Fraggle fic: The Minstrel's Path

[mostlikemokey]

I like how Cantus makes all those wordy speeches, but when Brool asks to join them, he only says, "Yes". He may give wordy advice, but only to those ready to receive it.

especially if it happens to be a fight with a poison cackler.

Do I sense foreshadowing?

 

[Slackbot]

Cantus likes to puzzle people and make them think. He gave Gobo a big puzzle in The Honk of Honks, because he wanted Gobo to make the connection himself; you learn when you find your own answers, so that's how Cantus teaches. Brool doesn't need testing, he needs help, so Cantus's message is that all is not lost despite his failure, and he can take his life in another direction, and they will help get him on his feet again. So when Brool dropped the tough act and asked for help, Cantus agreed clearly and unambiguously.

When you're suffering from an injury you don't need obfuscation, you need reassurance. Of course, when he's better Cantus is free to baffle him all he wants!

 

[mostlikemokey]

Yeah... I wonder how Brool will take it?
Still can''t wait for Brio! No clue why. She'll probably come more towards the end, as she'd have to leave her whole colony behind.

 

[The Count]

Mostlikemokey, you might want to read the previous chapter before this one then. * innocent whistle.

 

[mostlikemokey]

oops. Sometimes my computer acts up and skips pages on alerts. Guess It doesn't like Brio.
*whistles back* Nobody saw that!

 

[mostlikemokey]

Sorry to double post, but would the Midsummer Ritual baby be the green Fraggle girl Janken meets briefly in A Wandering Heart?

 

[Slackbot]

What didn't nobody see?

And, no, Tchia's child won't be Clio. I did toy with that idea, but decided against it with some regret after I figured that Cantus has to be geographically far away from Fraggle Rock at this point in the story. Clio lives in a colony not too far from FR. You'll know when you're there by the soda-straw stalactites above the Fraggle pond.

(Count, you get bonus points for the Walter whistle.)

 

[Slackbot]

A li'l teaser...

"Is everything music to him?"
"You get used to it."

 

[The Count]

Hee... "Little's" the word for it all right.

 

[Slackbot]

What could make Cantus forget about music, even for a moment?

*****

​

The Minstrel's Path​

Part 15​

by Kim McFarland​

*****

Spring had finally declared its intention to stay. The icicles had melted, and the stream no longer grew ice around its edges in the night. Green things were pushing out of the ground and cracks in the rock walls. The breezes blowing through the tunnels were pleasant, not chilling.

A Fraggle healer was examining Brool's leg. He probed through the thick fur, feeling the shape of the bone and muscle underneath. Brool sat quietly, watching him. So did Murray.

The Fraggle, this cave's healer, said, "Is it still itching? Or stiff?"

Brool replied, "Not any longer. It's just weak."

"You haven't been out of the splint very long. It'll be weak for a while, until you build it up again. But don't try to do it too quickly. Walk without a stick as long as you can, but when you get tired, use it. And if you feel sharp pain, stop."

"I will," Brool said, with minimal annoyance at the instructions he had heard a dozen times already. He was healing from a broken leg. He owed his quick recovery—and very likely his life—to the Minstrels who had come to his aid despite his having thrown his spear at them, and to the Fraggle healers who had treated him without asking who he was or where he came from. It was strange, and, as time went on, a little humbling. Earlier on he would have called these Fraggles naïve and foolish, but they lived uncomplicated, happy lives without worrying about raids or status or much of anything. In winter they shared everything, even body heat, so that everyone would benefit. If that was naïveté, the world would be happier with more of it.

The healer said, "You don't need me. Your leg is healing well, and by summer you'll have forgotten which one was broken. I'm going to see how Tchia is doing."

Brool said, "Thanks," as the healer gathered up his things and left.

Murray, who had observed without commenting, said, "It won't be long now. Got any plans?"

"Not yet," Brool replied.

"We can find our way back to where you came from. If you wanted to-"

"No!" Brool snapped. Lowering his voice, he said, "I won't go back there."

Murray leaned back lazily, his hands behind his head. "Isn't there anyone you miss?"

"Yeah. But…I told you, if I went back I'd be a child again. For the rest of my life."

"Mmm."

"And…I like it out here. I want to see more."

"You do," Murray said in a tone of voice borrowed from Cantus.

"The people out here are so different. Not the people by themselves, but when they're in groups." He didn't know how to put it into words; he wasn't as articulate as Cantus or Murray. As individuals, Fraggles were not that different from his kind. He had met Fraggles that reminded him of people he'd grown up with. But as colonies they behaved very differently. The tribes of his kind lived in a continual low-level feud, whereas Fraggle colonies happily coexisted if they were close together, and ignored each other if they were far apart. Why couldn't his people be like that? The longer he lived out here, the more insane it seemed.

Brool said, "I want to find a new home. The places we've visited so far are nice, but they don't feel like home. I want to travel with you Minstrels until I find a home. I won't slow you down any more."

