Post by darkaus on Jun 15, 2009 22:58:29 GMT -8
This is a Narrative Poem. It is also the longest piece of poetry that I've ever written, nine pages long! And perhaps the most raw because I started with no more of an idea in my head than wanting to write about a long winter. It just grew from there. I hope you enjoy it, because I enjoyed writing it!
Misty and pale are the hills of the vale, their peaks obscured by heavy cloud.
Deep lye’s the chill on the rocky slopes, soft falls nights sounds to the winters shroud.
Lost, lost is this ancient place where the ravens roost and the wolves are free.
Older than time, older then songs, and older still than me.
To these mountains there came in the days of my youth a story fantastic, frightening, true.
It is in this way I’ve noted such things often do…
Forgive this manner most strange in which my tale is begun.
Bitter winter had come and outstayed its time and I; a mere boy, dreamt of naught but the sun.
My family poor, our provisions near gone, our hours were dreary and our faces grew wan.
And still came the winds… I remember their chill, over roof, over bow, and below windowsill.
My village was dark and the houses shut tight, shadow lay heavy in heart and on night.
To this white desolation the messenger came; was received at the inn but declined us his name.
He was tall frail and thin, and he all but caved in when the warmth of the fire thawed the ice from his bones.
There was pain in his face that long woe sews in place, and he spoke in a voice robbed of all gentle tones.
“Bitter news friends,” He but whispered these words, though his throat had been warmed in the fires hot light.
“Bitter and dark are the tidings I bring; winter remains and grows evermore white. I fear it shall last forever on now… for if thaw may be coming I cannot see how.”
Our innkeeper hushed us, and said onto him. “These tidings are dark and our hour is grim. But sir, I pray you, why came you this way? We ourselves see the snow and we see we’re at bay. What news have you brought us? For news that is not. So say you, I pray you, if news you have got!”
The traveler sighed, replied; whispering still. “I see you know cold and I see you know chill. That this is not news it is fair that you say… I came here to tell you why it is this way. One of many I am, though our group is far flung, a bard I was once; it’s been long since I’ve sung. That talent has left me I know…
Hark now, Listen to what I will say. It is so…
…That three months hence to this day we have now,
when winter was waning and taking its bow,
a great storm with hail besieged us one night.
I hail from the city Sverthengrite where, well you know if you are well read, our Warlord makes his royal bed.
The walls were shaken, the roofs were assailed, and the windows gave way as the cruel ice prevailed.
Many feared that we should not see the dawn, but though it did come we were more right than wrong.
A pale dawn it was, sickly and frail; the sun could not seep through the snow and the hail.
I myself went outside to survey what had been, and account for my damage so repairs might begin.
You see that’s how I saw him.”
The butcher asked, “who?"
And our visitor moaned, “Should I claim that I knew? He was tall and he shone in the frost like a star, his features were noble, and fair from afar.
He had a fine face, one the eyes would engulf, and he moved through the drift with the ease of the wolf.
I thought him a knight, perhaps a lost king, or some inhuman but enchanted thing.
His steps never faltered nor did his smile run, I watched a great evil walk under the sun!”
Here he took pause, and a shaky, deep breath, “Perhaps he’s a demon, perhaps he is death!
Or an angel who fell long ago out of grace, or a monster of legend who wears a man’s face?
Perhaps he is nightmare reborn into flesh? A fell spirit spiteful, more wind then true mesh?
He may be a phantom, a haunt or a fright; it matters little this wasted night.”
His eyes had grown cold, and his whisper came chill. “Whatever he was he moved onto the hill.
I speak of the hill where the castle once stood, in those days best forgotten and cut from the good.
And since that was done we have seen lights at night, in those windows forgotten, at that cruel fearful height.
He lives there I tell you! And until he comes down there will be peace and light in no house, fort, or town!”
Then we gave him some peace, for we saw he had need; and moved to a corner to speak of this deed.
“He comes from the capitol with news far from fair. I see,” said the innkeeper, “There is great evil there.”
“He may hail that way, “The cobbler replied, “But in these dark times can you tell side from side? He weaves a good tale, and his words have an air, but we have but his word he has journeyed from there!”
“Why come all this way in the cold and the storm to deliver dark news when you’d wiser keep warm? I am of a mind,” said the tailor, near blind, “that he speaks what he knows, and he knows of our bind! Will any of you claim a worse winter has been? Who are we to say what he has or hasn’t seen?”
Then the mayor spoke, “Enough.” And the other fell still.
He continued; “In my youth I once walked on that hill, and even then felt that there evil things dwelt.
I believe that man’s words for the shadows I felt. Now rather than argue the truth of what’s said
we must come to decision on what lies ahead.
Will we send someone back, to make sure this is true?
Do we stay put and wait, through our rations are few?
Should we send someone to the next town to inform them?
Or do nothing at all? Though such thoughts… I abhor them.”
