Gossamer Axe Read Free Page A

shook her head slightly.
    “You haven’t? But—”
    “I have my harps, and my music,” Christa explained in her soft voice.
    “But… don’t you ever go out or anything? Rock it up a little?”
    “Really, Melinda. Could you see me in the outfit you’re wearing now?”
    “Well…” Melinda examined Christa. “As a matter of fact, I could. Someday, I’ll take you out to one of the metal clubs in town. And one of these days I’ll get back in a band, and you can come see us play. Sound good?”
    “Someday.” Christa smiled. “But you’re quite right: it’s very like a guitar lick.”
    They spent the rest of the lesson working on the piece, and by the time Melinda cased her harp, she could falter through it slowly. “You know… I think I’m going to sleep tonight.”
    “Good,” said Christa. “But as I said, try not to turn it into rock and roll.”
    “Don’t worry.” Melinda’s eye fell on the shrouded harp again. “Is that special?”
    Christa nodded, but made no move to uncover the harp.
    “When I was sitting down, I noticed the trees out there. Did you plant those so that—”
    “The apple and the yew?” Christa’s voice was only a little above a whisper, and her face was troubled. “I did.”
    Melinda noticed the change immediately. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get personal.”
    The harper wiped at her eyes. “I’m well, Melinda.”
    Melinda felt a pang. Christa had been helping her for months, not only as a harp teacher, but as a friend. Though Melinda hardly knew this quiet woman, she cared for her. “Can I… can I do something?”
    “I’m all right.”
    “No you’re not. You’re upset.” The strap of the harp case was sliding off her shoulder, and she hitched it back up as she tried to think of something with which to make amends. “Tell you what. I’ve got two tickets for the Malmsteen concert tomorrow night, and I was thinking about giving them away, but I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come with me? It’ll get you out of the house.”
    “Who is this person?”
    “Yngwie Malmsteen. Swedish boy. One of those crazy metal gods. You’ve got to see him play the guitar. You’ll like it: he uses a lot of classical stuff in what he does. Paganini.”
    Christa had been looking out at the two trees. “You want me to go to a rock concert?”
    “Sure. You helped me with that lullaby. I think I can help you with rock and roll.” Melinda felt her own enthusiasm building. Christa seemed too quiet, too introspective. She needed something that was as close to pure, mindless fun as was possible. “Come on. It’ll be a blast.”
    The harper was still looking out at the trees. “It’s… Midsummer. To the day.” Her voice was barely audible.
    “Well?”
    Christa smiled, tiredly. “Why not? Sruitmor always said that if one could not learn from one’s students, one had no business teaching them.”
    “So you’ll do it?”
    Christa nodded.
    Melinda headed for the front door. “Pick you up at six tomorrow night. And don’t worry: I’ll bring the earplugs!”
    The door closed behind her. A meadowlark scattered an arpeggio across the backyard.
    Christa sat down slowly on the chair, staring out at the apple and the yew that framed the shrouded harp. “To the day, Judith,” she said. “I’m still here. And I won’t give up. By all the Gods of Eriu, I won’t give up.”

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CHAPTER TWO
    « ^ »
    Under the dark, starless sky, the palace of the Sidh stands as if carved out of glass, its milky pinnacles illuminated by torchlight and firelight. Gossamer banners float in the ebony wind. A pale oriflamme drifts leisurely from a spire far above the polished tile of the courtyard: a wraith proclaiming the dominion of wraiths.
    Orfide, the bard, is playing for the king and the court this endless evening, and his thin fingers caress the golden strings of his second-best harp. He has played this melody countless times before in this same way, and the crystalline,