The Sound of Love and Fear (Fable #1)

LO-ONG AGO, in a land like ours but with tiny differences, there lay a kingdom at the Edge of Things. The kingdom was ruled by a mighty king. The king was very wise, and very patient, and very kind. He was also very old.

The king knew that one day soon he would have to walk past the Edge of Things and leave his kingdom behind. He called his eldest son into the court and bade him to sit at his side.

"My son, soon the kingdom and all within it will be yours," said the king. "If the people are all rich and fat, then they will grow restless. If the people are all poor and skinny, then they will grow angry. To be truly happy, they must know fear as well as love. Do you understand?"

The son nodded and said that he did. And the king was at peace. So a great parting feast was held, and then the king stepped off the Edge of Things and was gone.

The son did not care about what his old man had said -- he was the King now, and he intended to exercise his power.

He gathered together all the officials in the castle and had them write a decree: from now on, the kingdom and the castle were one and the same. Everyone would live within the walls of the castle, and prosper from its wealth. So long as the people followed his every word, they would benefit as if they were kings themselves.

The people thought this sounded rather good, and so they agreed.

Next he had the militia round up the animals. He told them that they lived in the castle now, and so they must follow the King's every word. If a dog was asked to clean the kitchen, it must clean. If a pig was asked to serve food, it must serve. If a fish was asked to fly, it must fly. And so on. And if the animals followed the King's every word, they would benefit as if they were kings themselves.

The animals thought this sounded rather good, and so they agreed.

There was a bit of trouble with the crows, who would rather do things their way. And all the cats had to go over the Edge, because no one was getting a cat to behave. But sooner or later the edges were smoothed out and there were no more dissenters in the kingdom.

The kingdom was in perfect harmony. All did as they were told, and all were as rich and fat as kings.

No whim existed but the King's whim. But this was not enough for him -- he wanted more than Whim. He wanted Will, and Thought, and Memory, and Time, too.

So again he sent the militia out and they rounded them all up: Time, Memory, Will, and all the rest. At first they would not listen. They had no need for riches, and they did not want to listen to someone else's orders. So the King had them all thrown into the prisons. Finally, starved and half-mad, they gave in.

All but for Music.

Music would not listen to the King. Music had no patience for orders and rules and riches -- it was too busy having fun. Time and again the King would throw Music into the prisons, only to hear it escape in the form of a maiden's song. He shackled it to the walls, but later that day he found it hiding in the rain's rhythmic drumbeat. He had it tied up and thrown into an Iron Maiden, the belly lit with a smoking fire so that Music would burn and writhe... but that night it was flying through the sky, making itself known in the crack of each firework.

"I will be rid of this endless noise!" The King declared. And the militia, now well-accustomed to their new role, followed his every word.

Music was dragged, bucking and roaring, to the Edge of Things. The militia gathered every note they could hold, every refrain they could keep a hand on, and threw them all over the Edge of Things.

And like that, Music was gone forever.

Finally the kingdom was at peace. The prisons were empty, and every seat in the city-sized castle was filled with a rich, fat slave. Everything was in harmony. And everything was terribly, terribly silent.

Gone was the happy singing of the maidens the King brought to bed. Gone were the joyous horns and flutes of the court musicians. Gone, even, was the passion expressed in a laugh; the emotion evident in a cracked voice. All the life had been taken out of sound. All that remained was dull, dead noise.

The King was distraught. His kingdom was perfect, but there was no way to express that perfection. Every sound he made, from the speeches he gave to the sobbing in his bed, felt utterly meaningless.

And the people, fat and rich, began to grow restless. Their King's orders, which had once felt so important, were now toneless and flat. The clink of silverware, previously joyful, now felt like a death toll. Their padded lives became uncomfortable. What are we doing all of this for? the people wondered.

The King saw the people becoming restless and realized that he should have listened to his father. But it was too late, now: his only hope was in bringing back Music.

He sent all manner of representatives over the Edge of Things to find Music: scouts, warriors, heroes, hunters. He sent them by strangulation, by throat-slitting, by drowning. But none returned.

The King knew he had no choice but to look for himself. So after a great feast, the priests lay his head over a bucket and slit his throat. As his blood dripped tunelessly into the bucket, the King stepped over the Edge of Things and peered around in search of Music.

When he found it, he was overjoyed! He fell to his knees and begged.

"Please, I have been a fool. A good King must be patient and wise. His people must know fear as well as love. Won't you forgive me, and return to us?"

Moments later, the King awoke to the feeling of his own blood pooling on his neck. He could hear it dripping into the bucket beneath him -- and the sound was sonorous and complex! Each splash was a melody in its own right, rising to his ears with loving accord.

The king rose to find his people dancing and laughing. There was melody in their footsteps, in their voices -- Music had returned!

The people took to the streets, singing in jubilation. They sang as loud as they could. They sang until their throats shook. They sang until their vocal chords ached and bled. They sang until they could not breathe, and then they collapsed.

Music tore through the people, ripping holes in every melodic word and sultry tone. The husky breathing of the King's maidens turned into a raspy sickness. The merry jangling of the militia's armor squeezed them until they popped. Even the animals fell, as each howl and snort lodged in their throats and choked them.

Finally, when the last of the kingdom had fallen dead, Music came for the King. "Why?" he asked, weeping.

"Because it is as you say," Music responded, in the voice of a thousand violins. "We must inspire fear as well as love." And the strings wrapped around his throat until his head came off.

And this is why we know that the sound of love is Music. And this is why we know that the sound of fear is Music.