Fraggle fic: The Minstrel's Path

[Slackbot]

Here we go, on another serial, this time starring Cantus the Minstrel. I've had bits and pieces of this story in my mind for some time, and in fact I've posted bits and pieces in this forum already. So, if some of it looks familiar, beg pardon; I'm tying it all together here.

So... what makes a minstrel?

*****

The Minstrel's Path​

Part 1​

by Kim McFarland​

*****


"This will be your first real test. Are you sure you want to go through with it?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

The Tunesmith, to his credit, did not shrug, shake his head, or in any other way show his opinion of Jago, one of his pupils. The boy was gifted, but in dire need of discipline. He spent more time dreaming than practicing, and he never could settle on one instrument. If he could just learn to focus he could become a great musician. He was young; he had time to learn. But the earlier he began to take music seriously the better.

The two Fraggles walked from the Tunesmith's cave and down one of the passages leading out of the colony. There were dangers out here; unstable caves and hungry creatures and territorial plants and, supposedly, a ghost. The Tunesmith did not believe in ghosts, but so many Fraggles claimed to have heard a voice whispering out of nowhere that now everybody believed that these caves were haunted. Jago didn't seem worried. Either he didn't believe the rumors or, more likely, simply wasn't thinking about them.

*

The two Fraggles reached a small hole in the tunnel. A low moaning came from the darkness within. The Tunesmith gestured toward the hole. Jago looked at him in surprise, then peered in. He turned his head, listening. Then he asked, "What should I do?"

"Spend the night here, in the Piping Cave. Tomorrow, tell me what you have learned."

"What am I supposed to learn here?"

"You tell me."

Jago looked into the cave again. All he could hear was the low moaning of wind passing through long tunnels. It blew against his face, ruffling his flower-colored hair. He stepped in. As his eyes adjusted he could see more of his surroundings. He was in a large room with many tunnels of various sizes leading out on the opposite side. Fresh air seemed to be blowing evenly from all of them, making the room breezy and pleasant. After listening for a minute, he began to sing along with it. He used no words, only the sounds that came to him.

The cave began to lighten in response to his song. The Tunesmith smiled. Fraggle song brightened the caves, not only figuratively. Jago began wandering within the cave, his teacher forgotten. The Tunesmith turned to go back to the colony.

*

Jago wandered within the Piping Cave. The wind blowing in through the tunnels—there were seven of them—was steady and gentle, and, he soon realized, each tunnel's sound was different. The smallest tunnel played a high, whishing sound. The largest one had a lower tone, the moan he had heard first. The other tunnels made sounds in between. As he walked around the cave he noticed that he heard different tones depending on where he stood within it.

He paced and listened. He felt as if the wind was blowing through him. As if he was an instrument rather than the player of one. It was a pleasant, even exciting sensation. After he had walked around the cave long enough to understand its sounds and their sources, he began to sing softly.

"Music flows through the coves,​

Wind and stone sing together as one.​

Echoing as you sing,​

Let me hear your song..."​

Something was listening.

*

He sang, entreating the cave to share its secrets with him, until he felt he had said enough. Standing to one side, out of the main flow of air, he listened to the chord of the seven tunnels. It was pleasant, if a little monotonous. Looking around the cave, he realized that it was like the inside of a giant ocarina, with the tunnels acting as the holes...no. You blow in one side of a flute and change its single tone by covering the holes with your fingers. He put his pack down on the ground and began walking, stepping silently, aware of nothing but the sound of the wind. It would change if he stopped up a tunnel, he supposed. To test that he found the smallest tunnel within reach and leaned back against it, blocking the flow of air completely. Sure enough, the chord sounded different...incomplete. He stepped away, and the chord was complete again. Taking away wasn't any good, he thought.

Only one of the tunnels at ground level was large enough for him to enter without stopping it up. He walked a ways into it, then stopped and listened. Once again, the chord was changed. But this time it sounded good. By entering this tunnel he had raised its tone, which in turn changed the song of the cave.

He stood, looking into the cave, seeing little, straining for all he could hear.

*

Early the next day the Tunesmith returned to the Piping Cave, hoping that his pupil had fared well. Many found the eerie sounds of the lonely cave frightening. But Jago had not run back to the colony during the night—the Tunesmith had checked his family's cave before coming here—so at least the boy had toughed it out.

