THE PIPER

The sunrise

The sun rose slowly, the sky was clear, and the morning was beautiful.





That was how it started.





The valley was strangely silent. No birds sang, and the village woke up slowly, almost tentatively.





When I got out of bed, the morning’s beauty nearly took my breath away. Colors that I didn’t even know were in that stunning sunrise. It was the longest sunrise I had ever seen, and for a full hour the sun crept, yellow and orange, red and even streaks of purple staining the sky.





I took it as a good omen.





It wasn’t one.





The air was crisp, so sharp and fresh it surprised me when I finally breathed in. All around the village, I could see people walking out, marveling at the extraordinary day.





As we awoke, there was still a strange, unearthly hush that wrapped around the children and adults of the small town. Even young Will maintained a solemn air.





We could all feel it, smell it, even taste it. Something was happening. None of us knew what. But something. Mother didn’t make breakfast, and we had fruit and some leftover bread. We stepped outside and just soaked it in – and that was when we saw the stranger.





He seemed like part of the morning himself, solemn and silent, and almost changing color as beams of the sunrise fell upon him. His steps were slow and measured.





Silence still prevailed, and I was sure everyone else must be feeling like I did – calm. Relaxed. Not wondering why, or who, or where, but just . . . standing. Standing on some brink of something. Something inevitable . . .





If only I’d known. If only . . .





It took a few minutes before I realized the stranger was playing a pipe. A sad, mournful tune. A tune of change, of horrible change, and never to return . . . As he made his way down into our valley, the whole village waited. We waited as the man played. We waited as our fate was sealed, and we waited as our lives were changed – though we would not know it for two months.





The stranger’s feet touched the flat, grassy plain that marked the beginning of our town, and the spell was broken.





It was so quick. From one moment to the next, time stretched and snapped, skipped and ran, and like a collapse I was myself again. For some reason, a pang of fear shot through my heart.





I hurried inside, guiding my younger brothers. Mother still stood in the doorway, a faraway look in her eyes. She had been like that since Father died.





The stranger continued to walk through the village as we shook off the strange silence and stillness of the morning. He no longer played his pipe.





Back to my usual self, I waited in line as the other women of the village took turns drawing water from the small well. I saw Arvin, the unofficial town leader, questioning the strange piper who had entered the valley on this equally strange day. I saw the stranger standing quietly and submissively, his dark black hair marking him out in this village of brunettes and blondes. I saw them both talking, and I saw the stranger nod, and smile.





His teeth were the color of blood.





And then it was my turn at the well, and I took my bucket of water, hurrying inside the house. I didn’t look back.