Chapter 3

An Anthem for the wee folk

The wind showed me how close I was to the precipice of death, swaying, and clutching to life. Oh Archimedes, Edison, and Berners-Lee, I can’t fathom my drive, my calling when it’s still so far from me. A gust of turbulent wind shoved my balance, forcing me to spiral out of the center. Like a beacon of man, a fair man, flying through into turbulence, now falling, likely to splatter and explode it’s intent. My right shoulder numb, nearly dislocated from my joint. I forced my arms together then grabbed the spiraling glider that was strangled to my back. I directed my body to sync with the glider to stop the disorientation and the likely chance to fall to my death. I was still in the air, tumbling into the gust. I should have accounted my weight up in the sky, and wind currents that could and did blow at such a height. I felt elated at first to be up above the trees, seeing the place, the forest that I had lived for most of my second life. The Goddess that sent me and the Tree God’s below, are most likely laughing at my audacity to pine for something more. Fates... be damned. I gritted my teeth, screaming my body to find equilibrium, center, and all. With this glider, I have gone through trees, shrubs, and branches. I can definitely go through turbulence and currents of wind. In this free fall, I remember to focus down, to force all my weight into the ground. Abruptly, I directed up so my glider could grab the wind with my center of mass intact. Increasing altitude by pushing the glider up with my top half. The strain was tiring, but I managed to re-establish my glider back into the air, minor turbulence flicking the edges of the leaves. I really needed to add a stick pusher on the wings to prevent this from happening again. Hindsight is always 20/20 when problems come arising. I’m an idea machine without really thinking, cursed by a grudge, and drive to keep moving. “Oh, I’ll be a mecha pilot!” I screamed into the sky, a growl in my tone. The winds hurdle into me as I soar above the forest. After a while, a harrowing while, I finally reached my destination. Midday just started and I'm late for introductions. Seeing an open space in the forest canopy, I spotted the grove that I had always sequestered in, since a wee pod into a wee sprout. Hearing the hum of thousands, I knew the ceremony had already started. The hum was melancholic, natural, and vibrant. It was the song for the grass, the year, and the pods. As I pass through the canopy of the trees, I spot the most iconic topiary in the grove, the Banyan tree. A huge evergreen tree, with more branches than the total of the oaks’ around the grove. The Banyan tree was displayed in the center, willowed in white with vines going down its canopy, like giving ropes. I circled above watching the ceremony below, the grass was moving to the tune of the song. Fluctuating to the rhythm, the song that was sung from all the Grass Singers voices, it was harmonic with the fair people, yet iconic to me. I hear the wind flowing into the Banyan tree, adding into the celestial symphonies. Branches were downward bent; like the keys of some great instrument. Past the Cultivators, the Grass Singers sang, whilst the Grass Soldier guards the circumference of the whole tree. In the middle of it all, there lies a small crowd, a gathering of nearly 100, ready to select and be celebrated upon. I spotted my mother singing among her female peers, the majority of Grass singers. There were few of them male adding their deep long tuberous tunes. My father was probably with the cultivators, sowing new seeds, as the harmony of the music activates the magic of the seed. The fair folk’s grass is different from the rest of the world, they are strong and friendly, a life fulfilled in its shelter. Taller than the tallest grass, stronger than the strongest leaf. They can be as hard as steel and flexible as fiberglass. As I watched alone up above, an alien to my small race, I marveled at the beauty of the ceremony. The fireflies attracted to the sound, flew out from their nest sequestered by the branches in the Banyan tree. Covered by the shade of the hollowed tree, they dance and spin to the vibrations of the sound below them. Deep drumming beats would reverberate and thrum into the fluctuating sounds when they reached a crescendo. Hearing this, I spotted my acquaintance Blint, a