《Songs For A Silent World》


 Prologue

    Ato''s father told him at a very young age about the day of his birth. Any mother would have said that such a thing was irresponsible, but Ato''s mother was dead, and besides, his father had never felt that the truth should be avoided. He told him plainly after Ato asked: that Ato had drawn his first breath as his mother had drawn her last, that she had scarcely looked at Ato and his father before she died, and that she had not even had the energy to say anything¡ªonly to look at his father with one last, pained smile¡ªbefore leaving them both alone. The midwife had panicked, calling for the nearest mage. Ato''s father had simply took his wife''s hand as he held Ato to his chest. He knew it was useless: if a mage could have saved Ato''s mother, she would have cast the spell herself. He had looked into Ato''s eyes as he told this story¡ªa tired smile on his face¡ªas he wiped food off of Ato''s round cheeks.


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    That moment taught him an important lesson, he said. The thread of life is ever tangled. It may knot even as it stitches in place. Your happiest day may be your saddest.

 Chapter 1

    And so, Ato was motherless. It was a rarer thing in those days, to be motherless, and even rarer still, to have no extended family, to have a father who had come from one of those villages wiped from the earth. In that way, Ato was born already a bit unlucky, and he could feel it¡ªlike when his father left to work the fields, and one of a rotating set of strangers arrived to care for him, newborn in tow, always a bit more concerned with their child than him. They were often content to forget him, as he walked to the choco coop, and played with the fat round birds all day. Ato was unlucky, and so learned young to forget it, to smile until he no longer remembered what had made him sad.


    And then, he came upon his fourth year, and began to work.


    "Hold the basket still, Ato-ti." Ato and his father were in the fields, Ato standing while his father knelt, surrounded by stalks of harin almost as tall as Ato''s father. His father held the stalks tightly in his hand while he carried a sickle in the other, cutting the golden plant slightly above the ground, before picking the stalks up and placing them in the woven basket Ato held, a basket almost as big as Ato was. Ato struggled to hold the basket as it grew taut with the weight of harin; he found his small body sweating from heat and fatigue, big beads of water snaking lines down his brown skin, from beneath the white ribbons woven around his body. He felt himself grow weary, and¡ªas he did most days¡ªhe tried his best to ignore it by distracting himself.


    He let his eyes wander, towards the cloudless blue sky that stretched on forever, where he could see a faint black spot drifting through the air, and towards the fields of crop and grass that surrounded them, peopled with large shaggy white dogs, and villagers harvesting or resting. Ato''s attention drifted towards the village, with it''s red and yellow square homes, and, off in the distance, the five great pillars. They were different from the homes of Pilalde¡ªpure white, standing taller than anything Ato had ever seen, their crumbling tops piercing into the air as if holding the sky up. They were unadorned, save for some large white ribbons that the mages periodically replaced, which stirred in the same gentle breeze that tickled Ato''s wet face, and that played at the chimes that hung from his clothing.


    Ato¡¯s eyes caught movement from the edge of his vision, and he looked to see the daily procession of people that flowed through the village: two older men, one with a mage''s staff and the other with an axe, walking next to each other, each with a line of people of all ages trailing behind them. They walked towards the center of the village, where the tree¡ªthe only one Ato had ever seen¡ªstood, it''s thick trunk wrapped in ribbons beneath a large shade of bright green leaves. Ato, as most days, found his eyes transfixed on the group: how each person held a staff or weapon, and the variety of each staff or weapon¡ªhow some staffs held golden bells while others hung silver chimes, and how some of the warriors held tall spears or axes or long curved swords, each wrapped in red ribbons with a few chimes hanging somewhere. Ato looked at each person in the line, their faces serene and still as they walked silently behind their masters, their weapons or staffs held careful and motionless at their side, so still that not a single chime or bell sounded, save for a gust of wind. Ato''s eyes drifted to a person in the procession, walking in the warriors'' line.


    A boy older than him, somewhere around his eighth year, carrying a curved sword. Unlike the others, he was not facing ahead dutifully, instead staring at Ato, a look of disgust in his eyes. Ato had rarely seen any expression more aggressive than frustration, and so found himself transfixed. He stared back at the boy, at his ribbons marked with red and his long flowing cloak of white, and his sword that he held at his side in it''s scabbard, it''s long thin length trailing behind him. Ato felt awe and fear all at once. His hands, dripping in sweat, slipped from the heavy basket, letting it fall to the ground, spilling harin. His father let out a soft groan and cursed.