"We're not in a rush. Well, we were hurrying this time, but this was a special case." Murray grinned. "It sounds fine with me. Cantus calls the shots, of course. You can ask him, but first you'll have to get his attention, and good luck with that." Now Brool grinned back.

Normally Cantus and Murray traveled a long, unhurried loop between Fraggle colonies. They got to each when they got to it; they were on no schedule. However, this time Cantus had been adamant about their destination. Brool had been the slowest of the three, and he had expected they would leave him behind in a Fraggle colony, but they hadn't. And, to Brool's credit, he had been useful along the way. He knew how to convince the beasts that lived out in these tunnels that they would not be an easy lunch. He could have killed one, but neither Cantus nor Murray would let him. All they needed was for it to leave them alone. If they wouldn't eat it, then killing it would be a waste of a life, they insisted. Brool still couldn't believe that they would care about a Poison Cackler.

At least he had proven his worth as a warrior, to himself at least. Cantus and Murray—well, they appreciated not being slaughtered, but they were more interested in his ability to pick a tune on Murray's guitar. Why was that so special to them? Anyone could do that. Certainly any Fraggle could, and furthermore they would whether you wanted them to or not. Fraggle colonies were like a hive of children.

And yet...he enjoyed making music. Now that he had given up all hope of being a warrior, he could admit to that guilty pleasure. It might be frivolous, but, when he looked back at it from a distance, it was much better than the constant feud between the tribes where he came from. It did no harm and brought pleasure. And the Fraggles valued it highly, and honored Cantus. Either the Fraggles were crazy, or Brool's people were. Well, Brool had decided who he would rather live with.

A young green Fraggle, who had been hanging back while the healer examined Brool, came over to them, carrying a board. She plopped down crosslegged by Brool and said, "Try this."

Brool looked at the "this." The board had bars attached to each end. When set on its back, the bars stuck up. She had strung cord between them. He plucked the cords with the tips of his short, blunt claws. Her face lit with a smile. She said, "Are the cords too close together?"

He plucked the cords some more, the strummed them. "No, that's fine."

"Good!" She picked up the board and hustled away.

He watched her go. When she had heard that he liked to play guitar but had to borrow Murray's because he did not have one of his own, she had decided to make one for him. Despite her youth, she had gone about the task very seriously, even configuring the placement of the cords to fit his large hands. It was hard to believe that she expected no payment, that Fraggles did things like this simply because they wanted to. They could be generous without even thinking of it as generosity.

Murray said, "She does fast work, but it'll still take her days to make it."

"Will we still be here by then?"

"Oh, sure, don't worry about that. If I know Cantus, he dropped word to her that you needed a guitar in the first place."

"Yeah." Cantus loved music. It was, as far as Brool could tell, the driving force in his life. Of course he would want those traveling with him to have instruments.

Cantus appeared. His fur was dripping wet. He beckoned to them and said urgently, "Come to the warm spring!" Then he left again.

Murray hopped to his feet and hurried to the smaller cave that housed a spring that ran warm even in winter. He pulled back the hanging that covered the door and went in, with Brool behind him. The spring was only large enough to accommodate several Fraggles. Now four were in the water. Tchia was sitting at the side, looking very tired but pleased. A small yellow boy, her son, was by her. An older female was tending to Tchia. And, in her arms, was an orange-furred newborn.

Cantus sat by Tchia, his legs in the water. Murray squatted at the edge and looked at the infant. All babies looked generic for the first year or so, no matter what their species, but the soft, downy fur extending down its arms and legs was a dead giveaway as to its parentage. Grinning, Murray said, "Good work, boss."

Cantus replied, "I cannot take the credit for this. I merely hummed a tune. Tchia took that tune and turned it into a song."

Yeah, right. Then why do you look so smug? Murray thought, amused. Well, Cantus had every right.

Brool murmured to Murray, "Is everything music with him?"

"You get used to it," Murray replied.

Cantus heard them, but he didn't care. He was admiring the little orange Fraggle who had just come into the world. It was hard to believe it was real.

Tchia had been through this once before, and recognized the symptoms of baby thrall. She would have liked to just sit in the warm, comfortable water and cuddle her new child, but she was exhausted and had not slept in much too long. She said to Cantus, "Would you like to hold him?"

"Yes," he said softly.

She raised the baby off her chest, holding the tiny body in one hand and supporting the head with the other. Carefully Cantus took him the same way. Instinctively Cantus held him to his chest, covering the wet fur with his hands. Out of the warm spring he could become chilled; infants were not so resilient until they grew a bit.

Blindly, because his eyes would not open for several more weeks, the baby pressed his face into Cantus's fur. Cantus felt the warmth of his breath, saw his little body expand and contract as he breathed. The tiny limbs and tail twitched gently, aimlessly.

The child was so light in his hands, Cantus thought, yet in that tiny body Cantus could feel the immeasurable weight of the future.

*****

Fraggle Rock, Cantus, Murray, Brio, and Brool are copyright © The Jim Henson Company and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Tchia, the unnamed Fraggles, and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.