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  • Writer's pictureJenalyn

Larkin Ascending

Updated: Apr 12, 2018

The water-wrinkled sheet of paper taped on the outside of the door read "Mary Ann G. Eddison Scholarship Qualification Assessment, Room 221," but Larkin knew that the scholarship was just a front. She gripped her violin case, squared her shoulders, and knocked on the door. 


The knob turned and the door started to open but got stuck in the frame. A man on the other side let out a curse. The door was abruptly kicked back into place before the knob turned once again, the door opening with a shudder. 


The bespectacled man peered down at Larkin. "Larkin Bailey?" 


Larkin found herself placing her violin between her and the officiator, holding the handle in both hands. "Yes, that's me." 


His eyes dropped to her violin case and his eyebrows shot up. "This way," he said, apparently deciding not to comment on her instrument. Larkin followed him through a dark, narrow hall lined with offices. He opened a door at the end of the hall with much less difficulty and waved her inside. 


She was almost disappointed by how nondescript the room was. A single, dirty window provided a murky spotlight of sun on the opposite wall, while mismatched candles lit the rest of the room. A small, dusty chalkboard hung on the wall in front with several blurred lines of half-erased writing.


Beneath the chalkboard was a single folding table. An older, pug-faced woman squinted at a manila file folder, her elbows resting on the table. A younger man with bright eyes and a buzz cut sat in the chair next to her, leaning back and chewing on the end of his pencil. He stopped only when Larkin was standing in front of the table and the door had been closed behind her. 


The woman peered up at her from the file folder. "Name." 


"Larkin Bailey." 


"Musician Type?" she asked, nodding at Larkin's case. 


"Yes," Larkin answered, having found that her mouth had gone dry. 


"Don't ever get musicians," the younger man remarked, leaning forward and slouching over the table. 


"The last time I encountered one was nearly thirty years ago," the woman agreed. She started, then double-checked the file in her hands. "Wait. Larkin Bailey?" she asked, eyes lighting up. "As in Theodore Bailey?" 


"He's my grandfather." Larkin squirmed a bit at the extra attention. 


The woman sat back in her chair, nodding. "Ah. That makes sense." 


Larkin tried her best not to sigh in front of the officiators. She loved her grandfather--adored him, really--but she hated the way everyone assumed she was a musician type because it was in her blood, rather than the result of hours of practice, calloused fingers, and sore joints since she could hold a bow. Her grandfather had taught her everything he knew and had even made the violin she currently used. But if her talent had been hereditary, like everyone assumed, she wouldn't have been the only one out of his entire progeny to be a musician type. In reality, most of her cousins and siblings were the more common elemental types, with a couple being crafting types. Only she had turned out to be a musician type. 


"Miss Bailey?" The voice of the younger officiator snapped her out of her thoughts.


"You've been briefed on what to expect from this ceremony, right?" 


She nodded. "My grandfather went over it with me this morning." 


"Excellent." The woman closed the file folder and set it on the table. "Please take out your instrument and make any necessary preparations." 


Larkin set her case on the floor next to the back wall and opened it. She got out her bow, tightened it, and rosined it. Setting the bow aside, she removed her hand-crafted violin from the case and slipped the shoulder rest onto the end. 


She plucked the strings and frowned. Picking up the bow, Larkin placed the violin under her chin and drew the bow across the strings. The sound rang out, pure and clear--and every string was horribly out of tune. 


Wincing, she reached for the pegs to make adjustments. Her violin almost never slipped out of tune; she must have been much more nervous than she thought. 


Gradually the dissonance resolved, making its way to harmony. The sound of the four strings singing together soothed her soul and she relaxed. She could do this. 


She stood, facing the officiators with violin and bow held in front of her. "I'm ready." 


The younger man stood and drew a blackout curtain over the window, plunging the room into near-darkness. The light from the various candles cast flickering, conflicting shadows over the walls and the faces of the officiators.


The woman picked up a candle and stood in front of Larkin. "Will the initiate state their full current name?" she intoned.  


"Larkin Agnes Bailey," Larkin replied, recognizing that the ceremony had begun. 


"Larkin Agnes Bailey," the woman repeated, "please begin performing your magic. What you do itself is not important, so long as you are active through the entire ceremony." 


Larkin nodded and brought her violin to her chin. She took a deep breath, gathered her energy within her, placed her bow to the string, and began playing her favorite piece: The Lark Ascending by Ralph Vaughan Williams. 





It was her favorite for many reasons, but mostly because it was the piece her grandfather had played for her when she was four years old. Ever since he had played it for her, she had been enamored by the violin. Her grandfather had chosen the piece because his nickname for her, "Lark," was in the title. He said it reminded him of her, although at four years old she didn't really understand why other than the title.