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    Ato turned towards the mess and yelped. "Apologies!" He knelt down in the dirt, gathering harin in his tiny hands and placing them in the basket. His father knelt down silently beside him to help, and once they finished, turned to him.


    "You seem in need of rest, Ato-ti. Go and play with the others." Ato bowed his head in thanks, then looked up at his father.


    "Apa...who is that boy?" He pointed towards the line, now almost too far away to see clearly. His father turned towards the procession, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the figures.


    "I can''t see them. What did he look like?"


    "He had really fancy ribbons, apa, and a long cloak...and a sword, apa!" His father''s brow furrowed.


    "Many of those people have those, Ato-ti." Ato struggled to think of some other feature that would identify the boy.


    "He was looking at me very angry, like you looked at me when I dropped an egg yesterday, but much worse."


    Ato''s father paused in thought, before look of realization crossed his brow. "How old was he?" Ato tilted his head as he thought on the question.


    "Maybe eight...or nine?" Ato''s father was silent a moment¡ªthen, he grunted as he picked up the basket.


    "That was your brother."


    "Brother?" Ato looked at his father in confusion.


    "Yes... Before I married your mother, she had a child with another man." Ato couldn''t quite understand the meaning of such details; he struggled to put them together in his mind¡ªa father other than his own, who had a son that was his brother, but not his father''s son...


    "Why have I not met him?" His father''s brow wrinkled, the ends of his mouth pulling down slightly as he looked at the tree, where the warriors and mages sat in silence.


    "He...does not like us." Ato''s father was silent. He looked at Ato, as if expecting that to be enough for him.


    "Why?"


    A quiet moment passed, before Ato''s father answered. "Everyone has a different type of sadness, Ato-ti, and a different way of being. You never knew your mother..." His father placed a hand on his head, tussling his hair. "...But your brother did. And it pains him everyday, in a different way than you are pained."


    Ato looked at the tree with his father, staring at the small form that was his brother. "Apa..."


    "¡­Yes?"


    "How can I meet him?"

 Chapter 2

    It was a cool summer evening, when Ato first heard The Song. He had turned six the day before. His father, who had before this day worked him in the field from his fourth year, gave him a rare day of rest. He bathed Ato, using fragrant oils hidden in jars that Ato had never seen before, taking great care to leave no speck of dirt on him.


    Ato''s father dried him off carefully, then wrapped him in the finest ribbons they owned, ribbons that were usually only worn to the solstice celebrations. Ato stood motionless, his eyes closed, his mind taking in the soft jingling of the chimes at the end of the fabric, the way the white cloth rubbed against his skin, and the gentle care with which his father wrapped his torso and arms, humming a soft tune as he did so. As the last ribbon looped around his neck, Ato opened his eyes to find his father smiling down at him. He tussled Ato''s hair, before taking his hand and leading him out of their home, towards the fields of harin that composed their life.


    They walked leisurely through fields as the sun set, painting the sky in splashes of pink and blue, stretching their shadows to infinity behind them. They walked until the harin ended, past a point Ato had seen but rarely been, to the endless sea of wild grass that lay beyond their rope fences. They stopped some ways beyond the fence, to where their village was only a fuzzy blur behind them. By then the sky had turned to black, it''s inky skin freckled with stars, gathering in a large white thread that shed points of light, as it stretched from the top of the sky to the horizon beyond them. The moon was gone¡ªit was not that time of the month¡ªthe only lights that guarded them were a lamp in his father''s hand, and the stars before them.


    Ato''s father bent down and whispered into his ear, his warm breath chasing the cool night air away. Ato could feel the love, the joy, in his voice.


    "Go forth, Ato-ti, into the grass. Feel the gods'' touch on your skin; meet their eyes with yours. Bathe yourself in their love, and see, my son, if you can hear their words."


    Ato''s father urged him gently, his giant warm hand pushing softly into his back. Ato walked forward, and sensed the lamplight die behind him. He did not look back, nor feel any fear: even at such a young age, Ato could feel the unspoken truth in moments such as these. He stopped a few steps ahead, when he felt as alone as sense would let him. He looked up at the stars, now the only light in his world, his only company in a black and lonely night. He felt the wind brush at his skin softly, it''s cool fingers dragging at his arms, urging the wild grass to touch him. He heard it whistle through the leaves and pull at his chimes, filling the night with fragile notes.


