A Little Summer Rain

“That was… not the reception I had expected to receive.” Friar Joshua shivers as we leave the Rectory, despite the warm breeze, rain leaving small dark spots on his robe. "Regardless!" He claps his hands together. "The Deacon sees a worth to having you here, instead of sequestered in a small, damp stone box on the side of a cliff." At this he shakes his head. "Whatever authority deemed THAT the proper place to store such potential there was possessed by a bout of insanity." As he enters an arched opening to our left he pauses, meeting my eye. "Not that I'm besmirching your work, Fourteen."

"The Cloister is not a box." For some reason this makes Friar Joshua bark with laughter, causing two patrons walking nearby to stare. "And if The Lord deemed me to still be useful to the community of Rue D'Mar, then so be it." I return their curious gaze, which scatters them quickly. The Umbrum are not uncommon here in Lightwelle. But to see one is usually never a pleasant event. We do not do pleasant things. A sigh escapes my host, and he looks at me with some sort of emotion I can't name.

"Bah," there is a small wave from his hand. "You Umbrum are all the same." Then, to me, "I suppose then, it is an honor to be personally asked for by the Prima themselves, eh? Gives some of us reason to leave every once in a while!" His laughter echoes off the brickwork in the small courtyard we have entered, disturbing the quiet. The rain drummed softly off a nearby pail. The pattern was complete. Up until recently, the Cloister usually kept to itself, indoors and out of the elements, for the most part. Most of their jobs included transcribing His words into other languages, illuminations, tedious, reverent work. This allowed little time for anything else besides sitting and praying. Or so the other Friars would insist. Friar Joshua, however, was less interested in the pious solitude of "the box". It was just all he knew; like me, he was brought there when the world abandoned him, a helpful hand guiding the lost to the Light.

"I say again, do you hear that music, Fourteen?" My thoughts are disrupted; the two of us listen in the summer shower as the secluded space is suddenly filled with music, source unseen. "Marvelous! But I can't seem to place the composer, hmm." Something suddenly creeps up the back of my neck, a cold chill, a silent realization. Something is off.

"That is not the right pattern."

*click* *click* I shlepped my way forward towards the church. Babushka wrapped tight and weathered walking stick in my left hand. The sounds of the city surrounded me. The sun was still rising but the weather was exceptional for this time of the year. It had the making of a beautiful Sunday, albeit it too early to tell for sure. A soft breeze was sifting through the air and the sound of children was sprinkled through it. Sourcing the sound quickly I saw familiar little figures scrambling up ahead as even the beggars began there morning routines.

   As I slowly approached I saw a poor shlub leaning against the wall, dressed in tatters near an empty bottle. He was nearly blind and a mainstay on that street, an old Shvartze who'd long ago seen better days. My brow furrowed as I came closer and noticed the group of young children were harassing him. laughing and running, they'd turned the act into a game.

In front of the old Shvartze was a small tin cup filled with a few minor coins. To his side was a familiar shpiel for more coins, scrawled across a wooden board in bright cracked paint. The sign was in Hebrew but I didnt bother to read it, my sympathy being large and my purse being small. Instead I watched the children. Jeering and jumping, taking turns trying to steal from his cup. They didn't seem to take in earnest, but were harassing the poor shmuck regardless. He scrambled to bat them away, always too slow or out of place, to the childrens cruel chagrin.

I watched from the corners of my eyes as I continued, showing no sign I'd seen what they were doing. until I'd almost past the group completely. As the next one darted forward, I swung around in an instant! the tip of my walking stick arced across the ground, lighting fast and underneath the closest boy's foot. He rolled over the weathered wood, and stumbled into the wall, inches from the old mans sign. In the same swift motion I brought my walking stick above the beggars head and *THWACKED* my grandson Jacob on the head!      
       
   "OW, Bubbie! What did you do that for?!?!" Jacob yelled. looking up at me indignantly, and i felt my cheeks flush with the rage of a women who didn't need any new fuel for her anger to begin witht. "Are your eyes going bad like your teeth Bubbie Ruth? we were only playing, besides..." Jacob sniffled with the sentence unfinished. Still glaring but more hurt than angry now, growing awkward as the pain begun to dull.
   
My father had a sailors tongue. My Mother said it was his worst trait, and it was one I'd inherited proudly. As I rattled off a stream of vitriol and guilt at my (usually docile) Grandson his older Brother Benjamin stood up and interrupted. He cut off both my rant and his brother, who'd lifted an arm as if to gesture at the beggars sign. "of course they're not Jacob!, We're sorry Bubbie Ruth. We should know better and, of course we'll leave the goyim alone now." "We just wanted to play in the nice weather is all.." Benjamin glared at the sign as he said this, speaking slowly and backing away. He wore the same uncharacteristic indignation Jacob had shown, despite being veiled in a suitable apology.     
   
The boys and their friends ran away before I could say more and I looked closer at the beggars sign before continuing myself. In Hebrew it said "Misfortune always seems closer to others. But only Hashem can know who it hits next." Always, it comes in three's I sighed bitterly.
   
I connected the dots over the rest of my walk to the church. Benjamin and Jacob were Chaim's children and never ones to act up before now. I didn't expect it from them, but the beggars sign clearly explained why. Someone had spurred some action from the church it seemed. The children were sent with the message to let me know, or at least the notion to make sure I'd seen it. The sign probably changed before the old beggar had even woken. I'm sure it'd be gone when I returned.
For now though, the message was clear. Someone in the Church had been angered. The message sender thought it was at themself, but for whatever reason they couldn't be sure. A soft warning, just in case. I spit onto the ground three times and reached into my pockets. Fishing until I found the bow of red yarn, I considered a minor protection.    
   
