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Every song has its coda, and every story must come to an end.
*****
The Minstrel's Path
Part 29
by Kim McFarland
Part 29
by Kim McFarland
*****
It was a cool day at the beginning of spring. Winter had been harsh, as winter always was. The caves grew so cold that the rock below chilled you through the soles of your feet if you didn't wear thick socks and keep them dry. Water froze, so you either went thirsty or ate ice, which was hardly less dangerous. Most beings had the sense to stay home and keep warm among their fellows.
Not Cantus, however. Murray had tried to talk him out of traveling to Fraggle Rock for the Festival of the Bells. He'd led the celebration every year for decades, Murray had said; they had to have gotten the hang of it by now. Cantus had not argued the matter. He had simply gone. When Murray found he was missing, he had chased after him. It hadn't taken long for him to catch up. Cantus had been moving more slowly of late.
To be fair, Murray understood why Cantus had been so determined to be at the Fesival of the Bells. Cantus was very fond of this colony. They were the ones who had taken his lessons to heart, reaching out beyond themselves with music, and even without it. They loved him both for his music and his wisdom, and he had confided to Murray that of all the colonies he had visited, he felt most at home here. These Fraggles could find joy in anything, even at the most miserably cold time of the year. Even so, Murray wished he had been able to talk Cantus out of making this trip.
They had both had stayed in Fraggle Rock until spring. Cantus had not given them a reason he was staying much longer than usual, and the Fraggles, excited to have him around for an extended visit, had not asked. But even they must have realized that something was not right. Cantus was old, and the long journey through the frigid tunnels had sapped his strength.
Now it was time to move on. The Fraggles had bid him farewell with a raucous party. They left, Cantus playing his Magic Pipe and Murray strumming his guitar as they walked away.
A few minutes later, Cantus stopped playing and threaded the pipe into his backpack.
*
They walked quietly until early evening, when they reached a stopping point. It was not one of their usual campgrounds; they had not made it that far. Cantus took off his pack and sank to the ground with a soft sigh of relief.
Murray took off his pack, which now included Cantus' bedroll, the heaviest part of Cantus' gear. He hoped that lightening the load had helped a little. As he built a campfire Cantus sat still, leaning back against a mossy boulder, gazing at the stream that flowed through the center of the cave. Murray took some food out of his pack—bread baked by the Fraggles they had just left, and one of those radishes that Fraggles were so nuts about—and offered Cantus a portion. Cantus glanced at them and shook his head slightly. Murray shrugged and put them down within reach. "What're you thinking?" he asked.
Cantus spoke for the first time since they had left the rock. "I'm not thinking. I'm listening. Listening to the sound of the water. To the joyous splash as it first rushes down the waterfall, and the softer gurgles as it slows and flows in its channel, and its final silence as it disappears into the darkness."
Murray said softly, "Sounds to me like you're thinking."
"I wonder where the water goes."
They both knew the answer to that. Water circulated through the rock, flowing downward through channels and cracks, soaking through soil and stone, disappearing into the air to rise and condense elsewhere to begin the cycle anew. But Murray knew a philosophical question when he heard one, and had no answer.
Cantus smiled. "When did you get so much younger than me?" he asked softly.
Startled, Murray said, "Don't talk like that, boss."
"Pisca must live longer than Fraggles. That's good." He closed his eyes and said softly, "I'm tired."
"I'll set up your tent."
"I want to listen a while longer." He reached over to his pack, took out the Magic Pipe, and held it out to Murray. It trembled in the air, though Cantus' expression was calm.
Murray took the Pipe. He was raising it to play it when Cantus held up his hand. A zigzag glowed softly in his palm. "Touch your hand to mine."
Puzzled, Murray touched Cantus's hand. Cantus gripped it for a moment, pressing their palms together. Then he let go. The mark had disappeared. Murray glanced at his own hand. The zigzag shone back at him.
Murray looked at Cantus, shocked. Calmly Cantus told him, "The Magic Pipe is yours. Let it be your voice as it has been mine."
Murray's eyes widened. Cantus was making him the leader of the Minstrels! Yes, he was getting too old to journey, but making music without him was still unthinkable. He said, "I'll never be half the Minstrel you are, Cantus."
"Then be all the Minstrel you are."
Murray held the pipe out to him. "Cantus, this is yours. I don't want it."
Cantus made no move to take it. He said, "My time grows short. Do you really want to spend it arguing?"
"I'll go back to Fraggle Rock and get someone. We can bring you back-"
"So I can die there and make them grieve? No. I don't know if I would even be alive by the time you returned. I do not want my last minutes to be spent alone in the caves, or among sorrowing Fraggles. I want to listen to something beautiful. And," he said, looking up at Murray with a faint smile, "I want to go where the water goes."
