Chapter 11: The Shrouded Muse

ONCE UPON A TIME, behind the ivory veil that separates our world from that of spirits and demons, there lived a proud prince named Walrath the Fierce. He was given his name because in battle there was none so brave as Walrath.

At the battle of Moritia, Walrath slew a thousand enemies in a fight that lasted from the rising of the sun to its setting on the following day. When no enemies came forth to do battle, Walrath sought them out in their hiding places. It is said that Walrath would make enemies just for the joy of slaying them.

But Walrath had a secret desire. He had kept it hidden in his heart for so long that it scarcely flickered in his eyes. But it remained a pain deep inside. When he was not out killing his enemies, Walrath sat alone in his high-walled castle brooding.

Walrath’s mother, the Queen, had long known that Walrath had a secret desire, though he had never spoken of it. She saw, as only a mother can, that something was amiss in her son from the very earliest age. When he was but a baby, he would have fits of rage and flail his fists. It was only his mother’s voice crooning lullabies to him that could soothe his soul.

Music seemed such a soothing influence on her son that the queen ordered musicians in the castle to play at all hours of the day and night. But when war threatened, the musicians were dismissed and Walrath marched into battle fiercer than before.

It was at the end of the war with Rocklaven that Walrath was changed. There was scarcely a soldier left alive in the Rocklaven monarch’s army, and wandering in the hills searching for those who fled, Walrath heard a voice. He caught just a bit of the tune and the melodic voice, and then it faded away. It was just enough for Walrath to want more. He wandered for days through the mountains and hills, catching a bit of music from “just over there” or a melody from “just beyond.” Each time he heard the music, his heart was filled with greater desire, and so he followed.

When Walrath had wandered for a full cycle of the moon, chasing after the mysterious musical voice, he found that he was deep in a strange and unknown territory. But the voice was less fleeting now and seemed much nearer, so he forged ahead. At last, he came to the mouth of a cave from which the music issued continuously. He found that he needed more courage to enter this cave than he had needed to face entire armies on the battlefield. But somehow, he found that courage from the desire buried in his heart, and he entered into the gloom of the cave.

There he found a shrouded figure playing a lute and singing in the sweetest voice Walrath had ever heard. He lay down his sword and sat before the figure, enrapt with the music she played. When at last she spoke to him, it was in dulcet tones that scarcely differed from her singing.

“What is it that you desire, Walrath the Fierce?” she asked melodically.

Now, in any court or before any king, Walrath would have shouted, “Victory!” But the smooth tones of the shrouded woman brooked no lies and Walrath searched deep in his heart for the hidden desire.

“Music,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I have always wanted to make music.”

The shrouded woman’s laughter fell like a gentle rain on Walrath’s ready ears. He felt he had never heard such a beautiful sound in his life.

“Why then, why don’t you?” asked the woman.

“I dare not,” answered Walrath. “It would make me weak. My warriors would not follow me.”

“So, you want to make music without anyone knowing it is you making music,” mused the lady. “But there is no secret music only you can hear. The delight of making music is having others listen to it.”

“You make music in secret,” responded Walrath.

“I am secret, but not my music,” answered the muse. “Perhaps that is the answer to your problem.”

The lady rose from her seat and approached Walrath, who watched in silence and peace. Whatever she did, he was content to let it happen. He marveled that he could ever know such peace in his heart.

A slender hand reached from beneath the shroud holding the singer’s lute.

“Take it,” she said. Walrath accepted the lute. “Hold it as tenderly as your lover. Caress its strings gently. If you would have it give you music, you must coax it out with kindness and love.”

Walrath hesitantly stroked the strings. The sound was harsh and he changed his grip as she spoke in her musical voice. He coaxed the lute with his fingertips and asked it as a supplicant to give him music. And, indeed, it did. The clear tone was followed by a change in Walrath. He lifted his face to the lady and a smile warmed his expression. The lady leaned over him. He felt her lips pressed against his through the thin fabric of the shroud. Then the fabric began to fall over him. It draped his figure as he sat on the ground in the cave. It darkened all that was around him.

“Now you are secret,” whispered the voice of the muse from all around him. “As long as you wear the veil, no one will know that it is you who plays the lute. No one will know it is your voice that sings the ballads. But there is one limitation that you must know. As long as you live, you will never be able to slay a musician—not in battle, or anger, or passion. Beware and know that is your true weakness.”

“I could never slay a musician anyway,” laughed Walrath.

He was ecstatic that he had found the answer to his heart’s desire beneath the shroud. But he was curious as well.

“I should like to know my benefactor,” he said pulling the shroud from around his head. But there in the cave, was only darkness. He found no one there.

Walrath wandered back through the mountains and hills with the shroud over him, learning the contours and tone of the lute and discovering how it responded to him as if he were learning the body of a lover. Occasionally, he happened upon some shepherd or farmer who paused to stare agape at the shrouded figure that passed playing heavenly music.

But when Walrath was within sight of the walls of his castle, he removed the shroud and wrapped the lute in it. Thus, he returned to his guise as Prince Walrath the Fierce.

When he entered the gates of the castle, his soldiers and servants bowed before him and rushed to do his bidding. The castle lived in fear of its master.

Walrath rushed to his chamber and carefully hid the lute and shroud. After bathing and refreshing his appearance, he emerged on the ramparts of the castle to review his troops. He had been gone and considered lost for more than two cycles of the moon, but everything seemed to be in order when he had finished his inspection.

Late that night, a shrouded figure made its first appearance on the castle walls. The music reached the soldiers below and they set out to capture the intruder. Realizing his mistake, Walrath fled, pulling the shroud from his head and wrapping it around his lute.