{"sf1_id":1717631,"sf2_id":"214WPYno","title":"Ragnarok - XII","author":"Rob MacWolf","words":1677,"posted_at":"2021-05-12T19:11:00.000Z","tags":["Epic","Iambic pentameter","Poetry","blank verse"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1717631-ragnarok-xii","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/214WPYno","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/ff/3f/ff3f9aa6-9bc9-4521-9dbc-82dc05f9ddbc","description":"#13 of Ragnarok\n\nShane and Varr and the witchfolk refugees reach a fortress holdout, and find other refugees there, defended by other Warrior Souls, led by Klau.","content":"Somewhere it was sunset. On the hills\n\nThe last refractions of the scarlet sun\n\nLicked at the upper edges, like a flame\n\nAbout to catch on paper, but below\n\nAll now was more than darkness, as the bars\n\nCrossed cruciform around a lantern wick\n\nGrow blacker than themselves against the light,\n\nSo though the sky was light yet, torchlights flashed\n\nFrom point to point, appearing like fireflies.\n\nSomewhere it was sunset. On a wall\n\nHalf-ruinous but half-rebuilt, there stood\n\nA watch of silhouettes, like figures for\n\nA shadow puppet play. Behind them rose\n\nThe hills up into mountains, bare and sheer.\n\nBelow them rolled the rills of tumulus\n\nDown onto plains that seemed to subtly shift\n\nLike sand unstable, or like scorching air\n\nAbove a distant road. No grass was this\n\nStirred by a lazy breeze to gently wave,\n\nFor no grass grew there now. Now all was soot.\n\nSomewhere it was sunset, but a light\n\nWas rising o'er the wall the sun had left.\n\nOne of the torches flickered in the dusk\n\nFrom one end to the other. Seven times\n\nIt stopped a moment, once for every guard,\n\nAnd left behind a brazier kindled but\n\nAfflicted in the wind of coming night.\n\nThe torch had run its course and had begun\n\nTo imitate the sun, when from the first\n\nWatchman that it had visited there came\n\nA shout. It stopped as if the bearer were\n\nThat instant turned to stone and was a carved\n\nEffigy representing vigilance\n\nThat poses on cold parapet with brand\n\nAblaze, and eyes forever fixed. Between\n\nTwo foothills came a string of ragged folk\n\nAll moving with the threadbare haste of one\n\nWho sees his goal beyond hope and puts on\n\nMore speed than he had guessed he could endure.\n\nYet they had cause for haste. Behind them came\n\nPursuers dark in more than silhouette.\n\nEach time one staggered near, the hindmost two--\n\nThe one in armor, the other wrapped in\n\nBrown cloak and bareheaded--would halt and face\n\nThe too enthusiastic brigand, then,\n\nWith solid strokes and few, leave it upon\n\nThe turf to fizzle and collapse to ash.\n\nThe one with blade that caught the vanished sun\n\nIn flashes brief as lightning, the other\n\nWith snap of swirling cloak and thud of glove\n\nLike heavy thunderclap on the eardrum.\n\nThe masses on the plain were stirring. The\n\nMost near reared rotten faces round, disturbed\n\nBy battle noise not brief enough, and like\n\nThe cautious first departures of a crowd\n\nAfter the match or speech or spectacle,\n\nBegan to stumble toward the refugees.\n\nThe headmost of the ragged band, a dame\n\nMotherly-aged, if but she stretched her hand,\n\nShe could have touched the gate, when a cry came\n\nBeneath the kindling torch, saying \"Open!\"\n\nAnd at the word the fortress woke. The doors\n\nWere thrown wide with enough haste that it seemed\n\nThe stones to either side of it should crack.\n\nAs forward flowed the dark tide of pursuit\n\nAgain the voice commanded \"Fire at will!\"\n\nDown poured, with sound like rain onrushing, bolts\n\nOnto the Soot-horde's heads. The arrows crushed\n\nAs might the hailstorm shatter the corn field\n\nAnd left a swath of dust and splintered shafts\n\nFor the next ranks to trample. The last two\n\nDucked through the gates, and whirled to fix the foe\n\nWith feral stare and ready stance, when the\n\nVoice trumpeted again \"Make fast the gate!\"\n\nThe mighty doors slammed shut, and cut the sight\n\nOf foe from foe off with their sudden boom\n\nWhile the two were skidding to a halt.\n\nAs are the waves against the jagged arms\n\nOf broken concrete wearily cast out\n\nInto a geometrical embrace\n\nAround a scrap of sea so shielded that\n\nWithin the salty water is as still\n\nAs mirror's face, so did the Soot horde rush\n\nMindless against the wall to no avail.\n\nAs out the single drumbeat, from the slam\n\nOf iron door on stone, spread in the cool\n\nAzure and orange of the evening air\n\nThe two last through the gate as one released\n\nLong breaths, that had the work of fifty breaths\n\nEach done. The man in armor pushed his helm\n\nBack from his brow, and wrung his grizzled locks,\n\nAnd said, \"Well, here we are. We ran three days.\n\nWe fought for every inch of earth. We dragged\n\nOurselves before the faces of more Soot\n\nThan I had thought existed, to get here.\n\nAnd here we are. Now where is here?\" \"Ask not,\"\n\nThe other answered, throwing off the cowl\n\nFrom his spark-colored hair, \"of me. Ask her\n\nWhose scryings led us here. This wall is thick\n\nAnd high and sturdy, but I do not like\n\nThe view. Why we should risk so much to gain\n\nA wall to put our backs to, I know not.\"\n\n\"Who speaks?\" said soft and solid that same voice\n\nThat tempest fletched and furious had called\n\nDown on the luckless Soot. \"What words are these?