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    Ato closed his eyes, and the world fell silent. For a moment, he was truly alone, in a way he had never been.


    Then, he heard it.


    Soft notes. A voice singing. A language Ato had never, and would never, hear again. And yet, he understood perfectly, the tale it told¡ªa gentle bedtime story, with no monsters or grand plots, only a simple, quiet scene:


    The quiet crackling of a warm fire. Shadows in firelight, cast on a bare wall. A woman singing lullabies. A man speaking...children laughing.


    Ato opened his eyes, and stared at the stars once more. They shone in a way unlike before, as if taking notice of him, if only for a moment. He felt his eyes well with tears.


    Then, it was over¡ªthe wind rushing back to his ears, its gentle push sounding like the gales of a storm. He walked back silently to his father, who lit the lamp as he stepped forward, and buried his face in his father''s stomach. His father stroked his hair gently.


    "What did you hear, my son?"


    Ato could barely choke the words through sobs. "The Song, apa."


    His father patted his back. His voice was full of love, and sadness. "Just like your mother, then."


    Ato¡¯s father hoisted him into his arms, his giant hand holding Ato''s crying face to his neck, his fingers pulling at Ato''s hair as he walked back to their home. His steps were slow and serene, his voice humming the same soft tune as before. All Ato could think, was how it did not compare.

 Chapter 3

    From that day onwards, Ato no longer worked the fields. His father woke him the next morning and took him to the old mage''s house¡ªa building larger than most in the village, located by the tree¡ªwhere the man sat with his students in the morning. Ato was in a daze the whole walk there; he gazed around at the world as they strolled, his eyes focusing on the crop fields, then the houses, then the fields of grass around them. Certain objects shone with a novel quality, as if tingling like his fingertips at a fire. He listened to the wind, and heard sounds that he had never heard before, like the very ground was speaking to him in tiny rumbles, or the fields in small sounds of flutes. Ato''s father squeezed his hand, and Ato woke from his daze to look up at him. His father smiled. "Strange, is it not?" Ato met his father¡¯s eyes with his own wide ones, as if the whole world was new again, like he was a baby once more.


    "Yes..." and he was staring away again, at the pail of water which vibrated in his vision.


    They arrived at the house, and Ato entered behind his father, his nostrils flaring at the deep stench of burning grass, something that was usually followed by his father telling him to stay inside. He looked around the hall, where the mage sat cross legged with his eyes closed, along with his students, their bodies arranged in a circle around an earthen bowl, above which hung a sack leaking water. Drops fell into the bowl slowly, each leaving a quiet plip, as they joined with the pool laying there already. Ato looked at each person, noticing their bodies, which shone with the same type of quality as the objects outside, yet in a deeper, almost frightening way, their forms and staffs letting out a constant, low hum.


    "Mmm... Seems someone is here, children." The old mage opened his eyes slowly, each wrinkled lid blinking lazily as the man focused his vision. Ato noticed then, the mage''s hands¡ªthey were pitch black.


    "Greetings, Honored One. It is I, Palio." Ato''s father pulled Ato from behind gently, placing him in front of himself, and bowing his head, prompting Ato to bow his as well.


    "Oh, Palio! How long it has been since we have talked¡­ What have you need of? Is your son sick?" The man bent his head forward to peer at Ato, causing Ato to shrink. "Ah! A shy one! He reminds me of his mother when he was young." The old mage chuckled, his frail frame quaking with hearty laughter, before shortly devolving into hacking coughs. "Maybe I am the sick one. Hah!" Ato''s father let out a quiet laugh, something Ato rarely heard.


    "Mother bless you, Honored One. No¡ªluckily he is not sick. Quite the opposite: he hears The Song." At this, all the mages in the room focused their attention squarely on Ato. Ato could not help but pull on his father''s ribbons, his face growing red.


