20 - Cello

I open the door and step inside the rectangular room. The lights are dimmed and the blinds are drawn over the large window at the back. The man at the desk sits still with his head tucked down and his chest rising and falling, taking a nap. I hesitate at the door, wondering if I should go back out and tell the secretary that now isn't the best time to meet my guide.

But I don't know whether napping on the job would get him into trouble. From what I gathered, this old fellow isn't exactly revered by the Core. I close the door behind me and approach the desk, slipping into the chair facing the ancient Undefined, the large black desk between us.

I can wait for him to wake up, it's not like I have anything better or more pressing to do. I guess you could say I have a soft spot for the elderly. My grandfather was considerably old, and even though we were a century and a few decades apart in age, we were pretty good friends. He was also quite sharp until the very end. We ate lunch together every single day until he died, and we always had something to talk about.

And if he taught me anything it was to be patient when old men have their naps.

I would venture that this fellow, Old Flent, is no one's grandpa, but he certainly managed to do a thing or two in the past few hundred years. If I live to be that old, I'd be happy that people could admire me for just that.

And so time passes in silence, my thoughts scattering everywhere. I usually have a moment or two during the day in which I just sit and think about nothing in particular. The past few days have been so intense and it doesn't take me long to wander off into a daydream. I barely notice when Risa slithers out of my pocket and places her front paws on the desk. My eye catches a slight movement and I turn my head to the desk to find a pair of large bottomless black eyes watching me.

I feel Risa's body tense-up in my lap. The air grows rigid with a strange sort of electricity that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. My spinal chord tingles, my nerves buzz, I feel a terrible danger loom before me.

A low growl rumbles in the depths of Risa's throat. Old Flent's Alprine climbs onto the table and swells in size until she is as large as a small lion, her head twice the size of mine, her tail long and powerful, swishing through the air. She bears several rows of dangerous teeth.

Risa bolts out of my lap across the room and up the wall, the other Alprine is right on her tail, equally as swift and agile despite her larger size. I yelp and leap to my feet about to — I don't know what, throw myself at the larger Alprine perhaps - but a firm hand stops me.

I turn to look into the calm face of the ancient Undefined. He smiles at me, making his eyes disappear among crinkles of old skin. "Relax," he says, "they're only playing. Sit down."

I sit but don't relax right away. I watch Risa like a hawk as she dances and weaves her way around the cabinets of the office, climbing the walls and ceiling, summersaulting midair. The other Alprine is always on her tail but never quite catching her. I can feel the uncomplicated happiness of movement and the feeling of deep recognition. Has Risa ever met one of her kind? I never imagined how lonely she could be. There are things about everyone that only one of your own kind can understand.

"Alprineius Varinolian, one of the few Tagrin names to have penetrated into Medanese language," muses the ancient Undefined. "Do you know what the Medanese word for Alprine is?"

"I didn't know Alprine wasn't a Medanese word."

"Long ago, when Meda was simply one of several little monarchies that lay beyond the reach of the Tagry-Darabinya Empire, Alprines were called 'Dragons' and were believed to be the enemies of kings. Men who wished to prove their loyalty and bravery to their king set out on Dragon-hunting escapades, though none ever returned."

"Aren't dragons evil scaly, green lizard monsters with talons and snake-tongues who kidnap fair maidens and hoard gold?"

"As far as the making of legends go, that is what dragons became through the course of time. The symbol of the dragon, its immense magical-power, size and unbeatable strength is deeply rooted in Medanese consciousness to this very day. When the Tagry-Darabinya Empire crumbled to dust and Meda seized control of Rockdem, it inherited the Zephyr along with its burdens, its mysteries and wonders. The monstrous image of the dragon did not relate to the wondrous creature they discovered in connection to the Zephyr. Therefore, in the year 1205 The Meda Council decided to enter the Tagrin word "Alprine" into the Medanese lexicon."

I listen patiently, but I'm puzzled as to why this fellow is giving me a history lesson. Personally, I never cared very much about the history lessons I received at school. Medanese history is all about financial agreements, technological advances, trains and the order that the Great country of Meda had created out of the chaos of the Middle Ages. There's a limit to the amount of names I could memorise of famous scientists, mathematicians and economists and their particular contribution to the creation of the Great Meda and the fall of the barbaric, primitive Tagry-Darabinya Empire. I don't believe half of the things they teach us about Tagrya anyway. Unlike the people who wrote our school textbooks, I had actually been to Tagrya - well, to Elleceis, a small Tagrin town only an hour and a half by bike from Aafta -- but there's a lot you can learn about a country from its small towns. Okay, so they don't have trains and square apartment buildings, but they're not barbaric at all. And I think living in a small house with a red-tiled roof and a large garden is a lot better than my mom's flat.

For the second time in ten minutes, I think about my grandfather and how he always claimed that chaos isn't such a bad thing. The Meda way of life leaves no room for air, thought or art, he'd say.

"I'm Xeprim Tafflegripitt, by the way," Old Flent says, extending his hand. I shake it, wondering if he's trying to make a joke.

"That's," I hesitate, not knowing what exactly I want to say , "an unusual name."

