The Symphonist: Encore Edition

Copyright © 2023 Bryan Rivera-Rivera

All rights reserved.

Bryan Rivera-Rivera supports the value of copyright and free expression. Culture benefits when artists thrive. The author penned and illustrated this light novel without the use of AI.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, whether living or dead, as well as events, is purely a coincidence.

The Symphonist, Session 01 of the Orchestrylus Odyssey ENCORE EDITION

first published in the United States of America 2023 by dovefire publications

pictures | illustrations by Bryan Rivera-Rivera, Character Art By Bryan Rivera-Rivera

subjects: Music | Fantasy | Young Adult | Light Novels

www.bryanriverarivera.com

X @bryanriverax2

For anyone who has ever had a dream.

Keep pursuing your passion with your unhindered flame, and you will light the torch of your destiny.

Contents

Dramatis Personae

Stanzielle's Card

Timbre's Card

Violeste's Card

♫ Prelude ♫

1.♫ Verse 1 ♫

Auroral Nodes

2.♫ Verse 2 ♫

Orchestrylus

3.♫ Verse 3 ♫

Negasongs

4.♫ Verse 4 ♫

Disco Plains

5.♫ Verse 5 ♫

Biomic Auroras

6.♫ Verse 6 ♫

Bloomfall

7.♫ Verse 7 ♫

Glimmerdells

8.♫ Verse 8 ♫

Spiralixes

9.♫ Verse 9 ♫

First Legacy

10.♫ Verse 10 ♫

The Sheet

11.♫ Verse 11 ♫

About Bryan Rivera-Rivera

Other Works

♫ Prelude ♫

The Execution of the Nocturne Violinist

The fiery palace of Kadeja's inner chamber blazed on, not only with a storming flame, as on the outside, but with the conviction of hollowed-out justice.

In the Ensemble's inner courts, Maestus Tenorforte broke the thick silence in the grayscale hexagon assembly room. It’s decided, then? The Ensemble shall gut Stanzielle Quintette using the violin strings she used to commit her war crimes. How poetic, wouldn’t you say, Refrain?

Refrain approached the slotted podium in the court’s center hexagon, pulling his symphonist coat closed as his storied hair met the waxed tile, and said with a voice like a tomb, Why, it wouldn’t surprise me if she's causing the lulls herself. The people rally behind this filth, causing instabilities far beyond the scope of the Ensemble. The Nocturne? She claims a divine spark. Blasphemous words if I’ve ever heard them. Eyn Soph’s Flow does not impart itself upon just anyone. Only the Ensemble has any claim to Eyn Soph's Flow. We must eliminate Stanzielle. It’s for the good of the sphere.

Tenorforte set his foot to the pedal of the court bass drum. "And those creatures. The ones from the plane of Lull. If such a place even exists, mind you, but assuming it does, it makes sense she has summoned them to Orchestrylus. I’m not the only one who thinks so. This is the deduction of the Nine Golden Masks. They swear upon the spiral of Zaph she’s the conduit by which they manifest and lull the sounds of the Eterna. Such an existence cannot be allowed."

The cacophony of Ensemble voices had always captivated Maestus Refrain, so he beat the bass drum himself to break away from the potent silence near Stanzielle's verdict. He spoke up once the echo resounded from the spired ceiling to the walls and outside through the windows towards the flames. While it’s clear Stanzielle is responsible for these atrocities, we must hear the defense, as much as the case would seem to be airtight. The prosecution's accusations are flawless, without a single misplaced note. As I would expect from the mouths of the Nine Golden Masks. Still, Cantus Severstrum, you may begin your testimony. Ah, but who is this Severstrum?

A taker, of a manner and sort, Tenorforte said, beckoning to a man seated at the inner rim of the second hexagon.

