Chapter Twenty-Six

“Zack?”

“Hello, brother.” But it wasn’t his voice. Not quite.

“Muddy,” Poe said, “what’s going on?” She and the others gathered next to him after emerging from the slide.

As his knees buckled, he found a steadier voice. “I’m not sure, but I think we have one more song to play. A good one, I hope.”

The three voices sounded as one. “As your last should be.”

So that’s what they look like. No wonder they’re called the Tritons.

Muddy nearly wet himself. Each of them stood about eight feet tall. Three arms sprung from their middle section—their abdomens? They stood on three legs, three long legs which had several joints, just like a spider. But that wasn’t what frightened him the most. It was their heads.

A triangular shaped skull topped each one, dwarfing their bodies, definitely not in proper proportion. They appeared almost hammerhead-like. Eyes, they had a few. How many, Muddy couldn’t tell as they were segmented, almost like that of a fly or spider. Yet those creatures didn’t have the human focus that these things did. Each bore multiple stares into Muddy and the others. An evilness he had never felt before burned into his mind, emanating from the orbs on those massive heads.

The band’s saving grace was the lack of crushing jaws or razor teeth they had faced earlier in their mission. Each open mouth sported a toothless opening, resembling the beak of a hawk rather than a shark.

That scared him more than any zombie or mouth creature ever could. Corey, Poe and Otis trembled with him. The twins stood frozen in their spots, but Luke had clearly seen death on its way and needed more help—soon. Still, the teen refused to give in to the moment.

As Muddy took in the entire Triton from head to three feet, he found himself shaking, despite his hatred for them and what they’d put his brother and friends through. Head, eyes, blade-like arms with something within them he couldn’t discern. Their legs were smooth, muscular and gleaming as though covered by some sort of exoskeleton. They appeared sleek and powerful. He imagined the speed and dexterity they had. Escape would be futile, even if they could find a route to escape. Getting in was a horror; getting out was an even bigger nightmare to consider, so he didn’t. Hopefully, the twins would help there. Yet he didn’t come this far to run away. Instead, he took in the scene around him and saw a palace of sorts.

Paintings or etchings lined the walls of the odd, geometric-shaped room. Muddy recalled the word Corey used to describe the room with twelve equal sides. This one had more and each section was a different size. He attempted to count the number of sides, but confusion filled his vision and blurred his focus as the high walls surrounded them in a silvery hue. The floor beneath their feet comprised of thousands of triangular tiles, every single one a polished black.

Many openings spread above the Tritons’ heads and Muddy knew, somehow, that they were now at the apex of the mountain. Even though he couldn’t discern any glass or other material, Muddy felt no breeze. There should be some incoming wind, but the thin tapestries strung from the ceiling hung stagnant. He recalled the immense height of the peak they saw when they were miles away. There had to be a way down; one that wouldn’t kill them.

He mentally catalogued the items around him, just in case. Windows, tapestries, images, Tritons—everything mattered. He swore each pictograph depicted a song that spun on every classic radio station, from various styles, from composers of many eras, each of them idolized in some way.

Hendrix and Elvis hung on one wall. Buddy Holly and Mozart hung on another. Janis Joplin, Randy Rhoads, John Coltrane, Robert Johnson and others smiled down from the one behind them. On the right side, John Lennon, George Harrison, Bon Scott and Paul McCartney gazed in awe from lifelike life cells that appeared to be a something between a painting and photograph.

“Whoa,” Otis said. “I thought you only dealt in dead dudes here.”

“All gave their innermost magic for the betterment of the River and more.”

The drummer and Muddy looked at each other. They heard Poe chuckle and turned to see her smile, in spite of their situation.

“Um…” He looked at the beings attempting to frighten them. “McCartney’s still kicking. You do know that, right?”

The three turned to each other slightly. Whispers fluttered and limbs flitted that denoted some communication. “We were told otherwise.”

Poe stood there, leaning ahead of Muddy. “I think he’s even still touring. You might want to check your facts before immortalizing someone.”

A sound brought him back to lock eyes with the center being. Fear splashed over him colder than the River which nearly claimed him.

It demanded his attention. All of theirs. Now.

“We’ll give you a choice.”

“I don’t think so. Heard that already today,” Otis said, his own voice breaking. “We came to take Zack home. That’s our only choice.”

“Where is he?” Muddy struggled to keep his voice steady.

The three Tritons laughed in tones, a chord that pained all of them. Muddy watched the light fade from Poe’s eyes right before his legs gave out. The band dropped to their knees and blacked out as one. Muddy regained consciousness moments later, realizing something crucial had occurred in that small amount of time.

“Go ahead,” spoke the one in the middle. “We were hoping you would take him, but we’re not sure if he still wants to leave us.”

“What’s the price?”

No answer.

“Tell us!”

“Give us your music and leave. Or leave her here with us.” They pointed at Poe, but Muddy already knew what they wanted. “And you.”

“No!” He would give his life for the band—his friends, his family, but would never give up Poe, even if he died with her.

