{"sf1_id":1718548,"sf2_id":"J1Ogv41j","title":"Ragnarok - XV","author":"Rob MacWolf","words":2180,"posted_at":"2021-05-15T17:54:00.000Z","tags":["Epic","Iambic pentameter","Poetry","blank verse"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1718548-ragnarok-xv","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/J1Ogv41j","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/15/44/1544f937-72cf-4464-81a1-90c5bfcdd6b2","description":"#16 of Ragnarok\n\nAs the Witchfolk depart for other worlds, King Roam and the Young Girl both come to speak with Shane, ere a further calamity befalls.\nI'm still pretty proud of the dialogue in this canto. The short pithy statements and interruptions still fitting into the iambic pentameter is profoundly satisfying. \"\"When next you sound your traitor's mouth at me / I will strike it,\" and he would say no more\" might not be my favorite two lines from the poem, but it's up there.","content":"As haloed patriarchs, hewn from the stone\n\nAtop the arches, mid the cornices\n\nWhere gargoyles grimace at the bitter taste\n\nOf dusty rainwater, watch heretics\n\nSelf-excommunicated all depart,\n\nStoic, still militant, and stony-faced\n\nShed not one tear, for all the rain pours down,\n\nSo did the remnant of the Old Man's host\n\nFrom guard atop the wall watch silently\n\nThe long serpentine line the witchfolk walked,\n\nTheir packs and bundles swaying as they leaned\n\nUpon this foot, then that, so they advanced\n\nWithout real steps, as do those waiting on\n\nTheir turn at some officialdom, past which\n\nThey have their liberty to go their way.\n\nYet one among the guard looked on them not;\n\nOne stood upon the rampart with his face\n\nFixed outward, with his back toward the heights,\n\nHis gloves about his neck, his scowl bent on\n\nThe sooty, hissing corpse-horde spread below.\n\nHe watched them long, in silence, where they stood\n\nLike men stricken with sleep upon their feet,\n\nAnd at length, without turning, he spoke, \"When\n\nThe wind shifts round, I can not only smell\n\nTheir inward rot smoldering, I can hear\n\nTheir sizzling, like the sounds of windblown sand\n\nEating the mountainside. If this wall cracks,\n\nAmong us slaying they will be, and till\n\nThe last of them was dust they would not pause.\n\nYet they, perhaps, are kinder than are you.\n\nThey speak not. So at least they tell no lies.\n\nTheir hate, if hate they can, is obvious,\n\nBut you deal blows that cannot be looked for\n\nAnd have doomed us more deeply than they could\n\nWithout your aid.\" Behind him, King Roam's voice\n\nResponded, \"Do not think we wish you ill.\n\nWe merely wish ourselves better than you.\n\nOur treachery is contingent. Their hate\n\nIs deep and needfulest necessity.\n\nIf this wide plain below us were all cleaned\n\nOf these filth revenants, what cause would then\n\nBetween us beget enmity?\" \"It is\n\nBegotten,\" growled the boxer, \"It is born.\n\nFor all your might have beens, the Soot are here\n\nAnd you have chosen not to stand with us.\"\n\nThe Witch King leaned against the battlement.\n\n\"What surety have you, Shane Falconi,\n\nThat you are of this 'us' you eulogize?\n\nThat, when they stand, you will be there at all?\"\n\nHe mused, and smiled when Shane stiffened in shock,\n\n\"The Old Woman has given me of you\n\nSome certain secrets, some uncertain lore.\n\nI know the prophecies you almost heard,\n\nBut what of them? We both are men of deeds\n\nSo let me tell you what I know of yours.\n\nSince you woke somewhere in this afterworld\n\nYou have been much in doubt if this be death.\n\nWere I you, I can vouch that I would doubt.\n\nFor see, can you deny that if you took\n\nA blow sufficient to unfix your mind\n\nSo that it no more tasted the real world\n\nThe dream that took its place would be as this?\n\nWhere you are crowned with glory for your fists,\n\nYour only instruments of pride, in life\n\nOr mayhap in undreaming. Where your sad\n\nAnd hopeless thirst for honor is allayed\n\nAs could it never have been in the world\n\nYou left, one way or another. Where you\n\nAre 'brother' called, and 'champion.' You could\n\nNot have composed a fitter fantasy\n\nWith twenty concussions! What does that say\n\nUpon the odds that all this, you composed?\"\n\n\"Only that if this be indeed a dream\n\nShane growled, \"you do give me no cause to wake.\"\n\nKing Roam tapped his pipe against the stones\n\nAnd idly said, \"What if I told you I\n\nDo know the name you seek but can't recall,\n\nSay I know there's a figure you have seen\n\nIn dreams and memories only from behind.