Cultivator who had always idle hands, tapping into things to try to make a sound. A like-minded soul, curiosity beyond his chosen path. The Scutch Drums, he was joyfully slamming his grassy sticks upon, was an invention of mine from two springs ago. Made from hollowed acorns, then wrapped over tightly with dry scutch grass. A branch from the Banyan tree began to slowly drift down, slow and placid to the happening sounds around. There was an unbloomed white orchid at its end, it’s pure and elegant luster glowed around its petals, as fireflies spun to meet and dance. The branch postured down, lending the soil it’s touch by the grace of the unbloomed white orchid. The white orchid glowing under the midday shade proceeded to slowly bloom open. A person was inside a female from the look of her curves. Her skin, porcelain white, reflecting the glow. She stood out of the blooming white orchid, elegant in poise. She wore a crown of white lily petals, wrapped in the softest grass strains. Her face was angular, beautiful, and alien. She is beyond the race of the fair folk, different to most beings in the forest. She was Elandris Typer-Myre the Speaker of the Tree Gods. The Grass Singers slowly moaned the end of their song, their voice ending with excited whispers, giggles, and awe. Imperious she stood and waited for the introductory ceremony to end with no note. Everyone had knelt and bowed at this point, awed by her radiant soul. “Welcome my children, to your hallowed grove,” Elandris said with a soothing voice. She then gracefully opened her arms before them all. “I am the keeper of hope, the nurturer of souls and I am the Speaker for you all.” Elandris was about to continue her monologue but was abruptly stopped when I parachuted in with my grass matted parachute. Which I had made earlier on today. Her entrance was extravagant, mine was blistering and intrusive. Few of my pod peers groaned to see me, and my antics. Teka growled in anger whilst Sera looked at me agape. Wink was just winked, winking at his best. Sera had long grass hair, going down to her shoulder, she wore a grass scarf as she stared at me in disbelief. She was beautiful as a fair maiden with her amber circular eyes. Meanwhile, Wink tilted his iconic and most audacious grass hat ever dreamt up. It was half his height, with forget-me-nots atop which are bright blue small flowers, with cheerful yellows eyes in its center. Elandris for a moment lost her composure, from elegance to grudging tolerance, her day would not be ruined again, by me. I nervously bowed then knelt to show her my engagement. Wink nudged me after I knelt, he was next to me with a grin. “Good one Sink.” He whispered. “Sink…” Elandris muttered under her breath. She then continued on with her speech, less soothing than before. “I am the Speaker of the Tree Gods, in your hallowed grove and today is the end of a story and the start of a journey. For countless generations, the Fair people toil, from midsommer to somerset. The long grasses whisper the strength of your bonds, and the podlings here before you will continue their songs.” All the pods were waved to stand in front of the Speaker. We all nervously stood, waiting for Judgement of Myre on midday of the grove. “The Gods of the worlds during the alignment made a pact together to give the gift of magic. The Symbols of Status and Signs of Progression is the contract that is given to all the races of life who live in this mother of worlds.” “As my role as the Speaker, the messenger of our Gods. I will oversee the trials for your Classifications. Let us start our journey, together in harmony with your life and your Classification.” A precession from the three groups that were surrounding the podlings pondered out in front of them. Each of three, thrice from the Grass Singers, who had sequestered themselves on the left. Thrice from Grass Soldiers who had stood adamant on the right. And finally, thrice from the Grass Cultivators, center in front, resolute on their ground. “We may begin.” Elandris opened. “The Grass Singers, chanters of songs. Songs that calm the grasses and the listeners. Giving thoughts into sound, swaying the grass to their words.” A gold notification popped onto my peripheral vision. Class: Grass Singer. Through a miracle of sound, the Fair Folk divined the nature of grass by songs. Grass Singers can influence the grass by its command of sound.