    "I see! Well, I suppose that was likely. What a blessed day this is, to gain another child! Let us begin right away!" The old mage rose with some difficulty, but no one moved to help him. He clapped his hands, signalling his students to rise as well, before they all filed behind him to leave the building, where Ato and his father followed. They walked to the tree, its chimes jingling with the wind, the warriors already sitting below its shade, in a circle. "Ho! Kenri!" Kito waved at the old warrior at the head of the circle, who opened his eyes before smiling slightly.


    "Ho, Kito. It is rare to see you here at this time. What brings you from your dark pit in the ground?" The old mage laughed, then coughed, once again.


    "A curse on you, you old wretch! Today is blessed¡ªit seems I have a new child!" Ato''s father lead him to the front of the line, where he stood before the men and their two groups of students.


    "Oh! Isalia''s little boy. I expect great things from him then. I am sure he''ll be a talented one, just like his brother!" The circle of warriors looked at Ato. He searched the group until he found his brother, who stared at him eyes wide, his face one of anger. Ato backed away a step, looking at the ground.


    "Well... Yes." The old mage said, noticing the young warrior. He moved between Ato and the warriors, and turned to Ato, his head bending slowly to look at him. "Would you like to cast your first spell, child?" Ato''s eyes widened, a shy smile grabbing at his face.


    "Really?"


    The old mage smiled back. "Of course!" The mage took his hand, leading him up the hill towards the tree. They stopped just in front of the trunk¡ªa huge pillar of precious wood that stretched for the lengths of multiple men, before splaying out into long threads that sprouted green leaves¡ªit was a place Ato rarely saw up close. The old mage took Ato''s hand and placed it on the trunk, and Ato almost jumped back at the sensation; the intense feeling of something, like the warmth of a fire, yet more intense.


    "Ah, you can sense it already. A quick learner you''ll be! That is good." The old mage took his staff in one hand and pointed it at the trunk. He cleared his throat, then, in a low, gentle, yet authoritative voice, began to speak. "For our children¡­ our elders¡­ all those we love¡ªI ask of you, o dearest ones¡­ Come, spring!"


    Suddenly, Ato felt something shift inside the tree, the low powerful hum from within its bark gaining a second tone, like singers harmonizing. The trunk began to emit light, its brown wood emanating a green color outwards. In an instant, the tree had sprouted a fresh branch at the spot where the mage had pointed his staff. Ato gasped, staring at the branch, then the mage. The old mage cracked a smile, then looked at the old warrior, still sitting with his students. "Would you like to help, or shall I have to wrench the wood free myself?" The old warrior let out a laugh as thick as the tree itself. He rose with little difficulty, and walked to where the Ato and the mage stood, axe in hand.


    He looked down at Ato with a smile. "Step back, will you?" Ato woke from his daze at the foot of the tree, and stepped backwards shyly. In one quick motion, the warrior swung both arms, sending the axehead downwards with such speed that Ato could barely register it''s movement. What he did sense though, unmistakably, was the sound it made as it moved: a brilliant ring.


    The branch fell to the ground, and the mage picked it up, his hands pulling at every twig and leaf to strip it clean. He took the branch in both his hands, and lowered it towards Ato to take. "Do not worry child, this is only how it shall look for now. Soon, yours will look like all the others." Ato grabbed his new staff gingerly, with care, as if holding something very precious. He felt it''s heft in his hands, the way his finger vibrated at it''s very touch¡ªlike the tree. Ato tried to hold it sideways, laboring with all his might to keep it''s top end from hitting the ground.


    "Th-thank you..."


    The old mage smiled, and took his arms gently, righting them so the bottom end stuck into the ground. "Staffs were made to touch the earth." He guided Ato''s arms to hold the staff as he had before, with the front of the staff pointed towards the trunk of the tree. Ato heard his voice from behind, speaking like his father had when teaching him to plant the harin. "Now¡ªdo you feel it in your staff? The tree? Do you hear it? See it? That is The Song, child. Everything holds a note. You hold a note. Louder than others. And with that comes a gift. Harmonize with the tree, child¡ªfeel the note in your bones, your very being, and send it from yourself towards your staff. Then, imagine the branch, and ask politely, yet firmly: ''Come, spring!''."


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    Ato looked down at the staff, then the tree. Each sense buzzed with sensation¡ªThe Song. He closed his eyes, searching within himself for the same feeling. He sensed...something. A faint twitch in his bones, his skin, and suddenly he felt excitement, some deep hunger, some need¡ªto let it out, to do, to play, create.


