Tribe of Songs; Chapter 1

There once was a city where a simple song held more power than all the kings of the world combined.

All the people- though this community was small and hidden away- knew many songs. There were songs for work to make the time pass quicker; songs written to encourage the good, ancient spirits to heal the sick; that strengthened the crops; that calmed a harsh storm; songs that signified to the great deities and the all-powerful goddess that a ritual was about to begin.

The many High Priest and Priestesses who had passed through the ages spent their lives dedicated to learning and teaching the most ancient of songs. Though there were thousands of books containing this music, it was required and a vitality to know and understand each piece.

The common child was taught, from the first moments they were brought into the world, hundreds of songs. These songs, and the style in which they chose to sing them, were a part of them as a person and aided them throughout their years on the planet. The many songs that these children learned were sent many years ago from the goddess herself to help the common man through his days; nothing that may manipulate others, or harm the well-being of a person or the tribe, but only tunes that would strengthen their souls and their physical surroundings.

The traditional songs that were used to praise the goddess or mark the beginning or end of a ritual had strict tunes and notes- the singers sang in a language that was too old to be spoken any longer, the melodies practiced and precise. It was during these times that the small society came together as one entity, one voice that rose up higher and louder; blessing the ground for harvest, willing luck and love upon a newly wed couple or newly born child.

There were songs that could curse another human. They were hidden away in the Great Library deep within the temple where even the High Priests could barely access. Such songs and the spirits that they summoned were poisonous to the tribe and its people.

At every dawn for several hundred years, the priests would sing to dispel evil spirits and ghosts from the forest in which these people lived and thrived. The spirits and ancestors who dwelt within the oaks and willows, and even the animals, were welcomed within the society. It’s said that trees echoed the songs with soft whispers in the old language- singing praises to the goddess and people that loved them.

No one knows how the society fell- the natives had disappeared, it seems, without a trace. Even so, if you were to walk the paths and murmur to the trees, you can still hear the echoes of the old people and the music they once made.

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Aiden pulled his cloak tight around him, wishing that the green cloth kept out more of the cold. As though it were playing with him, the wind blew hard- the gust shaking his entire being. The boy cursed under his breath, wishing he could recall more of the old, weather-altering songs. Something to soothe the wind- or something to warm it at the very least.

Even if he was able to remember, such a spell cast by only one person would be weak and easily broken by nature. A choir would be needed to calm such winds. And a choir, Aiden did not have.

And so the young man trudged forward, walking mostly on the balls of his bare feet so as to save his heels from the possible pain of thorns and pebbles. It had been far too long since the old pathways of the forest had been cleared of the natural debris.

It started to rain.

With a sigh, the young man picked up his pace- breaking into a reluctant run. His feet fell pray to several strings of thorns, but the sooner he was out of the rain, the better. As he neared his destination, the path became more and more decorated- stone archways and pillars stood among the trees- welcoming him as he returned to the deserted city Aiden called home.

The stone buildings and temples remained, for the most part, in tact; the magic of old keeping the bricks from cracking and wearing away over time. The plants had taken advantage of this upkeep, growing and extending out of windows, over balconies. Vines crept up the walls of many of the stone buildings.

There was one, however, that had remained untouched by nature; the Great Temple, it was said, had absorbed magic deep into the walls. Enough magic that even time would not be able to bring it to crumble. It stood in the exact center of the old city- a place where the Goddess would be able to always hear her people.

But Aryin knew that Her presence was now a rare occurrence. Though many of Her serving spirits lingered, She had not sang there for many, many years.

Because Her divine spirit had been absent from the place for so many decades, the young man had no qualms with entering and living within the Great Temple. When the people thrived and the priests were responsible for protection of the forest, only a select few were ever allowed entrance to the temple. Or, at least that was what Aiden had read in the records. But now, its doors swung open to anyone who had the strength.

The cool, white marble of the temple's steps felt good beneath the pads of the man's feet- soothing the muddied and broken skin. There were 22 steps- he had counted them many times- leading up to the doors of the temple. The stairs were an easy feat, but it was getting inside that had always proven difficult.

Though Aryin was sure the old priests had a song to aid them, he was forced to use brute strength. The man pushed his clothed shoulder up against the door, the old carvings digging into his skin as he pushed. As the door gave way, he stumbled slightly, but managed to regain his footing on the slick stone and gave one last heave, forcing his way inside.

Without bothering to put forth the effort and close the massive door behind him, Aiden stepped inside. It was dark and cold, but at least it was dry. Unwrapping the soaking, threadbare cloak from his body, the man began singing. It was a wordless song, slow in melody and long in its notes. As he sang, the sound echoed off the walls- kept bare to allow the music to strengthen on its own. With every syllable that was uttered, the cloak dried a little more in his hands, and continued to do so until the cloth was completely dry. He held up the green cloak, frowning. It had more holes in it than it had last week. He would have to replace it soon.

Aiden tossed the cloth aside, listening to it land on the floor somewhere behind him. Not bothering to care enough to pick it back up, he began singing once more- this time a different tune. As he sang, he stepped further into the large, circular, first room of the temple, heading towards the fireplace embedded in the left side of the wall- stepping over his makeshift 'bed' as he did so. His voice quieted as he knelt, adding logs from his meager pile onto the ashes from last night's flames. He would have to clean it out in the morning.

But for now, the dirty fireplace would do just fine. Placing a calloused, tanned hand gently one one of the logs, he raised his voice; the volume increasing the speed at which his hand- and thus, the wood- heated up. Within a few moments, he had coaxed a flame out of the log, and soon he had a fire blazing.

Silent now, Aiden sat back, crossing his ankles out in front of him and enjoying the warmth of the fire for a moment before standing once more. He slipped out of his shirt, hanging it on the mantle to dry. All of his clothes were simple, always made of light materials so he could climb and move easily, made with colors that allowed him to blend into the trees while he hunted. He either made or traded for his clothing- occasionally making the two days' journey out to the nearest town or, if he was lucky, trading for cloth from a passer by.

The young man stretched, the hem of his already-short pants brushing against his mid calf as he did so. He was hesitant to replace this particular pair of trousers because they were of such a good quality; the knees had lasted longer on this pair than any other he had owned. But it seemed that he was only bound to get taller. And while he didn't mind the current length, they would not do when winter came in a couple of months. It seemed that a trip to town was in the near future.

It could wait, however; and for that night, the man was able to relax after a hard day's work. He stepped over to his bed- really just a mound of pillows and blankets he had bought and traded for over the years- and made himself comfortable on his stomach. Within an arm's reach of his nest, Aiden had placed a stack of books he'd gathered recently from the old library. Though the ink was faded and some of the words proved to be illegible, he had powered through a great deal of the surviving records; learning all he could about the history and the songs of his people and his Goddess.

The light from the fire was just enough so he was able to read in a couple of pages before falling asleep mid-sentence, and without any supper for the night.