# Ragnarok - I

Author: Rob MacWolf
Tags: Epic, Iambic pentameter, Poetry, blank verse

#2 of Ragnarok

Ragnarok is an epic, and I was very intentional about giving it all the characteristics that an epic, by formal definition, is supposed to have. Invocation of the Muses, Epic Question, Heroic Catalogue, Journey to the Underworld, etc.
I'll be uploading one canto every day that I have time.

Somewhere it was autumn, and the trees  
Hung undecided, torn between the fear  
Of concrete skies and black obsidian nights  
And clung to fading leaves, yet still they felt  
A dark desire to let the summer drop,  
To scatter to the wind their tattered clothes  
And tile the floor with fragments of the roof;  
Sunset gold above and bronze below  
By tarnish-faded silver pillars crossed.  
Somewhere it was autumn, and the air  
Was in-between a chill across the skin  
And warmth as of a draft of honey wine.  
The light that filtered through translucent leaves  
Was grey and filmy, like the faded dust  
On antique photographs of relatives  
You never met, and cast the quiet trees  
In serried ranks of cardboard cutout shapes  
As if the world were made of scenery.  
The colors burned as hot as furnaces.  
The smell of leaf decay in every breath,  
By coming winter frozen, chilled the blood.  
Somewhere it was autumn. Nothing moved  
Save for the sound of breath of one asleep  
Upon the leaf strewn sand. He slept as if  
He only had lain down and closed his eyes  
To rest a moment, but he did not stir.  
His limbs were thick with work and weariness.  
His hair was red and short, as if of sparks  
Shot out electric from the stony shock  
Of steel fist on solid flinty pate.  
Upon his hands he wore two weighty gloves.  
His feet and chest were bare, his breath was slow,  
His eyes were sealed but lightly as he slept.  
A leaf above his all unmoving face,  
For no cause visible, detached itself  
And drifted, fickle, now towards him swift,  
Now again away, until it stopped  
Above his chest, and settled, and he woke  
Like a volcano, sudden, swift, surprised.  
He halted half arisen, and he stared.  
He traced the tree trunks skyward with his eyes.  
He slowly touched his breast, as if afraid  
To find he was no longer there. The rush  
Of breath relieved was loud enough to stir  
Another scarlet leaf to drift and lie.  
He rose and cast about with eyes and ears  
For some familiar thing, just as a dog  
Who finds his master absent suddenly  
Will seek from side to side for his return  
Ere he will take, in sorrow, to the wilds.  
But nowhere could he see the slightest sign  
Of where, or when, or how he came to be  
In this place. All around the leaves lay flat  
Quite undisturbed by any track or trail.  
On all sides stood the woods, each way the same,  
No landmarks but the trees, no signpost there,  
The only compass was the evening shades.  
Two passions warred within his mind. The one  
To rise and go, and find what place this was,  
How he came here, what he was to do next.  
The other to remain where he awoke  
And hope whatever agency had brought  
Him to this place would open the way back  
So caught between the two he wandered forth  
And back, and forth, and back again until  
He could not surely say where he awoke.  
"Now what is this?" he spoke, and pressed against  
The smooth grey bole grown nearest to his hand  
As if to see if it would bear his weight  
Or melt into a mist, "How came I here?  
I never have beheld this place before.  
I never have its like imagined, nor  
Had any wish to find such silent haunts.  
It looks to me as if no eyes save for  
My own have seen this place, no ears have heard  
The silence of these undisturbed leaves,  
No feet before my own have felt this earth,  
All looks so virgin here. And yet so old  
For every tree is higher than the peak  
On the cathedral in my window frame.  
So even lie the leaves, as if they fell  
A thousand years ago. But what is next?  
But what am I to do? A moment gone  
I was locked fast in combat in the ring.  
Where has it gone, and my antagonist?  
Where is the crowd? Did he who took them hence  
Remove me here? How was it done so swift?  
