Song of the Bard
by Richard McKinley
Sector H
Protectorate of Avalon
Clarsach
In the village of Dun Coen, on the
world of Clarsach, a great throng gathered. The Daoine were a hardy folk,
accustomed to a hard life among
the highlands. This was one of those occasions when the
Daoine clans banded together, which were rare. They were here to celebrate
the Festival
of Swords. It was a time to honor the heroes of the past,
to recall to mind the glorious deeds of their ancestors. All of Clarsach
joined in the celebration.
This particular crowd had gathered
to listen to the bard, Fionval, whose songs and tales were celebrated throughout
the land. Today, the Cymru
were graced with his presence. The Cymru were a dark
race, at home along the coast and in the hills.
Fionval's reddish-blond hair gleamed
in the sunlight, and his green eyes flashed imperiously as he regarded
the crowd. He stood straight and tall,
and began to play upon his harp. The crowd hushed as
the first strains carried over the noise of the gathering. When he was
certain he had their
attention, the bard began to speak.
"Hear, now, the tale of Amhlaigh, the
greatest bard in the history of Clarsach. Amhlaigh, Shaper of Worlds,
Bearer of the Silver Harp. Hear, now,
of his last and greatest accomplishment, of how he stood alone against
the armies of Discord."
Having set the tone, Fionval began the tale. All eyes
were turned upon him, and all ears strained to hear him speak.
********
Beyond the Mists of Time, two great
empires fought a war to determine the fate of our world. The Daoidhe, servants
of Chaos, sowed the
seeds of Discord, and Clarsach groaned beneath the weight
of their assault.
The Sinnsear, a race more ancient than
we, the Daoine, fought long and hard to halt the advance of Discord. Order
and Chaos clashed, and
great was the suffering of the world.
A group of beings known as the Arsaidh,
or Elders, watched as the world trembled, and heard the desperate cries
of a wounded land. The
greatest of these beings was Amhlaigh, First Bard and
Creator of Clarsach. His were the hands that played the Amhran Cruthaich,
or Song of
Creation, upon the Silver Harp. His were the hands that
had shaped the world of Clarsach from the Mists of Time.
"Something must be done, brothers and
sisters," said Amhlaigh gravely. "Clarsach cannae bear such punishment
indefinitely. We must take action
to preserve her."
"We have taken a vow o' non-interference,
my brother," said Aimsir. "As much as it pains us, we must allow history
to take its course. There is nothing
that can be done."
Several of the Arsaidh nodded their agreement, and a great rage consumed Amhlaigh. His brothers and sisters would not help him.
"Yer precious Balance means naething
if Clarsach is destroyed," he said bitterly. "I cannae condone the death
o' our warld.
If ye willnae act, then I must act
alone. Farewell, brothers and sisters."
Having spoken, Amhlaigh drew Airgead,
the Silver Harp, from his cloak. Her strings sparkled in the sunlight,
and the Harp's music flowed
beautifully as Amhlaigh caressed them.
"What are ye doing, Amhlaigh?" demanded
Dealrach as tendrils of mist wound their way around his limbs.
"What is the meaning o' this?"
Amhlaigh merely continued the Song
of Binding, using all the Power at his command. The tendrils of mist wove
a wall, which surrounded
the entire assemblage of Arsaidh. As Amhlaigh continued
the Binding, the wall of mist shimmered ever more brilliantly, becoming
a scintillating
array of rainbow hues. Then, in a final brilliant flash,
it was gone, along with the Arsaidh.
"Tis done," said Amhlaigh as the final
strain of the Song of Binding faded away. "My brothers and sisters will
sleep
for a time, then awaken. Now, I have
a warld tae save."
Clarsach screamed in agony as war tore
at her already scarred surface. The planet's agony transferred itself to
Amhlaigh's consciousness, and he steeled
himself for the task at hand.
The bard began to play the Song of
the Wind, and was borne aloft toward the battlefield. As he traveled, he
considered his options.
There didn't seem to be many. The damage to Clarsach
was already extensive, and would take thousands of years to repair.
Amhlaigh had reached an area that would
serve as an excellent vantage point. From here, he could watch the battle
and remain unobserved.
There wasn't much time. Having reached a decision, he
began another song.
The air was rent by a thunderous roar,
and on the battlefield, all eyes turned heavenward. Jagged lightning sliced
the sky, and the acrid odor
of ozone stung the nostrils. It was as if the very heavens
were protesting the war.
Lightning danced and flickered between
the opposing armies, forming an impassable wall of electricity. Heat seared
the faces of those in the
front ranks, and even those in the rear were affected.
Their hair stood on end, and their skin crawled. Then, a voice thundered
from the heavens.
"Drakkar, Leader o' the Daoidhe, and
Aryllon, King o' the Sinnsear, ye have both been weighed in the Balance
and found wanting. Neither o' ye shall
inherit Clarsach! Reap, now, that which ye have sown."
Senses expanded, and all present could
feel the world's pain. It was more than any mortal could bear, and screams
of agony filled the battlefield.
Jagged spears of lightning streaked from the wall of
electricity, incinerating all in their path. Then, the electrical barrier
began to expand, consuming
the front ranks of both armies. The iron resolve of war
crumbled, and the soldiers broke ranks and fled.
The wall of lightning would not be
deterred. It overtook the fleeing soldiers, searing the flesh from their
bones. There were to be no survivors.