The Tunesmith looked into the cave. Jago was there, asleep on top of his sleeping bag rather than in it. From the look of it he had simply bedded down without bothering to make a campfire. He shook his head, then patted Jago's shoulder. The boy's breathing caught, and he blinked and looked up. The Tunesmith said, "Arise, sleepyhead. I hope sleeping isn't all you've done in here."

"No, not at all," Jago replied. He sat up and stretched hard, then wiggled his fingers to limber them.

"Well then, what have you learned?"

"Well... this cave, it's like the inside of a musical instrument."

"Like an ocarina," the Tunesmith said, nodding.

"No, not really. More like my reed flute, if all the reeds blew into one chamber. I've never seen an instrument like this. Each tunnel makes a different sound, and it changes depending on where you are."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means that what you hear depends on where you are, just like anywhere else. The music you make changes as you move. Let me show you."

Jago took out a stringed instrument like a small balalaika and stood hastily. He said to the Tunesmith, "Walk with me."

Jago began playing the instrument, singing softly and wordlessly. The wind provided the background chord, and as he moved through the cave he adjusted the song to harmonize with it. The Tunesmith was impressed. This was the lesson the cave had to teach, but the boy had gone beyond understanding the mere principle and used it in his own music. And the tune was improvised; he would have recognized a prepared composition. When Jago finished the Tunesmith said, "Very good."

"Thank you. And, this tunnel—if you go into it, you change the sound it makes."

"Yes, like muting a wind instrument." the Tunesmith acknowledged.

Jago continued, becoming more animated, "Just as we hear different things by moving around in the world, we can change what is heard just by being in the right place. The song of the world continues, but we become a part of it rather than using it in our music."

If the Tunesmith had ever doubted that Jago was still a dreamer, this would have laid that question to rest. Trust Jago to turn a practical lesson on music principles into a philosophical matter. Still, there was nothing to say that musicians couldn't be dreamers too. "Have you learned anything else?"

"Not yet."

Patting his student's shoulder approvingly, The Tunesmith said, "Well, you've passed the test. You've done very well, in fact. Let's return."

"I'd rather stay here."

Surprised, the Tunesmith asked, "Why? What do you want to do?"

"I think there's more to it. At the very least, I want to listen some more."

The Tunesmith gave him an odd look. Then he said, "If that's what you want to do. Come back when you're ready."

"I will."

The Tunesmith left his odd pupil behind. He had the talent to be a master musician, but with his disposition, who knew what he would finally turn out to be.

Unseen, an entity watched the young Fraggle, and was pleased. It said in a voice so low that Jago believed he was hearing his own thoughts, "Listen."

*****

Fraggle Rock and Jago (under his real name) are copyright © The Jim Henson Company and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The Tunesmith is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com), as is the overall story. Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[charlietheowl]

Oooh! New Fraggle fic! I'm very excited to see how all the Minstrels come together. Thanks for posting!

 

[The Count]

*Cheers for new fic from Slackbot.

*Is interested to read how this develops. Please, post more.

 

[DrDientes]

: YAAAAAAAAAAAY! (waves arms) New Slackbot fic!

 

[Slackbot]

Aw, gawrsh, thanks for the votes of confidence!

This first chapter is actually not new fic. I posted it some months ago in my Text Sketchbook thread under the title "Within the Music." I'm finally expanding it into a full story, hence the rehashiness. But it's cheesy to kick a story off only with reruns, so here is a new, not-posted-before chapter...

*****

The Minstrel's Path​

Part 2​

by Kim McFarland​

*****

Jago closed his eyes, shutting out the Fraggles who were watching him.

They were still and quiet, waiting for him. He pretended they were not there, that he was alone, with nobody to hear but the beetles that lived in the cave moss. He remembered the soft sound of the wind as it moved through the passages, the cool breeze carrying the scent of water. Thinking of those things, he began to play.

The fingertips of one hand pressed strings of varying thickness against a flat surface that rose up to rest against one shoulder. His other hand plucked the same strings lower down. The humming sound they made was reflected and given body by the bowl-like body of the instrument, which rested on his lap. In his mind he heard a tune, and followed it as one might travel a new path through the caverns. He let his fingers take care of the minutia of which notes to play, and let them elaborate the theme as they saw fit.

Eventually the path led back home, and the tune came to a close. He opened his eyes again and set down the chordophone, signaling that he was finished. The wood clicked softly against the stone of the cave floor.

"That was beautiful," said a female Fraggle.

"Thank you," Jago replied dutifully.

