The Bard of White Arbor

If the gods ever felt the urge to prefer some days over others, Cedric wagered the days after rain were their favorites. How could they choose anything else? The moist earth giving way so comfortably underfoot was only outshined by delicious purity of the air, or possibly how the leaves of the trees glowed with renewed vigor against the damp browns of the branches and trunks holding them up. The echoing exchange of birdsong shooting across the trees was pretty nice too, but at its best when accompanied by the scurrying of rabbits, squirrels or maybe the lucky sighting of bigger game. Cedric felt for the leather quiver and bow across his back, overtop his brown leather jacket, jerkin and white linen shirt. He smiled; maybe he’d get lucky. A cold gust of wind shook loose droplets of water from the leaves, giving a slight chill. He brushed a few stray strands of blond hair out of his face and behind his ear. Fragments of sunlight pierced through the forest canopy; he’d be out of White Arbor by midday.

Speaking of, why was it even called White Arbor? He remembered his Mum’s bedtime stories of ice forests with leaves made of snow, where giant wolves would hunt mammoths and dragons were imprisoned beneath frozen lakes. But White Arbor wasn’t in the North, it wasn’t even close, and not a single thing in it was white. Not the green leaves, the dark brown tree trunks, or the earthy forest path littered with rotting leaves and who knew what else. Literally any other color could work but maybe “Brown Green Black with a bit of Red” Arbor didn’t have the same ring to it.

Either way, he’d finally made his way out. The trees broke away and a wide grass field replaced the canopy and tangled branches, the path leading roughly twenty paces past the treeline before splitting at a signpost made of weathered, brown wood. The mountains and mining towns lay in the East and the fishing villages in the West, and with these frequent rains signaling the onset of spring Cedric went with the first option. Townspeople needed escorts up God’s Tooth once the mines thawed out and the bounty boards always overflowed with offers against raider clans and hungry animals holed up since the start of winter. Satisfied with his choice, Cedric set off down the thin dirt path towards the white-tipped God’s Tooth rising high in the distance. It didn’t take long for his mind to go to the payday awaiting him once he got there. This excited him, but he couldn’t walk too fast. He wouldn’t make a single copper if he showed up too tired to raise his bow.

“...O’er hills of green, and fields of ash, past billowing beasts of blackened gas…”

Cedric stopped walking and looked around. He was the only one around for a dozen leagues. He cocked an ear and listened close, blocking out the ambience of the forest on his left.

“...a cozy hearth lie yonder still, whose light and bounty our bellies fill…”

Was that… music? He broke off from the path and decided to investigate, following the sound over roots and under branches until it led him to a rotting building a little ways inside the Arbor. Cedric recognized it as a barn, one not unlike to the one he grew up in, its paint long since flaked away and planks falling off. What was a barn doing inside a forest? His curiosity piqued, Cedric pulled the old barn door open but was disappointed to find it empty, and he’d only just noticed that the music had stopped too. The only thing awaiting him inside was the smell of dry must.

“Well that wasn’t the best use of twenty minutes,” he sighed to himself. “But, if I’m here…”

Cedric walked inside and plopped himself down against the back wall, pulling a modest lunch of bread and cheese from his pack.

“A good day to you, m’lord!”

Cedric looked up from his tiny block of cheddar, his dirk halfway through it. A man stood in the barn’s doorway, the light from outside obscuring him into a silhouette, but upon stepping inside Cedric could make some more details. He looked to be some kind of drifter dressed in simple leathers and linens with a bag over his shoulder. The black beret on his head obscured every bit of hair he had, if he had any at all, and he wore a small black mustache on his upper lip.

“A good day to you as well, sir,” replied Cedric, noticing how he didn’t hear the stranger approach. He popped a bite of cheese in his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was trespassing,”

“No need for apologies! White Arbor is a place for all,”

“You headed towards God’s Tooth too?”

The stranger sighed. “Alas, I am not headed towards the mountains today. I merely tell stories for anyone passing through the wonderful White Arbor. May I sit?”

Cedric shrugged. “Sure,”

Upon sitting down on the dirt floor the man opened up the bag and revealed a stunning lyre of dark brown walnut and ebony, its arms carved into trees. Not just trees, but the trees of the forest Cedric just walked through.

