A Dead God's Tear(50)

     
 

     

Well! Time to make it worth their while, eh?

He ignored the greedy smile of Barry, who no doubt knew happy customers meant more drinking. Instead he looked over the general make-up of his crowd. They seemed to be mostly working men. Judging by their muscled arms and tough leathery complexions hardened by many hours out in the sun, he felt they were probably employed by various traders in the Bazaar,. That limited his playing to songs with easy lyrics that one could sing to. Preferably bawdy ones. Simon acknowledged his listeners with a nod; he had plenty of lewd songs that would make even the most uncouth person cringe.

Tapping his foot to an internal beat, he broke into a classic bar song, "The Man with a Hundred Hands and a Thousand Wives." In no time at all, glasses were being swung about to the hearty singing, the mugs literally spilling over in the excitement of the moment. Simon mused that although the singing was unrefined and at best, crude, it was at least from the heart. There was a quality to singing done for joy. The most refined song couldn't hold a candle to one delivered with genuine enthusiasm.

Simon allowed himself to be swept up in the sharp rhythmic beat of the song; though in reality it was no longer his to control. He was now following the tempo set by the crowd, and the words just flowed naturally along with them.

Alas, it was over way too quickly as the final notes broke out over the air and the voices died down. He, too, felt the acute disappointment one always does when something joyous ends. Oblivious to his tinge of disappointment, the bar erupted in laughter and more orders for beer were quickly called for, no doubt to Barry's delight.

He flexed his fingers briefly, and took a bit of pride in that he had just roused an entire room full of world-weary men, though, admittedly, it could just be the beer. Simon allowed his thoughts to linger on that notion before shrugging.

Wallowing was for pigs; if one was in a bar, they should be merry! He quickly launched into yet another toe-tapping song, and then another, intent on keeping the lively pulse of the night moving along. The patrons responded admirably, diving into each song with hearty praise and child-like eagerness. Beer flowed freely and everybody was having the time of their lives.

Or almost everybody. . .

Simon's eyes eventually settled on a group of people way off in the back that had not joined in. Offended, he got up and headed to middle of the circle of tables, playing and singing all the while, though inwardly his curiosity was piqued by this new development.

Why were they not joining in? Was it some fault of his own, or was his playing not up to par? As he reached the center, he was able to get a clearer look, and he finally saw the reason why. They were of a different ilk than his usual listeners, that much was for certain. It was a woman and two men. All three were trying to quietly blend in and ignore the passionate, well perhaps it was better to call them rowdy, patrons.

The mysterious trio had an air about them. Something Simon likened to haughtiness, as if joining in with the singing was beneath them. In fact, they reminded him of nobles, and yet they had some unexplainable pull, something which drew him in and heightened his interest. Simon found himself alarmed at the prospect, for the allure seemed not his own, and yet he was helpless but to obey it.

Now what were people like that doing in a place like this? Oh, and that woman! She was a fair step above the barmaids and such Simon had to shift through! Very attractive, with smooth pale skin. And the outfit she wore! While practical, it still managed to hug every curve of her body. He grinned lecherously to himself.

How to introduce himself to people like that? Simon skimmed through the possible options. Well, the song he was playing certainly wasn't going to do it. If they were indeed the proud people they presented, he would have to appeal to their perceived higher aesthetic tastes.

He chewed his bottom lip as he grappled with an internal argument and, after a few moments, he had come to a decision. Simon looked around as he finished his current song, taking in the general drunkenness of everyone about the room. They were smashed. Perfect. It would make them more sympathetic to the song he had in mind.

It was time to unleash his secret weapon. It was his masterwork. The bardic guild, if one could call the loose grouping of wandering minstrels an actual guild, used it as a term to describe an unending song in which a bard would work on during the course of his life. The catch was that, like most artists, bards were never fully satisfied with anything they did, and only one that fully mastered his art would ever deem such a work as complete.

Now it was time to see if that all paid off.

Simon cleared his throat loudly, silencing the noise that had risen in the absence of his playing. "Everybody having a good time?" he asked as all eyes turned to him.