    It was like the urge to dance, or sing, but stronger. Ato¡¯s face twisted in concentration, his mind pawing at the thing within him, trying to do what the old mage had said, to send the feeling to his staff. He imagined a branch growing from the wide trunk, green and fresh as a budding sprout. His voice faltered slightly as he said the words, lacking the confidence of his new teacher. "¡­C-come¡­ spring!"


    Ato opened his eyes, gasping for a breath he had not realized he had been holding, staring at the great tree. It was unchanged.


    "Wh-what...?"


    The old mage chuckled softly. "Do not worry child, this happens often. In truth, I was the same!" The mage''s hands grasped Ato''s arms gently once again, then pointed the staff towards the grass right in front of Ato. "Try again: imagine a flower this time. And do not force it. Simply listen, then play with it. It is a song, not a battle."


    Ato listened to his words, his eyes closing once again. This time, he tried to calm himself, taking a breath, as he felt the twitch within his body. He tried to move it gently towards his arms, then fingers, even as his body, his mind, bucked beneath his grasp, both slaves to some strange force he could not understand.


    Weakly, as if he was scared of them, he said the words: "¡­C-co-come, s-spring!"


    Ato''s eyes remained closed, half from fear, half from focus. He felt no change, save for a terrible silence. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The grass waved in the wind in front of him, unchanged. Ato looked at the ground silently, not knowing what to say, what to think. About his skin, his body, to the very center of his being, he felt¡­terrified. The type of terror, that one might feel upon seeing their hands fall off. He looked down the hill at his father, who stood silently, concern in his eyes.


    "Well...this is certainly less common...but still not unheard of." The old mage called for his companion, and Kenri walked towards them, his large axe resting on his shoulder. The mage looked at Ato''s father before calling to him. "I assume you know what tradition calls for, Palio?"


    Ato''s father looked at all three of them from his place at the foot of the hill. He was frowning in a way Ato rarely saw. "I trust you both, honored ones. But, I would like you to ask my son what he wants first."


    The mage smiled. "Of course."


    Kito bent down, placing a hand gently on Ato''s shoulder. He looked directly into Ato''s eyes, his soft gaze staring into his from a face as wrinkled and brown as the tree trunk. "There is one last thing to try, but I must warn you: it requires courage few children have, and no one will fault you for declining. Do you accept, my child?" Ato felt himself¡ªas often happened, when talking to strangers¡ªshrink. He looked at the two older men in front of him. They gazed at him with quiet smiles of understanding, not expecting anything of him. He looked at his father, at his smile, his twitching eyebrow. Then, he noticed the feeling again, the fear. And he stepped forward; he could have never have done anything else, after all.


    "Y-yes."


    The old mage''s smile widened. "How very brave. Please step towards our friend." Ato stepped forward, looking up at Kenri. The man gripped his axe in both hands, and suddenly, Ato came to a worrying realization. He remained frozen in place, though his body began to shake slightly. "Do not worry, child." Kito said from behind him. "You are safe. You need only to point your staff at our friend, and to stand still." Ato did as he was told, his throat becoming dry as he swallowed hard. He stared up at the warrior, unable to look away. Kito had stopped smiling, his face now one of deadly concentration. With a grunt, he hefted the axe over his shoulders, and Ato sensed something he never expected: The Song, flowing through the man''s arms, almost as loud as the spell Kito had cast. Ato felt his body overflow with fear, his muscles taut with tension as he struggled to resist the urge to run.


    He let out a yelp as his eyes closed, as he heard the unmistakable ring of the axehead heading towards him. He stood, blind, as he heard the sound of some loud impact, bursting with notes of beautiful harmony. Slowly, Ato opened his eyes, looking up to see the axe frozen just a finger''s width away from his face, obscured slightly by some blue shimmer in front of him, that vibrated quietly with the sound of something like a flute. Ato looked behind him at the source of the magic¡ªKito, his staff raised in the axe''s direction.


    "Mmm... This is...unfortunate." The old mage frowned as he stepped forward. He moved a pitch black hand towards Ato''s forehead. "May I?" Kito asked. Ato hesitated, then nodded, not knowing what to expect, simply wishing for some sort of good news. The mage placed a hand on Ato''s forehead. Ato felt the subtle energy in his palm, something Ato clearly lacked. Kito closed his eyes and paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in soft frustration. He took a long, sad, breath.


