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A.R.Yngve
DARC AGES
Book Three
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Chapter 43

Pop Shah

Awonso failed to complete his radio receiver in time to tune in to Darc's very first broadcast. All he managed to take in were atmospheric buzz, and a faint recurring beep.

This did not discourage him. Educated as he was, he knew the electromagnetic field from his receiver could be traced. And yet he kept using it night after night, searching for the next broadcast.



"This is the voice of Darc. This is The Voice of Liberty..."

Darc gestured to Pop Shah and his group of musicians, who were only too eager to start playing. When Darc continued, his accent changed into the essence of cocky, masculine energy.

He shouted: "And the music of liberty is called ROCK'N ROLL!"

On his cue, the band started to play; the drummer struck up a beat; Pop Shah played a raw, rhythmic bass. Darc stood up from his seat, grabbed the microphone which hung down from the ceiling, and sang. He had chosen "King Creole", the one song he could recall perfectly. Dohan, Meijji, and the others attended the broadcast from outside the soundstage.

Dohan recognized the music instantly, if not the words, and whispered: "He's doing it again!"

Meijji hushed him down - she was spellbound by the performance. A just-completed, crude electric guitar made its first star appearance in Darc's band, played by Pop Shah who had never handled anything electric in his life.

The guitar crackled and growled in his wrinkled hands, making wonderful noise. The music had touches of calypso and Awrican work songs in it - and just the right flavor of danger.

Darc thought his performance sounded insane, an enchanting madness that he could not help but enjoy. The studio audience and the musicians thought they witnessed a strange transformation: Darc seemed to become the "king" of the song they barely understood.

Dohan remembered Lord Azuch Fache's words again: Guard him with your life.

Shara noticed, to her immense joy, that Eye-Leg moved her misplaced head to the rhythm of Darc's music.

The musical number lasted only four minutes. When they had finished, the band members were exhausted; a servant wiped Pop Shah's perspiring face. In the speech that followed, Darc repeated most of the first broadcast - only with greater assurance.

His friends heard him through, just to experience the power of his voice again.



This time, Awonso had his radio receiver working and ready. Hidden in a closet with a set of heavy hand-crafted earphones on his head, he tuned in to the right frequency. And he got to hear Darc's every word, coming strong through waves of static.

But it was the music of "King Creole" that would stay alive in Awonso's memory for the rest of his life. How feeble, how emasculated Rokenrol had sounded in the hands of lowly musicians and church choirs, compared to this! Awonso felt energized by the unfiltered, electrically enhanced force of Darc's performance.

Without that energy, this mild-mannered bookworm would have shrunk before the challenges to come.



The morning after the broadcast, Awonso was attending Mass in church - half asleep as usual - when a female novice stuck a note into his prayer-book.

He hid the note and read it afterward. It requested - or demanded, the interpretation depending on one's loyalty to the Church - a meeting with high-priestess Inu in the evening. Alone.

His first reaction was that someone was playing a joke on him. Rumor had it, only a select minority of influential - or exceptionally handsome - male citizens received such invitations. Why him? He was a clumsy, awkward youngster with acne, and knew it perfectly well.

As he read the note over and over, the round-faced Awonso's hands began to sweat, and his mouth felt dry. The evening was all too far away yet.



Reluctantly, Awonso entered the cathedral, and was led into the inner sanctum by two beautiful novices in white robes; their yellow-dyed hair gleamed like gold in the candlelights. Finding himself in a smaller lit chamber, he gasped as the novices shut and locked the door behind him. And before him stood Inu.

The high-priestess was every bit as enchanting as Awonso imagined her, only more so this time. The young scholar-to-be had washed himself thoroughly and put on his finest set of clothes, all the time fearing this would reveal his visit to the eyes of the public.

He had imagined a thousand eyes following him there; now, alone in Inu's candle-lit study, Awonso's mind went blank. Inu smiled to calm him down - or was it to enchant him even further? The Goddess Incarnate could be fickle as well as generous.