"Is it?" he muses, as if I'm the very first person in three hundred years to mention this. "Ugrian names were all the rage several years back."

"Ugrian?" That was a new word for me.

"Names of characters in the Adventures of Ugrian series -- my mother was an avid fan, read all eighty-four of them. Never had a taste for novels written by Selkrid Midrack myself, but each to their own."

"I'll make sure to look them up at the library when I have a chance." I murmur, still wondering if Xeprim is joking or not.

"Cello is an unusual name as well."

"It was either that or Contrabass. You can say I was lucky my mother fancied something shorter."

"So what Tagrin name is Cello covering for?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Xeprim leans back into his chair and taps his boney fingers together. "It's a fact, whenever you meet someone whose named after a musical instrument or a note or a sound, they've got Tagrin heritage."

Even today, 800 years after Meda has become a vast empire, it's against the law to use Tagrin names for Medanese children. My mother had lived in Tagrya until the age of ten and like many other Medanese-Tagrin citizens, she clung onto her old heritage in any way she could. "Duryiend," I say after a considerable pause. "It means "voice of the valley", or, something like "...the vast yet narrow wooden sound of the creaking west wind in the drooping branches of the weeping willows". They really know how to sum up words in Tagrin — it makes poems ridiculously short."

"Then let me suggest to you, my young pupil, that when you Plunge into the Zephyr for the first time, you will know yourself by your true name, Duryiend."

"What do you mean, "know myself"?"

Xeprim shrugs his shoulders. "Simple. If you are ever asked "who are you?" before you even utter a word you must first think "I am Duryiend". This is very important. You cannot, for a moment allow yourself to forget who you really are."

I am bewildered. Xeprim's voice has assumed an eerie edge, his gaze is very clear and bright, so I know he isn't being senile or anything, but this seems like spiritual nonsense to me. "Why's it so important?"

Xeprim swats his hand, pushing away my question. "I can't tell you everything right now, knowing the general shape of things may hinder your understanding of them. But knowing who you are will certainly improve your relationships with all creatures, human and other."

"I'll make sure to keep that in mind next time I meet creatures human and other," I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

"Oh will you?" Xeprim asks enthusiastically, "how about right now?"

"What right now?"

"Let's test it out right now." Xeprim rises to his feet far too gracefully for someone who is over three hundred years old. "Let's see whether you've improved yet."

I hesitate for a moment, taken aback and then decide to go with the flow. Shrugging, I rise to my feet. Xeprim is extremely short — I think he may actually be considered a midget. He jabs my chest with his thumb and declares, "If you know yourself well enough, you will know her as well. If you know her, you know the earth, the sun, the moon and the sky, but most importantly, you know the winds. If you know the winds, you know how to let them carry you. If you know how to let them carry you, you know how to fly. Do you understand me?"

I shake my head, no.

"See what I mean when I say that knowing hinders understanding?"

I see no logic, I understand nothing, my mind is a big, uncomfortably skeptical mess.

"Fine, there's only one way to test you. You won't like it one bit. Call her to you."

This I can understand. I look toward the ceiling to where Risa is entangled from head to toe with her new playmate. They're both the same size now and sporting the same wildly joyful expression so that I almost can't tell them apart. Actually, to the naked eye they look exactly alike, their teeth, their eyes, their pointed ears, their flat noses and sleek white fur, each one of their four legs — all of their features are identical. But I know Risa without even having to look, with my eyes closed, I'd know where she is.

She is almost an extension of me.

She meets my eye and already understands that I want her near me. The game stops, she comes to me, her playmate goes to Xeprim. She rubs against my neck and licks my ear. She becomes as small as a mouse while running down my back and leg and buries herself in my sock.

"Who are you?" Xeprim asks.

"Duryiend?" I try, hoping to show I was an attentive student.

Xeprim snorts, "With more conviction boy! Who are you?"

"I'm Duryiend." I laugh.

"Louder!"

"I'm Duryiend!" I cry.

"That's right." Xeprim pushes me. He's strong. He's super-human strong. He pushes me and it's as if a whole mountain has just pushed me. I'm sent sailing across the room so fast I don't have time to register what is happening. I hit the wall and it bursts like sand all around me. The contact feels no more than hitting a large sheet of paper. It doesn't hurt, but everything is a blur, everything is whirling, passing me by. My world has become a dream.

I sail through the air, higher and higher until I suddenly realise – I'm falling. Like a rocket, I'm sent hurtling towards the streets of Rockdem.

I'm going to die. A scream wants to tear itself out of my throat, but I'm rushing through the cutting air so fast that my voice has been pushed into my stomach.

I'm heading towards a busy intersection, I can see the zigzag of the rails and the colourful rail-cars zooming like ants underneath me. They steadily grow larger and larger.

Why? Why did he kill me?  That's all I have time to wonder before my fall ends.

And I begin to fly.

Up there, in the air, I become Risa. Or half-Risa, or some of Risa becomes me. I don't get it, I don't understand it. But my legs have become Risa, and my thoughts mix with her thoughts. Everything becomes cool wind and clouds, I circle in place, my tail — Risa's tail — winding and spiralling around itself and then I throw my arms into the air, screaming with joy and fly towards the sun.