AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She blinked at him. “You invited me. I thought you wanted to discuss music.”
“I do, but you say visit can mean deadly for you. Why you chance with life if dangerous?”
Irene gawped at him. He almost appeared angry at her. Rusp too. Jemi’s expression said he was scared.
How could she make them understand when the answer sounded so weak? It wasn’t, but to a non-musician, her reasoning would be ludicrous.
They’re players. They might get it.
“Because music, Sherv. Music is everything.”
The men studied her for a moment longer. Smiles suddenly broke loose…smiles of recognition, smiles that told her they’d risked something to live their art as well.
“It is everything,” Sherv said softly. His expression firmed, though none of the previous anger was present. “You must be careful, Irene. Not take bad chances.”
“No more showing legs,” Rusp added. His purple eyes twinkled. “Nice legs. No one forget them.”
Irene felt her face warm, and she knew she blushed. “Watch it, buddy. You’re who I was warned about.”
“They smart to warn.” He wiggled his brows at her, his teeth bright in his black beard. He was particularly handsome when he smiled. “No worry, Irene. Is just playing speech. Teasing?”
“Okay.” A part of her wished he meant his compliments. Her ego wanted her appreciation of his looks reciprocated…as well as Sherv’s and Jemi’s…despite the hazards of undue attention from men.
“Here is uferliss,” Sherv called, having gone across the room. He went to the seats carrying a many-tubed instrument, which reminded Irene of uillean pipes. It even had a bag to squeeze air in the tubes.
Irene rose from the piano and joined him. He switched it on, and a low hum announced it had activated. The hum faded.
Sherv held the bag between his elbow and ribs. He squeezed, his fingers dancing over the holes of the largest tube, what Irene would have called a chanter on the similar human instrument. A sweet tone wove and danced in the air. The electronic murmur was a soft whir, rather than a buzz or whine. Irene closed her eyes to listen, drifting on the gorgeous air he played.
She was enthralled when he performed the overture she’d demonstrated on the piano a moment before. Wearing twin grins on very dissimilar features, Jemi and Rusp joined them. Rusp settled in his chair holding a small lap drum, which his fingers tapped a soft rhythm upon. Jemi blew into his trasbu, adding a deep, contrasting rumble.
Irene listened, captivated by the spontaneous arrangement of a tune she knew rendered in an amazing new fashion. She vocalized wordless notes, matching first the uferliss’ tones, then singing the melody that occurred to her would add a fresh, harmonious layer.
The overture ended, and they gaped at each other. “Wow,” Irene breathed. “It sounded amazing. Who imagined opera could be performed by lemanthev and Plasian instruments?” An idea occurred to her. “You know what—hold on.”
She jumped up and glanced around. Her gaze lit on an electronic guitar. “Is this charged?”
“Yes,” Jemi said. “You play it?”
She sat and balanced it on her knee. She powered it up. A louder hum than the uferliss’ erupted, then quieted.
She didn’t have a pick, but her fingernails were long. Hopefully, she wouldn’t break them. “I’m no virtuoso on this by any means. I’ve had the opportunity to goof off on an acoustic version, so I’ll probably be awful. I just want to try a little something, because I think it would… let’s just see.”
She picked a few notes and tuned the guitar as best she could. She really was no guitar player, but she grinned at the sound it made. It wouldn’t have been out of place where lemanthev was concerned, had it been allowed. After some fiddling, she managed to awkwardly play bits of her show solo piece.
“Darn it, if I could just do what’s in my head,” she complained to the fascinated Kalquorians.
“I hear what you try. Start from begin,” Sherv encouraged. “Stop where you don’t know, start again when you do.”
“All right.” She played the opening chords.
Sherv, playing the uferliss, joined her. An instant later, Rusp’s drum, played heavier than before, merged with the tune. Then Jemi’s trasbu.
Except for the Imdiko, who had to blow into his instrument, they grinned. Despite Irene’s clumsy playing, there was something good in the sound.
She sang along, improvising her delivery as the song progressed. She tried the words in her usual soprano, then moved from head to chest singing for a throatier tone. She even growled, her vocal fold technique matching the trasbu’s sound.
Where she could play the guitar parts right, when the men were able to figure out parts to a tune they’d only heard once, the song took on a quality both primal and ethereal, boasting a driving beat she almost could have danced to. Irene couldn’t have said why the music worked…but it did.
