The Best Songs Come From the Soul

by Quicksear


4. Soul to Song

It was a long night.

Sleep did not come as I wished it to. Instead, I lay awake, staring at the rafters and shivering in my single bed. The reverberations that were becoming familiar to the rest of the town after four days were only now beginning to truly affect me. The knowledge that Vinyl was still up and working on Celestia knows what come midnight left me unable to find peace as well.

It was almost hypnotic, that silent music playing through the ground. The impact of the beat lulled my mind into nothingness, calming me like a lullaby. And when it stopped in the early hours of the morning, the lack of it was deafening, so much so that the modicum of peace it had given me was replaced with an annoyance towards Vinyl for stopping it. As soon as I thought this, though, I negated such a horrid idea: If Vinyl was getting some rest, then maybe she would begin improving, recovering. Yes, maybe we could all get some rest and everything would be fine...

The sound of a hoof striking wood roused me completely. I could hear the sound clearly from across the street through the soundless night, my window barely muffling it. Curiosity flooded me, and I rolled to the side of the bed, raising to unsteady legs, trotting over to the window to see who could be up so early.

Across the street stood the cottage I had shared with Vinyl. Standing prominently in its facade was the door to my old home, and standing in the slowly opening doorway was cloaked figure of a pony. At first I thought it was Vinyl herself, but why would she knock on her own door? Who else, though, would knock so early at all? The figure wore a simple hood covering their head, but from barely a dozen pony-lengths away, I could see that they weren’t a unicorn. In the doorway before the cloaked pony, a beckoning hoof, alabaster and crimson, waved invitingly, leaving a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach as I watched the shadowy figure nod and, with a feint flutter of concealed wings, push into the building.

*****

It was nothing. A dream. At least that’s what I told myself the next morning. I woke up on my bed, not remembering laying back down. The inviting sunlight was streaming through my window, summoning from my short sleep. I never could sleep in sunlight. Instead of fighting the inevitable, I crawled off my bed, my mind whirring through the now hazy images of the night before. I ignored them, and made my way to the kitchen by force of habit. Lyra was nowhere to be seen, which was odd for the usually permanently energized unicorn.

I prepared a simple meal for myself and contemplated my options for the day. A walk around town would not have gone amiss, though with rumour still high in the town, and news of Bon Bon’s visit, I did not wish to encourage it. The silence in the house, though, put me in mind of my music; I had not practiced since moving, and I feared losing my touch.

With that in mind, I returned to my room and unpacked my cello and bow. Taking great care to avoid scuffing the oiled wood, I stood in the centre of the room, raising the bow to gently brush the strings slowly building to a simple melody, familiarizing myself with the flowing movements once again. Slowly, like a flavour sliding over my tongue, soft, muffled notes of another kind revealed themselves, higher than my own, strummed from somewhere above, floating softly through the floorboards above me. I heard them begin moving, tracing their course with a twitching ear. They floated along the upper hall, down the stairs and finally, with the final notes of my melody, it stopped just outside my door.

I laid my cello back on my bed, curious. The door swung inwards, revealing a very matted and dusty-looking Lyra, holding her namesake with a sheepish smile on her face. “Hey, Octavia. How’s your morning been?”

I frowned as I looked on her frame; she leaned a little awkwardly to her right, her lyre floating beside her in a feint aura, her coat slicked with dried sweat. She had obviously not slept at all well. I stepped forward and guided her through the hall towards the kitchen, answering, “Not all that bad, really, and it was all the better with your beautiful accompaniment. But I must ask; Are you alright?”

Lyra dropped into a chair, rubbing her head and chuckling at herself. “Oh, I’m sure I’m fine. Last night, after...well, I said goodnight to you,” I silently thanked her for not bringing up my shameful behaviour from the previous evening, “Berry came and suggested we celebrate Bonny’s visit! As you can see, we really, really did.”

I wrinkled my nose in distaste at the thought, but I did not look down on Lyra’s fun: I had been there before. Usually next to Vinyl...”Well, I’m glad you had fun, but I must say, that leg of yours seems to have taken quite the beating, Lyra.”

Lyra looked at her own left foreleg. The limb was slightly bluer than usual, bruised, and a wound was barely visible on the inside, hidden from me previously by Lyra’s body and her awkward stance. Now, she rotated the limb, exposing the perfectly round hole. It was deeper than I originally thought, though it had already begun healing. Lyra facehoofed and laughed at herself saying, “Oh, I must have been worse than I thought last night! Berry and I walked home from the Sun’s Flank last night, but I don’t remember much after we reached this street. Good thing Berry was with me. I must have fallen on something, clumsy me.”

