The morning always begins the same way in Rhocus Wand – with the Songbirds taking to the High Places and singing our city anthem.
These are not the birds of feather, nest and speckled egg that might declare the dawn in any other town or untamed place. The Songbirds are our fellow citizens – albeit elevated ones – and they are a choir, a library and a church, all at once. They are Those Who Sing Our Story. And: they do not walk up to any high place, but to the purpose-built High Places; chambers made solely for them to raise their voices from, shaped to throw their melody as far and wide as possible.
The seven Songbirds each have a different High Place. Each belongs to only them. In their shared song is all the history of our city; back to its founding myth. Its opening bars are full of wild peril, as the Songbirds sing of the First Ones and their battles with weird hybrid monsters from the clouds, caves and forest.
Then one singer – a different one each morning – announces themselves as the Key for that day. They do this by sounding one, long note – low or high, depending on the singer – which sets the key for that morning’s song.
In most of the world, you know what day it is because they follow a pattern. Sunday, Moonday, and so on. Here in Rhocus Wand, none of us know what day it is until that note is sounded. Odday, Erday, Imday, Afday, Losday, Alday, Itday… if it’s Itday, a cheer goes up from half the city. That’s our day of rest and celebration. During a festival, we might get several Itdays in a row. Most of the other days are much alike in most ways, which is to the good, because you want to be prepared for any of them. But people have their habits, rituals and superstitions. On Alday, many join in the song at this point.
Whichever day it is, each Songbird adds their own note until their unified chord fills the city sky. In the melody that emerges, they invoke the Serene Age of Rhocus Wand; singing about the generations who built and planted, who gave us the First Wall – and the First High Place, and the First Singer.
There’s always a moment when the whole choir falls silent. Sometimes you can hear actual birds, then, but never anything else. Disturbing that silent moment is strictly forbidden. Two hundred and fifty years ago, the Mad Mayor tried to put birds to death for disturbing it. Thankfully, while it might be notorious, his administration was brief enough for the Songbirds to skip over it.
The one human voice that will disturb the silence is the Key. He or she gives one, loud, clear ‘Yip!’ into the silence. Then as it fades away, they all join in again. That ‘Yip’ is in honour of the First Singer.
Then we’re into the big themes – the battle with Nix-Across-The-River, the Grieving, the Glory. Most of us can’t resist joining in with the triumphant ‘da-da-da-da-DAH!’ of the Glory.
The most beautiful thing about our city anthem is that it’s still being written. If someone has a new motif or even a couple of notes written into the song, they know they’ve really made their mark – their name or deed, or if they’re really fortunate, both – will be sung from the rooftops for as long as we still have a city.
This morning, though, a voice was missing from the chorus. There was no Er note as the other five joined in with the Key. So at the end of the song, the Songbirds added in their shining voices that they would be seeking a new Er singer… this is a process where a new singer is tried every day.
It can be a long process. And not always a pleasant one. The last time I tried, the anthem was actually booed…
That was Al, though. I think Er is more my key. I’m going to try again.
Wes Viola is a pen name of Wes White. Wes is the 10th Bard of Glastonbury. When he was seven years old, he bought himself a copy of JH Brennan’s ‘GrailQuest‘ book 1, and after finding Merlin talking to him directly through its pages, has never been the same since. You can find some of the milestones on his forking paths at http://linktr.ee/wesviola