Tristan of Steelbend arrives in the famous city of Hosanna with nothing but his beloved harp and a pocket full of dreams. In this beautiful Kingdom By The Sea, mysterious angelic beings known as the Seraphim rule and protect mankind from the insidio...
People swarmed across the central courtyard, spilling onto the streets below. Silken banners and garlands festooned every awning, flapping cheerfully between market stalls and lamp posts. Sea salt, incense, and roasting delicacies permeated the air. Children romped to the jaunt of a hurdy-gurdy player, his pet monkey wearing a small halo and silver wings.
On the highest terrace, Chairman Ness presented his identification to the guards, and they waved us through. A magnificent grandstand awaited, tuning strings and woodwinds humming in delightful discord. Unable to contain my excitement, I strode ahead.
"Wait, young fellow." The chairman's cane tapped steadily against the concrete. "These old legs are no match for your eagerness."
"I'm sorry, sir."
He chuckled. "No need for apologies."
A portly man greeted us, dressed in a robe of black silk. "Most esteemed Chairman, how wonderful to see you."
"You as well," the chairman said. "Conductor Elias, this is Mr. Tristan Herald, the new Bearer of Beatific Song."
"A pleasure to meet you," I said, extending a hand.
The conductor glared at my fingers. "Such a title for such a youth. How old are you, and where were you born?"
"Seventeen, sir. Out of Steelbend."
"You're very young to leave home for Hosanna."
I straightened my posture. "According to the Righteous Code, seventeen is the age of majority."
He sniffed, still staring at my hands. "Steelworkers bear many scars, which distort the delicate touch of a harpist. Are you skilled, hailing from such a remote settlement?"
"I am." His observation was true. I'd worked on the smelting lines until I departed Steelbend. My left little finger was permanently bent after a foundry accident. Both palms were callused, bearing scratches and burns. They were unsightly, but nothing hindered me.
Chairman Ness interrupted. "Conductor, I've come here personally to endorse Mr. Herald. You must hear his music."
"Let's have a show of it, then." The conductor waved at me. "Play your best hymn to the Seraphim."
Sitting upon a pedestal, I took a deep breath and focused my mind. I looked at the sky, imagining it was the vault of a majestic cathedral, elevating all senses to the divine.
"Ye breathless guardians watch and sway,
"Upon the blessed edge of day,
"Of joy and love the music rings,
"Calling the kiss of angel's wings."
A crowd gathered. Someone wept, and another prayed. Moved by their passion, I sang louder.
"Come sing their praise, the blessed few,
"As fleeting as the morning dew,
"Who stand and watch, though 'ere we sleep,
"And hurl the darkness to the deep."
While I was lost in song, feathers and gossamer robes rustled to the ground.
Conductor Elias' voice trembled. "By the Sanctum...Archangel Jophiel descends for the boy's song."
My eyes snapped open. Sharp aquiline features were inches from mine, an embossed mask of gleaming silver, no openings for the eyes or mouth.
I froze, jaw dropping.
"Keep playing, you fool," the conductor said. "Don't anger it."
The creature was unlike anything I'd imagined. Yet it was familiar, like a memory glimpsed in a figment of dream, or in moonlight reflected on water. It bent over me, about eight feet tall. Grace lined its slender limbs and torso. It was blinding white, with skin like sanded marble. Silver strands pulsed through long white hair, misty fabric swathing its androgynous form. A finned chrome headdress mirrored the three pairs of wings on its back. It didn't speak, but cocked its head in a sharp twitch, like a hawk tilting one eye.
Sweat stung my brow. Heeding the conductor's warning, I collected myself and finished my performance.
"Fair as stars winking on the wave,
"They linger still, our hearts to save.
"Most blessed angels, hear our plea,
"And guide thy Kingdom By The Sea."
No mortal could match Jophiel's beauty. Its slender arms flicked up. Thin fingers latched to my chin, nails piercing.
Though I trembled, I answered as a faithful devotee should. "Praises be, Holy One."
Subtle voices teased my mind from the Sanctum. All six wings swayed forward, plumes bright enough to shame the morning snow. The mask loomed closer, breath like a honeyed rose, yet deathly cold. Archangel Jophiel stroked my face between exquisite palms and pressed its metallic lips to my forehead. Then it soared away, vanishing into the pinnacles of the Temple.
The conductor nearly choked on his words. "Bearer of Beatific Song. How worthy you are of this title. Welcome to the Sacred Chorus, Mr. Herald."
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