    "I apologize, child. It seems...you lack mana. You may hear The Song, but¡­you will never cast a spell." Ato felt his breath catch in his throat. He felt it burn, felt it close. He found himself unable to talk, as his small frame began to shake. From behind, he heard a quiet snicker. Ato turned, towards Kenri, to his students behind him. His brother looked away towards the horizon, feigning ignorance, a smile on his face. Kenri turned to Ato''s brother as well, a deep scowl pulling at his features.


    Ato''s stomach twisted. It was as if he had lost something deathly important, something he needed merely to live. Ato looked about, searching for some sort of comfort, and he saw Kenri, and thought of The Song he sensed in him. He stepped towards the warrior. "C-can I...can I be like you?"


    The man looked down at Ato and frowned. He hesitated, as if pondering something, before finally speaking. "Sometimes... one''s destiny is decided, little one. It is not always for us to choose our place in the Great Mother''s Song." He placed a large hand¡ªlarger than even his father''s¡ªon his head. "Take heart, little one. For few have stared down my axe." He glanced backwards, the same scowl occupying his face. "You have more bravery than most."


    At this, Ato felt himself finally begin to cry. He struggled to remain silent, to remain still. He leaned on his staff for support. Then, he looked at it. "This...is not for me anymore...is it?" Both the mage and warrior frowned.


    The mage gave Ato a sad smile. "There is no rule saying you may not keep it, child."


    Ato felt his father''s hand on his shoulder. "Honored ones, I sense my son would rather return it." He stepped in front of Ato and knelt down to look at him, smiling. Gently, slowly, he grabbed Ato and held him in his arm, as he held Ato''s staff in his other. He walked towards the old mage, and handed him the staff, who took it without a word. "We shall be leaving now. Thank you for all your help." And at that, Ato and his father made the slow trip down the hill, away from the great tree. Ato felt the great surge of mana grow weaker as his father carried him away, away from The Song.


    Once again, Ato was crying, and it was magic that had broken his heart.

 Chapter 4

    Ato laid in the bird coop, his small body sinking into the bed of blankets and hay that was usually occupied by their dog. On his chest sat a choco hen, its fat round body vibrating with soft and low warbles as Ato petted its back absentmindedly, his face a mess of cold tears and snot. He stared at the roof of the coop, feeling the quiet hum of notes coming from wooden logs and planks. Ato closed his eyes. From out in the fields, he sensed The Song: many notes, from little things that skittered and crept, and larger things that walked among the brush. And below it, so loud that it almost drowned out everything else, was a great big note from the grass itself. Ato''s face twisted, almost as if in pain. He felt his throat close again.


    "Ato?" Ato''s eyes opened, and he tried his best to stop his sobbing. "...Yes, apa?"


    "I made dinner, Ato-ti. There is some meat, if you''d like." Ato could not remember the last time he''d had meat: such a meal was usually reserved for holidays, or the aftermath of a big hunt. On any other day, he would have rejoiced. And yet, he could not find the strength to rise from his bed: at every thrum or whistle from the world, he found himself sinking further into the hay.


    "Apologies, apa¡­ I do not feel hungry." A moment of silence followed, before Ato heard the footsteps of his father as he approached into the dark interior of the coop. He felt a warm hand on his forehead, a thumb stroking his brow.


    "You do not have anything to apologize for, Ato-ti: if there is one thing we are owed, it is the right to feel. But, every day, we must still rise, for those around us, and for ourselves." Ato sniffled, his eyes opening to see his father''s usual tired smile. "Your body is owed food. Now¡ªI can bring you your dinner here, and we can eat with the chocos, or we can eat in the house. Whatever you choose, I will not judge." Ato stared up at the ceiling once again. Gingerly, he moved the cooing hen from his chest and sat up, grabbing his father''s hand.


    "I...think I can go inside now, apa."


    Ato''s father smiled a tiny bit wider. "Let us go then."


    It was as they both exited the coop, that they found the large figure of the old warrior standing in front of their home''s door. He turned towards them, his hand extended to knock, a sheepish smile on his face. "Greetings, Palio." Ato looked towards his father, seeing the look of confusion, mixed with fatigue, cross his features.


