Little Bird

Little Bird 

His name was Shohari- or was it? Was he ever even human at all? He surely couldn’t have been, because that voice? It was as if the angels blessed him when he was born. Any note? He could hit it. He learned so quickly how to move his voice like a river drifting between land and rocks. And his voice only cracked once when he was young. Kings and queens of kingdoms far and wide always requested him to perform for celebrations. But he wasn’t happy. He was constantly shipped from here to there, singing whenever anyone told him to. He was treated like a music box more than a person. How did he get here, you ask? That is a wonderful question.

    Seventeen long years ago, a young elven warrior fell in love with a peasant woman in a poor human kingdom. His guild had been passing through, and they decided to stay for a while. She was a barkeep, sweeping floors and mopping up spills. When his eyes landed on her, it was that fateful thing called “love at first sight”. Cupid had struck him right in the heart, and he fell hard. So, he stood, and tried to make conversation. She was young and needed money- she had no time to talk to this pointy eared buffoon! But he tried and tried to speak to her, to at least hear her name. Finally, he made a deal. “I promise, if you’ll only speak with me,” he started. “I will leave you be for the rest of my time here.” She gave in, and the two sat at a small table together. At first, she was disinterested, but the more he spoke, and the more she answered, she became more and more interested, until she too had been shot by an arrow of love. 

    The two spent as much time as they could together. She invited him into her small home, and he was glad to stay with her. But soon their time together came to an end, as his guild had to be on their way. She begged him not to go, and he wanted so badly to stay. But he couldn’t and therefore promised her of his return. Then she was left alone- but a fateful nine months later, she was no longer alone. A little boy had been born, and before the poor woman was overtaken by illness, she named him after his father- Shohari. 

    The boy was orphaned, but he was soon taken in by a young couple who were unable to have a child. The name was quite curious to them, but they overlooked the strange, elvish name, and decided to keep it. It did match his semi-pointed ears, afterall. The man of the house, Clifton, went out everyday to his workshop in the center of the village and made guitars, and then sold them, while the woman, Elaine, stayed home to take care of Shohari. He was sort of a peaceful little boy, only crying whenever he was hungry or tired, and Elaine? She loved him, she loved to take care of the baby with the raven coloured hair, and bright blue icy eyes. But a few years passed, and Clifton wanted his turn with the child- so to the workshop the boy went.

    Guitars bodies and parts laid everywhere, while the finished stringed instruments hung on the wall for display. Shohari looked around at everything curiously, and Clifton smiled. “I sell them. People come and give me money, and I give them a guitar. Then we use the money to buy food.” He explained to the young boy. Shohari didn’t respond- as he didn’t yet speak. But that made no difference to the couple, and they loved him just the same. Clifton reached up, and took a guitar from its place on the wall. Then he began to tune it. At the sound of the strings, Shohari immediately became interested. He came over and sat on the floor in front of the man, who smiled at him. “I had dreams of playing when I was younger.” He told the child softly. Then, he plucked one of the strings. Shohari looked up in awe, his little blue eyes staring up at the instrument in wonder. Clifton looked down at him, smiling still before playing a chord on the guitar. He hoped it would encourage the hybrid child to start speaking- and it did, in a way. He played the chord a few times, before finally, Shohari tried to copy the sound the guitar made. Clifton paused, staring at the boy. The sound he had made had sounded so… indescribable! He played the chord again, and Shohari copied. Again and again the chord was played, and again and again Shohari copied. Then Clifton tried another chord, and after a few tries, Shohari began to copy it as well. Despite his age, despite how small he was, he sounded as though he was and angel preparing to sing in a choir. On and on the two went, until Shohari was starting to put chords together. Finally, Clifton tried with words. And as if he could tell what his father was wanting, Shohari copied. 

    Elaine had worried all day. It was the first day Shohari had been without her, and she hoped the child would be okay. When Clifton returned home, Shohari hanging onto his pant leg, Elaine began to question him of how everything went, and why they were late- and Clifton had the biggest smile on his face when he gently nudged the boy forward. Shohari hesitated, before he quietly spoke. He wasn’t the best speak- he was only three, after all. Elaine gasped, and immediately began to praise the little boy. Shohari smiled timidly. 

