Chapter 3 - A Divine Error

From that day onwards, Ato no longer worked the fields. His father woke him the next morning and took him to the old mage's house—a building larger than most in the village, located by the tree—where the man sat with his students in the morning. Ato was in a daze the whole walk there; he gazed around at the world as they strolled, his eyes focusing on the crop fields, then the houses, then the fields of grass around them. Certain objects shone with a novel quality, as if tingling like his fingertips at a fire. He listened to the wind, and heard sounds that he had never heard before, like the very ground was speaking to him in tiny rumbles, or the fields in small sounds of flutes. Ato's father squeezed his hand, and Ato woke from his daze to look up at him. His father smiled. "Strange, is it not?" Ato met his father’s eyes with his own wide ones, as if the whole world was new again, like he was a baby once more.

"Yes..." and he was staring away again, at the pail of water which vibrated in his vision.

They arrived at the house, and Ato entered behind his father, his nostrils flaring at the deep stench of burning grass, something that was usually followed by his father telling him to stay inside. He looked around the hall, where the mage sat cross legged with his eyes closed, along with his students, their bodies arranged in a circle around an earthen bowl, above which hung a sack leaking water. Drops fell into the bowl slowly, each leaving a quiet plip, as they joined with the pool laying there already. Ato looked at each person, noticing their bodies, which shone with the same type of quality as the objects outside, yet in a deeper, almost frightening way, their forms and staffs letting out a constant, low hum.

"Mmm... Seems someone is here, children." The old mage opened his eyes slowly, each wrinkled lid blinking lazily as the man focused his vision. Ato noticed then, the mage's hands—they were pitch black.

"Greetings, Honored One. It is I, Palio." Ato's father pulled Ato from behind gently, placing him in front of himself, and bowing his head, prompting Ato to bow his as well.

"Oh, Palio! How long it has been since we have talked… What have you need of? Is your son sick?" The man bent his head forward to peer at Ato, causing Ato to shrink. "Ah! A shy one! He reminds me of his mother when he was young." The old mage chuckled, his frail frame quaking with hearty laughter, before shortly devolving into hacking coughs. "Maybe I am the sick one. Hah!" Ato's father let out a quiet laugh, something Ato rarely heard.

"Mother bless you, Honored One. No—luckily he is not sick. Quite the opposite: he hears The Song." At this, all the mages in the room focused their attention squarely on Ato. Ato could not help but pull on his father's ribbons, his face growing red.

"I see! Well, I suppose that was likely. What a blessed day this is, to gain another child! Let us begin right away!" The old mage rose with some difficulty, but no one moved to help him. He clapped his hands, signalling his students to rise as well, before they all filed behind him to leave the building, where Ato and his father followed. They walked to the tree, its chimes jingling with the wind, the warriors already sitting below its shade, in a circle. "Ho! Kenri!" Kito waved at the old warrior at the head of the circle, who opened his eyes before smiling slightly.

"Ho, Kito. It is rare to see you here at this time. What brings you from your dark pit in the ground?" The old mage laughed, then coughed, once again.

"A curse on you, you old wretch! Today is blessed—it seems I have a new child!" Ato's father lead him to the front of the line, where he stood before the men and their two groups of students.

"Oh! Isalia's little boy. I expect great things from him then. I am sure he'll be a talented one, just like his brother!" The circle of warriors looked at Ato. He searched the group until he found his brother, who stared at him eyes wide, his face one of anger. Ato backed away a step, looking at the ground.

"Well... Yes." The old mage said, noticing the young warrior. He moved between Ato and the warriors, and turned to Ato, his head bending slowly to look at him. "Would you like to cast your first spell, child?" Ato's eyes widened, a shy smile grabbing at his face.

"Really?"

The old mage smiled back. "Of course!" The mage took his hand, leading him up the hill towards the tree. They stopped just in front of the trunk—a huge pillar of precious wood that stretched for the lengths of multiple men, before splaying out into long threads that sprouted green leaves—it was a place Ato rarely saw up close. The old mage took Ato's hand and placed it on the trunk, and Ato almost jumped back at the sensation; the intense feeling of something, like the warmth of a fire, yet more intense.

"Ah, you can sense it already. A quick learner you'll be! That is good." The old mage took his staff in one hand and pointed it at the trunk. He cleared his throat, then, in a low, gentle, yet authoritative voice, began to speak. "For our children… our elders… all those we love—I ask of you, o dearest ones… Come, spring!"

