he had witnessed everything from the horrors of battle to the sensual passion of an illicit affair to the sorrows of death. However, when he reached the scripted word fine that signaled the cessation of the music, his seemingly endless fount of passion instantaneously dissipated and he reverted to his indifferent and hollow shell of existence.
That evening, a half-drugged Gavin Delbaeth groggily awoke to an unpleasant realization. Nothing, not even his viola da gamba or precious sheets of music-lined parchment, mattered to him as much as those orbs and their eerie symphony. He wanted only to dance in euphoria with them and revel in their sublime song, even if it meant never again waking. Gavin reached for the metronome on the nightstand and grasped nothing but the emptiness of air.
Cognizance hit him in a brutal flood and his vitality seemed to disintegrate as an ancient papyrus scroll crumbles to dust when touched for the first time in millennia. At that moment, Gavin vowed to dedicate his life to two tasks. He would write down the music that his dream had borne and he would bring back the orbs at any cost.
Gavin expected to find himself hungry, but, oddly enough, he felt completely satiated. He strode to his desk, opened a drawer, and removed a sheaf of parchment, a pewter inkwell, and a sharpened goose feather. He perched himself atop his stool and began transposing the orbs? song. He decided to write the symphony for a chamber orchestra consisting of lutes, viols, recorders, oboes, and a harpsichord, for they were the only instruments that could emulate the orbs? sonorous singing. He wrote the first few passages in brilliant polyphony before exhaustion overcame him and he put himself to bed.
That night, snatches of images and thoughts invaded the void of Gavin?s sleep. He saw flashes of people -- his father?s face, nearly featureless due to gaps in Gavin?s memory, Maestro Fabrizio?s stern yet avuncular gestures in the music studio, and the sweet smiles of Berangaria de la Madolen, a fellow Neophyte and student of music. He had the sudden sensation of falling helplessly through a dark abyss and he awoke with a lurch and a quickened pulse. Once his breathing had eased and he again felt grounded in reality, a thought bounced around in his overwhelmed mind, ?I was dreaming! Dreaming without the metronome!?
The rest of Gavin?s slumber was uneventful. He was simply embraced by restful darkness as sleep was meant to be. Before the sun had even cleared the horizon, Gavin awoke to bagpipes sounding reveille, feeling invigorated and ready to continue his composition. Once again, he had left his window open and a biting chill permeated the room. He rinsed his face in the frigid water of his washing basin. He removed his shift, tugged a natural linen tunic over his head, and pulled black wool breeches up over his stockings. He rinsed the slime of sleep from his mouth with a swish of peppermint-imbued water, which he kept in a glass flagon beside the washing basin, and ran a comb fashioned of bone through his hair. Before leaving for the Refectory, Gavin donned his hooded, ankle-length gray wool Neophyte's gown and pushed a skullcap over his unruly hair.
Gavin and the others at the Academy broke their fast in silence, as was the tradition. They ate hot porridge doused with cubed beef and drank mulled wine with only the sound of clacking utensils invading the hush. After breakfast, the students departed for their morning chores and the Sages held their diurnal meeting. Gavin went directly to the music rooms to tune the harpsichords and harps, his morning duty for the year. Although monotonous, Gavin relished the serenity and solitude that the task afforded him.
Shortly after Gavin finished tuning the last Cailin harp, Maestro Fabrizio returned from the Sages? meeting and Gavin requested a moment of his counsel. Gavin requested a fortnight off from his academic duties in order to complete his new symphony and prepare for its premiere, which he planned for Otonia day. The Maestro informed him that he could not decide such a matter unilaterally and that he would have to take it up with the Sages at tomorrow?s meeting.
