Dinner with Delgan

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The next day, Allabva’s mother reminded her that there were still chores to do around the house, apart from the gardening and the orchard. Allabva eagerly helped however she could, and even Mellier was amenable to doing a little more than normal because of the prospect of a special visit. It didn’t matter to him that the visitor wouldn’t be his guest.

Allabva could hardly contain herself, waiting all day, but as their chores turned into cooking towards the end of the day, dinner time did eventually come with the guest, announced by a rap at the door. Allabva opened the door, and for once was glad that it wasn’t Brelin in the doorway, even though she had already known it from the lack of her signature knock on the door. Instead, Delgan stood there with a hand in one pocket, the other hand holding a small bag on a strap, and his xylophone clinging to his back by means of a shoulder sling that crossed from one side of his neck to the other side of his abdominal region.

“Come in, Delly-kins!” Mellier nearly shouted.

Allabva jumped, turning around to give her brother a shocked look.

She managed to keep her voice level, though. “Where did you hear that?”

“I heard you and Brelin talking.”

“Is that so? Well, his name is Delgan.” Allabva didn’t give Mellier time to respond, preferring to move things along and hope that Delgan could forget about this. “Hi. Yes, please come in.”

Delgan stepped inside, looking around himself as he entered. “This is nice. I like the decorations you have on the walls.” He pointed at a landscape painting hanging on one wall, depicting the valley as seen from up on the Grand Mount, then at some dried flowers arranged in a fan on another wall.

Allabva didn’t know what to do with herself now. “Hi,” she repeated meekly. “I was thinking of making some cheese scones. We have a block of cheddar and some parmesan, and Mother has a great recipe. And I was thinking we could also do some dessert with preserves. Maybe. If there’s time.” Hopefully he wouldn’t walk right back out again, bored at her poor conversation.

“Awesome,” he replied, grinning her confidence back into her. “Let’s do it. Can I put my xylophone down here, next to the couch?”

“Seems as good a place as any.” Her smile found its way back onto her face. “Come on into the kitchen. Mother, Delgan is here.”

“Hello, there,” Mother replied. “Delgan, would you like to handle the muscle work? Take this cheese and grate it—the whole thing. Allie, why don’t you mix the dry ingredients? Mellier!” She called into the sitting room. “Leave it alone.”

“Ah. How did you know?” Allabva turned around in the doorway to the kitchen to see Mellier resting the xylophone back against the couch again.

“A mother knows. Here, Allabva, measure out the flour, sugar, and the salt first. Mellier, come in here and crack some eggs.”

They set about baking, and Mother started chopping some carrots and splitting open pea pods. The entire time as they cooked, Allabva couldn’t believe that Delgan was there, in her house, doing basic chores with her, and that he appeared to be having as much fun as she was herself just because he was there. When the scones went into the oven, Mother expelled the two of them from the kitchen, encouraging Delgan to show Allabva his xylophone. Mellier followed them, also eager to see.

Delgan walked over next to the couch and grabbed his bundle that was leaning against the arm. Lifting it, he unfolded the stand that sat underneath it with practiced hands.

Allabva was surprised. “I didn’t know you could do that. How does it fold up and unfold so easily?”

“Well,” Delgan replied, “it has to be something quick and easy in order to be practical for quick use.”

“I wanna see how it works,” Mellier said. He leaned in to have a look at the hinges where the legs of the stand folded out from underneath the xylophone. After a brief inspection he sat back on his feet and looked up at the instrument itself. “How many bells does it have up there?”

Delgan played the part of being the show and tell presenter. “They’re not bells. This is a xylophone. That means these keys—these wood bars—are made of wood. Bells are made of metal, typically either brass or steel.”

“Whoa.” Mellier seemed impressed at odd things sometimes.

“So, how do you play it? Where are your sticks?” Allabva inquired.

“They’re right here, but these are called mallets.” Delgan withdrew from his bag a pair of forearm length wooden dowels with tight balls of yarn on one end of each. “You hold them kind of like this, where your thumb and first finger hold this part of the mallet like a fulcrum and your other fingers control the movement up and down, along with your wrist.”

Both of his hands were facing with their palms toward the floor, his hands about the width of a serving platter apart from each other, and the tips with the yarn wound around them coming close together to form a triangle in front of him. 

“Then you move them up and down however you need to so you can get a good sound out.”

His hands bounced the mallets up and down on one key, playing a note many times per second and making the pure pitch ring through the modest house.

