kind of preparation for working with a real ensemble. It called for discipline as well as spirit, cooperation as well as feeling—all characteristics that Eric had grown used to thinking of himself as lacking. But if the difficulties were greater, the rewards were greater as well—the complex surge of melody filled him like a storm of light, the passion and discipline of the others creating an ocean that bore him up like a windjammer upon its surface, its master and victim all in one.
There is nothing better than this, Eric thought, in the last moment in which words were possible, before he surrendered to the music and simply was.
Their first piece ended—there was applause—and he led them through the second, a sprightly rondo that called for fast fingering on everybody’s part, five separate threads of melody weaving into a glorious braid of sound. Moments later—too soon—it was over, and he and the others were coming to the edge of the stage to take their bows. Lisa had hit every note perfectly, the horn’s golden mellowness soaring over the brightness of the flutes and the deep echos from cello and bassoon. Jeremy had regained his usual bland expression, and even Lydia looked radiant.
“It was good, wasn’t it? It was good,” she said, as soon as they were off.
“It was okay,” Eric said, smiling back at her. And best of all, it was a part of himself that he could share with those who could not share any other part of his life—this music was a matter of skill and craft, not magic, though the discipline he’d learned in those long lessons with Dharinel certainly helped here.
In fact, I don’t think I could have gotten this far without it. You’ve got to want it, and work for it, to be able to do it. The