Gavin's day, divided into hour-long blocks of time, progressed as usual. Lessons in history and Galignese followed orchestra rehearsal. Then, everyone gathered in the Refectory for dinner and washed their hands in the communal fountain. This meal, too, was traditionally eaten in silence, although frequently one of the Sages would recite verse or provide musical accompaniment for the enjoyment (and education) of the diners. Everyone paired up with a dining partner of the same class to share their meal and Gavin was partnered with Berangaria de la Madolen. The first course, a beef broth, was served in small wooden bowls and sipped as quietly as possible. After the bowls were removed, meat pies served in bread trenchers and cups of spiced mead arrived. Gavin cut the trencher in half and gave Berangaria her part. They ate neatly and politely, taking care to cut into the trencher as little as possible. Once, he and Berangaria reached for the pewter mead goblet simultaneously. Gavin smiled at her uneasily and motioned for her to drink. For the final course, the diners nibbled on cheese, fruits, and nuts, while enjoying Maestro Fabrizio's masterful lute playing. After dinner, Gavin took his Old Tongue lessons and had a rigorous fencing practice before afternoon chores, where his task was to distribute the trenchers from dinner among the poor and needy who took refuge at the Academy. His school day ended with study of English and mathematics. Before retiring to his bedchamber to compose, Gavin went once again to the Refectory for supper. The final meal of the day was also the lightest. A simple beef stew was served with a lump of dark bread and cider.
Gavin entered his bedchamber with relief. For the entire day, he had yearned for his sheets of parchment and had scarcely been able to concentrate on his lessons. Gavin removed his academic garb and replaced it with his shift, splashed his face with some scented water, and resumed working on his composition. Within half and hour the light of the sun had gone and only the light of the full moon shone on Gavin?s desk. For a while, he was so immersed in his work that he didn?t even notice that he was working in near darkness but finally Gavin reluctantly interrupted his smoothly flowing pen to light his lamp and a few candles. He worked long into the night. The outside world barely existed to Gavin. He knew only his music and was scarcely aware of even his physical needs. At one point during the night, Gavin almost had an embarrassing accident. He had not noticed the needs of his bladder until it was nearly too late and he had to scurry awkwardly across the cold tiled floor of the Rotunda to the privy. Gavin worked through the early hours of the morning until he finally collapsed, asleep, on his desk.
That night he dreamed again. Again, he saw flickers of Berangaria, his father, and Maestro Fabrizio. He thought he heard music faint and distant, like the sounds of a fair from a league away. He concentrated on that music, beckoning it to come closer. It did. The music played with the intensity of a symphony only a few paces away. It swelled and the hairs on his arms raised. He could feel the pulse of the drum beats in his stomach. He could see sheets of music manuscript falling with impossible slowness, giving him just enough time to read the pages and recognize his own script. Just before the last sheet fell, Gavin saw something that filled him with ineffable joy. A solitary sphere danced to the music?s finale. Then, with a final flicker, the entire dream vanished.
Maestro Fabrizio violently shook him awake. ?Gavin, child, wake!? he bellowed. Finally, Gavin responded, groggily realizing he had fallen asleep at his desk. His first waking thought was a panicked concern for his manuscript. He quickly inspected the pages of parchment and was relieved to find that he had not drooled upon them in his sleep. His pewter inkwell, however, had been pushed off his desk, spilling a puddle of fine exotic ink on the stone floor. It took a moment before he was even cognizant of a Maestro Fabrizio?s scrutinizing face.
?What goes on here, boy?? the Maestro demanded in a peremptory tone he reserved for chastising pupils.
Gavin cowered in shame and confusion. ?I . . .? he began, and then simply shrugged.
?You were absent at breakfast. After the Sages? meeting, I learned that you had missed morning chores, as well. I came here looking for you. It took me several minutes to wake you. I was worried that I would not be able to revive you at all,? the Maestro paused, out of breath. ?I hope I didn?t hurt you.?
Gavin felt the heat of bruises forming on his shoulder bone and was beginning to regret sleeping on his stool. His neck was knotted and sore, he could scarcely move his head, and his bottom throbbed where it pushed against the small wooden stool top. He ached nearly everywhere and the veil of sleep had not yet cleared its cobwebs from his mind.
?I fell asleep working last night, Maestro,? Gavin explained, neglecting to mention a few pertinent details. ?How shall I make up for my morning chores??
?Gavin, there is no need for that today. I tuned the beasts myself,? he chuckled. ?I spoke with the Sages today and we have decided to allow you a fortnight to work on your symphony. You have been relieved of your academic duties and your afternoon chores for that time. I have arranged to have Mistress Orenda bring you your meals. I only ask that you tune the instruments for me in the mornings.?
