The Bells of Cyrene (Luria Bardic)

By: Luria Posted on: July 31, 2007

(This is a true story of how one song came into being. The magic of the clocktower bells affects all of us who hear them, and lifts our hearts no matter how far we may wander from our fair home in the Vashnars, Cyrene.)

The chill breeze rustled through the bare branches of the trees overhead as a single cricket chirped its discontent that frosty Aeguary morning. It was still dark, and the stars shone on the lake as the bard made her way through the reeds and kelp on her way to her favorite fishing spot. Winter in the Vashnars meant it would be harder to encourage the fish to come to the surface and nibble at her bait, but she was quite ready to sit there forever if need be and had come prepared. She spread a warm blanket over the cold stone of the little island, glad for the company of the welcoming lighthouse beacon, and dropped a picnic basket containing sandwiches, fruit and a jug of hot tea close at hand, before digging around him her pack for her fishing pole. A bucket of bait stood at the water's edge, and her cold fingers seemed stiff and awkward as she slid a bit of crab onto her hook and cast it out into the black waters. Propping the end of the pole in some nearby rocks, she pulled parchment, ink, a quill and her ever-present journal out of the pack as well, for her real task here, was to come up with a new song; and it was always easier to do that when she relaxed, and let events and stray thoughts come up with a theme.

The fish did not even seem to be interested in nibbling her bait, and she had doodled on half of her parchment in the reflection of the beacon from the lighthouse on the water, when the sky began to grey to the east. She dropped her quill and leaned back on her elbows, propping herself up on the blanket to get a better look at the coming dawn. It had always fascinated her to watch the changing colors of the ever-present clouds as the sun made it's first appearance, painting the day with oranges, soft pinks, and blushing peaches. She strained to hear the accompanying sounds of the bells from the clocktower that would herald the beginning of a new day as the sun's rays kissed the horizon, causing the sky to bloom like a garden, but the only sounds were the rippling of the tiny waves and an occasional plop! as a fish jumped completely out of the lake for a moment.

A frown marred the brow of the woman as she reeled in her line and complained into the morass of city thoughts she had been partially ignoring, "Why is it we cannot hear the bells from the lake? One would think we are not that far from home out here." A moment or two passed while she baited her hook again, and then she heard the strident tones of the city's Imperiate in her mind. "I have always felt we should hear it out there too", agreed Lady Beneficia. The bells are as much a part of home as Blu is, and it seems we should hear them all over the mountains." The woman nodded to herself and cast out her line. "I should write a song about the bells, Lady." she replied spontaneously, suddenly inspired, "And I will dedicate it to you when it is finished!"

Now filled with the Muse of creation, she barely heard the Imperiate's delight and blessing on the task as she feverishly set aside the pole, losing yet another bit of bait, and began scribbling notes in her journal. The hours passed as she mumbled various word combinations to herself, somtimes putting down her quill and picking up the mandolin to test a few notes of a tune that was growing within her. Somehow she must find a way to capture the message of the bells and how they made her heart fill with pride and longing for home whenever she heard them. Perhaps even tell how she could hear them even when she was far from home by simply glancing at the sky and knowing they were pealing in her soul, even from miles away.

She had emptied the basket of food almost without knowing it as the day lengthened and shadows grew. Fish now seemed to mock her as they swam and leapt almost close enough to reach out and touch, and still she wrote. Finally, it was finished! A smile touching her face, she picked up the mandolin, closed her eyes and played the tune through, softly singing the words, and feeling the rightness of them deep within her. Forgetting the pole, basket and blanket where they were, she grabbed her journal and instrument and ran all the way back to the city, searching out the Imperiate to share this song of songs with her. Bursting into the Imperial Library, she paused, suddenly unsure if she should have made an appointment first, but her fears were laid to rest when she saw the warm smile on Lady Beneficia's face, and the eagerness in the other woman's eyes. The Imperiate was just as excited as she was, and stopped what she was doing, seating herself and waiting to hear the new song in praise of Cyrene's bells.

Luria rested her back against a table, tuned her mandolin for a moment and checked it's tone before she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled.

"This song is dedicated to you, Lady Beneficia, because you asked" she said by way of introduction.

Lady Beneficia smiled and nodded for her to begin.

Luria closed her eyes and plucked a single string, letting the note hang in the air, and plucked the string again a heartbeat later. She continued the note three times more, sustaining the last one for several beats before picking out a soft melody that ran up the scale in a measured beat, like the ticking of a clock, or a slow rain falling against a window and sang.

Have you ever heard the bells of Cyrene?
They welcome the day, in a joyful way.
Have you ever heard the bells of Cyrene,
As they ring in early morning?

They ring through the valley, the hills echo back;
Bring thoughts of our homeland to mansion or shack.
Have you ever heard the bells of Cyrene, on a frosty winter morning?

Luria stilled the strings and once again picked up the single, sustained note; allowing it to repeat four more times before continuing the slow, measured melody with a hushed and stately grace.

When the bells ring out in the evening time;
They call us home, though far we roam.
Through blinding snow, let the blizzard blow!
We will harken to their pealing.

They ring through the valley, the hills echo back;
Bring thoughts of our homeland to mansion or shack.
Have you ever heard the bells of Cyrene, on a cold and snowy evening?

She finished the soft melody and plucks the single note once, twice, three times, a heartbeat's pause between them, allowing the final note to linger as with a soft gleam of joy and pride in her eyes, she stood and bowed, the applause and approval of the Imperiate a gift to her heart beyond measure.