And once more in silence we sat and we thought, for a fateful decision was near being wrought.
Myself I desired to go and to see; and several were of that opinion with me.
But too many others were warrant to wait even if such an action would seal our joint fate.
So we sat and debated in silence unbroken, hoping in another’s heart some courage had woken.
And I knew then, I felt it, that though just a boy I must go to the capital, my skills there employ.
I must face this demon.
That alone was my aim.
I must see this monster and hear why it came.
But though thoughts ran rampant and my vision was wild adults rarely believe in the strength of a child.
I was shushed and removed from the room; had they thought that some distance would kill the excitement they’d wrought?
It did nothing to cool me, my fire burned bright, and I lay warm and fretful the rest of that night.
I slept very little and dreamed, when I did, of castles and blizzards in which dark things hid.
When dawn came I rose and with little supplies; my coat and my boots, gloves three times my size,
with some bread and some cheese, only what we could spare, and my old leather cap to hold back my thick hair.
I took these and went into cold, snow, and doubt; could I make it to the capital with all the roads out?
Could I go, through the snow, somewhere I’d never been?
What if I got lost while the night hurried in? What if I was stranded alone in a drift?
What if, in the white, I fell into a rift? So much could go wrong between the here and the there…
I pulled up my gloves and tried hard not to care.
It was dangerous, yes, by my spirits were up. When we’d all looked for hope I had sipped from her cup.
Everything urged me; “go forward!”
I went.
It did not take long till that passion was spent.
It was miserably icy, the path very faint,
I walked the whole day with most every complaint. My legs soon grew sore, and my toes felt the cold.
This was quite an adventure for one a mere fourteen years old.
Still I could not turn back; but not for lack of will… I was lost in the frost and near dumb from the chill.
Dawn came up bleak, my limbs were still weak as I trudged onward still onto my destination.
I covered good ground but all too soon found myself face to face with a cold realization.
The distance before me was simply too vast for either my limbs, or my rations, to last.
How that messenger had managed I’d no way to know.
And now it was but me, and that thought, in the snow.
As I sat there defeated, consumed with my dread, I felt something warm bump the top of my head.
Whirling about--I’d been given a fright; I was met with a strange but not unwelcome sight.
The farms in our district had many a horse, and to see one alone now seemed matter of course.
Misfortune perhaps had befallen its master, and left so alone it had come back the faster.
Yet lost its way surely, as badly as I, for the snows brilliant glint caused great strain to the eye.
The presence of company eased some of my dread and in gratitude I offered it some of my bread.
“What harm can this do, there’s no way it will last. I will share it with you since you’ve happened on past.”
Its muzzle was warm and soft in my hand, for the sharing of food it could well understand.
It took what was offered polite as a guest, taking care with my fingers, my gloves and the rest
So tame was the steed that, as I stood beside it… a chanced thought emerged.
Perhaps I might ride it?
I humored the thought as we froze in the snow. “Without doubt that would be the fastest way to go, but even when mounted my chances stay slim…”
The horse looked at me, and I back at him.
In the ice and the cold as the light began to fade, it seemed that some greater decision was made.
It gave a soft snort that fogged gently the air and stirred not as I warmed my cold hands in its hair.
Then with silence, and grace, the lost steed knelt; the snow cushioned out from the weight of its pelt.
Surprised but elated I took a firm seat and rocked as it stood, taking me off my feet.
In this manner most strange passed the rest of my journey, the steed was swift as the wind for it sensed we must hurry.
And much ground we passed, and many a town, and the sun set and rose, we moved onward and down.
The snow grew but deeper and the winds but more chill, but we made it.
We looked out at the city and hill.
What a fantastic sight met my eyes…
I can say that the change was as different as night is from day.
No more were there buildings and turrets tall, proud; no longer was there the hustle and bustle of crowds.
The city was silent; nothing dared stir, and the sun on that ice forced my vision to blur.
The capital stood as a statue with icicles barred, and the hill was so tall that the skyline it marred.
I tasted again that bitter tonic, despair. What could I do here? I should have stayed there!
What madness possessed me to travel so far, with no plan and no weapons and no wisdom of par?
I was no hero in a fairy tale quest! I was out of my league; and yet onward we pressed.
There was no going back, it was try, pass, or fail, and the minutes seemed years as I rode from the vale.
The slope of the hill thickly coated in snow offered little for footing I soon came to know.
Beneath me the horse puffed, its strength all but spent. Still its spirits were strong and its back never bent.
Upon it I found myself growing weak too, for of rest I’d had little, less still bread to chew.
Then the mighty hill crested, and the castle was bared.
I had never before been so awed, or so scared.
Though held high in the sky not a flicker of sun had cast gleam on those stones since this tale was begun.
Like a dragon but sleeping it loomed, dark and grim, I remembered the traveler and thought back to him.
He had spoken with thought of the force I would face; I wondered once more why it came to this place.