    Years passed. Shohari went to the shop with his father everyday, Elaine sometimes accompanying them. Why you ask? To hear her son sing. Everyday Clifton would play the guitar, and Shohari would sing. His voice was smooth like silk, and a bit higher pitched. He loved to sing, so much that his parents nicknamed him “Little Bird”. People would walk by the small workshop, and at the sound of the angelic singing and guitar, would enter in curiosity. Shohari was glad to have a crowd. He loved singing for people as his father played the guitar. He loved seeing the smile on people’s faces when they heard his voice, and he loved the smiles on his parents’ faces when people would buy guitars. He felt proud to bring so much joy to his parents, and proud to bring in customers. It made him feel as though he was special, and in more than just being a half-breed.

    Word of the boy travelled from kingdom to kingdom. Finally, an instructor came to their house, and offered to take Shohari as an apprentice. But the boy wouldn’t have it. He refused to go, he refused the home that he loved so much. But Elaine and Clifton sat him down, both with pained smiles. “You have a gift, son…” His father said softly. “A gift you should share with the world, a gift that makes your mother and I so proud…” Elaine sighed, reaching to place her hand on Shohari’s. “And this isn’t goodbye, I promise you. Your father and I will write to you, and come to see you sing as often as we can.” Shohari had tears in his eyes, but seeing that his parents wanted what was best for him, he agreed to go.

    The instructor took him to a village a ways away from his home. Shohari wasn’t happy. The first night he spent in his new home, he cried. He missed his mother and his father, he missed singing and seeing them smile. And the instructor? He was a borish old man, who only allowed Shohari to sing certain works- and never was he allowed to sing the songs he and his father had written. He hated it. He hated the old man who had stolen away all of his joy. He hated his new home, where everything seemed so gloomy. And he hated himself for agreeing to go, to leave his parents. But what could he do? He couldn’t run away- he couldn’t bare the thought of his mother and father being disappointed in him for throwing away such a wonderful opportunity. So he stayed. He shed a tear after tear, and performed show after show. Whenever he would do something the old crone didn’t like, he wasn’t allowed to go to bed until he had done whatever the man decided his punishment would be this time. And Shohari wasn’t stupid. He knew the old bat was only using him to get money. But the letters he received from his parents gave him at least a little joy, and he always wrote back and told them how he felt. But they would encourage him, telling him it would get better. He knew they loved him, so at least he had that. But everything in his life seemed so dark and awful. 

    One morning, Shohari was woken by the old, crude instructor invading what privacy the hybrid teen had. He was in his small room- packing things. “What are you doing?” The boy asked, giving the man a dirty look. How dare he come in and start messing about with Shohari’s things! “We’re leaving.” The old man grumbled in response, Shohari an almost unpleasant look. “We’re heading over to the bordering kingdom, Alighla.” The half-breed went wide eyed. He didn’t want to leave! He wanted to say here- no, he wanted to go home to his parents! But no amount of begging and pleading could convince the old man. With one final letter, stained with tears, Shohari said goodbye to his parents, and begged them to come and save him as soon as they could. He had no time to wait for a reply from his beloved mother and father, as he was dragged to Alighla. That was when it started- the Little Bird had finally been completely and totally caged. 

    From Alighla, to Jackovia, to Xecona they travelled. Shohari hung on to the hope that his parents would come and save him from this dreadful life- but how could they? They were poor, they had no means to travel from place to place in search of their son. So for the next two years of his life, Shohari hung his head, and sang as he was shipped from place to place. He counted the years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and even seconds, just waiting to be released.

    One day, as the young male was preparing for his next show, he heard voices outside of his small, dressing room. He cracked the door open, and peeked outside. There was a man outside- not just a man, an elvish warrior, with cold, icy blue eyes. He was speaking to the instructor, and they seemed to be arguing. The elf’s eyes met the hybrid’s, and he instantly shut the door. Would he be in trouble for eavesdropping? Would he have to polish shoes or jewelry again before he could go to bed? He quickly sat down at the little vanity, and tried to seem as though he was still getting ready. The door opened, and once again, the cold Elven eyes met Shohari’s. He swallowed, staring wide eyed at the male. 

    “Shohari of Laceion, I am Shohari of Kintana.” The Elf finally said. His voice had a sort of smoothness to is the teen had heard a million times. A friend of his father’s who had always drank a lot sounded like that. But it was different this time. This time, it was soothing, not sounding as though he had swallowed a million pins. When Shohari didn’t answer, the Elf of the same name went on. “You’re mother and father have sent me to bring you home. They missed you very much, and I’m here to ensure that you return to the safely.” Shohari felt tears prick his eyes. His parents… they had finally sent for him- he was finally free of his cage! The Elven male held out is hand to the frozen boy. “Come on, then. We shouldn’t keep your parents waiting.”