“They’re catalysts,” I said. “Thanaturgic tools—two of them, anyway. The lantern is used for combat, calling semblances, looking deeper into shadows?—”
“And useless until you know how to bow correctly,” said Brach.
He whispered, “Burn,” and the stone set at the center of the lantern’s hourglass shape lit up. He then took hold of the lantern by a pistol grip set at the center of one of the lantern’s three frame rods, explaining that holding the lamp this way stabilized it in battle. Apparently the glass was typically shatterproof, and the thick rods could even be used to batter an enemy, almost like a clubbing someone with a dumbbell. Then he drew the bowacross one of its frame rods in a long, slow pull. Light brightened from the stone, making my friends’ shadows leap with vague images, like half-formed memories that were gone just as fast as they appeared. He then pulled two quick staccato strikes against the frame rod. Bright light burst from the lantern and a gust of wind whipped through the pub, making the candles sputter. Last, he drew a long, fast stroke. Beams of light reached toward my friends and touched their bindings, momentarily brightening them. Church, Lady, and Jimmy straightened up, seeming instantly rested and alert.
“What the hell?” I muttered.
“These are fundamental bow strokes,” said Brach. “They were, respectively, revelatory, assault, and bracing. Of course, inside the ward an assault stroke can do no harm, but you understand its basic effect.”
He handed me the lamp and bow, which I took gingerly, half expecting the hot fire of rebirth to shoot up my arms. Nothing happened. The catalysts seemingly useless in my hands. Then Brach talked me through each stroke: bow grip, bow speed, bow angle, lantern position. I repeated each one several times until the lantern stone finally sputtered to a dim glow.
“Not entirely without promise,” said Brach, taking back his catalysts. “You’ll want your own set sooner than later—black khopesh, and thanaturgic twine to start, especially if you’re going to stand in, even temporarily, for Henry to defend a failing ward.”
I remembered Henry’s journal. “Didn’t Henry ask you to help with the ward? Something about arcana?”
“Cython texts,” Brach practically whispered. “I’m afraid I haven’t found anything useful. But even without them, or any real proficiency with your thanaturgic craft, you might do more than Henry did to help the ward.”
“How so?” I asked.
Brach looked me in the eye. “Start in your circle of influence by reining in the decadent and historically ill-informed music that plagues your topside world.”
Jimmy pushed himself up off the bar. “Easy there, mate. I hardly think stifling creative thought?—”
Brach shot him a hard stare.
I stepped between them. “What are you talking about?”
Brach put his catalysts away. “The present world either ignores the people and events of the past or it manufactures its own interpretation of them. Meanwhile, the people of the Strata rightly hold their own ideas about the past in which they live—ideas that I assure you are closer to the truth. Your world’s mistreatment of their history is fomenting dissent and anger in the world below, and it’s accelerating the ward’s decay.”
I shook my head. “You’re saying our songs are destroying this . . . this barrier?”
“It isn’t only your music, but it begins there.” Brach took a step closer. “And it isn’t only the music you make, but all the music thatisn’tmade while you’re composing your rubbish, which ultimately means your world isn’t hearing the right songs.”
“The right songs?” I asked.
Brach sniffed. “Your neglect and revision of our world is killing the Strata. It arrives there in the memories of the newly dead. It seeps into
the ground and cascades down. Those who live below are growing restless for redress.”
I couldn’t wrap my head around everything he was saying. But part of it I understood well enough. “You want to control the kind of songs we can write. Is that one of the disagreements between you and Henry? Maybe something you’re angry with him about?”
Brach smiled thinly. “Let go of your suspicion, Mr. Solomon. You already know my people are among the few even looking for Henry. No, unlike your world today, mutual disagreement between Henry and me never had to mean mutual hatred. And one thing weneverdisagreed about was the need to maintain a strong ward in order to preserve balance between the worlds above and below.”
I looked around at my friends again. “Still, man, you’re talking to the wrong people if you’re asking us to help you put a lid on the kind of songs we sing. Pretty sure Henry told you the same.”
“Yeah, no offense, Father,” Chuey added, “but back home even John Denver didn’t go in for that. The Senate had him testify about it, too—him and Zappa and Twisted Sister.”
“How very congressional,” said Brach. “As I recall, Twisted Sister was charged with encouraging sadomasochism, bondage, and rape. Your Insane Clown Posse inspired some fans to burn and dismember a young girl. Your Judas Priest and Ozzy Osbourne have encouraged fans to suicide. And we haven’t even come to sexual obscenity, inciting violence against authority, and the outright advocacy of murder, which are actually present in all your forms of music. Is this really the music you want to champion?”
“That’s some crazy deep trivia right there,” Chuey said.
“I make a point to study music of all types from all eras,” said Brach. “As do my people, the Shiguan.”
Lady shook her head. “The US Surgeon General’s report concluded that these violent acts were committed by people who were already unstable.”
“It’s more than that.” I fingered my elastic bands. “Aggressive music helps some fans cope with their anger, keeps them from harming others . . . and themselves.”
Brach was quiet a moment. “When my eldest daughter, Camilla, passed, I was beside myself with grief. As a musician, I sought relief in song, which you might appreciate. But nothing worked until Henry showed up with his violin. He’d written a piece for her. A duet, as it happens. I joined him with my viola and together we played to her memory. It didn’t take away the pain, but it helped. Henry always helps.”
