Catherine Bakewell - We Are the Song

I n Cadenza, my homeland, everything is flat and calm, covered in grass and clover.

I used to run through open fields, and Mother and Father would chase after me. We skipped rocks on a lake said to have been made from Cas joyful tears when She created the world. Cadenza is full of stories like that; stories my parents told me with vigor.

Cadenza got its name from the Goddess, after allthe Place Where Ca Fell. And there were whispers, always, that Ca Herself had been seen there again.

But Lucio and I had been traveling through the kingdom of Basso for two years now, and day by day, we journeyed farther from home. The soft beauty of Cadenzas fields was almost forgotten to me. We were in the Bassan mountains, where the air was thin and crisp and cold. The lakes were frozen over. The grass was gray and trampled.

Worse still, for two years now, war had left scars upon this land as well as my homeland.

Mountains had great chunks missing. Houses had been turned into piles of brick and wood. The forests had been felled, leaving only mangled roots. Debris, broken cannons, and beams from houses dammed up rivers. Wagons were tipped over, wheels missing, wooden panels torn away.

I saw it all from the warped window of our little carriage. So much destructionbut new beauty to be found as well. The sparkling snow that Id never seen before two years ago; the tall, dark pine trees; the winter birds. Out the window, out beyond the road ahead of us, day faded into lavender evening, with the blue and black of the mountains around us as shards of stained glass.

In the front seat, as always, was my Composer, Maestro Lucio, his white-blond hair pulled into a tight queue with a black ribbon. Most of his face was obscured by a large, bloodred scarf, its loose threads frizzy. My heart always swelled when I saw him wear that scarfId knitted it for him years ago, when wed first begun to work together at the monastery. It wasnt that long ago, truly, but in my memory we were such little children then.

His gloved fists trembled slightly as they clung tight to the reins of our horse, Melody. Little strands of hair broke free from his queue and whipped in the biting wind, from which I was protected, safe and warm in the carriage.

Lucio sometimes said that the Goddess was proud of us when we endured suffering. But I wasnt certain. When I watched him tremble in the cold, when I watched the destruction outside my window, when I sang for people starving for hope, I didnt feel proud. Just sad.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the basket full of provisions we kept hanging on a hook on the wall. The people we sang for donated money and food and clothing to us in return for our miracles. When I pulled back the cover from the basket, though, I realized that even the gifts wed been given were becoming fewer and fewer. A day-old baguette. A quarter of a wheel of cheese. Three apples. Some cured ham, wrapped tight in paper. It would only last us a day or two, at most. The war was everywhere, touching everything.

With a frown, I chose a big red apple, then darted across the carriage on socked feet. I clambered atop my bed and rapped on the window as a warning before I opened it. Lucio scooted a little more to the left on his bench, and I stuck my arm out to offer him the snack.

I thought you might be getting hungry, I said above the percussion of Melodys hooves.

He held the reins in one hand and accepted the apple, placing it in his lap. When he pulled the edge of his scarf below his chin, my heart lifted to see his smile. Thank you, Elissa. His eyes, bright green as the meadows of Cadenza, met mine. A line formed between his eyebrows. You look troubled. Is something wrong?

I rested my arm against the windowsill and pressed my cheek against the crook of my arm as if it were a pillow. To our right, bricks were scattered across an empty field, along with the husk of three walls of a house. What little family had called that cottage home? And where were they now?

All of this chaos, simply because the Queen of Acuto and the King of Basso each wanted to claim the lush, beautiful, Goddess-blessed land of Cadenza for themselves.

I thought the war would end by now, I murmured. But there seems to be more and more of it, no matter how many miracles we work.

He watched the jagged horizon, his shoulders softening with a sigh. I feel that way, too, sometimes. Our miracles help people, yes...but surely there is more power in our music than little healing spells.