\n\nSay the Old Woman told me she yet lives,\n\nSo if you dream, why then, tis no more than\n\nThe second half of blinking, and you will\n\nBe back with her. Would that be cause to wake?\"\n\n\"Then do you mean to tell me that I can?\"\n\nShane asked, all suspicion. The Witch King smiled,\n\n\"I mislike prophecies. I am not pleased\n\nWhen I must play the hand I have been dealt\n\nCome hell or water high. Yet yours at least\n\nA kernel has of truth. You lived too late\n\nFor warriors like yourself. Were you not taught\n\nAlways to say goodbye before you took\n\nTo battle, as all brave men used to do\n\nWho might no more return? If you had gone\n\nTo your death ready, willing, with farewell\n\nThough nevermore we meet upon your lips,\n\nWhy then you would be bounden here as are\n\nThe rest. But you did not. And so you yearn\n\nFor her you left no farewell, and you dream,\n\nAnd this dream haunts the ghost, Falconi, and\n\nBy it the ghost may yet retrace his steps\n\nBack into life. Call this waking, or call\n\nThis resurrection, or call this return.\n\nYou may go back. You need not stay. You may\n\nWith my folk come on exodus. No need\n\nTo sing their long Lama Sabacthani,\n\nTo glimpse the Sulfur Carrier, or face\n\nIts wrath. You need not die a second time,\n\nSo come!\" King Roam stretched forth his hand to clasp\n\nWith Shane's. The boxer only glared and said,\n\n\"When next you sound your traitor's mouth at me\n\nI will strike it,\" and he would say no more.\n\nEventually the Witch King shrugged, and left,\n\nAnd as he went he sighed, \"There's always some\n\nWho do not have the sense to come inside\n\nFrom hurricanes.\" Shane did not turn to watch\n\nThe afternoon was waning. The hubbub\n\nBehind him of the witchfolk throng had shrunk\n\nTo bare murmur, when at his elbow came\n\nA voice that said, \"Please, these high battlements\n\nAre too high for me, and I cannot see.\n\nWould you lift me, warrior?\" Beside him, Shane\n\nSaw her who had so carelessly foretold,\n\nAnd who had at the council spoken not,\n\nAnd now upon tiptoe craned up as tall\n\nAs she was able. Shane frowned, but took her\n\nSmall hand in his, and on his shoulders set\n\nThe child. She looked with curiosity\n\nDown on the Soot. \"It is too bad,\"\n\nShe said, \"That there should be such creatures, who\n\nAnnihilate whatsoever they can\n\nFor nothing but the annihilating.\n\nSo I am glad that somebody took thought\n\nFor how to stop them. My heart warms that you\n\nAnd all your fellow slain but not at rest\n\nStand against them. They should not be let prowl\n\nThrough world on world, working the ruin of each,\n\nBut somebody should shout upon them 'Nay!'\n\nThough he might as well try to hold the tide.\"\n\n\"Did not your king,\" Shane grumbled, \"call our stand\n\nFruitless and senseless? And is he not right\n\nNow that his needed aid is left and gone?\n\nThis tide, I cannot halt it with my voice\n\nNor with my fists. When you are high and dry\n\nShould you look back, you will not even see\n\nThe place I was ere I was swept away,\n\nAnd swept away we all shall surely be\n\nNo matter if we stand or if we flee.\"\n\nShe answered, dangling her stockinged feet,\n\n\"I shall not so look back. I shall not leave.\n\nI shall remain and see this tide myself\n\nWhatever Roam may say, and we will find\n\nThat howsoever fallen be the world\n\nIt will not be so fallen that there is\n\nNo final rally, no almost too late,\n\nNo final catastrophe turned to good\n\nThe more incredibly as suddenly.\n\nSo wait, Shane Champion, and be surprised\n\nWith me.\" She smiled, and plucked a pebble from\n\nThe mortar crack, and dropped it idly, as\n\nA man might toss shell fragments in the sea.\n\nShane followed it, but lost its place somewhere.\n\nBefore he could guess at its landing, one\n\nSoot in the foremost ranks collapsed, head cracked,\n\nAnd toppled. In a moment its place was\n\nWith another filled so it could not be\n\nDiscerned at all even where it had stood.\n\n\"You must not stay,\" Shane whispered, shocked, \"I shall\n\nNot suffer that a little girl should be\n\nLeft behind without refuge.\" \"If you are,\"\n\nShe interrupted with a tiny hand\n\nOver the boxer's mouth, \"to refuse flight,\n\nTo safety spurn, to risk your all upon\n\nA glory and a stand you think hopeless\n\nWhen you might leave it, how much more may I\n\nWho knows the glory to have yet some hope?\"\n\n\"You are a child!\" the boxer objected,\n\nPlucking her from his shoulders to the wall.