The Final Song

by Cali Weber

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Kiera’s performance anxiety usually left her feeling breathless and slightly sweaty before every performance, but tonight was something different. Performance anxiety, yes: she did, after all, play the French horn, which was known for its unpredictability in pitch accuracy. But this was something beyond simple performance anxiety. After the concert tonight, Kiera’s life would be over.

“It will be suicide to play it,” Cedric had told the orchestra weeks ago. “I understand most of you still have families to take care of. I do not expect all of you to play. You can use intermission to leave the theater, grab your families, and join the refugees bound for Edrein. The rest of us will spend our last moments standing up for what is right.”

“Cedric is rounding us up,” One of the other horn players announced, shaking Kiera out of her thoughts. “We’re back onstage in a few minutes.” Cedric and the roughly thirty-five remaining players were standing just next to the stage curtain as Kiera made her way over. Cedric was standing in front of the group, hair more tousled than it usually was, likely from nervously running his fingers through it. Pinned on his lapel were the images of his late wife and three young children.

“You all are the strongest and bravest people I have ever met,” Cedric began. “Weeks ago, you all made a choice to stay and play even though you knew what would come after the final bow. It is my great honor to share this sacrifice with you all.” Kiera nodded along with the rest of the orchestra, images of her mother and sister before the bombings coming to mind.

The show must go on, Kiera thought to herself as she and the rest of the orchestra made their way back onto the stage. The theater crew, having been warned of the plot as well and allowed the same opportunity to escape, had already reset the stage to accommodate the smaller group. Kiera took her place in the principal chair, Derek to her right and Charlotte next to him. The theater was silent around them, the stage lights far too bright for Kiera. Her heart began pounding as the principal violinist broke the silence, playing the tuning note for the group. Kiera had to mentally applaud his strength; the tone never wavered despite the chord of tension running through the ensemble. The rest of the orchestra joined the note, a cacophonous wave of quivering sound shifting closer and closer together until the tone became even and resonant.

The audience applauded as Cedric walked out onto the stage, turning to face the king’s box and bowing deeply. The lights and sound dimmed as he approached the conductors’ podium, raising his arms. There was magic in that baton between his fingers, Kiera knew, magic that everyone in this audience would experience tonight. The string players lifted their bows and, with a cue from Cedric, drew a low moan from their instruments that filled Kiera’s soul with sorrow. Dark tendrils of sound unfurled from the front of the ensemble, rising from the strings to circle Kiera and the others. Her racing heart slowed, matching the rhythm of the bows. Where the sweet smoke floated, the smell of fire and wind followed. With a look from Cedric, the woodwind players gracefully raised their instruments to their mouths. Their magic released as a sigh, shimmering whorls of sound intertwining with the smoky string colors. The scent of summer rain and wet earth brushed Kiera’s nose. She could taste the soil in her mouth, feel the moisture hovering over her skin.

Cedric lifted his eyes to Kiera and the rest of the brass as they lifted their instruments. The magic caressing her skin seeped into her lungs as she breathed, guiding it through her horn. The molten sound wrapped around her as it oozed into the air, merging with the shimmering overtones of the woodwinds and the burning tendrils of the strings. It was the smell of sunsets, of golden rays of light burning with the end of day. The braided, swirling magic swept into the audience like a morning fog, bringing a solemn stillness to the theater.

Kiera watched Cedric’s baton wave through the counts, the movements becoming sharper as the percussion joined in. The timbre changed, shining buttery gold as the brass marched into a fanfare. The horn sang in Kiera’s hands, the audience murmuring as they recognized the foreign anthem. A thread of molten energy ran down Kiera’s spine, filling her with warmth and resolve that chased away her remaining fear. With each resonant pound of the timpani, with every strengthening beat of her heart, images of foreign kingdoms filled Kiera’s brain.

The magic pulsed, burning brighter and brighter as it swirled around the audience, flashing with every beat of the drums.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kiera saw the king speaking with one of the guards stationed in his box. It would not be long now, Kiera knew. Soon their mystical music would come to an end, and so would their lives. The music reached a crescendo, and with it, the resonance in Kiera’s veins and the very air she breathed. The air seemed to breathe as the music paused. Cedric stilled for a single beat before pointing at one of the string players with his baton. The woman rose, tilted her chin up defiantly, and began to sing. It was the king’s anthem, but instead of the usual jovial march, it was a funeral procession. Kiera rested her horn on her lap as silky-smooth magic spilled from the woman’s lips. The music shivered delightfully, burning with a new fire as the moaning of the violins and cellos joined the woman. Kiera felt the resonance caressing her shoulders, filling her soul with strength. She took a deep breath and slowly stood, joining the verse. Others among the orchestra did as well, more silken magic unfurling into the pool of music filling the room.

Hot tears welled in Kiera’s eyes, images of her mother and sister dying in the line of fire burning through her heart. The magic pulsed as the orchestra sang louder, voices resonating throughout the space as if the very heavens above them had opened. Kiera’s soul was alight, her fear quelled in the face of the magnificent sound around her. She vaguely heard the rest of the brass joining back in the music as she and a few others continued to sing. The beats of the percussion echoed her heart, the magic reaching an erupting point. The ultimate crescendo, the end of all ends, Kiera sang until there was no strength left in her bones. The winds ran out of air. The strings had reached the ends of their bows.

Then the theater went silent.

            When I first came up with the idea for this piece, it was going to be a lot less magical. My original intention was to use this storyline of the rebelling orchestra, inspired by one of my favorite scenes ever written from Sarah J. Maas’ Heir of Fire, in which an orchestra rebels against a wicked king and is never heard from again (presumably killed). I wanted to explore this scene from the perspective of the performer, as a performer myself, and wanted to focus on describing the music with the usual vocabulary of music descriptions. As I went along, however, I realized that I often don’t experience music as a performer in such a “typical” manner. It’s something I feel tangibly when I play, from the pressure in my lungs to the shivers up my spine. I was listening to a piece of music that I imagined the orchestra might play as I wrote, and I couldn’t help but have these images of magic coming out of the instruments. I decided to use it as a visual descriptor of the music to help portray the sound, accompanied by consecution and sentence length to match the sound of the piece. The final product ended up being much more magical in a way that delighted me.