Thursday, April 9, 2015

#151 In the Twilight and the Rain 3

read the first part

The rain still beat on the house, the only sound. My father’s silent tears held us all captive, wondering.

The harper spoke first, in the gentlest voice, “Is there a story you have to tell us, man?”

My father ran his hand over his face. “I know that harp. I was there when it was made. I was the maker’s apprentice.”

“Ye’re a long way from home, then,” the harper said.

“I am, I am,” my father said. “He died, and the shop went to his brother. The brother let me keep one set of tools, and a harp I was working on, but I didn’t have the heart to finish it. I went to the wars, then came home and married, took up farming. That’s all there is.”

“Nay,” the harper said. “How did your master die?”

“Worked himself to death. I let him do it, too. I should have stopped him. The king ordered a harp made in three days. It was the last one my master ever built.”

“Tell me the story,” the harper said. “Everything you can remember.”

read the next part

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