    "...Hello, honored one. What brings you to our home?"


    Kenri moved a hand to scratch his head nervously. "I apologize to come at such a time... but I must ask to speak, if you and the little one would allow it." Ato looked at the warrior, and noticed the long white bundle of fabric strung to his back. His breath caught in his throat. He stared at the bundle, his chest empty, his breathing still. Deep inside, Ato felt something foolish, hopeful, begin to bloom. Ato nodded at his father, who, after some hesitation, motioned for the old warrior to enter.


    If the warrior had seemed like a giant when they had been in front of the tree, he seemed like something altogether more colossal within their small clay hut. He sat on a mat on the other side of their table, his vast frame seeming to fill a third of the room, his expression uncharacteristically awkward as his gaze switched from Ato''s father to Ato. "Honored one...erm...may I ask what business you have?"


    The man looked at Ato''s father, sitting next to Ato. "I...would like to propose something to you both, if you would be interested."


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    "...May I ask what it is?"


    The warrior hesitated, his eyes slipping towards the low table between them before meeting his father''s. "I would like to test Ato...to see if he may be a warrior''s apprentice." Ato''s eyes widened. Once again, he was breathless. Between Ato''s father and the man, there hung a silence.


    "No." Ato felt his heart drop. He looked at his father, whose face was one of stone. Ato could not read him, but he knew what that expression meant. If he had been a different child, he might have protested.


    The warrior looked at Ato, then turned to his father. "I believe...your son may have¡ª"


    "No."


    Finally, Ato could not stand it. "Apa¡ª"


    Ato''s father turned to him. His face was different now, it betrayed an emotion Ato had rarely seen: anger. "Ato. I am your father, and until you are of age, you will listen to me. I say no, and it is final. We shall not speak of this again."


    Ato looked from his father, who stared at him with unusual sternness, and at the warrior, who seemed almost ashamed. He gazed at the floor then, his hands shaking as they rested on his knees. After a moment, he found himself sobbing, tears falling to the packed dirt floor beneath them.


    Ato heard his father sigh. "Ato-ti...please, understand¡ª" At last, Ato found he could not stand it. He rose to his feet, and ran from his home, to the dirt path that split their village. "Ato!"


    Ato ran, and felt the sting of shame from his disobedience. He had always been a happy boy, a good son¡ªand sorrow had always been a temporary burden, something he could forget. But in his ears, on his skin, screaming through his vision, Ato sensed The Song: the one thing he could not forget. And so Ato ran, knowing that he had to fight, had to at least try. He could have never done anything else.


    Ato looked at the dirt path in front of him, and saw one of the mud brick posts that lined its sides. He remembered the moments in front of the tree, of being tested as a mage. He thought of when he stood in front of the old warrior, waiting for the axe to swing downwards, and how he sensed The Song in his arms. Ato understood then. All he had to do, was prove he could do the same as a warrior.


    Ato''s eyes focused on the post, and he charged for it. Behind him, he noticed the sound of his father yelling, his pounding feet gaining on him quickly. Ato closed his eyes, and sensed the same sensation, the same need, as in those moments in front of the tree, and like before, he urged them to his arms, his hands. This time, though, he had no staff to meet his Song. It was only his body, vibrating with such an energy that it felt almost like he might begin to burn. At last, he reached the post, and he made a fist, and with everything in him¡ªevery hope, fear, dream¡ªhe punched it.


    Later, when his father reached him, and¡ªfor one of the few times of his life¡ªyelled at him, would Ato understand why what he did was one of the worst things he could have done, and what he could have lost, had he not been fortunate enough to be such a poor mage. Later, when he did lose an arm, would Ato cry to his father for forgiveness. But, those moments were not now.


    Now, he was staring at the post, a crumbling mess of shattered stone splayed out over the ground, as his arm burned with a fatigue he had never felt on even his worst day in the fields, and a smile burst upon his face so bright, that his cheeks ached. Now, his father was standing behind him, silent, then looking over his arm with a terrified attentiveness, then hugging him, crying. Now, Kenri was standing before them, a smile on his lips, as he unwrapped the bundle, and presented Ato''s staff, and Ato saw the large hooked blade now fastened to its end, the silver chimes hanging and twinkling softly in the breeze. Now, Ato was a warrior.