vision blurred, turned to the Bench and saw that the judges too were overwhelmed. Handel was pounding his fists on the Bench top, pounding and pounding until they must have been bruised, pounding in joy, not in a call to order. The boom sounded even above the cheering as his flesh hammers struck squarely, unheeding of their own condition. Just when Guil was certain the sound configuration of the Great Hall must be disrupted and fade into nothingness, Rosie drew himself up and turned, bowing to the audience. The shouting doubled, tripled impossibly, quadrupled as ten thousand pairs of lungs wrenched themselves apart to congratulate. The sound blasted Guil until his ears ached. Nevertheless, the screaming continued and would continue until lungs were afire, throats cracking. Rosie was a Composer.
One
of the greatest of all time if this selection was any indication. And he was theirs!
In time, the fury died.
Rosie received the Medallion of the Composer which could change the vibrations of any mechanism or any portal to allow him use or entrance. It did not merely key' locks, it effectively dissolved doors for a moment to let him pass, set machines in tune with his own patterns so they worked for him as if they were a part of him. He had only to render the products of his talent in return. Finally, when all the rituals demanded by the situation had been run through to completion, the judge asked if Rosie had any requests to make now that he had been freed of the tests and the Pillar of Ultimate Sound.
Then came the bombshell…
He asked that his sister be allowed to try for a station in the arena.
It was a preposterous request Women were Ladies. Women were never Musicians. It was a thing that had never been, a thing that had no place in their ordered society. It was like asking a twentieth-century man to accept a porpoise for his President simply because science had proved that the porpoise was intelligent. Vladislovitch, the Father of the World, had seen the function of women as procreation and nothing more. He had made it explicitly clear that women were to be the bearers of children, those who carried on the race and the immortality of Vladislovitch's own name, but that they were never to be stationed. Never. The station was a sign of masculinity, and a stationed woman would destroy the very basics of the order of things.
Still, though the request was preposterous, so was the situation. They had their first Composer in two centuries. The histories told of the glory of the age of the last Composer, of the magnificence of the society he had inspired during his lifetime. The rise of a Composer acted as an inexplicable aphrodisiac on society, turning it on to itself until it blossomed colorfully. There wasn't a soul in the Great Hall who did not long for another such Golden Era. Rosie, therefore, was nearly a god to them. Indeed, after his death, he would eventually be canonized and then proceed from sainthood to godhood as the years passed. Tomorrow, they might feel a bit less sure of the move, but today they were exuberant, and they agreed to his request.
Besides, what woman could possibly survive in the arena? There was almost no chance of her success. So there would be no problem later on. Would there?
The crowd, jabbering, found seats again. Guil sat down as Rosie climbed the platform stairs and sat beside him. I didn't even know you had a sister," Guil said, trying to suppress his awe so that he might talk to Rosie as a friend, as he would have before the bestowing of the Medallion.
"Oh, yes, Guil. A sister." Rosie grinned broadly. "You'll see. Here comes Tisha now."
Guil squinted, trying to make the girl out from his position across the vast arena. Her instructor came to the left and slightly behind her, hobbling a bit. It was white-haired Fran?;! The gentle face, calm manner, and proud carriage told him that it was the old man who had trained him on the guitar, who had been so patient with his rumbling (unlike
One
of the greatest of all time if this selection was any indication. And he was theirs!
In time, the fury died.
Rosie received the Medallion of the Composer which could change the vibrations of any mechanism or any portal to allow him use or entrance. It did not merely key' locks, it effectively dissolved doors for a moment to let him pass, set machines in tune with his own patterns so they worked for him as if they were a part of him. He had only to render the products of his talent in return. Finally, when all the rituals demanded by the situation had been run through to completion, the judge asked if Rosie had any requests to make now that he had been freed of the tests and the Pillar of Ultimate Sound.
Then came the bombshell…
He asked that his sister be allowed to try for a station in the arena.
It was a preposterous request Women were Ladies. Women were never Musicians. It was a thing that had never been, a thing that had no place in their ordered society. It was like asking a twentieth-century man to accept a porpoise for his President simply because science had proved that the porpoise was intelligent. Vladislovitch, the Father of the World, had seen the function of women as procreation and nothing more. He had made it explicitly clear that women were to be the bearers of children, those who carried on the race and the immortality of Vladislovitch's own name, but that they were never to be stationed. Never. The station was a sign of masculinity, and a stationed woman would destroy the very basics of the order of things.
Still, though the request was preposterous, so was the situation. They had their first Composer in two centuries. The histories told of the glory of the age of the last Composer, of the magnificence of the society he had inspired during his lifetime. The rise of a Composer acted as an inexplicable aphrodisiac on society, turning it on to itself until it blossomed colorfully. There wasn't a soul in the Great Hall who did not long for another such Golden Era. Rosie, therefore, was nearly a god to them. Indeed, after his death, he would eventually be canonized and then proceed from sainthood to godhood as the years passed. Tomorrow, they might feel a bit less sure of the move, but today they were exuberant, and they agreed to his request.
Besides, what woman could possibly survive in the arena? There was almost no chance of her success. So there would be no problem later on. Would there?
The crowd, jabbering, found seats again. Guil sat down as Rosie climbed the platform stairs and sat beside him. I didn't even know you had a sister," Guil said, trying to suppress his awe so that he might talk to Rosie as a friend, as he would have before the bestowing of the Medallion.
"Oh, yes, Guil. A sister." Rosie grinned broadly. "You'll see. Here comes Tisha now."
Guil squinted, trying to make the girl out from his position across the vast arena. Her instructor came to the left and slightly behind her, hobbling a bit. It was white-haired Fran?;! The gentle face, calm manner, and proud carriage told him that it was the old man who had trained him on the guitar, who had been so patient with his rumbling (unlike
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