I almost feel upon my body still  
The burning of the bruises raining down.  
Perhaps my guard was weak, and on my head  
There came a blow as from a meteor  
That jarred my brain awry, so that in truth  
I lie asleep upon the mat, and dream  
All this. I do not seem to be asleep,"  
He frowned, "Indeed, nor does this seem a dream."  
How long he stood in thought he could not stay  
But while he stood around him stirred a breeze  
Too slight to feel, the only one to fly  
Since long and many days ere he awoke,  
And at its touch a thousand thousand leaves  
That clung by less than threads detached at last  
And fell as thick as snowflakes round his head  
So that the air was for a moment filled  
As fully as the trees above. Then as  
Their tickling settled on his shoulders broad  
He shrugged, and off they slid, and then he spoke,  
"I may not know where I have come, or how  
I may go to return. I do not know  
What wilds these are, their name, where they are found,  
Or if I wake or dream. I know not if  
The blow that felled me cast me to these woods.  
But nothing will I know if I stay here."  
So saying, he set out, not caring where,  
He took his gloves and hung them round his neck,  
And through the leaves he pushed his way, that built  
And clung and parted round his knees  
Forming, reforming, rustling papery greaves.  
Between the trees the boxer came alone.  
No destination nor no object sought  
Informed his wandering. As he went on  
He wondered at the majesty of trees  
That built for him a cloister and arcade  
Spreading beyond the furthest he could glimpse.  
However long he walked there seemed no end.  
No herb grew in the ground, only the trees.  
No blade of grass emerged between the leaves.  
It might have seemed a garden, had there been  
The slightest sign that any human hand  
Had touched it ere he came, for good or ill.  
The sun, which had hung high above his head  
Brushing the topmost leaves when he awoke,  
Slid downward, burned more fiercely, and engorged.  
The slanting beams were threaded through the trunks  
So nearly horizontal that the ground  
Lay all in its own shadow, when he stopped,  
Closed his eyes, and sighed out. "Now am I lost.  
Surely I walk in circles." Then a voice  
In complicated echoes off the trees  
Commanded him "You there! What is your name  
And what your business? Answer or defend!"  
Between him and the amber setting sun  
A man in armor stood, with sword and shield.  
Beneath his lowered helm and lowering brows,  
His eyes were like the points of iron nails  
Honed down by strength and anger and the sort  
Of bravery that leads a man to stand  
Under a wholly hopeless, starless sky  
And fight, and die, and go on standing; yet  
More sharpened by a fear, not for himself  
But for another, and of his own strength  
To stand for them, that may not be enough.  
His knees were bent, his stance was coiled to spring,  
And challenge plain was written on his face.  
The boxer swelled indignant, and he said  
"I have no need to give account to you!  
If all these woods are yours, then rather you  
Owe an account to me! If they are not  
Why should I need your leave to wander here?"  
The warrior placed a hand upon his sword  
And spoke again "What churl's nonsense is this?  
Your speech is as the whimpering of pigs  
That every time the farmer brings their slops  
Imagine that the butcher comes, and squeal.  
It means no more to me. Say better, pig!"  
The boxer laughed as he pulled on his gloves.  
"Am I a pig? Then come not near my sty  
Unless you have a wish to taste the mud.  
But two can play this game: you are no pig,  
You are a chicken, brooding on the fence,  
That squawks and flaps in panic for no cause.  
Be careful how you crow!" he said, and grinned.  
The warrior did not smile, but drew his sword.  
"Your clothes are most outlandish, and your speech  
Discourteous. You come in troubled times  
To troubled lands. I know not what you are  
But know I like it not. You are not armed  
Yet I will smite you, if you get not gone."  
The boxer only raised his fists and said,  
"You say I am unarmed. Well, we shall see!"  
A moment time moved not, but held its breath  
While there they stood and nothing moved. They might  
As easily from everlasting stone  
As from temporal flesh been sculpted there.  
As soon as time began again, they flew.  
