On the Acquisition of Knowledge
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Dawn opened one bleary eye, cursing the window across from
her bed. It was her own fault that the bright morning sunlight woke her up;
after all she'd been the one to not bother to close the shutters the night
before. What she really needed to do was learn to sleep during the day. Then it
wouldn't be a problem.
Sighing grumpily, Dawn heaved herself out of bed and
stumbled toward the bathroom. Once done there, she made it to the main room,
tripping over several thick texts scattered on the floor. She hopped around on
one foot, grabbing at her sore toe. Maybe she should have cleaned up a little
before going to bed. The man room was a wreck—papers and books piled
everywhere. It was like a minefield for bare feet. Well, there was no point in
complaining about it. After all, she'd been the one who'd agreed to take a lot
of extra lessons.
The bardic guild had quickly
determined that while she had the raw talent to apprentice there, she was
woefully behind in most every other area of training—she could barely read and
write any language, and her speaking skills in dalhari were minimal. Once
they'd figured out that she didn't mind taking lessons, they'd suggested a few
more…well; 'few' was the word they used. Dawn found herself immersed in
history, literature, mathematics, physics, politics, religion and philosophy.
She had a sneaky feeling that they were afraid she was an uneducated hick—or
whatever term they preferred to describe backwards humans.
Of course, they were partially right; she didn't know much
about their world, and in terms of what was taught here, she was uneducated.
She did know a lot, though, even if much of what she'd been taught was useful
only in an abstract sense. All the history she'd learned in school was useless
in and of itself, but the stuff about recurring themes, religious conflicts and
disease all made sense here as well.
She'd originally thought that math was math.
Unfortunately, she was wrong. Why on earth would a species choose to use a
base-14 number system? That had been quite possibly the hardest thing to deal
with; learning an entirely new system of numbers was difficult. Once she'd
picked up on that, though, math and physics turned out to be fairly
straightforward. She still caught herself trying to use the system she'd grown
up using, so she always made a conscious effort to apply the other one whenever
possible.
So now Dawn spent all her free time—what little of it she
had—studying. The guild had slowed down her training so that she could slog
through all the classes they'd assigned, so she was down to a whole three hours
a day of music lessons and practice. According to the guild, that was just
enough to keep her from losing ground. Right. The
guild masters, particularly her mentor Chadei, were
very good at policing—her schedule was set and they made sure she stuck to it.
A great deal of that was because of her age. Even after a
year at the guild, she was the youngest person there by more than twenty years.
They didn't treat her like a child, but they also didn't give her the freedoms
that the other apprentices had. She only chafed against that a little, since
they didn't just lock her up and throw away the key. Instead, they made sure
they knew where she was all the time. If she'd had free time to go out
adventuring, she might have minded more. As it was, she didn't care who knew
that she was studying—again.
Which, of course, led right back
into why she was hopping around her main room, scowling at the stacks and piles
of books everywhere. She hoped every day that some unknown neatness gene would start to
express itself so that she would start to want to clean up. As it was, she'd
begun to insist that her lessons be held at the bardic
hall, so that no one saw the way she lived. The others laughed at her, but
they'd never seen the place. She'd long since forgotten what color the stone
floor really was.
Today's off-day would be spent analyzing the offensive
strategies of the Aiskian dalhari when they routed the
Nyalnyalnivi t'kth-vaali from the lands now called Dath. It really was sort of interesting to Dawn; the
history of this world was to her more complicated than that of her world, since
they had so many different species—and different political and cultural groups
within each species. She'd read about inter and intra species civil wars,
regional disputes and sea battles. One thing she had learned was that she did
not want to be anywhere near a battle in this world;
casualties were high and the outcome was often tragic. Luckily for her, wars
were fairly uncommon around Faion.
"Ok…Damn!" Dawn dug through a stack of papers to
find her word notes. She had done well in learning to read, write and speak
conversational dalhari, but she was still struggling to learn the less-common
words that she needed. So far her instructors had been really good about
helping her define words, and had provided several dictionaries. Unfortunately
a dictionary was only of limited use if she didn't know the words used to
define the other words. Ugh.
Several hours and a sore neck later, Dawn rose from her
spot on the floor. It was well after midday and she was starving. It only took
a few minutes to pull on a pair of boots, after which she was off to the dining
hall. Since she was a bit late for lunch, she was the only one there, but that
didn't bother her. She didn't have time to chat anyway; although she'd gotten
most of her reading done, she still have several assignments to write out, and
they would take most of the rest of the day.
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"No, no, no!"
Dawn lowered her cyar'dil and growled in frustration.
"What am I doing wrong now?" She asked Chadei.
"What are you doing right?" He asked in return.
"You slouch. Are you lacing your vest up tight enough? Your feet are too
far apart, and your toes are turned the wrong way. You hold your hands like
this," He said, gesticulating wildly. "You look like a puppet on
strings. And you drool on the instrument!"
"Let's not forget that I didn't play five notes on
the last piece," Dawn added snidely. "Or that I blinked several times, inhaled too sharply, thought about lunch and
farted!"