Allabva’s mouth dropped open. “That looks fun! Can I try?”

Mellier objected. “No, play something for us first.”

“What do you want me to play?” Delgan asked.

“Five in the Morning, Five at Night,” Mellier requested.

“I don’t think I know that one. How about Snow on the Mount?”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Allabva agreed.

“Alright.”

Delgan extracted from his bag a second pair of mallets and held them in his hands as well, these poking out from in between his second and third fingers, so he now held four mallets in total. Then he started to play the instrument, mallets moving slowly at first across the keyboard and in synch with each other to create chords. He also often struck some notes repeatedly in quick succession, sustaining a point in the phrase as if the song were sung and a word were being held longer. The contours of the melody rose and fell, as did the intensity with which he played, realizing a song well known in the Cleft. The song depicted their nearby summit being covered in snow by a large, menacing storm, then faded away peacefully into melting spring streams. He ended with a decrescendo and ritardando on a single low note as his mallets gently slowed down to a stop.

Allabva was enchanted. “That was beautiful. What else do you know?”

“I want to hear Five in the Morning, Five at Night,” Mellier repeated himself.

Delgan and Allabva laughed. “How about this one?” Delgan said.

He jumped right into playing the music that had accompanied the Greenstones’ Dance the night before, easily executing its lively rhythm and recreating the impression of several instruments with all the keys he had on his xylophone. He didn’t use his second pair of mallets as much on this tune, only occasionally to highlight a chord.

“When did you learn that?” Allabva asked while he played.

“Over the last few weeks, while we were all practicing the dance.” Delgan spoke haltingly, revealing the fact that this piece took some concentration. “Well, obviously, not literally while we were out there practicing the dance. I mean that after our rehearsals, I went home and pecked it out, figuring it out bit by bit.”

“It sounds great. Come here, Mellier,” Allabva said. “I’ll show you a few steps.” She grabbed her brother’s hands and led him through some of the Greenstones’ Dance. He cooperated begrudgingly, clearly enjoying the music itself, but appearing shy when it came to dancing. As he moved about, however, he seemed to get more into it.

After several minutes, it being an extended dance, the music came to a close with an improvised ending, Delgan adding a brilliant flourish to the final cadence. Allabva and Mellier clapped, and Mother leaned in from the kitchen doorway to show her appreciation as well.

“Okay, now show me how.” Allabva moved closer to Delgan. He stowed his second pair of mallets and offered her the first pair for her to hold, stepping aside so she could stand in front of the instrument. She took hold of the mallets and tried to imitate his stance and grip. It didn’t seem to be quite right.

“One second.” Delgan leaned down underneath the xylophone to mess with the stand that it rested on, lowering it a few inches so that it matched Allabva’s height better. Then he stood next to her and reached around with both arms to adjust her grip and position over the instrument. Allabva couldn’t help but notice that he smelled nice.

“Okay,” he said, “now play this note here, letting the mallet bounce off the key.”

She hit it once.

“OK. Now do it again and again, on a repeated steady beat with both hands.”

Allabva slowly tapped out a steady beat, alternating which hand and mallet she was using to strike the key.

“Now don’t go wandering around. Stay in the middle part of the key. Do you hear how it doesn’t ring as loud when you strike next to the end?”

“Yeah.”

“And let the mallet bounce a little more like it wants to. They make some mallets with softer yarn and others with harder yarn. These mallet heads are the right hardness for this instrument. They want to bounce a certain amount, so let them.”

Allabva tried to find the sweet spot that Delgan was guiding her to, and as she did so she could hear the note ring with a less muffled sound and last longer.

“There you go, good work.”

“I want to do it.” Little brothers often do.

Allabva tried to delay Mellier just a little. “Here, you can have a turn, but go get the little stool from the kitchen to stand on so Delgan doesn’t have to change the height again. I’m not sure the stand goes low enough for you, anyway.”

“It doesn’t,” Delgan confirmed. “A stool is a good idea.”

While Mellier went to retrieve the stool, Delgin coached Allabva through a simple tune. Allabva could hear her mother blessedly running interference for her, asking Mellier to grab her this ingredient or that kitchen implement in order to delay him to give Allabva more time without him.

By the time Mellier returned with the stool, Allabva had succeeded in playing Night River at Morning passably well, if she would say so herself. It was only a four bar tune, but it was still fun to play.

