Forgotten Songs of Avalain

Forgotten Songs of Avalain

  By Robert Cely

  Read more from Robert Cely at www.bardandbook.com

  Website: www.bardandbook.com

  Copyright Robert Cely 2013. All Rights Reserved

  Published by Bard and Book Publishing.

  Cover by Julius Broqueza.

  Forgotten Songs of Avalain

  If you were to visit the Lethe today, you would find a hard-working and industrious people. Formed by a rigid practicality and an aversion to anything not useful, they have made for themselves a prosperous civilization. True, it is not a beautiful one, for they lack towering arches and tall spires. They do not decorate in friezes or colonnades. They have no great art nor are they known for their songs and stories.

  Anything built by the Lethe is as practical as they are. Homes are solid and efficient, boasting no wasted space or idle courtyards. No energy is wasted without a directly proportional show of usefulness to justify its expenditure. The Lethe do not even grow flowers, for every bit of fertile ground is committed to drawing forth food from the rocky terrain.

  But among these plain, squat buildings, these brown and symmetrical streets, you would find something, were you to visit the Lethe and explore their sterile city, something oddly out of place. Out on the edge of the old town, by the crumbling ruins of the first efficient wall of the city, lays the one garden tolerated by the dogged and pragmatic people.

  It is not an opulent garden, for no one has tended its grounds for many centuries. Quite left alone it has become choked with weeds, though a few flowers still stubbornly persist, if unknown to the population. Tall trees cast their gentle shade over the garden, alone without admirers.

  Every once in a while a child, not yet indoctrinated by their elders plodding and useful philosophy, might wander into the shade and marvel at the few surviving flowers. He may even find himself utterly enamored with dreamy and useless things. Rest assured he will not be long among the Lethe who despise such foolishness.

  But if this child were daring, and if he possessed a spirit for beauty, he might dare further into the cool of the garden, enticed by the wildness and mystery. And if he were to persist until the very center he would find the first and last work of true sculpture created by his people.

  For at the center of the garden a great obelisk points forever at the sky, as if either reaching for or accusing the heavens. It is quite hidden by the trees so no one has to look at it, and most Letheans do not even know it is there. If they were to look upon it, their incessantly practical minds would be horrified at what they might see and discover.

  All up and down the white, stone obelisk are finely carved figures, so lifelike one would believe they are moving. Beautiful men, even more beautiful women, winged and as free as the angels, fly up and down the carved stone, regaling in such fluid grace that one would think it had to be carved by the hand of the gods.

  It was the Lethe that made it though, not the gods. And all along the base of the obelisk is written in mournful and aching prose the tragic story of the Lethe. It explains why they are so practical today and spiteful of all art and beauty. It tells how they came to the place they live and why they love the stone that makes up their cities and houses. But most of all it explains why, despite their wealth and comfort, the Lethe are a sad people, why at any time an irresistible urge comes over them to look up at the sky, deep into the boundless blue and soft clouds, and believe for a moment that the sky is where they belong, that despite their earthbound feet and solid homes, the true destiny of the Lethe is to fly.

  The heart often knows what the mind has forgotten. And the Lethe, every one of them, know deep down the story on the base of the obelisk. None would dare utter these things now, so deeply are they frightened by what is hidden within them. It may be that it would force them to see what is plain upon every one of them, yet realized by none.

  You see, long ago, long before the Lethe came to occupy their rocky, mountain home, they did live in the sky. The very deep things the Lethe long for are true things. The same is true for all of us, and like that unhappy people, we also push aside the deep longings of our soul, the things we were truly made for, and chase after the trivial desires that dazzle the eyes. And the Lethe still long to fly as they flew so long ago.

  Of all the men made by the loving hand of the Creator, only the Lethe were gifted with flight. Like angels, wings grew from their backs to lift them on the air. Their bones and bodies were as light as the breeze, so they could soar without effort. And their hair and skin was as golden as the sunlight that bathed them as they flew.

  And they were beautiful. Not a single plain face could you find among the Lethe, nor even the legend of one born ugly. Nothing but lovely things flowed from them, whether it be their lifting songs or the exquisite art they shaped. From beauty comes beauty, the other races observed. Especially evident whenever a Lethe would drift close to their earth-bound cities and circle overhead and allow his heavenly music to grace the people below.

  Very few were as happy as the wind-borne Lethe. As their joyful songs drifted through the plains of the sky, as light as the Lethe themselves, it carried happiness with it, and all who heard the music were made lighter. Men who lived below always felt blessed by the music. A farmer, sweating at his plow, would feel his burden suddenly lighten when a Lethe flew over, blessing him with a heavenly tune. A blacksmith, pounding out his labor in fire and black iron, would swear his hammer was lighter if a Lethean song touched his ears. Or a weary traveler, certain he could go no further that day, would suddenly find his strength renewed, his aching muscles soothed, and the road not nearly as hard as the moment before, if a Lethe were to fly over him and shower his heart with the music of the wind and sky.

  The Lethe were even known to save earth-bound men from danger. Many were the stories of drowning sailors who were plucked from the waves by a passing Lethe. More numerous are tales of those stuck on high mountains or even falling to certain death, and were saved by a Lethe who lifted them away to safety.

  Earth-bound men would regularly leave gifts for the Lethe out of gratitude and adoration. They would make baskets of bread and sweets and leave them on high places, sometimes on mountaintops or pillars built for that purpose. The passing Lethe would swoop down and take these offerings at night, for they never flew close to the ground during the day.

  The food of earthen men was always heavy to the Lethe stomach. Not made to plod upon the ground, the winged ones did not require much food at all. Mostly, their diet consisted of the sweet fruit of the Andor tree, which grew only at the highest altitudes. Just a few bites of the soft flesh could fuel the Lethe for days, so that the gentle race hardly knew of hunger, except as a rumor whispered up from the ground.

  Being light as they were, the Lethe required as little sleep as they did food. Once about every seven days or so, they would find a high cave or inaccessible peak and slumber for an entire day and night. They were careful to stay far from the earth-bound while they slept, for the men who dwelt on the ground loved to pluck feathers from the sleeping Lethe and keep them for charms or good luck. This is because when the Lethe awoke he knew instantly one of his wing feathers was missing, and always able to sense where it was, would stay near it his whole life.

  In fact, stealing a wing feather was one of the few things that could incite the Lethe to violence. As a rule, they never resorted to bloodshed. They even detested the smell and taste of meat. Whenever the earth-bound men celebrated their festivals with fatted calves and roasted swine, the sky above was sure to be clear of Lethe.

  But to steal a Lethe’s feather was to provoke their wrath for sure. Because a Lethe could sense where hi
s stolen wing feather was he always lingered nearby to await a moment when he could win it back. Knowing he was weaker on the ground a Lethe would not struggle with an earth-bound man in his element. So to regain his feather he would wait for an opportune time and swoop down upon the thief and lift him high in the air. When this happened the thief only had seconds to save his life. If he would give up the feather and beg for mercy, the Lethe might let him back to the ground gently. But if the thief fought to keep the feather, then the Lethe would drop him from a soaring height and then recover his feather from the corpse. So it was not only exceedingly rare to ever to get a hold a Lethe wing feather, it was for certain dangerous and unlikely it was ever kept for long.

  There