Only steps from the Cathedral now I decided against it. A small charm wouldn't be enough to stop what could befall an old witch here. It would be a performance for my own comfort, not a protection from stronger foes. A lie and a lazy consolations, no better than a signal of fear for anyone who noticed it. It would be a performance not a protection, and the real performance was inside the Cathedral today.
   
The music started to play as I ascended 7 steps to the buildings large oak doors. The building was old, grand, towering stone. Traditional, and symmetrical, as so flavored a monument could be. The only breaks in its pattern were the pictures on the stained glass windows. With the stories they told continuing around the architecture itself. And the sounds that emanated from it were beautiful.

Music that brought life to a place I normally found reaking in stagnation. Anyone with even a smidgeon of Sense or a quarter of a brain could feel the Magick itself filling the air around here. I'd been alert and aware as I walked here. Once that 3rd and final omen had guaranteed me a maelstrom of a day, but now I begun to settle. Entering as any other spectator would. Just another bag of bones in the anticipation-laden crowd. Who knew how many more performances such as these a crone like me would get to see? Hashem knows, I wouldn't mar it with something as boring as caution.

Many months ago it had been a blessing to discover these sunday songs of another faith. Treasures like this had only grown rarer as I'd grown older, Ruth Shecter had never been one to let a gift go to waste. What shame would there be in getting caught here one day anyway?
Death?
Torture?
Bah! To die at a ripe old age, to the backdrop of such a beautiful symphony... would be nothing but a blessing. A mitzvah to whoever caused it!

Clearing my thoughts, just another body in the crowd, I shut my eyes, Listened, and Smiled.

Piano looked at me with grave expectancy, using the full force of her frame in an attempt to make me bend to her whims.
"Fine fine Piano! I shall acquiesce to your demands but only because you show far more prudence and less capriciousness than flute and his machinations."
Flute had spent all morning demanding that he be the ringleader during today's performance.
Such an antiquated display of misogyny. He only ever chose to rise to the occasion when Harp elected to take the reigns.
As the two argued over who would be The Convergence for today, I tried to focus my attention upon the man attempting to disrobe me.
As he continued to shoot pointed exhalations of air at me I blinked my ears sleepily at the dull din of his timbre. Violin reminded me that our ears had little sensory threshold for the capitulation demanded of us by seemingly every sonic oscillation to leave a human's gluttonous maw.
"What do you suggest I do?"
Violin directed my attention to drum with a begrudging sigh that had my disrober jump.
"I assure you bereaver of my attire, they do this all the time."
Drum smugly awaited for me to ask for his advice and I too sighed in a perfect verbatim of Violin.
"Drum, I have elected to seek out your counseling."
Drum began a low thunderous boom that set a low thrum echoing through my bones.
The pervasive percussion began to separate the chains of synaptic revelry within the core of my being until my essence liquidated and slipped down my spine to settle into my fingertips.
I began to tap the air over the man's head, watching the ripples of air fan out from the contact. I kept tapping to the beat I had become, buoyed aloft by the canopy of Drum's urgings. The small tectonics I evoked upon the air began to reverberate through my frame to match Drum's every strike and within this union I began to finally feel the oscillations of the man's voice. My body moved accordingly as I twisted this way and that to accompany his intents and before long I found myself standing completely exposed.
Harp whistled, and Flute chased her with indignation.
Drum new how airy and flighty Flute could be, so he understood the teasing Harp inflicted upon him as a perennial event.
Once I was clad in the ceremonial robes that I had long grown tired of fighting the humans over, I allowed myself to be led down the hallway and then up the spiral staircase into the atrium of the church.
Luminescence Balderich awaited me upon entering the atrium and he smiled at me with pride.
"Needless to say, many are awaiting to experience Radiance. I trust you have purified yourself?"
Something about this man could not be denied. The way he spoke, it seemed to seize hold of all seven of my senses and unlike the other humans, I had no trouble transcribing his words, which to me, was terrifying. It was like an immense pressure was crushing down on me, his words became giant scripted calligraphies of light that took up all the vacancy within my thoughts. Olfactory senses: denied. Gustation? Denied. Percussion? Denied. Even my Sixth and Seventh registered nothing, all I was able to gleam was the superficiality of sight and sound. It was not unpleasant in a way that made me feel danger, but in a way that made me feel...exposed.
He walked past me and I was grateful as the darkness surged forward to balance out the ambience of the room. Darkness is the most comforting element in this kingdom, and it was very rare for me to find it. When I had asked Violin about it, he simply said that its much easier to synthesize it for yourself. How does one synthesize an absolver of the light? I had no experience in such matters.
Flute whooped in elation, dispelling the perpetual tangential quality of my ruminations and Harp pouted as she sought comfort in my embrace.
Hmm, Seventh had decided to make its appearance today.
I trailed my hand through the tides of Seventh and could not deny the arrangement it had set forth for today's piece.
Bubbles billowed forth from Flute's utter mirth over dominating Harp's position as Seventh had dictated and I watched the iridescent butterflies converge into a young, mischievous girl. She stuck her tongue out at the crowd far below the atrium and as I stepped forward to take hold of her hand, the people bowed their heads. A sweeping tide of solemnity formed a barrier that caged the atrium in and I stemmed the staccato that always assailed me at the proposed lack of oxygen within this barrier. Piano guided me with her sheltering arms as I placed my beloved friends around the atrium as Seventh insisted before I took my place centerstage.
I coughed to clear my passageways so that Spirit would flow freely and nodded to everyone that I was ready.
Flute encouraged me to allow the staccato to sweep through me, much to Piano's chagrin.
Relax, he assured, this is just Reverence.