Ocra had to stop before she finished her song, before she came to the most important part of the message. A woman came from the village to tell alarming news – a fire started in the eastern part of the forest, a big fire. When Ocra was little she and Oni dealt with a couple of forest fires, but those were only 20 or 30 patches big. Oni warned her then that a fire is the Mother’s rage and means something is not going according to the plan of the Devas. This one, the woman said, judging by the amount of smoke and the number of animals fleeing westwards was at least 150 patches big. Ocra immediately understood that the song was connected with the fire. Something was wrong. Changing back into her usual dress she made up her mind to hold the evening hearing circle nonetheless for it was of a vital importance for the people to hear the song. But now other matters needed attending.

The village people already started dealing with the fire by bringing in water from Anduna, sand and earth to subdue it and praying to the river and the hill for protection. They also sent a messenger to the nearest villages across Anduna and over the hill for extra help. Together they stood a chance of taming that wild fire before it destroyed the whole hillside. Ocra felt very compassionate towards all the living beings’ sufferings and empathized with their fear and devastation trying to help in her own ways. But on the inside she understood that birth and death are integral parts of life, that there are times when things have to be demolished as well as times when things have to be created. There are times when living beings have to fight for their life and prosperity and times when they have to surrender to the greater force and accept their fate. Oni has always told that we should do everything in our power as if all depends on us, but understand that ultimately we depend on the Original Being who at all times has a plan for us.

The Keeper never directly takes part in the lives of her region’s inhabitants – that’s a rule, so Ocra’s task was to meditate, listen to the hill and the clouds and pass on the message about the plan for today’s occurrence to people: whether the hill agrees to the help of clouds and whether the clouds are willing to help. In the eastern part of the forest there was a cave that led to the roots of the hill, though to access the entrance you had to clime midway up the hill. This is where Ocra came to hear its songs. The cave end was very close to the hill’s heart and Ocra could see its heart’s beating like concentric circles before her eyes when she closed them. She called it “heart”, but actually it was vibration emanating from every living entity – the hill’s one was too low and subtle for humans to hear or feel. Once in a while there appeared unusually perceptive ones that could almost sense something, but in general humans are not meant to hear songs, this life form has a different purpose. All this lore was passed down the generations upon generations of Keepers since the beginning of time.

So Ocra climbed into the cave and followed its turns to the heart of the hill. With every step the heart beating grew stronger. She could feel the alarming mood and hurried to hear the rest. Having taken out her deer skin and sat down, the Keeper controlled her emotions and breath and plunged inside her consciousness. She focused solely on the song allowing it to fill her mind completely. She felt like a vessel of sound and images. With her inner eye she saw the form and colour of the sound, of the whole song. It looked like signs, letters from some unknown alphabet, vibrating the song, containing the whole story in itself. Later Ocra would start recording these letters from her numerous meditations and compiling the “original” writing system, as she called it. She passed it on to people to preserve and live by along with the records of all the songs she had ever heard. That was the beginning of the “Keeper’s scriptures”.

In her heart she heard those signs as the sounds of an unfamiliar language, chanting, chiming of the fate of the Hill region and lands far beyond it. She knew what it was about because the sounds turned into images and knowledge that settled into her mind directly without words. Ocra just knew what was being told to her and needs to be done. The scope of knowledge was much bigger now, and it was clear now how it was connected to the song of the dying leaves. She wasn’t surprised though, it felt as though she had always known it. She slowly returned closer to the surface of her consciousness, now her task was to carefully select the proper words for this knowledge. The Keeper slowly climbed out of the mountain and proceeded towards her house, walking and singing on her way:

The Time consumes all in a single blink

Its all-devouring mouth will crush our lives…

When she entered her house, she cast a look on the saffron cloth lying on the chest lid. It made her think of Oni dressed in it at the formal singing, with sun darting through tree leaves, flying across the cloth like little fiery birds. It always seemed mysterious and cozy at the same time, as if the elders from the subtle worlds were approving and stroking her gently and lovingly. Those were her happy childhood memories. It felt strange at first to wear it after Oni had passed on, like she was just filling in for Oni, it took some time to get used to being the Keeper. Although Ocra didn’t lament for Oni like humans do, she felt sad she didn’t have her association anymore. But she was sure somebody else did, since Oni had certainly moved up the hierarchy and was helping other living beings in the subtle worlds.

Now was the time to concentrate on the task, so Ocra wrapped the cloth around herself, put the neckbeads on, took the harp and went outside. The Keeper swiftly walked across the lawn, sat under a colossal oak tree growing right in the middle of the lawn, crossed her legs and put the harp in her lap. Then she closed her eyes, started breathing and slowly synchronising the breath with the surrounding living beings and the flow of the life force. In - the life force enters, out - it exits having come through her body. Thus Ocra established herself as a vessel filled with the wisdom destined to be sung today, carrying it safely and ready to pour it onto the listeners.