"Flake-brained idiot," Chadei
swore, glaring at Dawn. "Did you practice this at all?"
"Yes," She said defensively. She had, too—after
writing three papers and translating four poems the night before. It wasn't her
fault that her lessons took up so much time.
"How long?"
Dawn shifted nervously. "An
hour."
"An hour? I told you four hours! No less
than four hours!"
"I had to finish my lessons! I spent all day on them,
you know. You should, anyway; you assigned them," Dawn said hotly.
"No! You practice this," He said, pointing at
the cyar'dil. "You don't do lessons!"
Dawn stared at him. "I've spent the last year and a
half doing lessons, and now I'm supposed to not do them? Did I miss the big
announcement about that?"
Chadei shook his head. "This is more
important. You do the lessons when you can; your tutors will understand. Go
home and practice—and have someone show you how to lace up your vest! Your posture
is atrocious."
Dawn stomped out of the practice room, ignoring the
curious stares of the other musicians lounging around. She knew that they'd all
heard the argument, but she just didn't care. In truth, she understood where Chadei was coming from—she was apprenticing as a bard, not
as an academic. But he had assigned the lessons. What was she supposed to do,
just drop them all of a sudden?
By the time she reached her quarters, much of Dawn's ire
had cooled. She was used to being pushed and prodded by Chadei,
as well as some of the other masters in the guild. That didn't make her like
it, but at least she was somewhat inured to being chastised like that. No one
had asked her to leave, so at least she knew that despite what they said, she
still had a place in the guild.
Pitching her cyar'dil on a cloth-covered table by the
door, Dawn retrieved the battered liow that Chadei had loaned her. It was a practice instrument that
belonged to the guild, set aside exclusively for beginning students. The thing was
so old it made Zhaen's den-liow
look new by comparison, but it played ok…when it had strings. The liow, and its relatives, were the most commonly played
instruments in dalhari music, so every apprentice learned them very early on.
In fact, it was considered a bit unusual that Dawn didn’t know how to play. Chadei had quickly remedied that by handing her the liow she now possessed.
Dawn picked up how to play fairly quickly and was soon as
good on it as she was with the cyar'dil. She still preferred the wind
instrument, but liked the liow well enough. Once
she'd gained proficiency, though, Chadei had
challenged her by removing the strings and handing the thing back to her in
pieces. She was to learn how to string the liow and
tune it. On her own.
It had been a week and Dawn still hadn't gotten it right.
Most of that was because she hadn't had the time to devote to figuring out
which string went where and how tight to wind them. She'd gotten about half the
strings on, but still had seven to go. They were tangled up in a stringy mass,
so first she had to tease one out of the ball and put it somewhere on the liow. Then she'd play that string, tuning it until she
recognized it. It would then be moved into place and another would be chosen.
This was the technique that Chadei wanted her to use,
as opposed to measuring the strings or asking someone else for help. She
figured he had some sort of reason behind his action, but she wasn't completely
sure. It might have just been a new form of apprentice-torture.
At least working on the liow
kept her from snapping her cyar'dil in frustration. She'd hit a plateau in her
performance level; no matter how hard she tried she wasn't improving at all. Chadei kept telling her that it wasn't her abilities—it was
her techniques. He'd run her through drill after drill; breathing exercises,
walking and running, lifting heavy objects. Nothing had worked, though. She was
still at the edge of moving up, but unable to do so. Now it was her posture and
her foot position. Ugh. She knew she needed to stand straighter because it
increased her lung capacity, but what did it matter? Dalhari had greater lung
capacity than she did, so she'd never live up to their standards. And her
feet…who cared about that, anyway?
But playing with the liow and
muttering over the cyar'dil weren't getting her homework done. Since she hadn't
net spoken to her tutors about lightening up, she still had a lot due tomorrow.
And she bet she was still supposed to practice her scales for at least two
hours before she went to bed. Maybe if she multitasked and practiced while
taking a bath, she'd get everything done before she passed out.
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"Huh!"
"Much better! Again!"
Chadei exclaimed, watching gleefully as Dawn went
through another cycle of breathing and voice exercises. "You need to
strengthen your diaphragm."
Dawn glared but continued huffing and shouting. She felt
like she was doing the Heimlich on herself. "Water," She croaked
after a couple of minutes. Chadei laughed and handed
her a mug full of the stuff, watching carefully as she gulped it down. "I
know, I know. Small sips. When was the last time you
actually did this stuff?"
"This morning," Chadei
said loftily. "I practice every day."
"Uh huh, right," Dawn said skeptically.
"Let me guess, another round of exercises, then that celebration?"
"Of course," Chadei
said. "You need to refine your voice. It should match whatever instrument
you choose to play."
Dawn nodded and began again. She didn't mind this too
much. Actually, it was kind of fun. She got to make all sorts of neat noises,
all under the guise of exercise. When she'd apprenticed, she hadn't thought
she'd actually be learning how to sing, but as it turned out, all bardic apprentices did so—it was required.
