The Magician's Vow: A Retelling of The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Part I - Chapter X: Calls & Completion

It seems so very strange to be here, right now, about to do what I am about to do. Weeks of trial, tribulation, and error has all led to this very moment. Within only a few hours, it will all be gone and it will simply be a fascinating story to tell our children and grandchildren about. To them, it will seem so far away, so long ago, so inconsequential to their lives. It is an odd thought to think that what completely encompasses my life at this very moment will not bear any weight whatsoever on those who will be a great part of my life --my children. 

But here I am, about to finish this. About to shut the door on this chapter of our lives, praying that we will not encounter another. We have barely made it out of this one. Another would be the end of us. 

And now that we are so close to receiving our lives back from the grip of death, I believe we should start giving back.

I believe a son should do it.

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He picked up the flute and held the opening near his mouth. This was it. This moment would prove whether or not the flute he had made --the flute he had poured his strength into-- would be powerful enough to save both the city and Lorelle.

He placed his lips onto the opening and his fingers onto the holes lining the top side. The flute grew warmer and the designs painted onto the shaft shifted, almost as if waking up from an eternal slumber. And he played.

The sound that came out was soft and high, like a lullaby, the only sound in a dismal world. It was a sad sound, as if remembering days of old, times of happiness that had faded into years of hardness and pain. It reminded Eugene of years following his union with Lorelle. A time when the sun was brighter, the wind was softer, and the sky was bluer. Rivers sparkled and smiles shone. 

A lump formed in the back of his throat but the sound coming from the flute did not stutter or stumble. It was as smooth as Lorelle's skin and as flowing as the calmest river. Eugene could feel the streams of sound sweeping from the end of his flute out into the air. Like currents of water simply floating along on the wind and stretching out into the courtyard and separating into smaller strands. They slithered around as if avoiding certain areas as each separated segment slowly glided towards its own street. The waves of sound disappeared into their own roads, carrying the magician's call to all the vermin in the city. The transparent streams curved back and forth as if someone held the other end of and was gently shaking back and forth. 

As Eugene continued to play, the sound grew louder and deeper, shifting from a wispy lullaby to a thick song played at banquets and weddings. Not too light and not too heavy. Just the right speed and tone to show neutrality. It was not joyous nor mournful. The music was simply there, invoking a simple sense of indifference. Eugene knew that the rats had been alerted to the sound by the lullaby, now he simply had to hold their interest until the waves of sound had reached each corner of the city before he could bring forth the music that would call the rats to him. There was no second chance, no redoing. He had one chance and he was going to do it the right way. 

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the locations of the threads of sound. Most of them had divided again and again, each sending their newly formed "offsprings" into houses, then rooms, then corners until the entire street was filled with the sound of music. Many streams had even hit the border of the city, unable to move forward, and unable to move back. But, to the east there was still space to be covered. The trapped streams of sound would have to wait for their brothers to fill their allotted area. 

Just as Eugene felt all the streams nearing their limits, he opened his eyes and concentrated on the music flowing forth from the magical flute. It slowly and steadily grew deeper and darker. From the lullaby it had turned to neutrality, and form neutrality, it gently eased into a sound that echoed trumpets signaling a king's entrance and drums announcing the arrival of soldiers on the battlefield. A sound that held beauty and majesty and made the hearts of listeners grow in pride for their country, for their king, for their city. It was a sound of hope and echoed the arrival of good times and peace and contentment. But it held no power; it did not incite fear into the hearts of those listening. The flute was not finished yet.