“Why?” Poe cried. “What do you need him for? Us? You have the greatest minds in history coming through here all the time. We’re just kids.”

“But you have something they couldn’t give us,” said the trio in an augmented triad. “Yes, you have something else.”

Muddy rushed them, not knowing what they meant.

The trio turned together and struck a chord he wished he’d never heard. He crumbled and felt blood drip from his ears as darkness swirled around him.

* * * *

Groggy, he fought back. Not now. Not again. He couldn’t fail the band or his brother. He regained consciousness seconds later, his friends surrounding him.

The group faced the Tritons in a semi-circle. Even without instruments, Muddy knew they all felt the power of the River flowing within them.

“We want my brother,” he said boldly. “You can keep me.”

They laughed once more in that painful chord and he fell to his knees again. “Take him, if you can.”

They gestured upwards to the right where Zack now lived.

They looked at Muddy’s brother—and gasped.

Zack hung in a prism-like machine with metallic strings holding him up. Each string entered him from a different place in his arms, his legs, his chest. Others entered near his heart, neck and skull. They had turned him into a living human instrument.

The structure rose up over twelve feet off the floor and stretched out at least six feet on either side of his torso. He resembled a flimsy Ferris wheel, scaffolding, or clock bred with the inner organs of a piano.

Corey whistled. “Geez, they turned him into a musical machine version of DaVinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man.’ The perfect proportion.”

Otis looked at him incredulously. “Seriously? Zack’s up there and you’re giving another history lesson?”

The bigger teen shook his head. “No, spaz. It was meant to show how man is the perfect proportion in architecture. It depicted the measurements of the universe’s ideal design for many things.”

The smaller boy snorted. “If only he lived to see how low humans have sunk since his time. Perfection, my bony—”

“I know, but look!” He pointed at Zack’s face.

Zack’s eyes were open and pleading with Muddy as they met each other’s gaze. They spoke to Muddy, clear in their intent.

Help me. Or kill me.

A strange music emanated from the machine.

* * * *

“Look what you’ve done to him!” Poe began to cry. “Is he still alive?”

“Yes,” they replied in a diminished chord that kept the band in pain and off-guard. “Actually, he’s growing stronger, just like he’d hoped. Like we’d hoped he would.”

“But he looks like he’s dying! He’s a prisoner in there. You’re no better than Hitler or Dr. Frankenstein!”

Did they just smile?

“Only his body,” they said, “the strings, the machine will keep his energy, his music, alive. For us. For it. Unless you wish to take his place.”

One of them unfurled an arm and plucked a string from Zack’s side. It rang in a pitch-perfect tone. The harmonics echoed off every wall and sounded beautiful.

The other two joined in and began to play him, beautiful music emanating from his being, hooked up to their palace. He screamed with each note, songs of pain, and they thrived on it. Each stood on a side of Muddy’s brother, with one directly underneath and limbs churning like artists, teasing out a melody and harmony that sounded both sweet and bitter as notes radiated from all parts of him. His face contorted in agony with each stroke. The quintet writhed on the floor, the power of the song paralyzing them in pain. “Join your brother. All of us would enjoy it. All.” They elicited a pure song from him, his very essence.

This was their future, Muddy thought. The Tritons had planned on either killing them all or milking them dry, as they had done to his brother.

Poe stared, incredulous. She looked beyond Zack. “They really did expect us.”

Four new, empty harnesses hung on the walls.

Corey pushed himself up, in pain but also in determination as he rushed the machine and its operators. He was immediately dropped by a slash of their arms and a piercing wail that pained all of them. The sax player rolled on the floor in obvious agony. A thin wound opened up across his chest.

“What do you want?” Muddy cried. “Why us?”

“We have the brother and the muse is strong in him, like the others who came before him. He wanted to stay, to learn; a mistake, that curiosity of his. He is weak, even though the music in him is strong.”

“We can mold him our way. The others, the ones whose songs built the trials you passed, they would never enter our world. Not the way this boy did or like you did.”

Muddy felt his entire world unravel inside his mind.

“You showed us the strength that we truly need. You’re the stronger ones.”

“Stay and he can go.”

The eyes of the Tritons bored into each of the band members. “You’re still pure, not sullied in spirit like the others had become.” They gazed up at the images on the wall.

“Not all of them got hooked on the bad stuff,” Corey said. “Some had been in accidents.”

“Yes,” one said, “accidents.”

What? No freaking way. Muddy’s mind continued to spiral.

“They all came to the River pure as a spider’s silk, but many couldn’t resist the pull and compensated when not swimming in it. There are things in there which can kill a soul.”

Muddy recalled how he nearly drowned in it. How he almost wanted to do so and leave his pain behind, but that wasn’t really him, was it?

“You haven’t been tainted. That is what we need here. We thought we had solved the puzzle with your brother, and we still might. His soul runs deeper than most. We have seen this only once or twice before. Maybe you can help him hold onto it.”