“She’s beautiful,” Cedric commented. “You from Trexes? I heard they’re so rich they wipe their asses with gold leaf,”

“Your kind words fall on unworthy ears, m’lord,” the stranger said with a smile. He slowly, methodically plucked each of the ten strings, and the ambience of the forest seemed to melt away at just those few notes. “I’ve heard of the great city of Trexes but regretfully I’ve never seen it myself. I’m simply a bard, nothing more,”

“A bard, huh?” Cedric looked around. “What’s a bard doing all the way out here? I don’t see many lords or ladies in need of love songs,”

Suddenly the stranger let out a high pitched laugh. “Where else would I be? I’m the Bard of White Arbor!”

“Never heard of you,”

“Until today,” said the Bard matter-of-factly. “May you indulge me, m’lord? I have many tales to tell and few ears to hear them,”

Cedric eyed the Bard’s lyre, then the beams of sunlight shining between the wooden barn walls. It wouldn’t get dark for a while. Screw it, he had some time to spare.

“Sure,” replied Cedric, breaking off a piece of the bread. “I haven’t got any gold to throw your way but I have this. And cut it with the ‘m’lord’ stuff. I’m no lord,”

“You’re too kind, my friend, but I require no payment, gold or otherwise. All I require is your time,” said the Bard. “Now, let me tell you a story,”

And he did. He told tales across all of space and time, of sacrifice and honor, of metal ships that sailed the stars as if the heavens were the sea, of children casting magic rituals in the moonlight, Cedric didn’t stop listening, he couldn’t! Every tale seemed more beautiful than the last. One second he found himself keeled over in laughter and the next he’d be blinking away tears. And the lyre, oh, the lyre! Its notes flowed like honey in the air. Cedric had never heard anything so beautiful in all his life, its music imbuing an awe into him that he hadn’t experienced since he was a child. The Bard finished up his last ballad and took a bow, the moon itself acting as his spotlight through a hole in the old barn's roof. Cedric’s stomach panged from hunger; he’d been too enthralled by the bard’s tales to remember dinner.

“You’re magnificent,” he said, getting up. He’d been sitting so long his bones and legs ached.

“As are you, my friend. You’ve made a wonderful audience,” the Bard said. He flashed an unsettlingly wide smile full of square, white teeth. “Care to stay? I’ve plenty more tales to tell,”

“Sorry, but no. I’ve got work ahead of me,” Cedric said. He turned to leave the barn but the front door was unusually heavy, much heavier than when he came in a few hours ago.

“Are you sure it was just a few hours ago, my friend?” asked the Bard, casually plucking the strings of his lyre. Even now, the notes filled Cedric with an indescribable warmth.

“Pardon? I didn’t say anything,”

“But you did, and I heard it,” the Bard said. “Are you so sure it’s only been a few hours?”

“What...?” Cedric replied. He removed his gloves, and his breath left him. His hands were leathery and wrinkled, like the hands of an elder. “What is this? What are you?!”

The Bard let loose another high pitched laugh, whining and sinister. “Oh, my friend, I’ve already told you! I’m the Bard of White Arbor, and you’ve made a wonderful audience,”

Cedric went into survival mode, his body lagging behind his mind as his hands grasped for his bow and felt nothing. He’d sat so long it had turned to dust on his back. This had to be a trick, some kind of horrific illusion, it had to be!

“Oh no, I’m elated to say this is very much real,” replied the Bard.

“Give me back my strength, siren! Now!”

“Would that I could,” the Bard lamented. “But I’ve not taken it from you,”

“Liar!” Cedric cried desperately. His hair fell around his face, his blond locks replaced with frail, white strands. White Arbor...

“It’s the truth.” He removed his black beret to reveal his own mop of snow white hair, and it turned blond right before Cedric's eyes. “You’ve only given me your time. Endless, delicious time…”

Cedric wanted to run but he’d die out there in the forest in winter with no shelter. His only hope was to stay with the Bard until winter passed, and come spring he’d leave this wretched place and let people know of its horrors. Yeah, he could never leave now…. He’d leave in the spring… in a little while….

“Fret not, child, your story is but one of many. Care for another song? I’ve found music can help weary bones,” the Bard asked, his smile growing unnaturally wide. His teeth almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. Cedric closed the barn door behind him and silently sat down in front of the Bard. Those first plucks made him forget the winter outside, and a smile sprouted across his wrinkled, aged face as the Bard’s words flowed forth once more. He tucked a strand of white hair behind his ear, closed his eyes and just listened to the Bard, reminding himself he’d leave come spring.

He’d remember, he told himself. He’d remember...