The Chosen One

Wolld

Wolld watched as the boys trooped onstage. An announcer with sleek black hair began to speak:

"These eight young men and women will be aging up tonight. We are gathered here to celebrate..." The announcer droned on about names and turning sixteen, becoming adults, blah, blah, blah. It all bounced off Wolld's ears. He turned to grimace at Cecillia and saw that her seat in the village ampiteater was vacant. He turned around and watched her sit on a stool onstage in front of Fied and the others, a harp was siting between her knees.

Wolld had never heard Cecillia play the harp, though he knew she took lessons.

"And now, Cecillia Fededar will play 'Mid-day Rise' on the harp!" Wolld froze. 'Mid-day Rise' was a song that was often preformed at the festival held at noon, the day of the spring sunrise. It was a complex song, that had been his favorite to hear before to attack on the village. After playing a few slow bars, Cecillia began to sing, the music getting more complicated with every word. Her fingers flew gracefully across the strings as she sang:

"On the morning

After night

Glorious sunrise

Brings soft light

As it marks a

Brand new day

The icy cold

Is whisked away

My breath is taken

Winter is slayed

As cold and wind and snow

Make way

For spring

Sing! Sing!

To the heavens

So high that

A new begining is

Growing nigh

Sow your seeds

And let the earth open

All will grow

The springtime has

Spoken!"

After playing for a while, again she began to sing softer, in an ancient language, a verse Wolld had never heard before:

"Estea ardoll

Rahsi eh coma

Artach sei

Ablos

Solas."

The audience was silent. When she had finished the song they didn't clap, just stared transfixedly at Cecillia. Slowly, they broke in to a delayed round of applause. The announcer appeared back onstage.Cecillia pushed the harp behind the curtain made of fine cloth the women of the village had woven, then appeared moments later from a side door and took her seat next to Wolld.