Rising Song

The thing you must remember is that stories have no beginning and no end, for a story is naught but a more exiting portion of what happens in the world. Life goes on before the story, and so far, life goes on after.
         This particular portion of life could begin on the day our hero was born:
         “She’s the loveliest baby in the world,” Kayla Thyme, Omi’s Daughter squealed to her husband, Bard Janan, Marken’s Son, as she gazed into the spider web/starburst shaped centers of the eyes of her newborn daughter. “Let’s call her Teria; it means ‘beautiful bird’ in my country.” Bard nodded saying, “Teria Song, because her first sound, heard and made, was that of singing instead of crying.” Teria Song, Bard’s Daughter.
         It could begin when she first gave sign of power:
         “ Mama, look, look what I can do!” 3-year old Teria cried in her amazingly melodious voice. She sang an E-flat, and though awkward, it sounded even more beautiful than her speaking voice.  “ That’s nice, Songbird,” Kayla replied. She turned around just in time to see the sugar jar break and mend itself right before her daughter’s leather slipper laces tied themselves into knots.
         It could begin on the day her parents died:
         6 ½-year old Teria ran away from her parents ruined cottage, clutching her throbbing throat and sobbing. As she ran toward the village, thoughts and pictures drifted around in her head: A searing pain in her throat, a note dancing on the tip of her tongue, the sound of her own scream, the ground shaking, the sound of her mother screaming, a bright light, charred earth, empty space, a collapsed roof, her parents lying motionless and unmarked on what used to be the floor of their house, and above all an enchanting, striking, harmonious melody like one she’d never heard before… She had sang. She’d not meant to, ever since the chicken coup disintegrated when she had hummed under her breath while gathering eggs, but something seemed to be pushing the music out of her, forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do. It happened more and more often lately, as if she was losing the little amount of control she had been able to enforce over her voice. But naturally, her little mind could only understand two things; My parents are dead and it is my fault. 
         It could begin a few years later when the village sent her away:
         “It’s not that we don’t want you here, Chickadee,” the old blacksmith said, using the pet name that the villagers had given her. Hardened, 8-year old Teria did not flinch or cry. She simply stared emotionlessly into the big man’s hurt eyes. She had known this would happen sooner or later. “It’s just that it’s been getting a little dangerous to keep you. After the fifth barn exploded we knew we couldn’t handle this much longer, but now that Tom has died… that’s gone a bit too far. I’m afraid you’re going to have to go.” He shuffled his feet and looked guiltily at her. She smiled mutely and turned and left. She did not moan when night fell, even though she was scared. She did not laugh when a flock of sparrows sat and scorned a young fox sitting below them, waiting for a snack. She did not cry out when she tripped and fell into a wild blackberry bush, though her eyes filled with tears at the pain. No, Teria Song hadn’t ever willingly made a sound in two years. A vow of silence. She would never speak, laugh, groan, sob, scream, or sing again until she could control her power. Those buildings, and poor Tom, they only happened because she couldn’t control it. She was leaving the village because of it. She hated it.
         It could begin when the good wizard Darrim found her half-dead on his doorstep a few weeks later and healed her:
         “Come on, tell me what happened.” The strange girl on Darrim’s bed shook her head gently. “I know you can talk; you were mumbling in your sleep. Just tell me what happened.” A look of horror overtook her eyes and she shook her head ferociously. Darrim’s head spun and he felt suddenly scared. He had the annoying, but useful, Gift of Feeling, and he could now sense every emotion and pain in her body. It was overwhelming. “All right, all right you win. Lay back down and rest before that headache gets worse. Put some of that balm on the bruise on your arm. Drink some of the healing tea I gave you; you ate spoiled food and that stomach ache is killing me. No, use your left hand; the right one looks infected. Can you read and write?” She nodded slowly. “Good, I’ll fetch some ink and paper so you can explain why you’re not at home right now. You’re much too young to be out on your own. And stop staring at me like that; I’m not going to bite!”
         It could begin the day when Darrim allowed Teria to become his apprentice.
         It could begin the day the not-so-good wizard Benzine learned of old-day wizards’ immense amount of power.
         It could begin when Benzine found out about the Dark Power Spell.
         
         It could begin the day Benzine learned that Teria existed.

         But at this moment, when background information ends and my real tale begins, I will tell you that we will start when Teria was 13 years old, still voluntarily mute, and well on her way to becoming a powerful sorceress, words or no. Darrim has become almost like a father than like a master. And a shadow lurks in her brightening world, as dark and deep as a never-ending well…
         Little did she know that she was about to take the trip of a lifetime.