My quest, and the answers, all waited within…
I set free my friend, loosed its mane from my limbs.
Perhaps this horse and I would return to whence we’d came, but If I could not it should go all the same.
And at last here I stood, stood in front of a door that had seen ice and fire, withstood plague, rot and war.
There I pressed hard my hands, willed the old wood to yield… and it did.
The chamber within lay reveled.
High ceilings, arched windows that offered no light, a grate bare of fire, no comforts in sight.
The stones on the floor shone with ice and with frost, it spread up the walls and in chunks crissed and crossed.
The only dim glow came from candles uncounted, and a figure, in shadow stooped and on ancient chair mounted.
And indeed he was fair… all but burned like a star, his face shone bright and cunning with no blemish or mar.
He seemed like a king just returned to his lands, and he watched me from over his steeple pressed hands.
If he was an angel then when did he fall? Are demons made ever so regal and tall? And if he was death, did death terrible still seem? Could evil hold beauty? Could shadows so gleam?
Then he spoke, and banished my doubts as I heard;
“Lost little boy…? Gone astray little bird? Go hence; I wait for a much greater man. If he comes I may go but I doubt that he can. Many years has it been since our war was last fought, and in the passing of time little progress he’s wrought.
His chance dwindles now…it will pass with this day.
And if he does not come I will evermore stay!”
That voice broke the face for the tone was a rasp, a hissing and grating half whisper- half gasp.
Too many dark humors it held for a man, too many black tongues and too many cruel plans.
A demon this was of a most ancient sort; yes… a monster indeed had laid claim to this fort.
His name I knew not, but his name I suspected, and feared my suspicion was too well directed.
“I am not the man you await,” I replied, “But until he is come you have time on your side.
Time enough to spare me a moment no doubt, for I’ve come all this way on a cruel, icy route.
I risked freezing and starving to make my way here… I will speak to you sir, despite reason or fear.”
“As you will it.” He answered, “But keep this in mind… time is no friend to frail mortal kind.
Your days are short now, even with youth … from observing your fellows I’ve seen ample proof.
By sharing my air you do not help yourself… why come all this way at such risk of your health?
Why challenge me boy? You are still far too small…”
“Even the greatest of mountains may fall. I am no more my size than you are that fair face, do not so mistake me, I know well my place.”
And I added, “I know who I am and my might, of both you know nothing and so judge me light.”
Then he laughed, on his fair face a smile now grew.
“Perhaps you are right… I know little of you.
I will bare your presence, at least you amuse.
Of time I have plenty, and nothing to lose.” Then he un-pressed his hands, and to me one extended.
“Be seated, my guest, as old customs directed. True I have no refreshment of which I might boast, but may it never be said I’m an ungracious host.”
“I see it is true that old demons have charm,” And I took the seat he directed me to by his arm.
“Do not so mistake me, new sprout of a man.” He reclined in his seat, “That is not what I am.”
“I do not believe you.” my honest reply.
“I promise you will before this day has gone by. Let us… play a game.”
Did he think to have sport? I was foolish with youth but no gullible sort.
“That would not be fair… to my host,” I replied. “You are older than I, all experience aside.
Too quickly I’d bore you in cards or on board, and in strength, cunning, or jest you are probably lord.
It would not be fair.”
“You plead well a poor case.” Here he laughed, but that smile had slid from his face.
“I did not have strength, cards or board on my mind… so let us leave thoughts of that sort well behind.
I would play a game yet, one of a more verbal sort. A challenge of tongues and the riddles they court.
Do you dislike riddles?”
In truth I did not. I was as fond of such things as any one ‘aught.
But I’d never been challenged in this manner before. A contest with Him would play more like a war.
He awaited my answer… my choices were slim.
What would happen should I refuse to humor him?
I could not answer no, but I feared saying yes. My face I kept still so to mask my distress.
“…I do not dislike riddles.”
“It is good to hear.” His smile was back and that gesture was clear. “Let us have a game but first decide on the stake. What would you ask of me should my strategy break?”
I was still once again, that required some thought. The stakes might be high in this small time I’d bought.
“If I should so best you…” I quietly replied, “I would ask that your fate become mine to decide.
You await here a man, and say that he comes not… I want for my prize what that man may have wrought.
If I win I will ask you to leave.” I drew breath, “and withdraw this cold winter that leads us to death.”
He was quiet now, still, he considered my words. “You have courage small boy… but less sense than the birds.”
Then he hissed; “Very well… I agree to your prize. But what of my own if your young courage dies? You have asked a great gift; if you win I shall grant it, but should you lose child… you may wish to recant it.
I will have for my prize that which bests warms your heart, I will take it away, I shall bid it depart!
And you, little son of the Adam of old… You will not live to watch this world ended with cold.
Your breath I will take, your spirit I’ll break.
Will you play with me still knowing this is at stake?”
My throat had gone dry, and my face pale with fright, and I feared to refuse and I feared too to fight.