Suddenly, Ato felt something shift inside the tree, the low powerful hum from within its bark gaining a second tone, like singers harmonizing. The trunk began to emit light, its brown wood emanating a green color outwards. In an instant, the tree had sprouted a fresh branch at the spot where the mage had pointed his staff. Ato gasped, staring at the branch, then the mage. The old mage cracked a smile, then looked at the old warrior, still sitting with his students. "Would you like to help, or shall I have to wrench the wood free myself?" The old warrior let out a laugh as thick as the tree itself. He rose with little difficulty, and walked to where the Ato and the mage stood, axe in hand.

He looked down at Ato with a smile. "Step back, will you?" Ato woke from his daze at the foot of the tree, and stepped backwards shyly. In one quick motion, the warrior swung both arms, sending the axehead downwards with such speed that Ato could barely register it's movement. What he did sense though, unmistakably, was the sound it made as it moved: a brilliant ring.

The branch fell to the ground, and the mage picked it up, his hands pulling at every twig and leaf to strip it clean. He took the branch in both his hands, and lowered it towards Ato to take. "Do not worry child, this is only how it shall look for now. Soon, yours will look like all the others." Ato grabbed his new staff gingerly, with care, as if holding something very precious. He felt it's heft in his hands, the way his finger vibrated at it's very touch—like the tree. Ato tried to hold it sideways, laboring with all his might to keep it's top end from hitting the ground.

"Th-thank you..."

The old mage smiled, and took his arms gently, righting them so the bottom end stuck into the ground. "Staffs were made to touch the earth." He guided Ato's arms to hold the staff as he had before, with the front of the staff pointed towards the trunk of the tree. Ato heard his voice from behind, speaking like his father had when teaching him to plant the harin. "Now—do you feel it in your staff? The tree? Do you hear it? See it? That is The Song, child. Everything holds a note. You hold a note. Louder than others. And with that comes a gift. Harmonize with the tree, child—feel the note in your bones, your very being, and send it from yourself towards your staff. Then, imagine the branch, and ask politely, yet firmly: 'Come, spring!'."

Ato looked down at the staff, then the tree. Each sense buzzed with sensation—The Song. He closed his eyes, searching within himself for the same feeling. He sensed...something. A faint twitch in his bones, his skin, and suddenly he felt excitement, some deep hunger, some need—to let it out, to do, to play, create.

It was like the urge to dance, or sing, but stronger. Ato’s face twisted in concentration, his mind pawing at the thing within him, trying to do what the old mage had said, to send the feeling to his staff. He imagined a branch growing from the wide trunk, green and fresh as a budding sprout. His voice faltered slightly as he said the words, lacking the confidence of his new teacher. "…C-come… spring!"

Ato opened his eyes, gasping for a breath he had not realized he had been holding, staring at the great tree. It was unchanged.

"Wh-what...?"

The old mage chuckled softly. "Do not worry child, this happens often. In truth, I was the same!" The mage's hands grasped Ato's arms gently once again, then pointed the staff towards the grass right in front of Ato. "Try again: imagine a flower this time. And do not force it. Simply listen, then play with it. It is a song, not a battle."

Ato listened to his words, his eyes closing once again. This time, he tried to calm himself, taking a breath, as he felt the twitch within his body. He tried to move it gently towards his arms, then fingers, even as his body, his mind, bucked beneath his grasp, both slaves to some strange force he could not understand.

Weakly, as if he was scared of them, he said the words: "…C-co-come, s-spring!"

Ato's eyes remained closed, half from fear, half from focus. He felt no change, save for a terrible silence. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The grass waved in the wind in front of him, unchanged. Ato looked at the ground silently, not knowing what to say, what to think. About his skin, his body, to the very center of his being, he felt…terrified. The type of terror, that one might feel upon seeing their hands fall off. He looked down the hill at his father, who stood silently, concern in his eyes.

"Well...this is certainly less common...but still not unheard of." The old mage called for his companion, and Kenri walked towards them, his large axe resting on his shoulder. The mage looked at Ato's father before calling to him. "I assume you know what tradition calls for, Palio?"