Mellier got up on his stool and snatched the mallets from Allabva’s hands. He didn’t need to wait around for any coaching. He just jumped right in and started hitting keys.

“Easy there, Mellier.” Delgan intercepted. “You don’t want to hit it as hard as you can. It actually is possible to damage the keys and wear out the mallets too fast. Don’t lift the mallets any higher than right here.” Delgan held his hand about a foot over the keyboard. “And truly, you probably only need to raise them about half that high most of the time.”

“Why?”

“Because that will help you control how hard you are hitting the keys. Music isn’t all about playing as loud as you can. It’s about playing as loud as it makes sense to. If you want to play a really pleasant song, then some notes will be softer than others.”

Allabva stood back and happily watched this clever young man teach. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. He understood people in a way that promised a steady life, and he was charming with both visage and manner, and now he revealed a talent that could soothe and excite. Brelin was sounding more and more right. No need to rush still, but Allabva felt like she was on the right path with him. The key would be to not mess it up, she told herself.

Delgan decided to let Mellier have the reins at the instrument, and came over to talk to Allabva. At that moment, Mother poked her head around. “Can you two help with setting the table?”

Rhey set the table in the front combined room, where one end was the dining room and the other was the sitting room. Once the table was set, they all sat to eat a humble but beautiful spread of sauteed peas and carrots, the cheese scones they had made together, and some rewarmed pheasant and turkey left over from Greenstone Observance the night before. “I hope you don’t mind a little bit of leftovers,” Mother said to Delgan.

“Of course not, ma’am. I grew up on a farm after all. It happens all the time. And if the leftovers in question are last night’s pheasant, there’s nothing at all to question.”

“Good to know you’re down-to-earth folk, like we are here.”

Dinner was as tasty as it was aromatic. As they finished, Allabva’s mother disappeared into the kitchen with a smile. “One moment, I’ll be right back,” she said. She reappeared quickly, carrying a tray of some sort of flat dessert cut into squares.

“Here we go. I hope you like this.”

“What is that?” Mellier said excitedly.

Allabva was incredulous. “Mother, when did you make that?”

“It’s blackberry-raspberry jam shortbread bars. I made them yesterday when you were gathering rosemary. I didn’t plan specifically when I would pull them out, but we didn’t need them last night and tonight we have a guest, so here we are.”

“Yay!” Mellier weighed in.

“Watch out,” Allabva warned Delgan. “You thought the pheasant was good? My mother appears to be out to shatter your perceptions.”

“I’m all for it. Shatter away.” Delgan smiled.

“Young Master Dlorovin, here you go,” Mother handed him a small plate with a square portion on it. “There’s the cream over there. I would highly recommend it with a bit of that on top.” She then continued and served Allabva and Mellier.

As dessert disappeared, Delgan spoke. “Mistress Roalke, this has been wonderful. Thank you for letting me come over and get in yours and Allabva’s way this evening, making you trip over me in the kitchen and all that. Now if you don’t mind—and I know already that Allabva doesn’t mind, unless something changed since yesterday—I’d like to invite her to dinner next week, and afford her the opportunity to get in our way at my home.”

“Of course,” Mother replied. “Anything to get her out of my house,” she joked. “The good-for-nothing child—uh, woman—is always taking care of my problems for me. I can’t feel any sense of accomplishment for solving anything myself. Take her away so I can live my own life for an evening, for once.” Her eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Mother, you do so much,” Allabva retorted. “Surprise dessert that you baked just because? All I did was gather sprigs of an herb.”

“And dance beautifully last night.”

“And touch a unicorn!” Mellier spilled. “Well, we both touched it, but it touched you with its horn!”

“Mel Roalke.” Mother’s flat tone informed him he’d stepped where he shouldn’t have. “I think that’s something for Allabva to talk about if she wishes to. You tell your friends if you must, but let her tell her friends if she chooses.”

Allabva’s heart sank. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the strange, male Nomord with anyone besides Mother, at least not yet.

“Whoa.” Delgan’s eyebrows lifted into his forehead as he looked at Allabva. “Really? What was it—uh, I mean, never mind. Your mother is right, it’s your call.” Awkward pause. “Mm. Mellier, how about we see if we can figure out how to play Five in the Morning, Five at Night on my xylophone?” 

Mellier forgot instantly about the talk of the previous day’s close encounter as surely as everyone else had neglected to correct him on his use of slang this time. He jumped down from his chair and already had a pair of mallets in hand when Delgan arrived next to him. The two started noodling and pecking at the instrument, searching for the notes to play the popular song.