All the females on the pod began whispering to each other about the classification. No surprise, it was a mainly female-oriented role, for it was rare to have male Grass Singers in the Fair Folk community.

“The Grass Soldiers, guardians of the Grass and the people. Adamant and tenacious, they stand tall with grasses growing in them as they grow.”

The most exclusive Classification, sort after for those who want adventure and not toiling in the dirt. They patrol the boundaries as grass sentinels in the fray of the green.

Class: Grass Soldiers. The Warrior Type of the Fair Folk. Grass Soldiers are more with the grass than any other Classification because the seed inside them will then flourish and meld into their body, giving them symbiosis with the plant. As they grow, the grass inside them grows.

“And finally, the Grass Cultivators. Caretakers of the land. Strong as a willow, and grounded as the roots. Those who nurture the plant, and nurture themselves in peace and harmony.” Elandris ended.

Class: Grass Cultivators. The Caretaker of the Grass, the one who seeds the plants and the one who nurtures both the plants and themselves. They create foundations, build their strength through it, circling the magic of the world into themselves and plants. ‘So pretty much the wuxia option.’ I smirked at the thought. It’s always the same in these fantasy worlds, but I guess wuxia transcends both time and space. I stood there, already ready to make my decision. A decision I made after thousands of hours of research and development. All the podlings stood silent, looking between the three groups. Elandris then nodded to all three Classes. “Let the trials begin.” The Grass Singers took out one grassroots of sweet grass, with one leaf on its strain. They then planted it in the soft dirt before them and waited. Both the Grass Soldiers and the Grass Cultivators took out grass bags, inside were a bounty of grass seeds. Elandris then signaled the first podling in the group who was first to be there for midday to choose. “Sera, come forth child, and select your role.” She said. Sera, nervous, walked out in front of her peers heading to the direction of the Grass Singers. She then began to sing a melancholic song in her beautiful tender voice. “A naeoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth Mise rid' thaobh.” Sera sang. It was the song the Fair Maiden, an old song, familiar to the grass sprout that was recently sowed. The Grass began to move to her vocal talents, swaying and plying to her voice. My eyes teared hearing her sound, as she sang, she walked to the Grass singers. It was one of my mother’s favorite songs when she sat alone with the grass. Most of my childhood I would always clumsily sneak, to hear it. She would have sung it to me, If I had asked, but there was something special when she sang that song alone with the grass. After the song ended, the Grass Singers embraced her as if she was already there own. “Wink, Come forth child. Select your role.” Elandris continued, after pausing for a moment to appreciate Sera’s talent. Wink with a wink slithered past all his peers and headed straight to Grass Cultivators. He took out his palm in front of them. The Cultivators looked at him for a moment, then handed him a seed. Wink then dug a hole and dropped the seedling in. He then sat down in front of the patch with his legs crossed and eyes closed. I could tell that something internal was happening inside of him. A mixing of mana, which was cultivated than shared into the seed Wink just recently planted. After a few moments, the seed sprouted into a small grass sprout. He opened his eyes, then stood up. He waved at the rest of the pods behind him and ended it with a wink. The Cultivators all patted him on the back as congratulations. “Teka, come forth child, and select your destiny,” Elandris said. Teka, impatient of the whole ceremony, pushed past the rest of his peers and headed straight towards the Grass Soldiers. He was eager to get this done with, and also eager for the strength that he trained to attain for most of his life. He was then handed the seed, which he promptly chucked into his mouth swallowing it. At this point, he would sit and also mediate the seed to sprout inside of him. Instead, he stood while meditating. After a few long moments, his skin began to turn greener, his body began to grow thicker and wider, giving him extra height to his 9 inches. The Grass Soldiers gave him a salute, he returned it back briskly then stood in the line beside them. Ever eager to be prompt and on point. And so it went on until the 98th member of podlings were finally chosen with me being the last one to choose and take the trial. 38 more went to the Grass Singers, three of them were male with strong baritone voices. 