Sigler: A Song of the South Wind

If one listens,
the wind sings many songs,
some of life,
some of death
and some of nothing at all.

In the city of Colmeth, by the Sea of Salagon, there lived one Sigler, a worker in wood. Whether it was a simple table for a farmer, of local wood, solid and plain; or a fine cabinet for a merchant prince, with inlays of precious woods and metals, there was none who could better shape wood to need and dream. With the arrogance of craftsmanship, he took each job as it came, giving no preference to the status of the patron. As his prices were fair and his skills superior, this was tolerated and even looked on with amusement. He worked for the wood itself, each piece a friend, to be used and shaped with care and respect to its grain, its form, its texture; a child to be sent into the world, protected by the beauty of its final form, too beautiful to misuse.

As Sigler worked he hummed and sang, strange melodies that flowed with the wind.
And sometimes, when the willows sang the songs of the South Wind, he laid down
his tools and wandered through the city to the shore and faced the sea and the
wind and listened.

One day, when the willows danced to the songs of the South Wind, Sigler crafted a harp. He closed his shop for the last time, and slept under the stars. The moon sang to him and the wind whispered in his ears, and when he awoke he sang the songs they had taught him.

He sang of blue mists shifting to thunderous yellows, and the rain fell, gray swept through the wind. He sang of sunshine, golden on the fields, and the crops ripened. He sang of the moon spinning shadows through the leaves, and those who heard him remembered long forgotten dreams.

One day, when the willows wept to the songs of the South Wind, Sigler's songs changed to those of fire and death and he told the city it would die; from the north would come their destruction, and Colmeth would burn.

No longer was he welcome in the taverns where he used to sing for a meal. They
laughed and called him mad; for the north ringed Colmeth with mountains no army could scale. Besides, Colmeth had no enemies; their merchant ships were welcome in every
port. They laughed at him the evening that he left. They laughed and the morning sun
rose to find the ashes from a new forming mountain had blasted Colmeth into the sea.

Sigler traveled west along the shore,
shadowed by the wind and the stars.
The moon haunted his sleep with red-gold visions of fire.

One day,
when the willows swayed to the songs of the South Wind, Sigler caught
a tremor in the breeze. He turned aside and walked until he met a farmer sitting
alone near a cliff overlooking the sea and told the farmer that his son would live.

The Farmer's son had lost his arm in an accident in the fields and the doctors from Loran had told him his son would die. The farmer did not know who this fool was who stood before him in tattered robes with the moon in his eyes and so asked him who he was to disagree with the learned doctors. Sigler answered that the doctors were indeed wise but the child would live and the morning would ring with the child's laughter. He turned then, and walked back to the cliffs and watched the waves and the wind.

In the morning the farmer was awakened by the sound of the child's call. He ran to his son and the child told his father of a funny dream he had had of how he was a king with a shining sword in a palace on the cliffs by the sea. The music of his laughter mixed with the rhythms of the harp floating in through the window.

The farmer gathered food and drink and went to the cliffs and placed them next to Sigler, bowed his head humbly and left. Sigler smiled, then laughed, and the willows laughed to the songs of the South Wind.

Sigler stayed with the farmer and sang for him and his son. They walked through the fields together and Sigler stopped to say plant wheat here or corn there and this land should rest for a season. And the crops planted according to his instructions thrived and were among the best the farmer had ever seen harvested. The farmer prospered.

One evening, the farmer, growing anxious about his son's future, asked Sigler what would become of his son. What future did a one armed man have? Sigler answered that he listened to the wind, the moon, the sea and the earth. His son would be healthy and strong. That much the whispers could tell him, for a man's body is of the earth, but a man's fate is in his own hands and the earth knows nothing of it.

Some days, Sigler wandered down the cliffs and through the city of Loran; sometimes he traveled eastward and returned after a few weeks with ashes in his hair, but most of the time he sat on the cliffs and played to the wind and the waves.

One day, when the willows cried to the songs of the South Wind, Sigler looked up from the cliffs to the city and knew that it to would die. He ran to the farmer's cottage but only the boy was there. He told him the city was going to burn and that he should leave; and the boy left with the South Wind, and headed for the north.

Sigler went down to Loran and sang
to them of the flames that would soon destroy their
city. They laughed at him and told him their city would live
as long as the sea washed its shore.
He climbed to the cliffs and looked down at Loran.
He screamed to the South Wind,
but the song did not waver.
He threw himself to the South Wind and fell to the rocks and the waves.

In Loran, when the evening walks gray across the sky, and the people gather to hear the storytellers spin their tales; they ask the minstrels to tell them again of the mad man who wandered into their city, smoke tattered with the moon in his eyes; who ran screaming through the city and told them they would die and then threw himself from the cliffs to the sea.

And, one day, when the willows swayed to the songs of the South Wind, a one-armed king, with the wind in his hair and the moon in his eyes, came out of the North and conquered the Six Cities of Salagon. He built a palace on the cliffs above Loran where he ruled until he died. He beheaded any who told the story, but the legend survived; and when. with his shining sword in his hand, he threw himself to the South Wind and fell to the rocks and the waves, he was added to the tale.

For Loran still stands by the Sea of Salagon, and prospers, and grows; and the willows still laugh to the songs of the South Wind; for…

…if one listens,
the wind sings many songs,
some of life,
some of death
and some of nothing at all.