“Mother, how about I help you clear the table?” Allabva said, looking for an excuse to be alone with her mother and talk for a few minutes.

They gathered dishes from the table and carried them into the kitchen for washing. Allabva took the opportunity to speak softly with her mother. “I never really had a chance to talk to you about what happened yesterday. I wanted to. It was a unique experience.”

“I imagine it must be, if it was a male Nomord,” Mother said.

“I know it must be hard to believe,” Allabva started to say.

“Not if you say it, love. I know you don’t use idle words, and I knew you wouldn’t say it unless you were sure. So, go ahead and I’ll hear you out.”

Allabva was relieved to receive this much trust. “He came up and spoke my name. It was the first thing he said to me. He just knew my name without asking it. Then he came up, slowly, staring into my soul. He came close enough, then I reached up—I still thought it was a regular, female Nomord—and touched him on the face. He brought his face down and touched my forehead with his horn.” Allabva paused. “He stared into me and I felt as if I knew that he could see everything, understand me fully. But there was more to it.”

Mother, to her credit, appeared to be listening with rapt attention.

Allabva took a breath and continued. “He told me his name was Hronomon.”

“I’ve never heard of any Nomo-Nomo to say whether she had a name at all,” Mother remarked. “Did he seem lucid?”

“Absolutely. He did some bounding and prancing like we’re used to seeing the Nomord do, but I feel like it was more to fill our expectations. He didn’t seem to be composed fully of lightheartedness. Then, he told me I was ready, or almost ready, but he didn’t say for what.”

“For wh—oh. Well, it does make one wonder,” Mother said.

“He said one more thing that I remember. He said he would come back.”

“Come back? Come back for what? Come back when? Come back at all? Never have I heard of any of the Nomord promising to do anything in the future. They all seem to live in a cloud of the present. What do you think? When do you think he’ll come back?”

“He kind of already did.”

“What’s this kind of?” Allabva’s mother was definitely paying attention, looking at Allabva intently and raising one eyebrow.

“I saw him during the Greenstone Observance yesterday. He was up on the hillside outside of town.”

“Does he look different from other Nomord? Different colored fur?”

“No, he has the same white coat and single horn as all the others, but I knew it was him because I could feel him staring at me. When he touched my forehead with his horn in the Canyon, I felt… seen. Comprehended and considered. During the Observance, I felt the same thing, although not as strong.”

“What do you make of it, then?” Mother prompted. “You’re the one being sought out. You felt that kind of mental probing. What do you think, or even feel that it means?”

Allabva hesitated. “I don’t know. I was kind of hoping you might have some idea.”

Mother waited for Allabva to go on and attempt for some reasoning herself.

“He said I was ready, but he didn’t say what for. I wondered if he meant for adulthood, which kind of made sense because yesterday was my Greenstone. Speaking of that, I hadn’t been considering whether or not I may be particularly ready for my majority at all. I was just taking it in stride. But then Brelin added another dimension to it, talking about being ready to take on marriage, and I hadn’t really been thinking about that. But with Hronomon and Brelin both combined, now I find myself thinking about that and wondering. And I do really like Delgan, but I don’t know if I’m ready to decide anything like that…”

“There’s no need to rush it, dear,” Mother comforted. “Whether it’s time for you to take a step like that, you’ll know either way, and I support you either way.”

It felt reassuring to hear that.

Mother kept going. “Besides, what does some magical beast know? This is your life. So what if he can see into your heart or soul, even if it is true? That doesn’t mean he can decide these things for you. You just live as your conscience directs.”

“Thanks, Mother. I appreciate it.”

“Now what do you say we rescue that boy from your younger brother and say good night to him?”

Mother led the way back into the front combo room, where Delgan and Mellier were playing Five in the Morning, Five at Night at octaves from each other on the xylophone. Mellier actually had an expression of concentration on his face as he played, which amazed Allabva because he never seemed to focus on anything for long.

“Alright, little man, it’s time for you to get ready for bed,” Mother said to Mellier.

While Mellier protested, Allabva spoke to Delgan. “I guess it’s time for us to say good night as well.”

“Very well. I’ll see you next week as we talked about before?”

“Yes. I’ll be there. Don’t eat without me.”