"My blessing on you for coming here," she said, and added, "You may kiss the cloth."

Blushing deeply, Awonso kneeled and kissed the hem of her skirt. Like a bumbling fool, he had forgotten the proper procedure. Inu made a small gesture at him to rise up and sit down.

"I have called you here, Awonso, because of my concern for the safety of your soul. And other souls. You are a friend of Darc, are you not?"

Was that an accusation or a compliment in her neutral, throaty voice? Awonso stared at the high-priestess and hesitated, his mouth half-open.

"I... I don't know if I have the right to call myself his friend, Your Holiness... b-but I have certainly spent a long time with him in the castle library, when he learned our language... he told us a great deal of his time and origins."

Inu nodded approvingly, and leaned forward ever so slightly, so that her voluptuous curves thrust out against the silken fabric of her black long-sleeved robe.

"Confess to me, Awonso. What is your opinion of Darc?"

Was that all it was about - an ordinary confession? Awonso's tension receded somewhat. "Darc is... an amazing man, Your Holiness, a miracle worker - forgive me for using that word, but it is the only appropriate term..."

"Yes...?"

"He truly is a time traveler as they say, from the Golden Age. Some things we know are unknown to him, because they happened before his time. But other things he knows better than any other man. His music..."

He ceased talking, when Inu stood up and walked across the small study to the gold-specked altar. She lit two incense candles, and a heavy scent filled the room.

The high-priestess moved behind Awonso's seat; he swallowed, and waited. The incense made his head dizzy and light; despite his nervousness, Awonso felt more talkative.

"The music, yes," she half-whispered behind his back, "that is what you must confess to me about. Tell me about the secret radiowave transmissions that people listen to at night."

Awonso twitched in his seat, afraid to turn around and let Inu see his guilty face. He was forced to answer truthfully, though - this was a confession in church, and the Goddess was listening through the high-priestess. Lying guaranteed damnation.

"I... I have sinned, Your Holiness. I have listened to the radio transmissions in secret. Forgive me!"

Awonso gasped at a sudden prickling sensation. It was Inu, touching his shoulder with her warm, soft palms - holding them there, letting them radiate heat through his body. A large bead of sweat trickled down his cheek and landed on Inu's right hand.

"You are forgiven," she whispered. "It may be against the will of the city lord, but he cannot command Monro Our Goddess. On the contrary... she wishes to spread the voice of the Singing King. There is one thing, Awonso, that I must ask of you."

So close her mouth was now, so close to his ear. Awonso could sense her radiant presence - or maybe it was just her breath on his neck. He dared neither move nor speak, but wished she would never stop.

"Get me one," she hissed. "Get me one of those radio devices, so that I can hear him. No one must know. No one but you and I."

At that moment, Awonso would have obeyed practically any wish from her. But from somewhere, he got the courage to utter an objection.

"Bring a machine in here? Into the sacred cathedral, against the law? I'll take a great risk -"

Inu's arms enfolded Awonso; his eyesight drowned in her golden tresses. She whispered, and her generous lips brushed against his earlobe: "You shall be greatly rewarded."



Hours later, a very drowsy Awonso sneaked back into his family house. His mother was waiting behind the door, with a candle-lamp in one hand and a big stick in the other. Awonso's father was not around.

"Well?" she asked in her usual stern tone. "Where have you been all night? And if you lie to me, boy, you will sorely regret it -"

"Shut up!" he snapped, slurring a little. The harsh woman stared at her young son, stunned by his sudden new courage. "Not under any circumstances can I tell you where I've been, and you must tell no one I was away. Swear! Tell no one! The peace of the city depends on our silence."

"But..."

"Swear it!"

She gave him a promise. Awonso sighed in relief and stumbled to his bed alcove. He sent a silent prayer of gratitude to the higher power that had helped him earn his manhood.

"Bless the power of Rokenrol," he mumbled and fell asleep.



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