The warrior had his sword, whose deadly edge  
Gave surety of blood with but a touch,  
The warrior had his shield, both broad and thick.  
The boxer only had his naked pride  
And practice long, at staying out of reach.  
So as he rained down blows so thick and fast  
That they were as a sole battering force  
Like countless wheels upon the interstate,  
He ducked and bobbed both under and around  
The weapon tip that sought him eagerly.  
Twice he evaded it. Twice did it bite  
Through nothing but the air, and struck the ground  
And left a furrow, like a plowshare, in  
The orange of the leaves, of chocolate earth.  
Twice the warrior backward hauled the hilt  
To jerk it free, then twice the boxer struck  
And scored brave hits his foe seemed not to feel.  
The third time, and the warrior swung again  
And when the boxer swerved, he forward lunged.  
He was too close now. Now the bitter tip  
Slashed right across the shoulder and the cheek.  
The boxer cried aloud, words not for here,  
Collapsing to one knee. The warrior laughed.  
"What, have you not known pain before? Or does  
My sword cut deeper than you did assume?  
Know you now, fool, that here we do not play?"  
"Then do not!" spat the boxer as he rose.  
He charged, bellowing. As he did he struck  
Aside the hostile blade, but not enough.  
The tip scored him again, across the side.  
The steel cruel tasted again his blood.  
He stumbled, fell again. The leaves were stained  
A deeper red. Through eyes screwed shut in pain.  
He heard the warrior saying "I regret  
That I should slay one so unwisely brave."  
The sunset blazing off descending steel  
Rang like a crystal chime. The sword came down  
And halted with a smack, as of the ice  
Of an inevitable glacier cracked  
Instantly, in a thousand facets, by  
Some rising warmth allied unto some crag  
Too stubborn to endure the grinding down.  
Just was the sound of leather boxing gloves  
That clapped around the blade and held it fast.  
The boxer's eyes were blazing as he shoved;  
He slammed the pommel in the warrior's trunk,  
He wrenched aside the sword, and struck again.  
The warrior raised his shield, the other fist  
Came up around and knocked him breathless down.  
He swayed defenseless, staggering. Enraged,  
The boxer struck him on the mouth: once, twice,  
Three times. The warrior toppled like a tree  
And landed on his back. "Where I am from,"  
The boxer growled, "We call this victory."  
The warrior pulled himself upright, and reached,  
Caught up his sword, and caught the boxer's eyes.  
Then thrust it in its sheath, and laughed, and hugged  
His former foe as if he were his kin.  
Still laughing, he then clapped him mightily  
Upon the shoulder, saying "Well met, then!  
You are more unexpected far, I own,  
Then I expected! Well met, friend, indeed!"  
The boxer blinked at him, as at the sun,  
More struck by this than by the sword, and said,  
"This is not like a greeting, to attack  
With deadly weapons. Who are you? And where  
Am I? I understand you not at all."  
"All this," the warrior answered, "can I cure.  
But come! Your noble blood yet marks the path.  
It is not far to fire and board, and there  
Will I tend both your wounds and wonderment.  
As for my name, which rudely I required  
Of you, I am called Varr the Last-To-Flee."  
The boxer, noticing that still he bled,  
Followed and answered him, "My name is Shane  
Falconi. Though I cannot say I have  
Any grand title now, I once was called  
A champion." Declined he more to speak.  
The warrior said, "Here, you shall be again!"  
Behold!" Raising his hand to wipe his bloodied lip,  
Then pressed it to boxer's arm, "Here do I take  
Forevermore by oath of mingled blood  
You for my brother, Shane the Champion!"  
Embraced he him, and Shane, bewildered sore,  
With nothing else to do, clasped him as well  
And laughed. The last rays of the setting sun  
Slipped from the flame-souled leaves, and left them there.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/ynZPgpeY
Part of the series Ragnarok
Previous: https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1713724-ragnarok-prologue.md
Next: https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1713731-ragnarok-ii.md