\n\n\"As is your berserker,\" she sallied back.\n\n\"You ought not be exposed to such peril!\"\n\n\"No more ought you, and yet in them you thrive.\"\n\n\"You have not died. You have your business still\n\nWith life and living in some other world\n\nLess doomed.\" With soft unconscious gravity, she said,\n\n\"Did I not tell you, did not Roam explain,\n\nThat so do you?\" In the stunned silence came\n\nThe sound of boots on stone and armor clank,\n\nThen Varr and Klau were with them. \"Sinks the sun,\"\n\nVarr breathed in deep, \"and as it sinks, there grows\n\nConviction in my heart that the time comes\n\nSwiftly and sure, when we shall learn indeed\n\nHow dead we are, by finding that we die.\n\nThe board is set, the seed is sown, the strands\n\nOf destiny and that which might have been,\n\nSave one, are severed off. But one path now\n\nIs open to us, and we have not far\n\nUpon it to travel.\" \"I care nothing,\"\n\nKlau snorted, puffing out his chest, \"for what\n\nMen yet mortal would say, whether or not\n\nI live or die or some third thing beyond.\n\nSo long as I may use my sword to win\n\nWhat fate has given me.\" Klau looked up to\n\nShane with the eager smile of one who sees\n\nAt length the end of some thing long endured,\n\nBut then his faced turned puzzled. \"Were not all,\"\n\nHe said, \"yon witchfolk to have left and gone?\n\nE'en now the last of them is departed,\n\nHow is it they have left this least behind?\"\n\n\"How is it the Old Man has left the least,\"\n\nShe retorted, \"to lead his last defeat-\"\n\n\"She will not go,\" Shane sighed, \"She does not heed\n\nThe danger, and I know no more how to\n\nExplain that this is no place for children!\"\n\nThe girl slid from her seat, planted her feet,\n\nAnd stared coldly and regally at them.\n\n\"You said you needed us. You were dismayed\n\nWhen Roam abandoned you. Well here is one\n\nWho will not hope abandon, as did he!\"\n\nKlau shrugged, \"Then I was wrong. If we needed\n\nThe help of you and yours, your king would not\n\nHave left. Since we do not have help, that shows\n\nBut that we shall need no help. All I need\n\nIs this my sword, which shall by prophecy\n\nStrike down the Sulfur Carrier. No need to risk\n\nYour life as well. Go now.\" Varr pulled his chin,\n\nSaying, \"Though I am loath to turn down help\n\nFrom any source, I cannot in honor\n\nAllow an infant maid amid the thick\n\nAnd thorniness of battle such as this.\"\n\n\"Does it seem that I care what you allow?\"\n\nShe stamped. \"You should,\" Shane answered, \"For if you\n\nWill not seek safety of yourself, then I\n\nWill drag you up the mountain pass, seek out\n\nWhatever gate or portal is found there\n\nAnd toss you through.\" But ere his hand could clap\n\nUpon her shoulder, came a chilling wind\n\nAnd subtle alteration in the light\n\nOf the almost-set sun. All stood stock still\n\nBreath hammering in bright, reflexive shock\n\nAnd looked up just in time to see the sun\n\nBlaze deep unnatural blue. Then in the light\n\nThat made each face an icy famine skull,\n\nThey heard a sound like screaming in the sky,\n\nLike curtains being rent from seam to seam,\n\nLike air compressing in the bullet's wake,\n\nLike thick glass shattering as if the dome\n\nOf sky above were cracked and something punched\n\nRight through. Then as they looked, transfixed, there came\n\nA bolt of boiling fire through the air.\n\nIt struck the valley floor behind the Soot.\n\nIt rocked the earth. It sent cracks up the wall\n\nTo puddle round Shane's feet like dusty rain.\n\nThe rocks nearby, at the heat of its fall\n\nTurned molten and glassy. The rear ranks of\n\nThe Soot horde flattened and were turned to dust.\n\nA moment later, and the smoke swept past\n\nThe rampart, and the smell of it was foul,\n\nOily, clinging, and reeking of sulfur.\n\nShane blinked his streaming eyes clear, and he saw\n\nArising ponderously from the dust\n\nAnd coalescing in among the fumes,\n\nA shape, hulking and simian. It raised\n\nA blunt featureless head. Then ear to ear\n\nLike cut-throat's victim, spread a jagged gash\n\nAll jack-o-lantern malice smile without\n\nAll all-consuming furnace heart within,\n\nBeneath two eyes of soulless, brutelike hate\n\nThat shone like headlights in the summer haze,\n\nAnd out of both leaked sallow tongues of flame.\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Ragnarok","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1718267-ragnarok-xiv.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1718783-ragnarok-xvi.json"}}