It was a difficult piece, so Larkin stuck to simple magic as she played. Normally she liked creating complex illusions that moved with the music, but since she would need to keep it up through the entire ceremony, she instead created a single floating, glowing orb that played the piano accompaniment. 

As the notes got higher and higher, she almost didn't hear the woman as she proceeded with the ceremony. "Larkin Agnes Bailey. By this name have you been known since your birth, and to this name have you answered. But, as with all things, it is time for your old self to die and for you to be born anew." 


Out of the corner of her eye, Larkin noticed the younger man writing her full name on the chalkboard. Larkin felt her mouth go dry, and she turned her attention back to her music and her magic. She shifted her hand positions as the notes went so high she had to reach her fingers over the body of the violin.

The woman continued, raising the candle high above her head. "From this moment forth, the name of Larkin Agnes Bailey is no longer yours. I strip you of this name and of all it entails, leaving you nameless."

Pain tore through her heart so abruptly that she almost stopped playing. It felt as though a razor-sharp beak had pierced her chest and ripped out a piece of her heart. It took everything in her power to keep playing, although her bowing wasn't as steady, and her vibrato was less controlled. The orb providing the piano accompaniment flickered briefly as she tried to recover.

"O Nameless One who stands exposed before me, let your magic guide you. Let your true nature be revealed, and lead us to the raw truth of your soul. Therein we will see you as you are and know what new name to give you."


Sweat beaded down her forehead as she struggled to keep going. But the more she performed, the worse the pain got. Her knees started shaking and her breath became shallow, as if a leather belt was being tightened around her lungs. But she couldn't stop, not now. She couldn't stop while she was without a name. 


Even as the notes scaled upward again, the pain became a roaring fire that raged from the tips of her fingers down to her heels. It grew so large that she blanked out--she couldn't remember the rest of the song. 


In desperation she switched from her original classical piece to fiddling. Though fiddling required speed and dexterity, much like many classical pieces, it left room for improvisation where a classical piece did not. She tore through the fiddling with an agonized fury, mashing classics like Turkey in the Straw with lesser-known ditties like Devil's Dream, and adding her own bits in between. 


Her magic took on the same furor as her music, blitzing and sparking in sporadic blips around her. It took everything she had not to let it get out of control. 


Her violin grew heavier as she went. She fought to keep it up, to keep playing, but the more she fought, the worse it got. 


Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, she heard a faint ringing. It sounded so sweet and pure that all her pain was forgotten. 


She listened harder. The sound came again, and she realized that it was the sound of bells. The ringing grew louder and more pure until it overpowered her music. But instead of overwhelming her, the noise soothed her soul, washing over her like a warm summer rain. It smelled of sawdust and wood glue, of rich soil and garden peas, of nutmeg and allspice. She filled her lungs with the familiar scents, then let the air leak out. 




"Your soul has been revealed." 


With a start, she realized that she had stopped playing, despite being instructed not to. She bowed her head in embarrassment and shame, expecting to be scolded. 


The woman continued. "After seeing your true nature, your new name is clear. From this moment forth, you will bear the name 'Kerani'." 


She blinked. The woman wasn't going to scold her. "Kerani," she whispered, testing the taste of her new name on her tongue. As she did, her heart patched over the hole, and she felt complete once again. 


"Kerani, this new name is the very essence of your soul. Guard it with your life, divulging only when in the most dire of circumstances. In order to protect your new name, you will use your old name, Larkin Agnes Bailey, as your alias, though it is no longer tied to your soul." 


Larkin nodded, clutching her violin and bow close to her body. 


"To protect your new name, those of us present swear to never reveal your new name to another," the woman continued. She nodded to the other officiators, who each in turn said, "I so swear it." 


The blackout curtain was torn away from the window, plunging the room into murky light. Larkin blinked, the light seeming much brighter than before. Already the officiators were scribbling notes in her file. 


"Congratulations," the younger man said, though his tone told Larkin that he said it more out of habit than sincerity. 


Larkin stood there in the middle of the room, her violin tucked under her arm as she waited, unsure of what to do next. 


The woman barely glanced up from her paperwork to address her. "That concludes the ceremony," she said. "You will receive an official Mage's Certificate in the mail in two to four weeks." She jotted something else down, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Give my regards to your grandfather."


Larkin wondered how she would do that without knowing the woman's name, but didn't have the courage to ask now that the ceremony was over. So instead she placed her violin in the case, wiped the rosin dust from the strings, loosened her bow, and put it in its slot. She zipped up the case, picked it up, and left the room without another word. The bespectacled man who had answered the door acknowledged her with a nod but did not see her out. 


She shut the door behind her, stepping out into the fresh air. She whispered her new name once more: "Kerani." Her mended heart leaped in her chest and a small smile slipped onto her face. Taking a deep breath, she headed home to tell her grandfather of her ceremony's success. 

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