But I could not back down, that my fate would surely seal…
I struggled for words, choked out; “we’ve a deal.”
He chuckled at me; It was cruel, cold, and cursed. “Very well little one… I think I shall go first.
Dazzling and diminutive, though small, the sky we fill.
Burning without fire, flying without will.
More by far there is to me than hinted by my name. Legion are my brothers, yet no two were born the same.”
This one was fairly easy, a reply I well could make. “I have guessed your riddle sir, you are the seasonal snowflake!”
When he nodded I called on my whit, how best now to reply?
He had started with his element... I decided so would I.
“What was slain I will revive, what’s lain to sleep I’ll wake, I dash the bars no man has made, I bid the ground to break.
I move the mountains to cry tears that wash away the blight, and in its place I strew new green, and banish early night.”
He smiled to me, seemed well amused; “that riddle has no sting. I offer up my answer boy, you are the coming spring.”
I had to nod; he’d seen me out, that had been but a matter of when.
I listened close, near held my breath as he challenged me again.
“With iron jaws I grip the throat, yet never leave a bite.
I stay the hand and kill the soul and come on best at night.
I shadow every hope and dream, yet some deny I’m here. Where weakness opens doors for me I may be slain by cheer.”
I’d never heard this riddle before. That though alone gave me pause.
As he watched I thought it through again, considered words and cause. “Shadow every hope and dream… may be slain by cheer?”
But my own emotions proved my guide. “You sir are known as fear!”
Again he nodded to me; it was but luck I was right.
This game could well be my last should we riddle on into the night.
I knew only so many and he surely knew more. I knew farm boys young riddles, He could probably use lore.
They would grow only harder as further we pressed.
I could hold my own now, but could not pass this test.
If this went on too long I’d be under his rule, and we knew it, he and I… and his chuckles stayed cruel.
He asked and I answered, I asked he replied,
He riddled, I riddled, I stalled and he sighed.
He pushed me, I pushed back, my nerves all but spent,
He laughed and I shuddered, he dominated, I bent.
All my riddles were used, all my skills I had tasked, and each one he had answered near before I could ask.
’Twas the hour of my doom, all my luck had run dry… I was too tired and frightened to shiver or cry.
What use were tears now? It would but prove his claim that I’d come here too young to have hope for my aim.
In the silence we sat, it was my riddle now; he waited on me with a small patient scowl.
“Little bird…” His voice whispered, “What is holding your tongue? I’ve enjoyed this game well despite that you are so young… do not disappoint me, surely you’ve more…?”
Even lifting my head now felt like a great chore.
“I…” There I stalled,
“I…” It was so hard to speak…
He sighed, whispered to me; “Pathetic boy… weak… submit to my will, it’s too clear that you’ve lost…”
“I am not finished yet!” My last bluff was there tossed.
He waited again, his eyes bright in the dark; they watched as I struggled, they burned with fell spark.
I had no more riddles, so a riddle I made. It was the best I could do and I was well afraid.
A riddle untested against this old beast? Still I had to try, had to try it at least.
“Joy within a moment, a promise with no words… assurance of affection, a gift not wrapped or stirred, offered sometimes freely, and sometimes these we steal. For the young they are but passing, age adds to their feel.”
And once more we had silence, and oh it was so thick… but where I’d expected a snapped response he proved not quite so quick.
He said it over to himself but that seemed little aid.
He was well and truly puzzled; I closed my eyes and prayed.
For some time yet he struggled, but he could not guess the truth,
And with this I knew his ancient name, for his ignorance was proof.
He clenched his fists and ground his teeth, and spread his ruined wings…
But he had given me his word, I was safe as the king of kings.
“Boy…” His eyes were brilliant now but their fire was all but spent. “It seems that I will never learn, despite times testament.
I should have known you at the door for what you were and why… I should have known it’s in the lambs he lays the lions eyes.
Curse you to a thousand dooms! I’ll not forget your face!”
My courage had returned to me. “I’ll not forget this place!
I’ll not forget we riddled here, or why it was you lost!
For in forsaking the knowledge of love you’ve paid the dearest cost!
Old Lucifer, old angel, yes! A demon you are not; I’ll not forget your face or name, or that which here we wrought.
Now give to me that which is mine, return to us the spring! And take from here your will and form, until the worlds ending!”
We held eyes then, his burned to mine, and mine looked back un-scorched.
Then he seemed to sigh, to shake his head, his ancient will was torched.
Tired he seemed and fragile now as he sunk back onto his throne.
I had victory, yes, and the danger was past, now he seemed less a beast than alone.
It was a sobering sight, his defeat that cold night; it has stayed with me through all my years.
In that hall in my dreams where the ice still fresh gleams I remember his beauty and jeers.
I remember the game and my fears and his shame that a riddle so simple he misses.
Had he known more of love he’d have beat me that night,
for the answer was naught more than Kisses.