Gavin nodded and whispered his thanks. Maestro Fabrizio smiled, gave him a quick pat on the shoulder, and left for his classes. Moments later Mistress Orenda and a chambermaid arrived. The herbalist brought him a breakfast of mutton stew and dark bread, along with a new bottle of ink, and asked him if he would care for a bath. Gavin consented with thanks. While he munched on his breakfast, the chambermaid sopped up the spilled ink with oats and then rinsed away the residue with cold water. Gavin offered her his bread out of gratitude, but she declined. Shortly thereafter, Mistress Orenda returned with the bathing tub and buckets of steaming, scented water. Gavin washed himself and his shift quickly, for he was impatient to return to his music. Then, he dressed in his other woolen shift, dumped the bath water out of his window, hung up his wet shift to dry, and placed the bathing tub out in the hall. Thoroughly refreshed and invigorated, Gavin gleefully returned to his task.
Such were the next four days for Gavin Delbaeth. He spent the majority of his waking time basking in the euphoria of creating music and each night he drew closer and closer to embracing the orbs once again.
On the fifth morning, he woke a full hour before sunrise, donned his academic garb, and ran to the music room to perform his morning chore. Once he had finished, he rapidly paced the room, impatiently waiting for Maestro Fabrizio to return from the Sages? meeting.
?Maestro, my Symphony of the Spheres is complete. I beg your permission to begin rehearsals today,? Gavin asked excitedly.
?Permission granted, Neophyte Delbaeth. It would be my honor if I am permitted to attend the first rehearsal,? Maestro Fabrizio replied, bowing ever so slightly.
?Of course, Maestro,? the child beamed and bowed formally.
First rehearsals are always a time of great stress for young composers. For some reason, they fret over the idea of fellow musicians hearing an untested piece more than the idea of royalty hearing one. Gavin was no exception to this stereotype. In the past, many of his works had never debuted due to his fear of ridicule from his peers. Such a phobia was grossly unfounded, though, for young Gavin Delbaeth. His rivals harbored jealousy of his talent to be sure, but they certainly never ridiculed him. Usually Maestro Fabrizio was mostly the cause of Gavin?s nervousness, but today he was more anxious about whether Berangaria de la Madolen would enjoy the symphony.
Within a quarter of an hour, the orchestra arrived. Gavin timidly asked Maestro Fabrizio if he would play the viola da gamba part and the Maestro gladly assented.
The rehearsal went spectacularly well. Even the best of rehearsals usually met some areas of awkwardness or difficulty, but this rehearsal ran as smoothly and effortlessly as warm honey. All of them, Gavin as conductor, the Maestro as violist, and the other students, were embraced by a feeling of the sublime. A few of the musicians even wept. Tears shone streaks down Berangaria?s angelic visage and even the Maestro felt a growing lump in his throat. Passers-by and nearby classrooms heard the musical ambrosia and were drawn to its beauty. Servants paused mid-task to seek the origin of the miraculous music. When it ended, they all felt a loss. The musicians had difficulty concentrating for the rest of the day and spent most of the day counting the hours until the next rehearsal. Servants hummed strains of passages from the symphony as they went about their chores.
At dinner, none of the Sages dared to perform music for fear of being compared to Gavin?s symphony. Instead, Sage Renfred Hudson entertained the diners with a comical one-man play. Gavin was unaware of all of this, for after the rehearsal he was enveloped by an immense sense of fatigue. He retired to his bedchamber, closed his drapes, and crawled into his wonderfully snug bed. Within seconds, deep sleep engulfed him.
He dreamed. Again, he saw the flashes of familiar faces and again he heard the distant music. This time, though, he felt as if both were beckoning to him. He could see Berangaria mouthing words to him, a sweet, sensuous smile upon her face. She toyed with an intricate silk fan, first slowly stroking her cheek with it, and then hiding her almond-shaped sea green eyes behind it. Gavin was aware of her beauty and sensuality, but it was the music that seduced him.
He bid his dream to follow the music, to seek out its origin, and the dream obeyed. Gavin suddenly stood alone in a gaudy yet elegant rococo ballroom, dressed in apparel fit for a nobleman. Although the music inundated the room, he still could not locate its source. Finally, he noticed that the flickering of the candles was peculiar. The flames were not whipped about by breeze but instead pulsed to the music. At almost the instant Gavin made that realization, the flames coalesced into the singing orbs. ?At last,? thought Gavin. ?I am home!?