Delgan laughed. “Don’t worry. My mother would never dream of allowing such a breach of protocol to happen under her roof. Oh! I’ll make you come over.”

“Oh, really? How do you think you’re going to make me?” Allabva said.

Delgan was fiddling with his jacket that he had just put on in preparation to go outside, opening the first few buttons again. Then he reached around his neck and pulled on a chain, revealing a necklace he had under his shirt.

“What’s that for? You think you’re gonna put some kind of chain on me and pull me along?”

“No, silly girl. Woman. Whatever.” Delgan smiled. “I’m going to use your own honesty to force you to come.”

As he pulled the chain over his head, the end came into view, revealing a small, silvery flute a few inches long, hanging on a loop on the chain. The chain had another ring as well.

“What’s this? More musical instruments?” Allabva asked.

“Just one more, but this used to belong to my grandmother. She used to play this when she watched the sheep.”

Delgan offered the flute to Allabva, and she took it in her hands, turning it around and looking it over. It had some engravings on the back. A few wavy lines, a couple of triangles, a small circle…

“Is this the Valley of the Five Moons?”

“Bingo”, Duncan replied.

“And what’s this other ring for?”

Delgan looked sheepish. “Apparently, when I was little, I used to get lost. Like, it was my favorite pastime. My parents hung a bell from that loop.”

“Where’s the bell now?”

“Well, my second favorite pastime was taking things apart, so that bell is long lost.”

Allabva couldn’t help but laugh at this. “So, you often lost yourself, and you permanently lost the bell, but your parents still let you keep your grandmother’s flute?”

“Yes. I absolutely loved the flute. I never let it out of my sight. There’s no way I would lose it.”

“Alright, sounds good.” Allabva looked momentarily to the side, wondering when her brother was going to interrupt this conversation, but blessedly it seemed her mother had corralled him upstairs to let Allabva talk to Delgan in peace. “And you’re going to entrust it to me?”

“Let’s call it a trial period. You hold on to it for me for a few days, then bring it back to me when you come over for dinner. How does that sound? I think it sounds like a plan.”

Allabva smiled. “I guess it does sound like a plan. That is, as long as you don’t have any great hopes from me. I don’t know how to play it.”

Delgan’s eye twinkled, making Allabva wonder what he could be up to.

“That’s all right, you don’t have to. In fact, that’s the best part because it literally plays itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Delgan replied, his grin reaching from ear to ear. “You see, one time while my grandmother was tending the sheep, she had some trouble with wolves. She managed to beat the wolves off and save the sheep but then they attacked her instead.”

Allabva couldn’t see how this was supposed to be a good thing, but Delgan continued. “She got bitten and scratched pretty badly. She wasn’t able to protect herself, but then one of the Nomord came by and fought off the wolves. The beast healed her and then took it a step further: she blessed this little flute. Since that day, this flute will play itself, will play my grandmother’s favorite tune that she always used to play on it—the Nomord must have heard her—if you hold it and say ‘beware the wolves.’”

Allabva looked at the small flute she held in her hand, then back at Delgan.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “‘Beware the wolves.’”

Allabva held the little flute tenderly now, appreciating the simple form before uttering it. “Beware the wolves.”

A beautiful, sweet tune emanated from the small silver bar. Allabva was amazed, first at the flute itself, then back at Delgan.

“I can’t keep this for you,” she said. “It’s a family heirloom. What if I lose it?” She had placed it around her neck but now took it off, offering it back to Delgan.

“I’m sure you won’t lose it, and it’s just a few days until you come to dinner. Bring it back when you come.”

“Well, I—well, alright!” Allabva threw herself forward to give Delgan a hug. He received her and hugged her as well. “All right, so I’ll see—wait, how do we get it to stop?” Allabva stepped back, noting that the flute was still playing his grandmother’s tune.

“You can either wait for it to finish the tune, or you just say the same thing again, ‘beware the wolves.’”

“Got it. I think I’ll let it finish this time. Thank you! I’ll bring it when I come to dinner, I promise, Delgan. Goodnight!”

“What would Brelin say?” Delgan mused. “Goodnight, Allie-poos?”

“Ah! Goodnight, already.” Allabva closed the door on him suddenly, but smiled while she did it.

Now, how could she top this gift when she went to see him? There was so little time to find a way. Allabva had this on her mind while she went about getting herself ready for bed and planned her work for the next day. She went to sleep very well contented, the flute hanging by its chain around her neck and tucked inside her nightgown.