"But what about the songbird now?" asked Ravine, as they walked through the day that was going on noon, the sun bright overhead. "Doesn't it get a name?"
The bird, who had listened to the whisperer and woman's conversation, now fluttered level beside Haze, peeping and cocking its head.
"I think you mean he, Ravine," Haze replied, laughing.
"There is little you know about your small songbird here,
Starting with his gender, his hopes, and his fears.
From a simple mind-scope, I see he is male.
He comes from a forest, a savanna of hail,
Was blown to a place of dark trees by a gale,
And he loves you so dearly—yes, I see this clearly."
Haze turned to face the songbird now. "Hello, little one, Aeolia's son.
You are curious, eager, kind, and young;
You dream of your past life, though the mem'ries won't come.
You wish to be given a light, steady title
That fits your enthusiasm, perfect and final—
So 'Spire' you shall here on be,
Cherished for all eternity."
The songbird swept high into the air, where he danced about, diving and spinning. His sporadic chirps conjured pink petals, which after a moment of flitting around him, fell like confetti to the grass. He let out a carefree, looping song, and to the ground dropped letters in Ravine's language, spelling out: THANK YOU.
The woman assumed Haze understood it, since the whisperer could read their very thoughts.
Haze yelled to Spire, "It was my pleasure!"
Ravine smiled. "Spire is a wonderful name," she told Haze. "Now, could you answer me—"
She was interrupted by Spire's unsteady landing on the grass. The little bird shuffled his feathers, blinked at her, and was still.
"Answer you what?" Haze said.
"Well—" the woman sat on the ground beside Spire, crossing her legs. Haze settled back on her haunches. "I'm beyond grateful you found us, but I still have questions. Why did you look for us? How did you know about us? And—and what is Aeolia?"
The whisperer perked her ears. "I am so glad you wonder that.
Now it is time for our 'goal-setting' chat.
You see, my darling Ravine and Spire,
It should come as no surprise that your situation's dire.
You're being stalked by a dark creature, old
Who slips through nightmares, dank and cold.
A viper it is known to be,
Born from Mist and treachery,
Who dwells in this country's white northeast
Where on poor sleepers it likes to feast.
My friends and I saw you traveling here
And sensed the Viper trailing near—
But besides all this, your lanterns burn low
Weakening, your desire is
To find the place you wish to go.
Aeolia is this place, correct?
I come from there, you know.
I could tell you all about it
If you'd like it so."
"Please, Haze!" the woman cried. The songbird sang a tune of agreement.
The animal said, "But no! No!
What service would I grant you
If the simple path I showed?
Aeolia's a marvelous place
Open to any who can fly,
And if I told you how to get there
You'd be living on a lie!
Little Spire comes from there,
But he can't recall its when or where,
So you must find it out yourselves
To be honorable, true, and fair.
Yes, yes, Aeolia's gates are open to fliers
Who, by themselves, reach to strive higher.
It was we who lent you the birds' wings, Ravine
But we cannot help you anymore, so
In this matter we are blameless.
Sprout your freeing wings yourself,
Or else, you should be nameless."
YOU ARE READING
Aeolia
General FictionA woman runs from everything. A songbird joins her from nowhere, singing colors and images. A whisperer finds the pair among a field of poplars and graves. A dark and vicious viper stalks them from deep in the earth. They must flee from the Viper...