I smiled tightly with her as I retrieved a bandage from the hall closet and bandaged the small, perfect incision. With that done, and with Lyra full of cereal, I sat back and tried some conversation. “So Lyra, with yourself so...indisposed, what do you have planned for today?”

Lyra tapped her good hoof to her chin and brought her lyre up in front of her. “I had hoped to practice a tune for Bon Bon’s party, but I can’t come up with anything good enough...until I heard you this morning that is...” She added hopefully, giving me a hopeful look.

I indulged her, and myself, for a brief moment. “Well, it was but a lullaby, but, yes it is quite the piece, and the fact that you managed to play along with me at once is quite impressive. I could teach you the full piece this afternoon if you like. First, you should get yourself all cleaned up, and I’ll get ready, say, in the lounge?”

Lyra nodded avidly and dashed off to clean up. I returned to my room and packed up my cello. What we were going to do required something slightly more cheerful.

When Lyra trotted down the stairs, much refreshed, she looked at me quizzically as I held my old violin ready, wearing an inviting smile perfected for the stage. She waved a hoof at me, a smile spreading across her own face. “Wow, Octavia, I didn’t know you played the violin too! That’s great!”

I turned slightly, displaying my cutie mark. “Well, certainly did not get a treble clef arbitrarily, now did I? Come, let us get started.”

Lyra bounced up and sat at the other end of the couch raising her lyre and bringing her hooves to the strings. She gave a small uncomfortable twist of her left leg before settling down. I looked at her quizzically for a moment before saying, “Lyra, if your leg is troubling you, why not just play with your magic?”

Lyra shrugged and said airily, “I just think I’ll play like this, you know? I mean, you of all ponies will know, playing with your hooves is much harder, and more satisfying in the end. Plus,” she added quietly, “Bonny always prefers it when I use hoof over horn...” To say she blushed lightly in the awkward moment following this comment would be a grave understatement.

I smiled over her slip, and began playing the slow introduction, letting her warm to the music. We played the first few bars a few times, before moving to the next set, letting Lyra learn each methodically. Her light, airy notes added a new feel to the airy tune.

After a few hours, we were grinning at each other, playing new flamboyant twists into old lines, the song evolving in our hooves as we wove the music around ourselves. Eventually, I stopped all together, watching Lyra as she beamed, playing the rising tune with all the heart I had first seen it performed with. I got a little misty eyed, at the memory, and tried to block the pain rising in my chest.

After the few final notes drifted through the house, Lyra burst into light, tinkling laughter, wiping at her eye with her good hoof and beaming at me. “Wow, Octy, that was a blast! Where’d you learn that melody? It’s perfect for Bon bon’s party tomorrow!”

I nodded, saying softly, “It was the first song Vinyl played for me after we moved in together. She even played it on my violin, to impress me.” I smiled at the bittersweet image of Vinyl standing awkwardly, attempting to serenade me with a melody, not knowing she had won me just by trying. I waved a hoof to cut off Lyra’s exclamation, continuing in a stronger tone. “Don’t even dare NOT playing it, Lyra. You've made it yours; I've never heard it so beautifully played as I did just now. You make it...happy again.” I sat up straight, grinning. Lyra grinned too. Suddenly, she bounced up and folded me in a warm hug, chuckling her thanks into my ear before pulling away.

As she did, I saw a red spot growing on the inside of her left leg; the bandage was becoming undone after all the excitement. Clucking my tongue, I guided Lyra back to the kitchen and redressed her wound, still smiling as I replayed her brilliantly clear, light-hearted style of playing. It wasn't just how she played, I knew; It was the way Lyra did everything, making light every facet of her life. She put joy into music, and even if she wasn't a famous artist or renowned composer, she was still one of the greatest musicians I knew. Very few had the skill to take a piece and make it so original, as she did.

That night, Lyra and I sat together talking and laughing and planning for the big day tomorrow. Eventually, the late hour forced us to part, and at once, the all too painful reminder of my lonesome room put memories of that other brilliant, effervescent artist in my mind. The closing night brought back memories of that dream. The silence deafened me, until I heard, or rather just barely felt a light beat playing over and over again. It overlaid its own soundless rhythm, calming me. It almost made me smile before I realized that it wasn't who I thought it was. I sat up and looked across the street. Vinyl was playing again, and the town barely even noticed, but I did. It didn't sound like Vinyl, whose passion and flare drove the music onwards.

No, this was light, covering a sad melancholy, and put me solely in mind of Lyra.