Melody Llwellyn's Arc

Chapter 3 of 14

The signup list closed tonight. Melody ran the whole way to the desk, her friends beside her. The parrot flew low, his jewel feathers flashing. The salamander scrambled to keep up on his six short legs, sea glass rattling in his cheeks. Melody's shell felt heavy, but she did not slow down. If she stopped, she would lose her nerve. Her foot caught on a rock. She sprawled forward and skidded on her belly across the sand. Something rolled from her hands. A small handbell of pearl and sea glass, borrowed for luck. It bounced once and rang out, a clear bright note over the whole beach. Melody froze, sure it had cracked. But the bell sat whole in the sand, still humming. And the beach went quiet. The fire crab stopped roaring. The backflip fish hung mid-jump. Every act along the shore turned to find the sound. Melody scrambled up, red under her shell. "Sorry," she squeaked. "Sorry, I tripped." But the parrot landed on the bell and grinned. "Look what one small ring did. You silenced the whole cay." Melody stared at the bell in her hands. She had been fretting all morning about the stage. It sat out in the open, loud and wide, with no calm corner to gather herself in. Her soft song needed quiet, and quiet did not exist there. Now she held a thing that made quiet on command. She walked the last steps to the desk. A clerk crab tapped one empty line on the list. "Last slot," he clicked. "Name?" Melody's claw shook over the paper. The salamander spat a green bead onto the desk and pushed it toward her, the way he always paid for things he wanted. "Sing good," he said. "I traded to hear it." That pushed her over. Melody wrote her name in full. Melody Llwellyn. The clerk stamped the list. "Slots closed," he called to the crowd behind her. Groans went up. She had taken the last place, right in front of half the cay. The parrot hopped onto her shell. "You're in." "I'm in," Melody said. She lifted the bell and gave it one soft ring. Nearby acts turned again, hushing to listen. She saw exactly how it worked. Before her song, she would ring it once. The crowd would quiet to find the sound. Into that gap, she would begin. But the clerk crab held up a claw. "One rule," he clicked. "No props on the stage. Voice only." He pointed at the bell. "That stays behind the ropes." Melody's grin fell. She had found her key to the quiet, and the contest had just taken it away. The stage was still loud, still open. Now she had a slot, a crowd, and no bell to buy her a single second of silence.