The Tunesmith watched with pride as his pupil gracefully accepted compliments on his playing. He did not desire acclaim for himself; Jago's accomplishments were his own.

Jago had been one of the Tunesmith's students since he was small. All Fraggles had some musical talent, but Jago had showed unusual promise almost from the very beginning. He seemed to grasp by instinct what others had to learn. His one persistent flaw had been his unwillingness to focus. Instead of learning to play one instrument well, he had kept switching between many, never sticking with one long enough to learn to play it as well as the Tunesmith knew he could. But Jago had been young, and as he had matured he had chosen the chordophone, a respectable, versatile instrument. His hard work was finally paying off.

When the audience left The Tunesmith said quietly to Jago, "You have made me proud. You are becoming a fine musician."

"Thank you," Jago answered.

*

Jago left, carrying the chordophone in a specially made bag slung across his back. He was glad that he pleased those who listened to him and rewarded Tunesmith for the time and effort he'd devoted to training an often-distracted pupil. Yet he didn't feel a sense of accomplishment or pride. Yes, he knew he played well, but still he felt discontented.

He left the main territory of the colony. There were caves all around it that were rarely used because of their distance from the main colony, but were still close enough that dangerous cave creatures shied away. This cave was a secret favorite of Jago's. A cool breeze flowed through it, carrying with it sounds and scents from caverns further out. Water dripped from stalactite to stalagmite, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Beetles and other creatures chirped and trilled to each other.

Jago smiled as he listened to the sounds. He settled into a comfortable mossy ledge and set his bag on the ground. Playing one instrument only was like singing just one song, he thought. That song might be wonderful, but it still didn't satisfy him. There had to be more to music than limiting yourself so.

He closed the bag and started to rise, then put it down and sat again. There was the sound of water flowing and dripping, the calls of the creatures that shared the cave with him. They were as meaningful as songs Fraggles sang. They told the world what the creatures were doing and how they felt. At the very least they announced 'I am alive and so are you.' The music he had made that day had said nothing; it was only pretty sounds. There was nothing of him in it.

No, he told himself. That was not true. He was frustrated, but it wasn't really the music that bothered him. He had to discover what he wanted and seek that out rather than dwelling on what he didn't like.

He closed his eyes, relaxed, and took a deep breath. When he exhaled he let go of his frustration. In the quiet that left him he was again conscious of the air flowing and traveling, ruffling his hair. He imagined that it carried messages from the far reaches of the caves, and he could understand them if he learned the language of the wind. He sat and listened, letting the sounds come to him and thinking nothing.

After a while he began to doze off. Before he fell asleep he thought he heard a reed instrument playing in the distance.

*****

Fraggle Rock and Jago (under his real name) are copyright © The Jim Henson Company and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The Tunesmith is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com), as is the overall story. Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[Slackbot]

Here, have another slice of life.

*****

The Minstrel's Path​

Part 3​

by Kim McFarland​

*****

It was the day of the summer solstice. This was the longest day of the year, the day the world stood still for just a moment before turning back on its path. It was the pivot of summer, which was the center of the year.

Summers were rich and mellow. Flowers bloomed, the vines that festooned the Fraggles' caves were fruiting, and tasty morels grew everywhere the Fraggles searched. And, of course, it was the breeding season for many of the caves' inhabitants, including Fraggles.

All of this added up to a big celebration on this day. Everyone contributed their own special talents. Many gathered food and cooked their best dishes for the colony. Some composed songs, or danced, or told stories, or did special swimming stunts. Children gathered flowers and pretty stones and decorated the Deep Gallery. And, of course, the musicians played for everybody.

The core of the musicians was comprised of The Tunesmith, who led the music on a wooden flute; Jago, on his chordophone; and Cheel on drums and percussion board. Other Fraggles joined in on their own instruments as the spirit moved them. Anyone who wished to sang.

Tunesmith brought the piece they had been playing to a close and said lightly to Jago and Cheel, "Enough."

The two nodded, and Jago agreed, "Enough." They had been playing for over an hour, and now they could put down their instruments and enjoy the day with everybody else. Cheel packed away her instruments—she had just made them, and was rather possessive of them—and then slid into the stream that ran through the gallery. The Tunesmith went to get some food. Jago, who had been singing, stuck his head under the small waterfall at the head of the stream and drank from the splashing water.

*

As the day progressed Jago ate, and swam, and played music on a more informal basis, and accepted an invitation from a friend for a private celebration of the day. By the end of that he was sated, but the day was far from over. He put his chordophone in its bag and headed out.