Muddy’s mind swirled in indecision. Could they? Or would they die either way?

The Tritons continued their song and the band collapsed again. How could they win? As the song from the Zack-thing grew in intensity, so did the vibrations. The floor shook and somehow Muddy knew it wasn’t just the bass notes. The entire mountain shook with the song, almost as if something lived beneath it and was fed by the song.

Muddy looked to each of his friends and saw confusion mixed with fear.

Another voice suddenly entered Muddy’s head.

Don’t give in. Those who do, agonize within them for all eternity.

Silver Eye? But how? Why? He turned to Poe then to the others and knew they’d heard it as well.

Remember how you hear a song on the radio and it always seems to play, every day, without fail? You’ll become something worse, a recording of this place—of them. We, as people will be gone, but the music in us will live on.

Definitely not!

Remember what you have within you. Don’t give in.

Muddy hung his head. “Okay, you win.

“What?” The others echoed each other.

“What are you doing?” Poe’s voice screamed as she rushed him. A force, something unseen, stopped her from reaching him.

“We’ll give you our song—I will—but they leave, all of them, with Zack.”

More laughter. “This isn’t some romance ballad, boy.” The tone of its voice shook him.

“I’m not kidding,” Muddy continued. “Take me and leave them behind.”

“You’re nothing by yourself,” said the left one. “We need you as a whole.”

The right one spoke his turn. “Yes, the music as a collective is sweeter than any one voice ever could be. Solo efforts never measure up to the collective. Think of even the greatest musicians.”

Muddy prayed the others heard the same song in their heads that he did. “You said we had a choice!”

Their eyes almost twinkled in a smile. “Did we?”

The band stood like tombstones, resigned to whatever fate befell them, but Muddy doubted any were surprised by the lies. Silver Eye had trained them, but really, he only awoke in them what he knew would already be there, which was why he allowed them to cross over. Their song was strong.

“Okay, but he lives. Our father needs him.”

The rest of the band nodded their assent. They knew.

“Come up to the stage before you begin,” said the middle one. “We need to hear it, feel it, as it flows from you.”

Muddy flashed a smile that would have made any rock star proud. “You asked for it.”

They reached for their instruments and found them missing.

“What the?” Otis cried. “Where’s my drum?”

“My guitar!”

“My sax!”

Another laugh sounded in triplicate. “In time.”

Muddy knew before they spoke.

What about Luke? He’d betrayed all of them, standing off to the side, limping away from the group. Muddy felt the dream, his hope for their lives, drop to the smooth floor and shatter.

“Why?” His sister cried, balling her fists. “Why have you turned your back on us? You’ve suffered through all of this with us. You almost died to get here. They saved you!”

He hung his head. “I still might perish,” he answered in a little voice. “They promised me that our village would be free, that we could finally enjoy our lives. I only had to guide them here.” He shrugged. “These guys were coming here, anyway. It was a small price to pay for our people.”

“You did well, boy,” said the middle Triton. “You did well.”

Lyra looked for something to beat him with, her brother or the Triton, as she glared at them. Either would do. “As long as these things are alive, we’ll never be free. You know that!”

Otis rushed at him, ready to swing. “You saved me. I saved you. That means something, doesn’t it?”

The boy said nothing. He refused to meet any of their stares.

Lyra turned to see the instruments locked up tight in a quartz box behind Zack’s machine. “You’ve just signed their death warrants. You do know that, you miserable weasel.” Her voice dripped with poison.

“I thought you’d understand. This isn’t life. Where they’re from,” Luke said as he waved at the band, “that’s life. This is nothing but a prison. We’re already dead; they just haven’t buried us yet.”

He turned to the others. “I’m sorry. I wanted the best for my people and I thought the Tritons would make you sing forever, not kill you. Honest.”

The band seethed, everyone refusing to look at him. All through their lives, betrayal had been at the forefront. Now, just when they felt they could count on these two people, one turned his back on the bond. Muddy felt a tear form. He’d failed them.

Muddy fell against the wall, blocking out the song that pained him. The gauntlet had been an elaborate set up to test them. If they died, it would have meant that they didn’t have the music in them. End of story. Or were the Tritons lying just to throw them off? Had the Tritons really won and this was just the final test?

“What’s your game?” He yelled at them. “To have us join Zack? What then? Take over our world?”

The Tritons didn’t even flinch. “No, we just want to bring music into this one and conquer one or two others for the other. It’s a vast world, parallel to yours with many kingdoms, many mountains. We want more. We want to control all of the music. We all do. It’s what this place was built for; to help those who make the music, to harness it all.”

“You keep saying ‘them’ and ‘others.’ “ His head spun as he formulated the plan he prayed would work. “Who are they?”

Wait, he thought. If they could travel to our world, they would have done so already. They can’t cross over, not without Zack’s power, but they might be able to soon.

They ignored his question, but answered another. “Haven’t you figured it out, yet? You came even though the old man warned you of what you might find here. Your brother has become the darkest muse of them all. We just helped him realize it.”