Murray paused, not knowing what to say. Of course Cantus was old, but he could not imagine him leaving the world. But...he was calm, and ready for it. What good would getting upset do? It's not like Cantus had a choice in the matter. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then said, barely keeping his voice from cracking, "My brother."
"My brother," Cantus replied warmly.
Murray didn't know what he could say to that, so he said nothing. Better not to talk than to fill the air with needless words. He raised the pipe and began to play.
Cantus closed his eyes to listen. Murray listened too, to the sound of the water that connected all life in the caves. He drew it into the music, and, with the magic of the pipe, wove it into a rich tapestry of sound. As he played, the flowers in the cave budded and bloomed. Cantus opened his eyes and, smiling, whispered "Beautiful" so softly that even he could not hear it over the music. Then he closed his eyes again.
As he listened to the music of the Magic Pipe, Cantus slipped into a dreamlike state. It seemed that the music became words, words that he could finally hear and understand. Thank you.
"You're welcome. What did I do?"
We are the voices of the pipe. We created it and gave it to you. We followed along, lending our magic and living through the music you created with our help.
Ah. Now he recognized the voice. It was the same one he had heard in the cave where the Magic Pipe had grown. "So, there was something in the Magic Pipe. I wondered."
There still is. We go where the pipe goes.
"Who are you?"
We made music in life. We continue making music now.
"A haunted pipe. I never suspected." He chuckled. "Thank you. You made my life quite an adventure."
You did that yourself. You took the instrument we created and went further than we had imagined.
He nodded, or would have if he could. He didn't feel as if he had a body to move. "I only wish I could see what happens next," he said.
You can, if you wish to. Come with us.
"Haunt the pipe with you?"
If you wish to.
Cantus considered. He had had a long life, and enjoyed all of it, thanks to his friends and the music they made together. And he could continue to share in it and contribute in some way.
Putting it that way. There was no question. "I will."
Welcome!
*
Murray played until the music reached its conclusion. He felt a little breathless. He was good, he knew, but the magic of the pipe drew things out of him that he had only suspected were there. Had it always been like this for Cantus? No wonder he hadn't wanted to retire the Magic Pipe. Looking around, he saw that he and Cantus were now surrounded by cave blossoms of every color. And Cantus' head had drooped forward.
Murray knelt and put down the pipe, then held a hand in front of Cantus's face. He could feel nothing. He pulled out a strand of his featherlike hair and held it up in front of Cantus's nose and mouth. Even the faintest breath would have caused it to tremble. It was still.
He paused, momentarily unable to think. He had spent nearly all of his life with Cantus. He loved him. How could he be gone? But he was. Cantus had been happy and unafraid at the end. He had died the way he wanted: at peace, listening to music. What better way to go?
He was trying to talk himself out of being distraught. It wasn't working.
What did Fraggles do with their dead? The Minstrels had never done their act at a Fraggle funeral. But, he realized, Cantus had said he wanted to go where the water went. As with a lot of the things that Cantus said, at the time it was puzzling, but on retrospect it made perfect sense.
He knew what he had to do. He wasn't ready, but that didn't matter. He was about to put his arms around Cantus to lift him when he noticed the pockets in his robe. They contained other instruments; panpipes and mouth-harps and other things that he would play at whim. Although it seemed fitting to send him on with some sort of instrument, he would not have wanted their voices to be silenced. Murray took them out of their pockets and put them into Cantus' pack.
Carefully he put his arms around Cantus as if to embrace him, and lifted. The Fraggle weighed less than Murray expected, and was thinner; the robe and his thick winter fur had hidden that. He carried him down to the bank, then waded in and lowered Cantus into the water. The cool water soaked into his fur, darkening it and plastering his featherlike hair to his head. Murray walked, the Fraggle floating before him in the gently-flowing water, down to the mouth of the passage that the stream flowed into, and forced himself to let Cantus go.
He watched the body disappear into the darkness. Then he waded back to the campsite. He looked at the pack, and the Magic Pipe, and the blooming flowers.
He sat down, lowered his head onto his knees, and wept.
*
When the Minstrels met to start their journey that year, he gave them the news. They were as shocked and upset as he had been, even though they had all known that Cantus' age had been catching up with him. When they heard Murray play the pipe and saw the mark that glowed on his palm, they accepted him as their new leader without question. And without question the Minstrels set out on their journey. Cantus was longer leading them, but his mission—to unite all the tribes and colonies in the Rock with the universal language of music—was theirs, and they would carry on as long as they were needed.
*****
Fraggle Rock and all characters are copyright © The Jim Henson Company and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.