30 went to Grass Cultivators, a few females were among them. Lastly, 20 went to the Grass Soldier, all stood stiff ready for instructions. And for me. With a slow grudging pause, Elandris just stared at me. She wanted me to wait, I was fine with it. The wait was long enough to be considered rude in some cultures. It looks like she had added another grudge into her list, because of my late and spontaneous introduction. “Sink...Come forth...kid. Select your...role.” She said, a bit of attitude in her voice. I gave a big sigh. I can’t blame her. Sometimes I can’t stand me either. I’m just too much in some circles. Without any second-guessing, I headed to the direction, no one expected but a few for me to go. It was at the direction of the… Grass Singers. The shock on everyone’s faces at that moment was stapled in my memories. A huge grin opened out from my lips. Elandris looked at me with disbelief. My mother looked pale. I heard my father laughing from afar. Sera stared at me with consternation. Wink just gave me a wink, and Teka looked gleeful, so gleeful in fact he started bursting out laughing. Turning around to show everyone who was gaping that I was watching. I then spotted my drummer Blint and gave him a huge nod. Thump. Thump. I thumped the floor with my right foot two times, I then clapped. After the first iteration, Blint followed my thumps with his thrums. After three more iterations, I started singing. “Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday You got mud on your face, you big disgrace Kicking your can all over the place, singin'” “We will, we will rock you We will, we will rock you” My father in the back started clapping and thumping after the first few iterations, then the man on the nutted bicycle also tagged along. After a few more iterations, I had a crowd going. ‘Thank you, Freddie, for your anthem.’ I revered. My mother knew I was an awful singer, a lot of people did in fact. They would hear me humming or singing an unfamiliar, dare I say it an alien tune to their ears. “Buddy, you're a young man, hard man Shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday You got blood on your face, you big disgrace Waving your banner all over the place” As I continued, I was bringing the house down with my anthem beat. The beat of the drums, the synchronization of the claps and thumps, made the passive fair folk in the crowd tag along into this madness. “We will, we will rock you, sing it! We will, we will rock you, yeah.” Mostly every one of the fair folk began to sing along to the chorus after the first iteration of the second chorus. After the third chorus I needed a guitar solo, but I didn’t invent a guitar to my displeasure and it wasn’t small enough to be hidden during the ceremony. So I took out the Harmonica I made springs ago, which I had collected from the laboratory early this morn. I blew into the 10 hole harmonica following the Brian May’s solo in the song. It was spectacular. I had to improvise, cause I did not know the right keynotes for the solo, but I know it’s tempo and the general know-how of it. When the song ended, and everyone had their fill, exhilarated at the score that I introduced to them. The grass sprout and the single leaf continued bending and thumping to the sound that had ended. ‘Looks like I have a diehard fan.’ I smirked. I walked towards the Grass Singers, and they all surrounded me, marveling at my Harmonica and the song I introduced them to. Elandris was shocked, She was stark still from the experience. Then she composed herself and looked at me with a weird expression. Then she turned to all the podlings who had selected their classifications, now all separate from one another. Turning to the Grass Soldiers, she lifted up both her hands and invocated a language that was rarely heard of. “Ains be rith ne ri, Gra Sa.” Every pod in the Grass Soldiers group all perked up, seeing something they can only see. Elandris then turned to the Grass Cultivators. “Ains be rith ne ri, Gra Cu.” It was the same with the podlings in the Grass Cultivators. Finally, she turned to the Grass Singers, especially to me. She was hesitant at first than spoke the words. “Ains be rith ne ri, Gra Sin.”

Congratulations!

You are now a Grass Singer. Stats and Skills added.

Name: Thomas Rendfield

Age: 16 years old.

Race: Grass People.

Classification: Grass Singer.

Level: 2.

Strength: 2

Constitution: 2

Dexterity: 3

Intelligence: 15

Wisdom: 1 + 9

Charisma: 10 + 10

I had finally done it, I finally became a Grass Singer. The final piece for my inventions. Why did I pick Grass Singer you are wondering? Oh, sprout, Grass Singer sings to the grass. And what is singing? Music? And what is music made out of? Sound?

Are you still confused? Well, here it is plain and simple for you. What's the oldest language in the world, common across all countries and planes of existence? Music...for Music is a language, and what is a language to a mind like myself?

A programmable code for me to deconstruct and alter. A wireless connection to the grass, programmed by the code of Music.