Ato's father looked at all three of them from his place at the foot of the hill. He was frowning in a way Ato rarely saw. "I trust you both, honored ones. But, I would like you to ask my son what he wants first."

The mage smiled. "Of course."

Kito bent down, placing a hand gently on Ato's shoulder. He looked directly into Ato's eyes, his soft gaze staring into his from a face as wrinkled and brown as the tree trunk. "There is one last thing to try, but I must warn you: it requires courage few children have, and no one will fault you for declining. Do you accept, my child?" Ato felt himself—as often happened, when talking to strangers—shrink. He looked at the two older men in front of him. They gazed at him with quiet smiles of understanding, not expecting anything of him. He looked at his father, at his smile, his twitching eyebrow. Then, he noticed the feeling again, the fear. And he stepped forward; he could have never done anything else, after all.

"Y-yes."

The old mage's smile widened. "How very brave. Please step towards our friend." Ato stepped forward, looking up at Kenri. The man gripped his axe in both hands, and suddenly, Ato came to a worrying realization. He remained frozen in place, though his body began to shake slightly. "Do not worry, child." Kito said from behind him. "You are safe. You need only to point your staff at our friend, and to stand still." Ato did as he was told, his throat becoming dry as he swallowed hard. He stared up at the warrior, unable to look away. Kito had stopped smiling, his face now one of deadly concentration. With a grunt, he hefted the axe over his shoulders, and Ato sensed something he never expected: The Song, flowing through the man's arms, almost as loud as the spell Kito had cast. Ato felt his body overflow with fear, his muscles taut with tension as he struggled to resist the urge to run.

He let out a yelp as his eyes closed, as he heard the unmistakable ring of the axehead heading towards him. He stood, blind, as he heard the sound of some loud impact, bursting with notes of beautiful harmony. Slowly, Ato opened his eyes, looking up to see the axe frozen just a finger's width away from his face, obscured slightly by some blue shimmer in front of him, that vibrated quietly with the sound of something like a flute. Ato looked behind him at the source of the magic—Kito, his staff raised in the axe's direction.

"Mmm... This is...unfortunate." The old mage frowned as he stepped forward. He moved a pitch black hand towards Ato's forehead. "May I?" Kito asked. Ato hesitated, then nodded, not knowing what to expect, simply wishing for some sort of good news. The mage placed a hand on Ato's forehead. Ato felt the subtle energy in his palm, something Ato clearly lacked. Kito closed his eyes and paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in soft frustration. He took a long, sad, breath.

"I apologize, child. It seems...you lack mana. You may hear The Song, but…you will never cast a spell." Ato felt his breath catch in his throat. He felt it burn, felt it close. He found himself unable to talk, as his small frame began to shake. From behind, he heard a quiet snicker. Ato turned, towards Kenri, to his students behind him. His brother looked away towards the horizon, feigning ignorance, a smile on his face. Kenri turned to Ato's brother as well, a deep scowl pulling at his features.

Ato's stomach twisted. It was as if he had lost something deathly important, something he needed merely to live. Ato looked about, searching for some sort of comfort, and he saw Kenri, and thought of The Song he sensed in him. He stepped towards the warrior. "C-can I...can I be like you?"

The man looked down at Ato and frowned. He hesitated, as if pondering something, before finally speaking. "Sometimes... one's destiny is decided, little one. It is not always for us to choose our place in the Great Mother's Song." He placed a large hand—larger than even his father's—on his head. "Take heart, little one. For few have stared down my axe." He glanced backwards, the same scowl occupying his face. "You have more bravery than most."

At this, Ato felt himself finally begin to cry. He struggled to remain silent, to remain still. He leaned on his staff for support. Then, he looked at it. "This...is not for me anymore...is it?" Both the mage and warrior frowned.

The mage gave Ato a sad smile. "There is no rule saying you may not keep it, child."

Ato felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "Honored ones, I sense my son would rather return it." He stepped in front of Ato and knelt down to look at him, smiling. Gently, slowly, he grabbed Ato and held him in his arm, as he held Ato's staff in his other. He walked towards the old mage, and handed him the staff, who took it without a word. "We shall be leaving now. Thank you for all your help." And at that, Ato and his father made the slow trip down the hill, away from the great tree. Ato felt the great surge of mana grow weaker as his father carried him away, away from The Song.

Once again, Ato was crying, and it was magic that had broken his heart.