What scared Dawn was what she was going to have to learn
next—composition. After many more months of lessons, she'd finally broken down
and asked Chadei if there was a good reason why he
tortured her with all those lessons, or was he just a sadist. After getting an
explanation of sadism from Dawn, Chadei had first
laughed, and then explained. The lessons were to provide background knowledge
and a foundation language for her compositions. As a musician in the bardic guild, she would be expected to compose music and
lyrics—that was what bards did. Simply playing music was easy enough; it was
the creation of songs that took skill.
When she'd asked him why Zhaen had sung so few songs
during their journey, he explained that the dalhari's voice was fragile, due to
a childhood accident. In fact, many of the songs that Duens and Prall had sung
were written by her, but she could only perform them occasionally. Her
compositions were well-regarded among the apprentices, and Dawn thought that it
was a shame that so few people would be able to enjoy her voice. She had noted
how lovely it was during the stories that Zhaen had told her.
But the idea of composing terrified her. What did she know
about writing music—especially dalhari music? They didn't sing pop songs like
musicians in her world did, and she wasn't sure she had a good frame of
reference to write songs that the dalhari would understand. Chadei
had tried to boost her confidence by saying that many songs were chronicles of
history, but that didn't help either. It didn't make much difference if she was
writing about wars or flowers; she didn't think she could do it. At least, she
didn't think anything she wrote would pass muster.
"Ok, try the celebration," Chadei
ordered, watching Dawn's breathing. Getting her to wear her clothes properly
and stand as she should had helped a lot. It would be much easier if she was
dalhari, but that couldn't be helped. Of course, if she was a sixteen year old
dalhari, she wouldn't be standing in the bardic
guild, a second-year apprentice learning to sing.
Dawn bit her lip and waited for Chadei
to start playing the liow. She was barely able to
sing, much less sing and play at the same time. Soon, though, she was consumed with
trying to sing the celebration—one of many about the stillness of winter.
"Stop!" Chadei
shouted a few minutes later. "What is wrong with you? Do you just hate
that song?"
Dawn shuffled a bit. "It's kind of boring," She
said. It was the truth; she wasn’t exactly on the edge of her seat with
excitement over winter songs.
"Why didn't you say something?" Chadei asked. "Go; pick out a song you like. I am not
so cruel as to make you learn with a piece you hate."
"Thanks!" Dawn said as she ran over to a
bookcase. Yeah, it would take a while to learn the new piece, but at least
she'd like it. She even had a couple of ideas…
"A chronicle?" Chadei
murmured. "Of a famine?"
Dawn nodded eagerly. "I like that one."
"It will be difficult—there are a lot of high and low
notes. You can do it, though, I'm sure." He handed the book over.
"You should study it today, and be prepared to practice it tomorrow. If
you have time, write down some music to accompany it. "
"Music to accompany…"Dawn muttered as she walked
out of the room. What was it with this constant music writing? Was she supposed
to just pull songs out of her ass?
"That could work."
Dawn spun around, her cheeks bright red. She hadn't
intended to say that out loud. "Hi!"
"Hi yourself," Bai
said. He was another apprentice at the guild. She had a tiny bit of a crush on
him. He was this wonderful shade of pink-purple, like a ripe grape. His voice
was as smooth as chocolate too. If only she could sing like that. "Chadei giving you trouble again?"
"Nothing new," Dawn replied as they walked back
to the house. "He just expects overnight miracles."
Bai laughed. "Of course he does;
that's what masters do."
"Does Gewna do that to
you?" Dawn asked, referring to the master under whom he studied.
"Yes, he's at least as bad as Chadei,
but without the sense of humor."
Dawn guffawed. "Chadei?
Sense of humor?"
"You haven't talked to Gewna
much, have you?" Bai commented. "And before
you start complaining about writing accompaniments, know that I've got to write
three celebrations by tomorrow evening."
"Three?" Dawn said faintly. "Why?"
"Because Gewna didn't find
my last attempt at humor very funny," Bai
explained with a grimace. "I'm lucky, though. Usually the penalty is three
celebrations and a chronicle."
"Ah," Dawn murmured. Well, it didn't help much
but at least she didn't have that kind of master. Gewna
sounded like hell.
Dawn rushed through dinner at the dining hall, figuring
that she had enough food stashed in her quarters to tide her over until
breakfast. Once she got home, she threw herself down into a pile of cushions
and began to work on her accompaniment piece. First she had to get a good grasp
of the chronicle she'd chosen. It was a strange, hysterical piece that she'd
remembered reading for a history lesson. The central focus was a famine caused
by the combination of a severe drought and a dalhari-orth war that occurred several millennia ago.
Once she'd read through the song a few times, Dawn picked
up her practice liow and began to pick on the
strings. At first she went for rich, full notes but soon found that they were
distracting. After a couple of hours of fiddling around, she decided on a
whining staccato piece that lent an air of desperation to the already
neurotically-themed chronicle.
She yawned widely, exhausted but happy to be nearly
finished. All she had to do was write the music down and then she could get a
couple of hours of sleep. She had lessons in the morning, then a long afternoon
of practice with Chadei. Maybe he wouldn't rip this
piece to shreds.