He was wearing a cloak, with a halo above the hood over his head, but his beard was the main point of focus, speaking of a long life, a life of delicate wisdom. Cantus stood at an even three staves, perhaps a hair shy of four. The necklace he was wearing resembled the studded chains used in the fabricate prisons to bind criminals to each other. Hollowed out barbs of tarnished amethyst led to a sizable pen made from a shrillow feather. The gem-studded birds of the Noted Cliffs. And the way he walked caused a shiver to travel through Maestus Refrain’s heart. He walked as though he cared not what Ensemble rulers offered in the way of power and control. As if he mocked them with every turn of his feet.

In the inner sanctum, Cantus stood before the six-sided podium and looked up at the ceiling where Stanzielle Quintette was suspended from extended violin strings, each made from the guts of melodic cats from the Disco Plains. Known as the sharpest strings in the entire sphere. Each moment, they dug into her skin a fraction further, and the blindfold she was wearing served a twofold purpose as a gag. Stanzielle Quintette remained graceful despite her predicament and made no noise except for a faint objection. Her dignity shone like that of a true symphonist. Cantus stared straight into Refrain’s eyes, eyes which matched his tomblike tone with their needle gaze.

Refrain blinked twice, trying to match eyes with Cantus and failing. I am told you are a taker, and what that means is of no concern to me. But I am also told you have proof of Stanzielle Quintette’s innocence. A journal?

Cantus nodded, eyes catching the treble clef insignia on Refrain’s symphonist coat and wishing to spit venom upon the man. Tarnished didn’t describe the preposterous idea of the Ensemble’s finest wearing that symbol. What follows is the story of how Stanzielle came to possess Stellatina apart from a symphonic sanction. She didn't break any rules by holding the instrument, so she can't be held responsible for being chosen by Maestraumus and his Flow. I will tell you the truth, as that is all a pillar like me can offer you in a room of lies.

Maestus Refrain gritted his teeth, shaking a fist in front of his chest. Out with it!

Cantus offered a small chuckle in reply. As a taker, now I offer. As one who possesses, I now relinquish.

He reached inside his cloak, pulling out a mass of papers resembling the ancient sheet music of repeats past. A man who cherished relics, the forgotten things of time.

But it was Stanzielle’s only chance at pardon. The single drop of innocence in an ocean of evidence.

Let us begin, Cantus said as he pulled back his hood, staring straight at Maestus Refrain, meeting the eyes of a man about to have a heart attack at the sight before him.

Songs of Orchestrylus

The winters sing and spring anew

Divine Conductor, your verse is truth

Sing me an elegant, noble song

A chorus of bloomfall makes weak men strong

Violeste Allegrette, First Order Symphonist of the Major Scale, Flowered Notes

♫ Verse 1 ♫

Echo Hunting

The forest hadn’t been playing the same notes. Stanzielle had heard the stories. Maybe she’d even heard it herself, come to think of it. Men from Arpeggios had been whispering of pitch changes—and even silence—the further north you went.

This is Stanzielle’s story, taken from a journal from her time in the Grand Symphonist War. The time when everything changed. The time where indifference—the time for ignoring the mandates of the Conductor—was nearing its end.

My name is Cantus Severstrum, the Third, if you must know, and as a taker I record the stories of Parallelium, a tapestry of the worlds. I have the journal entries of a young woman from Orchestrylus Sphere Liszt, who was captured as a war criminal. Let me recount her story. You’ll find I tell stories in a manner befitting of living it out for yourself, letting your imagination fill in the blanks. I’ll try to stay in the background as much as I am able, filling you in where I believe it is necessary. Enough of this old-timer’s drivel, you’re itching to hear Stanzielle’s story. Come and listen to the kindled stirrings of the Coda before things became… complicated.

Let’s begin.

It was a chilly day, the first day of Seventh Minor in the palm forest outside of a chordel called Medley. A chordel was much like a village, with many ways of life. People strutted about, hammering out new batons, selling echoes for songgraphs to supplement the local economy, and baking note-shaped apple fritters from fruits that could sing. A normal place, of a manner and a sort. Minus the fanciful ways the world hummed its notes, painted pictures of soundscapes in the most literal sense imaginable, and the way the fabric of the world had long held upon nothing but the balance of music itself.

