7th Summer, 520
The mountains were high enough that the evening summer winds carried the last of the daytime heat as they buffeted up from the valley between the Shinyama and the Zintia mountains. The bard found the walk down the long thin bridge between the mountains more refreshing than terrifying. He remembered there was a time when he was eye level with his Pop’s dog and the valleys so far below would make him cry until his Ma picked him up so he didn’t have to walk across the bridge himself. Two decades later, the thousand or more foot drop was not a thought in his mind as he passed an Okomo. The majestic creature was making its way back west, so comfortable with the other pedestrians on the bridge, it hardly noticed when Cithius extended a few fingers to brush over the thick wooly coat as it passed.
But he did not stop, gripping his instrument case in his right hand, and humming improvised tunes to himself as he made his way towards the Plaza.
“Good evening” He tipped into an exaggerated bow to young teen who was fiddling with something in his hand. The teen scowled, but said nothing, and Cithius continued on.
It was just after the dusk rest period and still early enough in the night that a few families mingled in the Plaza. Two sets of parents lounging and gossiping on pair of benches, hardly watching the children that played an especially scream-worthy game of tag. He could see the workers lighting the lamps in front of the businesses on the edge of the Plaza, preparing for the night crowds and flashed back to the awful smelling oil that one could not get off their clothes if they spilled it. Cithius did not miss that job.
He could hear a familiar chord of a children’s lullaby striking up on another bard’s instrument on the steps leading up to the Koten Temple, so he walked a little further until he found his bench. It was far enough away from the fountains so that the water didn’t throw off his rhythm, and far enough away from the more popular busking spots where the more experienced bards captured their coin, and he wouldn’t make an utter fool of himself. Cithius took a heavy seat on the bench and opened his instrument case, pulling out his simple fiddle and bow, and a small wooden sign.
Cithius set out his instrument case on the floor in front of the bench, propping the little wooden sign against it which said simply: “Coin for a chord or a chat.” He could feel the nervous feeling bubbling in his chest as he prepared to perform, no matter how comfortable he was with his job, despite his talent, there was always a spike of energy and nervousness to get him started for the evening. He couldn’t hear the soft melody of the lullaby anymore, but he knew the song well enough that it was already stuck in his head.
It was a relatively easy four chords, repeated in slightly different patterns through the song. The fiddle was not the easiest of instruments, but he had so enjoyed the lively jigs his neighbor played as a child, that he was determined to enjoy the instrument as well. Still, it was easier to listen to someone else than to make your own strings sing. With his bow relaxed at his side, he adjusted the fiddle to his chin, letting the polished wood caress his stubbled chin. Cithius hardly remembered the words chronologically, as it was one of those songs that could easily switch the verses for something else. But the tune was well ingrained in any Lhavitian child, so he licked his lips, and began humming ‘The Ladybird and The Bee’ as he pressed his fingers into the strings, playing the silent chords without the sound of his fiddle. When reciting, vocalizing the song helped him focus on the rhythm.
Cithius’ tired gaze fell over the Plaza, taking each person in for a second and then moving on. The beginning of his performances were always a little slow to start as he adjusted to his instrument. Surely one day he wouldn’t have to practice his chords before playing them, but he found it saved him the embarrassment of forgetting a verse while actually playing the song. Turning his eyes to the nearest fountain, he kept humming. He was matching the familiar tune of his voice to the movements his fingers would have to make to have the fiddle sing instead. Only once he was sure he wasn’t going to forget a note, did he raise his bow, standing up as if it would give his elbow more room.
“The ladybird took off and landed on a tree,” He sang, pulling and pushing the bow over the horse hair. The children’s song was supposed to by lively and fast, reminding one of a bubbling creek and bringing laughter from toddlers. But since it was his first song of the night, it accidentally took on a more morbid tone, as he played each note carefully and slowly, more concerned with messing up than with drawing in large crowds. ‘Creative Freedom’ was always his excuse when questioned why he changed the speed of the song. But reality was if he went too fast, he knew he would mess up.
“Upon a yellow flower she met a bumblebee,” He continued, continuing to play the second verse’s tune, which was similar to the first, but with one important note addition. “They both were curious and confused and happy,”
And it didn’t take long for Cithius to increase his speed, despite the mistakes, falling into the familiar joyful tune. Since he was singing and no longer humming, he let his foot tap the speed into the stone beneath him, and it wasn’t long before he was kicking out his foot and taking an exaggerated step around the bench with each verse. Even though it was a simple tune a children’s lullaby, Cithius was happy to escape into the song, prancing around his bench and singing to his fiddle. He was having more fun with a fiddle than a grown man should, and quickly forgetting that he was there for pay.
“We are jolly good friends and always play together,
We fly up in the sky and reach the clouds forever.
And there we spend the time having more fun than ever,
And if you think we’re fools you’re wrong because we’re clever!”