Amhlaigh watched from his vantage point in the mountains.
The Song of Undoing was complete. Soon, the wall of lightning would reach
the
mountains. Clarsach would be purged of the foul influence
of Drakkar and Aryllon for all time.
Clearing his mind of all thoughts,
Amhlaigh began to hum the Song of Union. His energies would repair the
damaged world. In time, life would
arise once more on Clarsach. The world would be reborn,
and have another chance to prosper in its existence.
Energy coursed through his being, and
the sensation was a pleasant one. As he continued the Song of Union, he
sensed Clarsach's welcoming
embrace. He sank into that embrace, and an indescribable
bliss overwhelmed his senses. He could no longer hold Airgead, for his
form no longer
had substance.
Amhlaigh whispered a tearful farewell,
and the Silver Harp vanished in a brilliant flash of emerald light. Then,
the wall of lightning reached him,
and the world was no more.
********
"The light of Amhlaigh's magic carries
to the farthest star," said Fionval, concluding his story.
"It carries with it a reminder of
the Great Cycle of Life, Death, and Rebirth. Remember Amhlaigh
with gratitude, for without him, our
world would be no more."
Great cheers arose from the crowd as
the listeners paid homage to Amhlaigh, First Bard of Clarsach. Fionval
bowed low, and prepared to begin
a new tale. Before he could begin, a woman, heavy with
child, sank to the ground, and screamed with the first pangs of childbirth.
********
On a fog-shrouded mountain top, seven
sleepers stirred. Their senses told them that Clarsach had healed from
her terrible wounds, but still bore
the scars of that long-ago war.
Memory returned in a rush of images.
Two great armies battled one another, heedless of the destruction they
caused. Entire continents were laid
waste, and Clarsach screamed in agony. The Arsaidh had
taken an oath of non-interference, for fear of disrupting the Balance.
One man had the courage to stand alone,
to try to put an end to the destruction. A black-bearded bard holding a
silver harp. A song of incredible
beauty, tendrils of mist snaking out to imprison them.
Then, nothingness.
"What have we done?" cried Dealrach
in anguish. "In seeking to preserve the Balance,
we betrayed our world. Forgive us,
Amhlaigh. We were wrong."
The mist came alive in a brilliant
array of rainbow colors. It flared briefly, then shattered. The Arsaidh
were free from their prison. Clarsach spread
outward beneath them, beautiful once more. However, something
was wrong. Violent storms wracked the planet's surface. Something dark
and
menacing had awakened as well.
"The Balance has not been restored,"
said Slanaigh in her rich, beautiful voice. "Clarsach must be healed.
Though we are still bound by the Oath,
we must do what we can. Clarsach must have her Champion.
Join wi' me, brothers and sisters."
One by one, the rest of the Arsaidh
nodded their agreement. They joined hands, and began the Song of Summoning.
Using the considerable
Power at their command, the Arsaidh called to Amhlaigh.
Particles of light erupted from the
ground all around them. They gathered together, forming a shape that was
all too familiar to these beings.
in moments, Amhlaigh, First Bard of Clarsach, stood before
them. Amhlaigh was but a shadow of his former self, for much of his Power
had
gone into mending the broken world. He regarded the assemblage
of Elders with sad eyes, then spoke.
"So, ye have awakened, brothers and
sisters. How fares Clarsach? Pray, tell me that my sacrifice
wasnae in vain."
"Clarsach lives, and much o' her wounds
have healed," said Slanaigh. "Howe'er, the Balance has not
been fully restored. Our world needs
ye, brother. Where is the Silver Harp?"
"Lost," said Amhlaigh sadly. "I can
do naething in my present condition. Why have ye summoned
me from Clarsach's embrace? What do
ye wish o' me? My Power isnae what it once was."
"Ye are Clarsach's Champion," said
Dealrach. "She needs ye now. That is why we have summoned ye.
Would ye turn yer back, now, on the
world ye once saved?"
"What can I do?" cried the bard plaintively,
spreading his arms helplessly. "As I said, my Power isnae
what it once was. Do ye wish tae torment
me wi' my failure? Begone, and trouble me nae mair!"
"Yer Power is not lost," said Slanaigh
gently. "It needs only to be awakened once more. Ye will be reborn,
as a mortal. Ye will have no knowledge
o' yer heritage until the time is right. Find the Silver Harp, Amhlaigh.
Only its Power can restore Harmony
to our world. That will be yer task in the mortal world."
"So be it," said Dealrach, and the
rest of the Arsaidh nodded in agreement. Amhlaigh bowed low, acquiescing
to the will of his siblings. He would
be Clarsach's Champion once more. Such would be his atonement for his
failure centuries ago.
The Arsaidh began a new song, a Song of Renewal. The shade
that was Amhlaigh, First Bard of Clarsach, shimmered brightly, then was
gone.
********
In the village of Dun Coen, the woman
toiled in the pangs of childbirth. The pain was great, despite the ministrations
of the midwife, and she screamed.
A golden light settled over Cailidh ap Dafyd, and the
pain ceased. Laboring mightily, the stout Cymru woman brought her precious
burden into the world.
With a mighty scream, Angharad ap Talerin
took her first breath in the mortal world. Cailidh cradled her newborn
daughter in her arms, blissfully
unaware of the child's glorious destiny.
Elsewhere in the Greater Galaxy, a great light was seen.