Now the seasons roll round and the spring comes in green, and the flowers bloom vibrant below a warm sun.
Forgive this strange tale, the story is done.
**Note: Nominated Poem of the Month May/June 2009**
Misty and pale are the hills of the vale, their peaks obscured by heavy cloud.
Deep lye’s the chill on the rocky slopes, soft falls nights sounds to the winters shroud.
Lost, lost is this ancient place where the ravens roost and the wolves are free.
Older than time, older then songs, and older still than me.
To these mountains there came in the days of my youth a story fantastic, frightening, true.
It is in this way I’ve noted such things often do…
Forgive this manner most strange in which my tale is begun.
Bitter winter had come and outstayed its time and I; a mere boy, dreamt of naught but the sun.
My family poor, our provisions near gone, our hours were dreary and our faces grew wan.
And still came the winds… I remember their chill, over roof, over bow, and below windowsill.
My village was dark and the houses shut tight, shadow lay heavy in heart and on night.
To this white desolation the messenger came; was received at the inn but declined us his name.
He was tall frail and thin, and he all but caved in when the warmth of the fire thawed the ice from his bones.
There was pain in his face that long woe sews in place, and he spoke in a voice robbed of all gentle tones.
“Bitter news friends,” He but whispered these words, though his throat had been warmed in the fires hot light.
“Bitter and dark are the tidings I bring; winter remains and grows evermore white. I fear it shall last forever on now… for if thaw may be coming I cannot see how.”
Our innkeeper hushed us, and said onto him. “These tidings are dark and our hour is grim. But sir, I pray you, why came you this way? We ourselves see the snow and we see we’re at bay. What news have you brought us? For news that is not. So say you, I pray you, if news you have got!”
The traveler sighed, replied; whispering still. “I see you know cold and I see you know chill. That this is not news it is fair that you say… I came here to tell you why it is this way. One of many I am, though our group is far flung, a bard I was once; it’s been long since I’ve sung. That talent has left me I know…
Hark now, Listen to what I will say. It is so…
…That three months hence to this day we have now,
when winter was waning and taking its bow,
a great storm with hail besieged us one night.
I hail from the city Sverthengrite where, well you know if you are well read, our Warlord makes his royal bed.
The walls were shaken, the roofs were assailed, and the windows gave way as the cruel ice prevailed.
Many feared that we should not see the dawn, but though it did come we were more right than wrong.
A pale dawn it was, sickly and frail; the sun could not seep through the snow and the hail.
I myself went outside to survey what had been, and account for my damage so repairs might begin.
You see that’s how I saw him.”
The butcher asked, “who?"
And our visitor moaned, “Should I claim that I knew? He was tall and he shone in the frost like a star, his features were noble, and fair from afar.
He had a fine face, one the eyes would engulf, and he moved through the drift with the ease of the wolf.
I thought him a knight, perhaps a lost king, or some inhuman but enchanted thing.
His steps never faltered nor did his smile run, I watched a great evil walk under the sun!”
Here he took pause, and a shaky, deep breath, “Perhaps he’s a demon, perhaps he is death!
Or an angel who fell long ago out of grace, or a monster of legend who wears a man’s face?
Perhaps he is nightmare reborn into flesh? A fell spirit spiteful, more wind then true mesh?
He may be a phantom, a haunt or a fright; it matters little this wasted night.”
His eyes had grown cold, and his whisper came chill. “Whatever he was he moved onto the hill.
I speak of the hill where the castle once stood, in those days best forgotten and cut from the good.
And since that was done we have seen lights at night, in those windows forgotten, at that cruel fearful height.
He lives there I tell you! And until he comes down there will be peace and light in no house, fort, or town!”
Then we gave him some peace, for we saw he had need; and moved to a corner to speak of this deed.
“He comes from the capitol with news far from fair. I see,” said the innkeeper, “There is great evil there.”
“He may hail that way, “The cobbler replied, “But in these dark times can you tell side from side? He weaves a good tale, and his words have an air, but we have but his word he has journeyed from there!”
“Why come all this way in the cold and the storm to deliver dark news when you’d wiser keep warm? I am of a mind,” said the tailor, near blind, “that he speaks what he knows, and he knows of our bind! Will any of you claim a worse winter has been? Who are we to say what he has or hasn’t seen?”
Then the mayor spoke, “Enough.” And the other fell still.
He continued; “In my youth I once walked on that hill, and even then felt that there evil things dwelt.
I believe that man’s words for the shadows I felt. Now rather than argue the truth of what’s said
we must come to decision on what lies ahead.
Will we send someone back, to make sure this is true?
Do we stay put and wait, through our rations are few?
Should we send someone to the next town to inform them?
Or do nothing at all? Though such thoughts… I abhor them.”
And once more in silence we sat and we thought, for a fateful decision was near being wrought.
Myself I desired to go and to see; and several were of that opinion with me.
But too many others were warrant to wait even if such an action would seal our joint fate.