Stanzielle had been chasing another common C-sharp echo, her songgraph hungry for a new composition. Never expecting to find what she did, that the talk of the death of music had become a genuine issue worth worrying about. Stanzielle, she thought to herself, your hearing is giving out early. That must be it!

This was where it had all begun. The first bloomfall of Seventh Minor. She’d written it down in the pages of her journal, of which 379 pages remain, so men would learn the truth of what had really happened in the Grand Symphonist War. Leaving those who wished to whitewash the events no staves left to hang their notes upon.

Stanzielle Quintette was nothing special. She was an echo hunter by day, and an aspiring symphonist by night. Her grandfather had been a symphonist himself, and his feats in the Battle of Percussus ten repeats ago were unrivaled. Everyone in the adamythus race had heard of him.

Timbre Quintette, the man who had single-handedly destroyed the symphonists of Harmony and retrieved the Second Legacy all on his own. Stanzielle’s grandfather had said that belief in the Conductor was waning away, and that a new age had dawned upon the world. But she couldn’t imagine a world without music. Refusal didn’t describe her melodic drive against the notion.

Music was forever the lifeblood of the world of Orchestrylus.

Why did the Conductor allow such a malevolent occurrence? These lull events and wars did not convince Stanzielle that even her grandfather knew the answer to that question, even with all he’d seen. Better for her to focus on the task at hand.

Echo hunting.

The bloomfall was strong this season, and the spiralixes of Zaph and Rubinus had unrivaled power, pulling the biomic auroras high in the sky. The spiralixes were twins but opposites. Zaph was sapphire colored with multiple spiral arms, while Rubinus danced across the sky in ruby glory with a few more spiral arms than Zaph. Flowering blossoms weaved their way across the sky as the biomic auroras touched the lower atmosphere, leading to a chordel ritual of gathering the bloomfall as a matter of good fortune. Stanzielle had pinned the Crying Blossom of Rubinus to both sides of her dress at the first hint of bloomfall. It made her feel accessorized, as a lady should be. Especially considering her situation.

Poor Stanzielle’s wallet had lost its flair, barely able to make a sound. Not a peep for the last week. Echoes had been scarce. With only fifty tunes to her name, perhaps fifty-one. What was the point in counting when you’d do nothing with it?

She’d left the house to hunt for her next treasure trove, as her next meal had to come from somewhere. Grandfather Timbre had decided that the day she turned seventeen she’d become as much an adult as he was at that age, so no more free lunches.

She wanted her glimmerdell to manifest after seventeen repeats, hoping for the gift of exaltation. But no, her neck was as smooth and bare as the rocks lining the bottom of her cottage.

How embarrassing.

Stanzielle closed the door behind her as Timbre drifted into sleep, smoking his favorite harmonic pipe. She watched as the smoke lifted past the dyed-marble windowsill, out of the crack in the window. The glass on the bottom-right pane got cracked when Notesia had thrown a big rock through it.

She and Stanzielle had been at odds for the past ten repeats. Her home wasn’t the most extravagant in the chordel, with only two bedrooms and splotchy, weaved hay for a floor. Not flattering. But they worked hard to get by, as best as they were able. The granddaughter of a symphonist couldn’t rub two tunes together most sections.

Everyone knew why, though. It was on all lips, and often.

Timbre Quintette was a disgraced outsider to the Ensemble. Not the right people to be on the wrong side of.

His reason for excommunication?

He had played an unsanctioned miracle note in front of a troupe of orphaned children. Stanzielle’s grandfather had always been kind to the growing next generation, no matter where his adventures had taken him. He only wanted to make them happy. Give them cheer in a war-torn time. All men needed to cheer up these days. The Cadence Uprising had forced all the nations on the continent into a