A chorus of affirmation greeted him and several toasts were made in his name. He just smiled and nodded, accepting the praise graciously. "Well, I've got a brand new one for everybody. I wrote it myself, and I need your thoughts! You wanna hear it?"

Again the cacophony of drunken cheers filled the room. Simon smiled. They had no idea what was coming next.

He placed his fingers gingerly on his guitar, for the chording for the song was complicated, and it took a few seconds to visualize the strings. The tavern was deathly silent as the first notes rang out and over the air. It started out slow, tentative in nature, gently caressing the ears of the listeners. He could see the surprise in their faces as he played; they were expecting a more upbeat song. Simon took that as a good sign, surprise was always better than drunken anger. He began to softly sing, matching the emotion in his voice to the soft tempo.

It started off about a boy, not quite an adult, setting out to carve his niche in the world. The beginning was a slow beat, and reflected the hopefulness in the heart of the innocent. Simon thought he had captured the sense of awe perfectly, the feeling of splendor all people feel when they finally locate that special place where they want to be. The dream was something everyone in the tavern could relate to; everyone, big or small, had some hidden ache in their heart.

Slowly the song began to pick up. The boy had found his calling, that of a soldier. As the boy grew braver, so did the music. Battles were outlined and won, and victory accompanied every step. Except now the boy had grown into a man, and he quickly moved up the ranks, becoming, at last, the successful general that was no doubt his future. It reached its frantic crescendo as the man marched to the roaring applause of his fellow countrymen. They had won the war!

Simon's fingers moved on their own accord now, for he had lost himself in the depths of his song. Was he playing the song or was the song playing him? Such questions were lost in the siren's call as his fingers flitted over the strings unerringly.

One day the man falls in love, and now the music took on the bittersweet melody of burgeoning romance, the feeling of a rapidly beating heart taking pleasure in the sharp pang of new love. The delicate notes rang around the details of the courtship, fluttered over their unending vows to each other, before finally coming to rest ever so delicately on the shoulders of the final result of passion: a child.

The plucking was slower now, tentative like it had been earlier, as Simon related the beginnings of the happy family; of the baby's first steps, of teaching the child the necessities of life, and even the arguments with someone who had no experience with the outside world.

Then, when it seems as if life was perfect, disaster struck! The music became ominous as both the mother, and then eventually the man's child, is stricken down by the swift hand of Fate. Not by a sword, and not in anger, but by the inevitably of age and sickness.

And now the man is once again alone, his loneliness reflected by a haunting timbre that hung about the air like a heavy shawl, obscuring the view of everyone. Each gentle note expressed his sadness, for the found man is lost once again, as lost as he was when he first set out on his journey. Only this time, instead of hopefulness of youth, he is directed by jaded cynicism of one who had seen too much, one who had lost too much. And as the final notes thrummed in the air, the man dies.

Alone.

Simon opened his eyes; in fact, he didn't even remember closing them. He was greeted to the spectacle that makes any musician's heart leap with unadulterated joy. Every expression that he saw was one of pleasant surprise. People mid-drink as the words had taken hold of them, paused as the song took them for a journey though they never left the bar.

The clapping began slowly and cautiously, the lone noise in the tavern, before it escalated quickly into a fevered pitch that shook the very walls. There was not a single dry eye in the room.

Simon glowed, his own heart soared, inspired by the sheer truthfulness of their excitement. This is what life was about! It was the confirmation to all his choices in life that had led him here. Cries for more drink filled the air, for the song had set the mood to one of contemplation.

Now everyone was reflecting on what had gotten them to where they were; most just also chose the reflection at the bottom of a mug to accompany them. Looking over at the table of three, Simon saw that even they were affected. The woman's bottom lip was trembling and she looked on the verge of crying, while her two companions wore expressions of utter seriousness.

In other words, the time was ripe in which to move in.

Ignoring the claps of congratulations he received as he walked between the tables, he stopped at the table of three, waiting until he was acknowledged. The man with shoulder length, curly blonde hair was the first to look up from his inner thoughts and notice him. "That was. . . amazing," he said, the words escaping his mouth in a single rush as if he had to get it out before it was lost.