So we sat and debated in silence unbroken, hoping in another’s heart some courage had woken.
And I knew then, I felt it, that though just a boy I must go to the capital, my skills there employ.
I must face this demon.
That alone was my aim.
I must see this monster and hear why it came.
But though thoughts ran rampant and my vision was wild adults rarely believe in the strength of a child.
I was shushed and removed from the room; had they thought that some distance would kill the excitement they’d wrought?
It did nothing to cool me, my fire burned bright, and I lay warm and fretful the rest of that night.
I slept very little and dreamed, when I did, of castles and blizzards in which dark things hid.
When dawn came I rose and with little supplies; my coat and my boots, gloves three times my size,
with some bread and some cheese, only what we could spare, and my old leather cap to hold back my thick hair.
I took these and went into cold, snow, and doubt; could I make it to the capital with all the roads out?
Could I go, through the snow, somewhere I’d never been?
What if I got lost while the night hurried in? What if I was stranded alone in a drift?
What if, in the white, I fell into a rift? So much could go wrong between the here and the there…
I pulled up my gloves and tried hard not to care.
It was dangerous, yes, by my spirits were up. When we’d all looked for hope I had sipped from her cup.
Everything urged me; “go forward!”
I went.
It did not take long till that passion was spent.
It was miserably icy, the path very faint,
I walked the whole day with most every complaint. My legs soon grew sore, and my toes felt the cold.
This was quite an adventure for one a mere fourteen years old.
Still I could not turn back; but not for lack of will… I was lost in the frost and near dumb from the chill.
Dawn came up bleak, my limbs were still weak as I trudged onward still onto my destination.
I covered good ground but all too soon found myself face to face with a cold realization.
The distance before me was simply too vast for either my limbs, or my rations, to last.
How that messenger had managed I’d no way to know.
And now it was but me, and that thought, in the snow.
As I sat there defeated, consumed with my dread, I felt something warm bump the top of my head.
Whirling about--I’d been given a fright; I was met with a strange but not unwelcome sight.
The farms in our district had many a horse, and to see one alone now seemed matter of course.
Misfortune perhaps had befallen its master, and left so alone it had come back the faster.
Yet lost its way surely, as badly as I, for the snows brilliant glint caused great strain to the eye.
The presence of company eased some of my dread and in gratitude I offered it some of my bread.
“What harm can this do, there’s no way it will last. I will share it with you since you’ve happened on past.”
Its muzzle was warm and soft in my hand, for the sharing of food it could well understand.
It took what was offered polite as a guest, taking care with my fingers, my gloves and the rest
So tame was the steed that, as I stood beside it… a chanced thought emerged.
Perhaps I might ride it?
I humored the thought as we froze in the snow. “Without doubt that would be the fastest way to go, but even when mounted my chances stay slim…”
The horse looked at me, and I back at him.
In the ice and the cold as the light began to fade, it seemed that some greater decision was made.
It gave a soft snort that fogged gently the air and stirred not as I warmed my cold hands in its hair.
Then with silence, and grace, the lost steed knelt; the snow cushioned out from the weight of its pelt.
Surprised but elated I took a firm seat and rocked as it stood, taking me off my feet.
In this manner most strange passed the rest of my journey, the steed was swift as the wind for it sensed we must hurry.
And much ground we passed, and many a town, and the sun set and rose, we moved onward and down.
The snow grew but deeper and the winds but more chill, but we made it.
We looked out at the city and hill.
What a fantastic sight met my eyes…
I can say that the change was as different as night is from day.
No more were there buildings and turrets tall, proud; no longer was there the hustle and bustle of crowds.
The city was silent; nothing dared stir, and the sun on that ice forced my vision to blur.
The capital stood as a statue with icicles barred, and the hill was so tall that the skyline it marred.
I tasted again that bitter tonic, despair. What could I do here? I should have stayed there!
What madness possessed me to travel so far, with no plan and no weapons and no wisdom of par?
I was no hero in a fairy tale quest! I was out of my league; and yet onward we pressed.
There was no going back, it was try, pass, or fail, and the minutes seemed years as I rode from the vale.
The slope of the hill thickly coated in snow offered little for footing I soon came to know.
Beneath me the horse puffed, its strength all but spent. Still its spirits were strong and its back never bent.
Upon it I found myself growing weak too, for of rest I’d had little, less still bread to chew.
Then the mighty hill crested, and the castle was bared.
I had never before been so awed, or so scared.
Though held high in the sky not a flicker of sun had cast gleam on those stones since this tale was begun.
Like a dragon but sleeping it loomed, dark and grim, I remembered the traveler and thought back to him.
He had spoken with thought of the force I would face; I wondered once more why it came to this place.
My quest, and the answers, all waited within…
I set free my friend, loosed its mane from my limbs.
Perhaps this horse and I would return to whence we’d came, but If I could not it should go all the same.