He let his feet lead him away from the center of the colony, humming as he walked. When he was far away enough that he revelry was audible only as indistinct echoes, he opened his bag and reached under the chordophone. He drew out a bamboo traverse flute and, as he walked, began playing a simple, lively tune that popped into his head.

He made his way to a peaceful cavelet that he often visited when he wanted to be alone, to play music or meditate or just relax. Listening to the wind that blew through the cave, he began again, this time with a single soft, breathy note on his flute, which formed a chord with the sound of the breeze. He picked up the sounds of the insects chirping nearby and wove a tune around them.

He was smiling when he lowered the flute from his mouth. The cave was brighter now. It often was after he had played a tune. There were things in the air that fed on music, and they lit the caves. They were too small to see unless they gathered in great concentrations, if they actually did that; he had only heard of that happening in stories.

He put the flute back in the bag and took out another instrument. It was made of curved metal, a rare substance among Fraggles. If you grasped one end between your teeth and twanged the other end it made a plunking tone, which you could vary with the shape of your mouth. He played a comical tune around the rhythm of the water dripping from stalactite to stalagmite.

*

He put a set of reeds of different lengths, fastened together in order of length and thus of pitch, back in his bag. His heart felt lighter now. For the Tunesmith and the colony he played the chordophone, and played it well. To please himself, he went off and played other instruments. Once he found a colony of humming rumblebugs, and had joined in their song. That was the most fun he had had in many, many days.

It was a good balance, he thought. He gave his colony what it wanted, and played for his own amusement at other times. He could be content with that. He leaned back to rest, and closed his eyes.

Listen.

His eyes popped open. He thought that the word had been spoken right next to his ear, but there was nobody there. This was not the first time that had happened. He supposed, as he always did, that he had imagined it. After all, he often came here to listen to the quiet sounds of the cave. They gave him a feeling of peace that he could not find in the colony, and sometimes he found inspirations for new tunes in the chance combinations of chirps, whooshes, trills, and drips.

But this time he heard music. At first he thought a trick of the wind was bringing it to him from the colony. But it didn't sound like the Fraggle music he knew, and it was coming from the wrong direction. He peered out the back of the cavelet. The sound was coming from farther out.

Who could be making that music? It was eerie—no, not eerie; it was unearthly without being frightening. He had never heard anything like it. He picked up his bag and followed the sound.

He traveled some distance. The strange music sounded clearer but no closer. He looked back uneasily. He could still see the cave he had just come from. But he did not know the caves this far from the colony. The music was still some distance away, and while he could find it easily, he might not be able to find his way back. And there could be dangerous creatures who would not pass up the opportunity for an easy meal, should one come wandering near their lairs.

Still, that music…Jago could not bear to give it up just yet. He stood, his bag in his hands, his eyes on the path he had come, but all his attention on the tune that floated hauntingly out of the depths of the tunnels.

But he had to make a choice. He could not risk it. Regretfully he turned his back on the music and walked back to his colony. After he was gone, the music faded away.

*****

Fraggle Rock and Jago (under his real name) are copyright © The Jim Henson Company and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The Tunesmith and Cheel are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com), as is the overall story. Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[DrDientes]

Is mysterious and invisible, right?

 

[The Count]

Thank you for posting more. Who is Cheel? And is it pronounced with a choppy "CH" sound or a hard "k" sound?
*Is intrigued by the music that almost brought Jago out to its new discovery.

BTW: Noticed you mentioned this summer festival as bringing forth morels, so I take it this takes place during the days of Uncle Gobo and a young Matt?

 

[Twisted Tails]

A mysterious and insivisible what?
We don't know yet, but you'll have to find out fot the next chapter.
Gotcha!!

 

[Slackbot]

Heh, yes, the source of that voice is mysterious, and it's not very visible, is it?

Cheel is a Fraggle who Tunesmith has trained in percussion-based instruments. She's a good musician, but not a great one, and she doesn't have any original thoughts when it comes to music. She's there to keep a beat. Her name is pronounced with a soft "CH," like "cheesewheel" minus the middle part.

This Fraggle colony is pretty far from Fraggle Rock, so it may have different flora. (Do fungi count as flora? Morels are a kind of mushroom.) But, now that I think about it, it would be approximately the time of Young Uncle Matt, as Cantus is a very young adult, or at least post-adolescent, as of this chapter.