\n\nWhat mercenary's cant infects my ears?\n\nIf mewling such as this can issue from\n\nThe lungs and mouths of those who gave their lives\n\nFor honor and for hopeless odds, then we\n\nIndeed must be at doomsday.\" On the stair\n\nThat lead up to the parapet, there burned\n\nA brand, and underneath there stood a boy\n\nScare old enough to wear hair on his jaw.\n\nScant armor wore he, but a grizzled pelt\n\nOf wolfshide bound over his back, his arms\n\nThe claws for gauntlets wore, the helm\n\nWas the still-snarling skull, the fangs\n\nParting his coal-black hair above the face\n\nScowling, downturned, thin, streaked with stripes of woad\n\nAnd set with anger that its very calm\n\nBecame a kind of rage. Upon his belt\n\nThere hung a scabbard far too long. The tip\n\nRested acute upon the step behind.\n\nWhen drawn, the blade must have been more\n\nIn length than bladesman was in height, in weight\n\nThan wielder. Though the torch illumined not\n\nHis black eyes, they burned bright enough themselves.\n\nVarr sheathed his sword, and said \"I see you are\n\nOf my hall. I rejoice, for now I know\n\nWe two are not the last. Well met, indeed,\n\nYoung brother.\" But the boxer frowned and said\n\n\"And who are you, to gainsay when I speak\n\nMy mind? No one could call you an Old Man.\n\nMen may fight without understanding, but\n\nThe whiles they do, they wish to understand.\n\nIf you have understanding of this fight\n\nThen hoard it not, and prove my doubts in vain!\"\n\nThe boy smiled as he lowered the torch, \"I judge\n\nNot by your words. I saw your deeds, and those\n\nAre what has weight and worth. Come, Last-to-Flee.\n\nCome, Champion. And meet your company.\"\n\nHe pointed with the torch, and from the gate,\n\nHis scabbard clanking sharply on each stair,\n\nHe led them inward toward the mountainsides.\n\nAs rivers fast conjoining blend their selves\n\nTheir waters welding into one, their mass\n\nAnd slow momentum intertwined, confused,\n\nAnd redirected, so the witchfolk throng,\n\nSome new arrived, some camped for many weeks,\n\nMilled in the stronghold. In amongst them went\n\nWarriors in armor, some fatigue-faced from\n\nThe long day's watch, some new arisen for\n\nThe longer night. Between then, as a rock\n\nCuts through the white and tossing cataract\n\nThe boy led Shane and Varr. Against the sheer\n\nObsidianate cliffs, there was a porch\n\nAnd promontory of cold stone. They turned.\n\nBelow, a sea of torchlit faces swam,\n\nLike too-close constellations neath their feet,\n\nUpturned toward them. As the clouds at dawn,\n\nOpaque as heavy mountains, check the sun\n\nTo stretch the morning out into the day\n\nAnd keep the young dew-freshness until noon,\n\nSo did the scarlet torches spread sunset\n\nPast sunset. The clouds seemed as the low boughs,\n\nThe mountainside the trunk, the faces filled\n\nWith half-hope and half-light the fireflies\n\nOf some autumnal forest. The boy strode\n\nOnto the very edge, above the throng\n\nSuddenly silent in expectation.\n\nHe smacked his palm upon the pommel-stone\n\nOf his titanic blade, and his voice rang:\n\n\"Warriors and heroes, brothers not in death\n\nBut brothers in frustration of it, who\n\nHave plumbed even down to its heart to strike,\n\nNow is our hour of victory come at last!\n\nNow shall we drink our fill of honor, blood,\n\nAnd glory far beyond the dreams of those\n\nWho strive and strain yet living on the earth!\n\nNow is our company complete! We all:\n\nGor Battle-Hungry, Veiz Fighter-of-Tides,\n\nHeim Hammerhanded, Dar Braver-of-Storms,\n\nUlf Black-Brow, Torg the Lucky, Piers the Bold,\n\nKoll the Shield-Breaker, Hark Guesser-of-Foes,\n\nCuan Holyspear, Fin Stubborn-as-Stone,\n\nLief Fatherless, and Ard Maker-of-Gates,\n\nStad the Ship-Slayer, Helm the Far-Watching,\n\nRolf Quick-Rage, Heath the Finder-of-Rich-Land,\n\nAnd I, Klau the Berserker, called Blacksword,\n\nShall have our names engraved in more desert\n\nOf glory and good memory than all\n\nOur fathers numberless and valiant. Each\n\nOf us these coming days shall do what all\n\nTrue kings pretend at, true troubadours sing,\n\nAnd true warriors have longed for but done not!\n\nBehold the two last warriors of our rank:\n\nVarr Last-to-Flee and Shane the Champion!\n\nHail them, who come the dawn will be with you\n\nHailed by all peoples for all time to come!\"\n\nAs out a single overpowering cheer,\n\nFilling Shane's chest with sense of now and here\n\nAs water fills the pipe it travels through,\n\nIn echoes spilled over the wall away.\n\nKlau turned, smiling like one who knows the name\n\nYou are in vain attempting to recall,\n\nAnd said, \"Be not amazed I know you. Come.\n\nYour counsel would I have, but ere I do,\n\nMy tale will you have of me, that you may\n\nKnow what comes with the coming battle day.\"\n\nKlau turned to go within the rough stone hall\n\nWedged in between the shoulders of the cliff\n\nTo made a pass into a tunnel. Varr\n\nFollowed, but Shane a moment stayed to watch\n\nThe torches lower and disperse, some to\n\nThe barracks, some the gate, some to the wall.\n\nEre he had gone within, gone was the light.\n\nDarkness came down at last, and it was night.\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Ragnarok","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1717131-ragnarok-xi.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1717935-ragnarok-xiii.json"}}