And at last here I stood, stood in front of a door that had seen ice and fire, withstood plague, rot and war.
There I pressed hard my hands, willed the old wood to yield… and it did.
The chamber within lay reveled.
High ceilings, arched windows that offered no light, a grate bare of fire, no comforts in sight.
The stones on the floor shone with ice and with frost, it spread up the walls and in chunks crissed and crossed.
The only dim glow came from candles uncounted, and a figure, in shadow stooped and on ancient chair mounted.
And indeed he was fair… all but burned like a star, his face shone bright and cunning with no blemish or mar.
He seemed like a king just returned to his lands, and he watched me from over his steeple pressed hands.
If he was an angel then when did he fall? Are demons made ever so regal and tall? And if he was death, did death terrible still seem? Could evil hold beauty? Could shadows so gleam?
Then he spoke, and banished my doubts as I heard;
“Lost little boy…? Gone astray little bird? Go hence; I wait for a much greater man. If he comes I may go but I doubt that he can. Many years has it been since our war was last fought, and in the passing of time little progress he’s wrought.
His chance dwindles now…it will pass with this day.
And if he does not come I will evermore stay!”
That voice broke the face for the tone was a rasp, a hissing and grating half whisper- half gasp.
Too many dark humors it held for a man, too many black tongues and too many cruel plans.
A demon this was of a most ancient sort; yes… a monster indeed had laid claim to this fort.
His name I knew not, but his name I suspected, and feared my suspicion was too well directed.
“I am not the man you await,” I replied, “But until he is come you have time on your side.
Time enough to spare me a moment no doubt, for I’ve come all this way on a cruel, icy route.
I risked freezing and starving to make my way here… I will speak to you sir, despite reason or fear.”
“As you will it.” He answered, “But keep this in mind… time is no friend to frail mortal kind.
Your days are short now, even with youth … from observing your fellows I’ve seen ample proof.
By sharing my air you do not help yourself… why come all this way at such risk of your health?
Why challenge me boy? You are still far too small…”
“Even the greatest of mountains may fall. I am no more my size than you are that fair face, do not so mistake me, I know well my place.”
And I added, “I know who I am and my might, of both you know nothing and so judge me light.”
Then he laughed, on his fair face a smile now grew.
“Perhaps you are right… I know little of you.
I will bare your presence, at least you amuse.
Of time I have plenty, and nothing to lose.” Then he un-pressed his hands, and to me one extended.
“Be seated, my guest, as old customs directed. True I have no refreshment of which I might boast, but may it never be said I’m an ungracious host.”
“I see it is true that old demons have charm,” And I took the seat he directed me to by his arm.
“Do not so mistake me, new sprout of a man.” He reclined in his seat, “That is not what I am.”
“I do not believe you.” my honest reply.
“I promise you will before this day has gone by. Let us… play a game.”
Did he think to have sport? I was foolish with youth but no gullible sort.
“That would not be fair… to my host,” I replied. “You are older than I, all experience aside.
Too quickly I’d bore you in cards or on board, and in strength, cunning, or jest you are probably lord.
It would not be fair.”
“You plead well a poor case.” Here he laughed, but that smile had slid from his face.
“I did not have strength, cards or board on my mind… so let us leave thoughts of that sort well behind.
I would play a game yet, one of a more verbal sort. A challenge of tongues and the riddles they court.
Do you dislike riddles?”
In truth I did not. I was as fond of such things as any one ‘aught.
But I’d never been challenged in this manner before. A contest with Him would play more like a war.
He awaited my answer… my choices were slim.
What would happen should I refuse to humor him?
I could not answer no, but I feared saying yes. My face I kept still so to mask my distress.
“…I do not dislike riddles.”
“It is good to hear.” His smile was back and that gesture was clear. “Let us have a game but first decide on the stake. What would you ask of me should my strategy break?”
I was still once again, that required some thought. The stakes might be high in this small time I’d bought.
“If I should so best you…” I quietly replied, “I would ask that your fate become mine to decide.
You await here a man, and say that he comes not… I want for my prize what that man may have wrought.
If I win I will ask you to leave.” I drew breath, “and withdraw this cold winter that leads us to death.”
He was quiet now, still, he considered my words. “You have courage small boy… but less sense than the birds.”
Then he hissed; “Very well… I agree to your prize. But what of my own if your young courage dies? You have asked a great gift; if you win I shall grant it, but should you lose child… you may wish to recant it.
I will have for my prize that which bests warms your heart, I will take it away, I shall bid it depart!
And you, little son of the Adam of old… You will not live to watch this world ended with cold.
Your breath I will take, your spirit I’ll break.
Will you play with me still knowing this is at stake?”
My throat had gone dry, and my face pale with fright, and I feared to refuse and I feared too to fight.
But I could not back down, that my fate would surely seal…
I struggled for words, choked out; “we’ve a deal.”
He chuckled at me; It was cruel, cold, and cursed. “Very well little one… I think I shall go first.