A dim thought broke through Gavin?s shell of ecstasy. He missed Berangaria de la Madolen. With that thought, Berangaria appeared, dressed in court finery. She swayed, waltzed, and danced in mid-air. She was different from the rest of the room, however. Everything except her seemed as real and as palpable as the waking world. She, though, was translucent, like the image of a specter. There was something else, too. She could not see or interact with Gavin. She could only dance gleefully to the music. As hard as Gavin tried, he could not make her any more real than that.
Sometimes in the dream, Berangaria would fade away entirely and Gavin would be left alone with the orbs. Sometimes others would enter his fantastic realm, but they were never more real than Berangaria. Maestro Fabrizio would laugh and clap his hands, soundlessly. His father would poke his head through the door, look around with an expression of puzzlement, and pop out as quickly as he had entered.
The music was ever changing and it never repeated itself. At times, the music was blithe and energetic, while, at others, it was placid and melancholic. He sometimes wished that he could write it down for the Maestro, but that regret faded.
Overall, Gavin was happy. He did not have everything, but he did have what mattered to him most. He had his orbs and he had his music.
At sunrise, Mistress Orenda tapped lightly on Gavin?s door, with a generous bowl of porridge in hand. After waiting for several minutes with no response, she entered. Gavin slept peacefully in his bed with faintly smiling features. He did not hear Mistress Orenda enter, so she spoke to him in a melodious voice, ?Gavin Delbaeth, it is morning. Wake, dear child. You have music to play.? Still she received no response. She gingerly stroked his cheek. He did not even twitch. She shook him gently and then with growing intensity, but Gavin would not wake.
A few minutes later Maestro Fabrizio entered. ?Does he need the device, Mistress?? the old Sage inquired.
?No, Maestro,? she responded. The herbalist knew of a device that could feed Gavin in his sleep state. It was a drastic measure that she would use only if necessary. For twenty-three years, Gavin Delbaeth had not needed the device. Mysteriously, he never seemed to hunger or deteriorate. He simply lay there with a subtle smirk across his face.
The herbalist?s face was now weathered and wrinkled like a pale pecan. Her thinning straight white hair fell in a braid to her waist. Maestro Fabrizio now hunched over a silver-capped walnut wood cane that he depended on for mobility. His hair, though mostly the color of ebony, had distinct silver streaks at the temples. His hands, feeble and shriveled, trembled slightly. For several years, he had been unable to play any instrument or cradle a quill pen in his hand.
Mistress Orenda still remembered that frenzied morning so many years ago when she had discovered Gavin in his sleep state. She had interrupted the Sages? meeting to inform them of his condition. Each of them had attempted to revive him but each had failed. They discussed his fate and decided that they could do nothing but wait. And, for twenty-three years, they had waited. Mistress Orenda imagined that she and her successors would wait at least as many more years but, nonetheless, she still kindled the flame of hope and tried to wake him each morning.
Gavin had grown into a handsome man. He had been tall as a child and had grown nearly two spans since. His facial features, chiseled and elegant, were reminiscent of the perfection seen in a marble bust. Mistress Orenda pitied him and regretted that he would never know love.
Gavin Delbaeth lived to be sixty-eight, but he never woke again. Over fifty years worth of Academy students, staff, and faculty knew of Gavin?s story. A few were lucky enough to have seen him and tended to him. Each year, a larger faction of skeptics grew; Gavin was slowly fading into legend. Occasionally, however, a young Neophyte would take a nocturnal trek to the privy and hear heavenly music coming from Gavin?s bedchamber. Some boys would name it fantasy and try to ignore it, but others believed that if they opened the portal to Gavin?s bedchamber they would surely see the singing orbs.
The year that Gavin fell asleep new Otonia traditions were born that endured the Academy?s entire history. The school orchestra performed Gavin?s ?Symphony of the Spheres? to an enchanted crowd and the smith crafted the first of many metal orbs that would grace the greenery of the gardens, reminding all of reticent Gavin Delbaeth and his fantastic singing orbs.
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