Despite the complete overabundance of signs leading one into the forest and pointing directly towards the shrine, the mouse always found himself lost. Perhaps it was the gentle whispering of color as the butterflies went from sorrel plant to sorrel plant, feasting on their now light lavender leaves.
The forest had been named after the sorrels, of course. The entirety of the forest floor at times seemed to be one large carpet of loam, leaves, and the wonderful little plant that kept the butterflies coming, summer after summer.
It was the bells, of course, that eventually told the mouse he was reaching his destination. High up in the forest plateaus, on the highest hill sat the shrine. Within that shrine were bells of every kind. Large ones and small ones, bells hanging by themselves and bells on a string of other bells. Bells draped across the arching branches like wonderful pennants of sound. The shrine prided itself on the upkeep of the shrine, and each bell was an almost sacred item.
After climbing up the wooden path to the shrine, the mouse picked an alcove beneath a tree and sat. The mouse folded his tail in his lap. His mind centered in on the things he could hear with his eyes closed.
He heard the low creak of the wooden slats in the bridge as footpaws walked over it, just as countless before had done the same. He heard the wind ruffling the leaves of the early summer trees, bright and vibrant. He heard the songbirds and crows in the trees, who had come hoping to scavenge offerings left by the visitors, or perhaps their lunch.
Most of all, however, he heard the bells. Strung together on rope, going from branch to branch and trunk to trunk, the low clunk and clatter of the bells soothed his mind. The newest and deepest one so far rang out a hearty bellow every time the wind passed through. It was the bell of Balion.
The mouse opened an eye. Two visitors, hares, had sat down across the glade. They looked to be father and child. The child pointed to various bells. "Tell me about that one!" The father would explain the legend of each hero, name engraved into the bell and then inked in black.
"Each bell is the bell of a leader. Every time a leader leaves the town, we make a bell in his honor. We put his name on that bell, and hang it here, in the glade. He passes his blessing down to someone else, and then? That someone else is revealed to the town at the Summer bonfire."
"Next week!"
"Yes. The bonfire is next week, good! Tell me, I wonder, do you remember some of the bells yourself? You should learn these things by heart, you know." The father pointed to an almost ancient bell, weathered and showing much patina. "Who's bell is that?"
"Rumex! He was a goat!" The smaller rabbit said. "He was one of the oldest and firstest heroes that ever lived here."
"First. It's leader, not hero, remember the saying. 'A hero makes a good choice in the moment. A leader makes good choices always."
"Fine, leader! Rumex was one of the first leaders! His power was horns that would make anything he wanted to grow. He grew our farms and rivers."
"Very good! Now." He pointed at Balion's bell. "Who was that?"
"Balion the ox! The strongest one to ever live. He did something."
The older rabbit grinned. "The plow. The flood."
"Yea! He plowed the whole field this Spring, when nothing would come back! He also moved every tree and all the buildings when the mudslide on the hill took out the watermill. I miss Balion. Where did he go? Who did he choose?"
"We all miss Balion. He was a good man, and a better friend. No one knows where he went, either. No one knows where any of the leaders go. It's said that their power gives them sort of a wandering heart, and restless feet. They help us, they grow, they learn and hone their skills, then they move on. To help the rest of the world, I guess." The older rabbit stood up. "About time we get going. lunch will be ready."
"But who did he choose?" The younger rabbit asked, getting up with a whine.
"We'll find out next week won't we? Until then, only he, or she, knows that little secret."
When he was sure that everyone else had left the grove, the mouse sighed. He looked up at Balion's bell, pursing his lips.
"What did you choose me for?" he asked aloud. "What power am I going to get? What does being a leader even mean!"
The glade sat silent except for the dull clang of Balion's bell.
The mouse narrowed his eyes. Had he imagined it, or had the bell moved when he shouted at it?
"Myszo, I chose you because you can learn"
The mouse snapped his head around. "Balion?"
"Yes."
Balion always had been a bit gruff.
"You're still here?" Myszo asked, tail whipping about in confusion.
"No. But I can hear you sometimes. We all can."
"Who is we?"
"We the leaders. When you talk to our bells, we can hear it. We can be near or far, asleep or awake, alive or dead and we can hear that bell. That's why you hang bells. You learned that."
"Yes but we thought it was just a legend! We all did. Is that why the leader of the town spends so much time up here? To get advice? To talk?"
"Surprise."
Myszo slumped backwards into the tree's alcove. "Just help me. A little. All of Totoon is waiting. The whole town is waiting for a leader. They're getting me instead."
"They're getting both" Balion's bell rang. His voice was clear as day inside Myszo's mind.
Myszo teared up. "I'm scared."
"I know." said Balion. "That's why."
"Why what?"
"Why I chose you. You did not want to be the leader. You did not want to fill the town with your own ideas and make it over in your image. You just wanted to listen and learn. You want to help people. But you don't think you can."
Myszo looked down, frowning to himself. Balion was right.
There was a long silence. The glade's birds sang out to one another. The bells swung and chimed in the wind, as light afternoon clouds obscured the sun. The creek continued to babble off in the distance, making its way through the winding forest floor.
"How did you choose?" Myszo asked. "What made me...it."
"Do you remember when the wooden chimes fell off of Marc's house?"
"Yes." he said. "Those chimes were strung from his chimney to his gables. He seems to think they're the best in the town. That it makes him better than anyone else. When they fell off, he actually looked sad. Not that I care."
"Don't lie to me. You do. You put them back. I was cutting wood in the forest, watching. I saw you."
Myszo blinked. Thinking back, he did hear chopping that day.
Balion continued. "You picked up the rope and chimes and climbed up onto his roof, and tied them back. It took you almost ten minutes. You didn't even know how to tie a knot, and you are terrified of heights."
"I'm a mouse. It sort of comes with the territory."
"And yet" Myszo could almost hear the smile in Balion's voice "You did it anyway. That is why. Because of who you are when no one is watching. Because of what you think and where your heart is. That is why you are leader now."
Myszo paused to think on this. As he did, the bells chimed with a strong gust of wind. The cloud over the Sun lazily made its way West, letting the Sun once again bathe the glade in warm golden blankets of light.
"You have a point" said Myszo. "I'm doing my best to learn. I'll figure that out as I go along. I'll help when I can, and apologize when I mess up. That's all anyone can ever ask for, right?"
Silence in Myszo's mind. Balion's bell did not ring.
"Balion?"
"That was easy. I've had to give a lot harder pep talks." Balion's bell shook independent of the wind, as if it were laughing. "Got what you came for?"
Myszo nodded, then realized Balion couldn't see him. "Yes. Thank you. One more question. When you start wandering. Where do you go?"
"The world is a big place Myszo. A lot of people need to be taught to be leaders. When you leave the village, you'll go and teach everyone you meet what you've learned. You lead by example."
Myszo smiled. "Sounds terrifying. Thank you Balion. Goodbye."
Silence. Myszo got up and stretched, then made his way across the creaky wooden footbridge, down the forest path, and back down towards Totoon.
Even vacant, the bells of the glade rang out, long and merry. Their songs and wisdom would ring out forever, calling those who would learn to the glade. In quiet meditation, one would find the wise voices of past leaders whispering to them and instructing them.
The stories of the leaders and their deeds and lessons would grow with each new member, until an epic saga of deeds and wisdom holds enraptured all who hear it.
In Totoon it is said that if off in the distance, one listens very quietly..
They may hear the chimes form a song.