Dazzling and diminutive, though small, the sky we fill.
Burning without fire, flying without will.
More by far there is to me than hinted by my name. Legion are my brothers, yet no two were born the same.”
This one was fairly easy, a reply I well could make. “I have guessed your riddle sir, you are the seasonal snowflake!”
When he nodded I called on my whit, how best now to reply?
He had started with his element... I decided so would I.
“What was slain I will revive, what’s lain to sleep I’ll wake, I dash the bars no man has made, I bid the ground to break.
I move the mountains to cry tears that wash away the blight, and in its place I strew new green, and banish early night.”
He smiled to me, seemed well amused; “that riddle has no sting. I offer up my answer boy, you are the coming spring.”
I had to nod; he’d seen me out, that had been but a matter of when.
I listened close, near held my breath as he challenged me again.
“With iron jaws I grip the throat, yet never leave a bite.
I stay the hand and kill the soul and come on best at night.
I shadow every hope and dream, yet some deny I’m here. Where weakness opens doors for me I may be slain by cheer.”
I’d never heard this riddle before. That though alone gave me pause.
As he watched I thought it through again, considered words and cause. “Shadow every hope and dream… may be slain by cheer?”
But my own emotions proved my guide. “You sir are known as fear!”
Again he nodded to me; it was but luck I was right.
This game could well be my last should we riddle on into the night.
I knew only so many and he surely knew more. I knew farm boys young riddles, He could probably use lore.
They would grow only harder as further we pressed.
I could hold my own now, but could not pass this test.
If this went on too long I’d be under his rule, and we knew it, he and I… and his chuckles stayed cruel.
He asked and I answered, I asked he replied,
He riddled, I riddled, I stalled and he sighed.
He pushed me, I pushed back, my nerves all but spent,
He laughed and I shuddered, he dominated, I bent.
All my riddles were used, all my skills I had tasked, and each one he had answered near before I could ask.
’Twas the hour of my doom, all my luck had run dry… I was too tired and frightened to shiver or cry.
What use were tears now? It would but prove his claim that I’d come here too young to have hope for my aim.
In the silence we sat, it was my riddle now; he waited on me with a small patient scowl.
“Little bird…” His voice whispered, “What is holding your tongue? I’ve enjoyed this game well despite that you are so young… do not disappoint me, surely you’ve more…?”
Even lifting my head now felt like a great chore.
“I…” There I stalled,
“I…” It was so hard to speak…
He sighed, whispered to me; “Pathetic boy… weak… submit to my will, it’s too clear that you’ve lost…”
“I am not finished yet!” My last bluff was there tossed.
He waited again, his eyes bright in the dark; they watched as I struggled, they burned with fell spark.
I had no more riddles, so a riddle I made. It was the best I could do and I was well afraid.
A riddle untested against this old beast? Still I had to try, had to try it at least.
“Joy within a moment, a promise with no words… assurance of affection, a gift not wrapped or stirred, offered sometimes freely, and sometimes these we steal. For the young they are but passing, age adds to their feel.”
And once more we had silence, and oh it was so thick… but where I’d expected a snapped response he proved not quite so quick.
He said it over to himself but that seemed little aid.
He was well and truly puzzled; I closed my eyes and prayed.
For some time yet he struggled, but he could not guess the truth,
And with this I knew his ancient name, for his ignorance was proof.
He clenched his fists and ground his teeth, and spread his ruined wings…
But he had given me his word, I was safe as the king of kings.
“Boy…” His eyes were brilliant now but their fire was all but spent. “It seems that I will never learn, despite times testament.
I should have known you at the door for what you were and why… I should have known it’s in the lambs he lays the lions eyes.
Curse you to a thousand dooms! I’ll not forget your face!”
My courage had returned to me. “I’ll not forget this place!
I’ll not forget we riddled here, or why it was you lost!
For in forsaking the knowledge of love you’ve paid the dearest cost!
Old Lucifer, old angel, yes! A demon you are not; I’ll not forget your face or name, or that which here we wrought.
Now give to me that which is mine, return to us the spring! And take from here your will and form, until the worlds ending!”
We held eyes then, his burned to mine, and mine looked back un-scorched.
Then he seemed to sigh, to shake his head, his ancient will was torched.
Tired he seemed and fragile now as he sunk back onto his throne.
I had victory, yes, and the danger was past, now he seemed less a beast than alone.
It was a sobering sight, his defeat that cold night; it has stayed with me through all my years.
In that hall in my dreams where the ice still fresh gleams I remember his beauty and jeers.
I remember the game and my fears and his shame that a riddle so simple he misses.
Had he known more of love he’d have beat me that night,
for the answer was naught more than Kisses.
Now the seasons roll round and the spring comes in green, and the flowers bloom vibrant below a warm sun.
Forgive this strange tale, the story is done.
**Note: Nominated Poem of the Month May/June 2009**