She had already informed the villagers earlier of the formal singing tonight, so the front lawn was already filling up. Ocra was still sitting with her eyes closed. She would look everyone in the eye later, greeting them and asking about the fire, offering comfort and advice, after the ritual singing has finished. But now was the moment to share wisdom, heart to heart. As the tradition required the Keeper and the audience started with a simultaneous chanting of a one-syllable mantra that cleared the mind and reconnected the soul to the source of life, turning listeners into hearers, giving them the ability to perceive the wisdom: deep breath, from the depth of the abdomen comes the sound a, the flow of air concentrates and turns into o vibrating in the chest, which condenses to become oo in the throat and concludes with a long m ringing in the forehead. They all chanted it several times until a crispy clean atmosphere covered them where they could hear the echo of the mantra in their minds. They were ready.

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Letting herself open the dam, the words and music somewhere on the outside of her consciousness, Ocra felt the powerful message pouring through her:

The life is leaving us and death is closing in,

The juice of life cut off - fragile and dry our skin.

We heard so many living fade and die before,

Being full of fear while passing to the other shore,

But we don’t fret regretting neither life nor death

For just external shells are cast with our last breath.

For shapes and forms will die and are already thus,

But only we live on and joy lives on in us.

And we will come again and take a mortal dress

And sing of beauty and eternity profess,

As we have done for countless eons in the past -

The light this ageless knowledge will forever cast.

Still there will come a time for light to fade away

And living beings across the world in darkness stay.

And we already feel its whisper in the air

So in our hearts we’re overcome with deep despair.

Ocra finished the Autumn Song and a dead, but pregnant silence hovered over the lawn. The people started stirring, whispering, exchanging concerned looks. The times were changing and they called for different actions - everyone understood that. But they knew that their Keeper also got some answer from the Hill, so they were still hopeful and prepared to listen to the second song. Ocra opened her eyes and cast a meaningful glance at the villagers. There was a depth in her eyes that both fascinated and frightened them. She wanted to pacify them and share her confidence in the ultimate benefit of all happenings. Closing her eyes again, plunging into the depths of her consciousness she unveiled the song of the Hill:

The Time consumes all in a single blink

Its all-devouring mouth will crush our lives.

It’s by design of life: when on the brink

We see the real value, spirit thrives.

The age of fade is sinking on our lands,

It will establish in a hundred years.

Preventing it must be in Keepers’ hands -

To save the knowledge ere it disappears.

Disasters, mere heralds of the age,

Will then unfold into a sea of plight:

There’ll be no more respect for priest or sage,

No value of the knowledge or the light,

The true and false will be inverted, virtue - mocked,

The blind will lead the blind to an abyss,

Profess themselves as Gods, the truth concoct

And only trust their beastly pleasures’ bliss.

All Keepers must unite and cooperate,

Each one contributing their strength and skill,

Devising new ways to get through the gate

Of people’s darkness, and the souls instill

With knowledge, hope and joy and lead the way.

Since memory will wane and sense decline

Books must be written and as pillars stay.

The Keepers must preserve the path divine

And roam over the world, both far and wide -

In every corner will the elder’s songs be sung,

Enlightening the passage to the other side

Where all are ever blissful, wise and young.

The villagers, who were gasping and silently crying in the middle of the song, were now murmuring and conversing, hopeful and inspired. The pride they felt for their Keeper had empowered them as well. Ocra had to venture to some distant lands with an important purpose, and as unwilling as they were to be left without a Keeper, still the colossal picture of the future painted with the words of the Hill filled them with safety and calmness.

Then their leader, a sturdy man named Foll, rose and voiced the question many of them had: “Respected Ocra the Keeper, we know that you also asked for advice from the other spirits (people didn’t know about the elders or the Original being, Oni instructed against it since it was beyond their capacity and didn’t benefit them, but they knew there was some other spirits Ocra sometimes sought advice from). We would like to know what they answered.” All villagers started nodding their heads in agreement, even young children, although they all knew they were not supposed to ask that question, they hoped that this time it was different.

So it was. Ocra felt it in her heart that sharing this knowledge would be safe and to the benefit of all listeners. She took a deep breath, concentrated on conveying the message exactly as it was given to her and started speaking. Everyone could feel the power of these words. Keepers accumulate unparalleled power through contact with Devas and elders, keeping silent, meditating, serving people which they only spent while speaking. When Ocra opened her mouth to speak or sing, the surrounding world faded and one felt as if in a tunnel whose effulgent end was she, the only clear object at the moment, and the words entered one’s heart and left no room for doubt as if deep down one had always known it.

Ocra uttered: “In a hundred years the age of darkness and illusion will start, it will continue for hundreds of millenia. Keepers can slow it down by spreading knowledge through writing books and building special places for honouring Devas, otherwise people will forget everything. Despite our effort, the age of darkness and illusion will continue fifteen millenia later. It will then be followed by another golden age, and so this cycle will continue forever. I must go and find other Keepers, form an alliance and help them fulfill this task. You must follow the instructions from the Devas’ songs and live in peace until I return. Respected Foll, please arrange that the books are looked after.”

Having said that, Ocra rose from her seat under the tree with a serene expression, five heads taller than everyone else, pressed her palms together in front of her chest and bowed to all of them. They mirrored the gesture as they watched her put the dress into the bag with the deer skin and leave the Hill region.