The stone halls of the Divine Spire were silent. The bright sunlight outside filtered through glass windows, passed through hanging strips of thin, colored fabric, and then finally reached Torek on the floor below. He was supposed to be playing his little harp but the music never seemed right to him, never sounded good enough to be played for the pantheon. Yet he had been the one chosen to play for them. High in the alcoves along the walls above they stood, or sat, or lounged, as they waited for him to begin.

It was forbidden for anyone to speak to the deities. Even to attempt it would immediately render them a lifeless husk. Music was different, however. Anything could be said, or sung rather, to them without fear of harm coming to the one performing. Many theologians argued about why this was the case, but none of the members of the pantheon had ever revealed the reason and so no one could agree on the matter. A select few who had played for the pantheon in the past claimed to have gained some understanding but were either unable or unwilling to elaborate upon their epiphany.

The gathering of the pantheon to this hallowed structure occurred only once in a generation, making it all the more important for Torek to play the songs correctly. The selection of songs was always made with great care, each one a prayer for divine aid or inspiration. While it was the people’s choice as to which songs were chosen, it was the pantheon who selected the performer.

The Divine Spire was not a structure built by people and it did not remain in the world while the pantheon roamed the wider universe. Besides the glass in the windows and hanging cloth inside, the Divine Spire was composed entirely of stone. The outside walls were decorated in statues depicting every past performer who had sung to the pantheon, with the statue and name of the one selected to play for the pantheon next being etched into the massive stone doors. The Divine Spire would appear one year prior to their return, at which point the doors would open of their own accord and admit the one selected to play for them. All others were barred from entering and any attempt to sneak or force their way in was met with immediate death.

Torek felt the time slipping by and still his hands wouldn’t stop trembling and his mind couldn’t hold onto the music he’d spent the last year feverishly learning and practicing just for this day.

“You play well,” called down a voice from above. It wasn’t angry or insulting, but the power within each syllable threatened to crush Torek. “The best of your people begin in silence.”

It was an encouraging to hear that, especially knowing that the pantheon did not lie. Yet, he knew dozens of other, more talented performers than himself. A year ago he wasn’t even what he would have considered to be a performer. He played his little harp more as a means of passing the small moments alone. He didn’t even think his closest friends or family knew he had a harp until he’d been chosen by the pantheon. Even with the year of serious practice he rarely played any of the songs flawlessly.

A few notes of music drifted down from above. Torek recognized them as the opening notes to the first song he was supposed to play for them. A moment passed and then the notes came again. Licking his lips and wiping his nervous brow, Torek finally set his fingers to the harp strings and began to play. His rhythm was awkward and he missed a few notes but no disapproving remarks were made from the pantheon.

Torek had free reign over what order he played the songs in and he’d chosen this one specifically because it had a longer musical intro than the others and he had thought that that would make it easier for him to ease into singing. As he worked his way through the music he suddenly became aware that he had no idea what the words were. He had forgotten them entirely. He found a convenient place in the music to loop back on and used the added time to try and remember the lyrics.

He looped back a second time, and then a third, but still he couldn’t remember the words. Even with the earlier words of encouragement from the pantheon Torek was feeling the burning shame of his failure. With nothing else he could think of doing, he allowed the music to finally progress passed the intro but instead of the intended words he filled the space with his own.

I’m sorry to have failed you

Oh writer of this song

I’m sorry to have failed you

Oh great ones from beyond

Such time and trust you’ve given me

A sacred opportunity

The hopes, dreams, needs of all this land

In faltering voice and shaking hand

Torek played only one verse of the song, having no other words to replace the other forgotten lines, and he let the harp still once more. He didn’t mean to go right into the next song but the force of habit from his year of practice made his fingers begin again of their own accord.

The words of this second song were lost to him as well and real terror began to settle in. Had he forgotten all of the words to every song? There were dozens of song, and each song had several verses, but he had been practicing for a year! He ought to be able to remember at least some of the words. Last week he had even played his way through them all with only minor errors. This second song had no drawn-out intro and nowhere he could easily repeat like he had last time. Once again he found himself singing words of his own to fill in the space.

The people’s words are true and pure

Would that you could hear them sure

They long for peace that can endure

For hidden knowledge long obscure

With grand petitions they adjure

Seek thy blessing and assure

E’en though others you could procure

I’m the one you did secure

A man of talent most impure

Much in wanting and unsure

The song ended and Torek let the tears for his failure flow. No matter how hard he worked, no matter what opportunities he was give, even having the best tutors and all the time in the world for the past year to practice, and he was still nothing more than a middling performer. In some ways he was glad this performance would never been seen or heard by any mortal. On the other hand, the only ones whose opinions really mattered were the ones witnessing his utmost disaster.

As his hands began to play the third song he knew his throat was too choked up with emotion for him to even attempt to fill in for the forgotten words. He played, knowing he would be silent, knowing he would never play again for anyone after this day. Who was he to think that he could play for the pantheon? If he couldn’t play even one song properly for them, then he didn’t deserve to play music for anyone, not even for himself. However, as he came to where the singing was supposed to start, a voice sang out from above. He was so startled he nearly fumbled the harp but he recovered and listened while he played.

Oh sweet child, you who wanders in the dark

You need not fear to stumble or be filled with deep regret

We never asked perfection, only this trial to embark

To you we did invite, to play in this duet

Come seek us in the music, find us in the song

Let your whole soul cry it out and be free

Together we are one, we have been joined all along

Share with all the living melody

Oh sweet child, you do not know your part

You’re learning as you go the best you can

Mistakes will be made, don’t let them quail your heart

Your life, your joy, your call is just began

Come seek us in the music, find us in the song

Let your whole soul cry it out and be free

Together we are one, we have been joined all along

Share with all the living melody

As the voice held their final note, Torek knew they were concluding the song and he let the harp grow still. He hadn’t played for them that time, and neither had it been like accompanying a singer either. They had played together; a strange unity he had never experienced before. The pause between songs lingered this time, but Torek knew he was not finished yet. He wept, but not for sorrow or despair anymore. As the chords of the fourth song began to flow from his harp, yet other instruments joined him from above. Voices, too, added their strength to Torek as he sang. It didn’t matter when he made mistakes, when he said the wrong word or played the wrong note. The pantheon truly knew him, had known what they were doing when they chose him. He still didn’t fully understand their reasoning, but he was beginning to make peace with not understanding it all.

Never could he remember exactly what he sang the rest of that day, the songs all forming in the moment they were played and then fading back away into the ether from whence they’d come. What he did remember was far more important anyway, and it was those things that he shared, those things that he taught to others. Some listened, some thought he was being eccentric, and others accused him of madness. In the end, Torek never attained great skill or renown as a performer but he wasn’t bothered by that. In the quiet moments alone, he often found himself, harp in hand, playing strands of long forgotten songs and the voices of the pantheon lingering in his ears and that was enough for him.