The Bell (a short story)
Long, long ago, before time was counted in minutes or days - when the Elder Races walked this earth in freedom and joy, there was a little girl... Her name was Vaniel. Her name meant, 'beautiful maid' in an ancient tongue. She often laughed at the irony. Now, Vaniel believed she was neither very ugly or very beautiful, was neither wildly talented or bereft of talent altogether. Without rancor she accepted that she was neither the best or the worst. She simply was. She however, (as is often the case) was very gifted in one particular way, but completely unaware of it. Vaniel had the ability to feel, to hear the textures of the songs of those around her. She saw these Souls as they could be. While understanding that they were wounded, she only saw the beauty. She heard the Music of their Souls. Even if they had forgotten the melody. She did not see scars or dents or rough usage. She heard Spirits whole and mended. She was like a great window, that takes the light of the Sun into itself and sends out a riotous melody of prismatic color everywhere the light touches. This came naturally to her and therefore she was unaware of the gift she bore. Her family came from the Great Smiths, of metal and Jewels, that had been taught their craft in the Blessed Lands. Who took the magic of the ethereal mist and the roots of the earth itself and created Jewels of power, gems that wars had been fought over. Vaniel's kindred did not age as you or I. Time as we know it had but little effect on them. So generations lived together and thrived. And remembered. Vaniel loved to watch her great-grandfather, Enerthil, work his craft. They were a lovely sight, man and child, both with dark blue-grey eyes like wind whipped waves and long, wavy black hair. One very tall and the other barely waist high. Heads bent, in total oblivion of those passing by, focusing the creative energy that flowed around them like a living force. Seeing them thus, many saw that these two shared one Spirit. Enerthil was the most gifted of any artist born to his line since Finrod himself. While he worked he Sang. Vaniel privately believed that this was his greatest gift. She had watched him quite literally sing his work into being. His melody shifted ever so gently to embody whatever he wished to convey. If falcons had caught his eye and found themselves being carved by his deft fingers, he whistled a tune softly. If Vaniel closed her eyes, she could feel the wind, cold, sharp and fierce as she dove from dizzying heights. She could feel the warmth of her pinfeathers close to her body. Her throat ached to let fly the wild scream that seemed to gather in her chest and rip from her. She had heard him sing the same base melody, with different top notes, as he had sculpted a rose from a billet of silver. She had let the melody he crooned, sweep her up and take her down into the deep rich earth. She had been there when the tiny seedling had gathered it's courage and pushed out and up into the air above. She rejoiced with the fragile sprouting as the seed died to give the other life. And she marked it's passing. She felt the wind and rain in every root, as she grew and bloomed. As her petals, thick and velvety, now stretched ever upward to breath in the Sun. Vaniel's great-granda loved her best of all his many grandchildren. He saw the music fill and nurture her. He saw the Spirit that dwelt in her and conceived of it's brilliance. And if she had but known it, sang out loud for her alone. Enerthil knew that the airs in his heart would help him craft silently just as well as they did when he sang aloud. So, every note had a duel purpose, to craft and to love. He sent that love out to her young heart, so she might see the way she glimmered in his eyes. He knew that the music that lived in him as deep as breath, lived in her as well. He knew she valued herself meanly. And Enerthil knew, all those long, slow afternoons that they sat, in companionable silence - she was learning to hear her own music. Even as she heard the music of others. Years filled with summer passed. One day, when Vaniel was well down the path to womanhood, they sat in their accustomed places as the westering sun turned all to golden-green and the smells of supper took over the village. Enerthil looked at her with great love and asked, " Vani, would you go to the workbench and get me the small bundle there? " Vaniel soon came back: ' This one Grandda? " " Aye, Vani child. I've something for you." And with that he placed the leaf wrapped package back into her hands. " Now open it and tell me what you see.' With eyes bright with surprise, and tenderness for Enerthil, she sat down. With great care Vaniel pealed back the wide leaves. They parted to reveal, a small bell. It was just over seven inches tall and approx. three inches at the widest part of the base. It was magnificently made. The flowing bell base was finely blown glass. The glass was so thin and clear that it looked as if it was but a echoing memory of the sand and fire it once had been. Etched deeply into the glass and then filled with the essence of silver, opal and amethyst, were the delicate leafy vines and petals of eglantine, elanor, and niphrodel. Flowers of heartbreaking beauty and fragrance that had grown only in a time far removed and on a Blessed Isle far away. The stem of the bell was finely detailed, twisted vines of ivy that made a circle. That perfect circle seemed to be a portal to the rolling green hills of that Land. The vines were made from the purest silver she had ever seen. Every color could be seen in it's glowing finish. As the bell warmed in her hands, she began to hear a wild wisp of song, barely there. Instinctively, she closed her eyes and she was suddenly swept away, as if in an enchanted flight. The music that filled her, gave her wings, was her wings, and the air that brushed through her as she flew. She was the melody, the counterpoint, and the harmony all at once. She saw that far green country under a swift sunrise. She saw the Silver Shore. She felt her Spirit touch and be loved by those that Awakened long before. She saw the simultaneous birth of the wind and the Sea's first tide. She saw Iluvitar's children open newborn eyes and perceive the incredible lightness of sentience. After what seemed ages, slowly, she came back to herself. She looked at Enerthil with luminous eyes so dark grey, they seemed to be the heart of stormy waters. She touched her face and found she was weeping. ' How can I tell you what I have seen Grandda? I haven't lived long enough to know the words." Enerthil gathered her close, he too was weeping, " This is your birthright Vani. You will do wonderful, quiet things with your Song. My gift is to create on the physical plane. To set free that which is already there. Yours is to heal broken Spirits. It is yours to create a place of beauty that lives on a different plane. This beauty you see is from their own Souls. Their Souls as you see them. This is a powerful gift. This bell holds not just, my love for you, or, what your Spirit looks like to me. But also, a challenge to your heart, mind, and will to live in harmony. To see yourself as you are, not better, and not worse. For sweeting, you must know your own wild melody before you can help others find theirs. When you feel that you have lost your way, or feel your heart and mind divided - look to your Soul Bell. She will help you stay in tune with your will." For the first time in her life, that day Vaniel saw herself. Without eyes of fear, but with eyes of truth. As she held her dear Grandda close and listened to the deep comforting thud of his heart, she knew that she would be ever changed. And that to do his gift justice would take her a very long lifetime. There was no need for more words. They simply held each other for long moments as their Soul bond grew stronger still, and a stronger melody, etched in silver, was born. It was only much later that Vaniel realized that her bell was missing the piece in the center that traditionally made the music. After some time she came to realize that she was the center, and the music was hers to create. Copyrighted 11/16/04 DMH