The Imperial Orchestra

The afternoon leading up to the performance went by in a blur. Anja backed away from the mirror in the bathroom to get a fuller profile of herself. Her elegant black sheath gown looked stunning, but not flashy. Her makeup highlighted her features in a natural and subtle way. Her hair was twisted back into a loose low ballerina bun. The door to the restroom opened and Majo strode in.

“I knew I’d find you here. Stop checking yourself out, the maestro is rounding us up. Almost time!” Majo too was wearing a beautiful black A-line gown and pearl earrings, and her makeup was simple, yet lovely. Her black braids were pulled up into a graceful princess bun. That was the name of the game for a performance. Everyone needed to look their best, but no one should stand out.

"You’re one to talk. You came in here to check yourself too and just got lucky I was in here.” Anja laughed.

Majo grinned and leaned in toward a mirror. “You’re right. I’m nervous.”

“We’re all nervous! How many times does a musician get to perform in front of the Emperor himself?”

“Don’t even mention him! I can’t take it.” Majo laughed. “I don’t even want to think about him being in the audience. It’s just a normal performance. We’re going to go out there and do what we do best. And we’re going to kill it.”

“You’re damn right we will. Come on, I’m ready.” Anja slid her arm through Majo’s and the women walked out together, elbows linked.

Backstage, there was a flurry of activity as the rest of the orchestra made their preparations, hustling to and fro. It was like an elaborate dance. But for all the action, it was oddly quiet. The uneasy excitement was normal before a performance, but this time it was amplified.

The maestro caught Anja’s eyes as she walked behind the curtain, and he rushed over to her. “Anja darling, are you ready for your lead during the third piece this evening?” He looked her up and down, but his eyes were unfocused and they darted off to the other performers as well. Anja smiled, the maestro was rarely nervous, but even he was caught up in the mood of the moment.

“Maestro, I have practiced it a thousand times. You have nothing to worry about. You know better than to fuss over me.” Anja chided him gently.

“You’re right, you’re right of course. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m sorry my dear.”

“You’re babbling, Maestro. We are the finest musicians in the Empire. We will be extraordinary, like we always are. Now buck up, the other musicians will be looking to you.” Anja projected more confidence than she was feeling. She was not immune to performance jitters either, especially for a performance as important as this one. But the Maestro needed to show strength.

He locked eyes with her and nodded. “Indeed. Thank you Anja.” The steel returned to his eyes, and he squared his shoulders before turning away.

The anxious hush behind stage was beginning to be overpowered by the muffled buzz of the audience filling the seats in the auditorium on the other side of the curtain. Without needing to be told, the musicians began to line up behind the curtain, naturally sorting themselves in the order of their seats and rows. It was nearly time. The Maestro was peeking out the side, waiting for their cue. Then he strode over and looked up and down the line of performers. “This is it.” He whispered. He didn’t need to speak any louder. You could hear a pin drop behind the stage. Many of the musicians nodded back at him. “Alright. Here we go.” The curtains pulled back with a slight whisper, and the orchestra filed out to their seats.

When the Maestro took his place at the front and center of the stage, the audience clapped politely. He bowed, then turned his back to the audience and lowered his arms. As one motion, the orchestra took their seats. Then the Maestro flicked his arms up, and as he did, the instruments raised to the musicians hands and lips.

Anja’s eyes tried to scan the audience, but the performance lights made everything beyond the lip of the stage nearly impossible to see. She could vaguely make out the first few rows, but beyond that it all disappeared into darkness. In some ways, that was easier. Her lips were resting on the cool mouthpiece of her french horn, her hand cupped in the bell.

The silence was palpable now. The audience seemed to be holding their collective breath. The musicians were like the taught drawstring of a bow, waiting for the maestro’s release. He kept them waiting. He was a showman, and good one. He knew how to entwine an audience’s psychology into a performance, and how to draw out the emotion from the sound. Anja thought of him as a master puppeteer. Though his waving arms would make you think he was controlling the musicians, it was really the spectators whose heartstrings would be pulled.

The maestro’s arms began to weave, delicate like a piece of fabric floating in a current, and the music began to swirl out from the stage, filling the massive auditorium with sound reverberating from every nook and corner of the room. The maestro’s hands began to move faster, his arms making bigger motions, and the music picked up and grew louder in turn. He steered them through the highs and lows, his body physically shrinking and expanding to match the melodies.

This was the moment Anja, and all professional musicians, lived for. She was no longer an individual, playing only the notes on her page. She was a channel through which music flowed. She was a part of it, but it was bigger than any of the performers combined. It came from her and from her colleagues, but they were simply the conduits for the music to live on it’s own. It erupted forth from the strings and horns and drums and pipes, the vibrations filling them deep in their bones and filling the air they breathed. They were one with it, but separate from it. It was a sensation only a musician can truly understand.

They played piece after piece, their fingers flying over the notes, their skin covered in a sheen of sweat, from both exertion and the heat of the stage lights. The performance was masterful. The music sang out crisp and clear and deep and pure. The pure emotion behind the notes pleaded and pulled and whispered and danced through the audience and they sat in awestruck reverence, some with tears streaming down their faces at the naked beauty of it.

Though they played for hours, it seemed to pass in minutes. Before she knew it, it was over. Anja looked up at the maestro as silence fell, as if waking up from a dream. The silence hung in the air for a moment, oddly penetrating and sharp after the melody faded. And then they were buffeted by wave upon wave of applause. The lights in the auditorium lifted and Anja saw the crowd was on it’s feet. A standing ovation. Her eyes flicked up to the imperial box, which she hadn’t been able to see before. The Emperor was standing, several guests and guards in the box with him, floating above the crowd. But he was not clapping. He looked down on them, his face unreadable. The maestro turned to him and bowed deeply, holding the bow as the rest of the orchestra stood and followed suit.

The clapping slowly faded as the audience watched and waited. The maestro slowly raised his body and looked up to the Emperor. And when they locked eyes, the Emperor smiled and gave a single nod of approval. For a man usually as expressionless and stern as he, it was the highest praise. Applause and cheers broke out again, and Anja felt herself grinning from ear to ear. She would have jumped up and down and hugged her fellow musicians were she not required to maintain a professional demeanor. But she looked around at the other performers, and saw similar glimmering expressions on everyone’s faces.

Anja looked over at Majo, whose face shone with pride and exhilaration. When she saw her looking, Majo snuck in a wink and a slightly crass gesture. Anja bit her tongue to keep from bursting out laughing. She knew exactly what Majo was implying. The afterparty this evening was going to be lit.