{"sf1_id":1722655,"sf2_id":"0mvZ4jmv","title":"Ragnarok - XXVII","author":"Rob MacWolf","words":1531,"posted_at":"2021-05-27T18:11:00.000Z","tags":["Epic","Iambic pentameter","Poetry","blank verse"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1722655-ragnarok-xxvii","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/0mvZ4jmv","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/bd/83/bd839fc3-75ab-4245-9a61-6e1cfa2d8634","description":"#28 of Ragnarok\n\nAnd the story ends, as all stories must if they continue long enough, with a funeral and farewell.","content":"Somewhere it was autumn. On the shore\n\nWind-kissed and smelling of soft salt there stood\n\nBut three alone. The sighing pines atop\n\nThe dunes were the last trees to wear their leaves.\n\nSomewhere it was evening. Heavy clouds\n\nWere crimson painted underneath by sun\n\nSetting upon the other the side of both\n\nThe clouds made red, and sea emblazoned gold.\n\nSomewhere it was somber, for the three\n\nWho gathered there this evening came to bid\n\nFarewell to one they loved and now had lost.\n\nVarr lay in little state upon a boat\n\nRough hewn but seaworthy enough. His shield\n\nMuch battered and much sulfur-scarred rested\n\nBeneath his feet. His armor, dented, torn\n\nBut polished once again. And in his hand\n\nThe hilt of the Black Sword, with broken blade,\n\nAnd melted at the forte, but still sharp.\n\nThe Old Man drew a heavy breath, and raised\n\nA torch that blazed the same hue as the sun.\n\n\"Here lies in death the last ennobled slain\n\nWho death embraced for noble dying's sake\n\nBefore, and won another life more bold,\n\nMore fell, more fateful, more holy and high.\n\nYet this life did he even less begrudge.\n\nHe laid it down again when once again\n\nDeath came to him, without a second thought.\n\nTheir names are all a litany, fit to\n\nBe written on the sky in script of fire\n\nFor every eye to gaze upon, in thanks.\n\nIf his name were the highest and most bright\n\nThen who would say justice had not been done?\n\nHe saved my world. How many have there been\n\nOf which that can be said, by anyone?\n\nHe saved more than my world. He saved as well\n\nHowever many worlds would have been\n\nConsumed within the Sulfur Carrier's hate.\n\nHe was exactly what I planned, and yet\n\nHe was more than I ever could have hoped.\n\nHe kept his word. They told him to be brave\n\nAnd brave he was. They told him to hold firm\n\nAnd firm he held. They called him Last-to-Flee\n\nAnd even when the sky itself had fled\n\nAnd earth beneath his feet had turned to run\n\nHe stood and raised his sword to strike again.\n\nIn my years I have many warriors seen.\n\nSome measure great in strength, some in wisdom,\n\nBut there is none, in all my eons, who\n\nHad courage that could equal nigh to his.\n\nLet him know that his glory shall endure\n\nAs long as does my memory, and I,\n\nThanks to his courage, shall endure at least\n\nAnother morrow of memorial.\"\n\nThe Old Man passed the torch to the young Girl\n\nFaint fireflies flickering in her tresses as\n\nThey woke into the evening. \"Since before\n\nAges were ages have my people been\n\nWide wanderers among infinite worlds.\n\nIf often I have wished to find a home,\n\nA place to put down roots, and to bear fruit,\n\nTo say, 'I am the land. The land is me,'\n\nHow oftener have I been thankful that\n\nWhen danger and destruction loomed above\n\nI could abandon everything, to melt\n\nInto the multiverse. If other worlds\n\nCame down in rot and ruin, what was it\n\nTo me? And yet not here. Here did I say\n\n'No more.' Here did I plant my feet. Here did\n\nI stare into the deepest the abyss\n\nCould dredge to raise before my face, and I\n\nBlinked not, but cried aloud 'You shall not pass!'\n\nIt should have been my end. Tis thanks to him\n\nThat I stand in the setting sun today.\n\nThat I can say to others 'stand your ground,'\n\nAnd not be merely an example of\n\nWhat happens to the foolish, stubborn ones.\"\n\nShe went upon her toes to pass the torch\n\nTo Shane, who held the flames above the\u0026nbsp;bier\n\nAnd let them taste the eventide sea breeze.\n\n\"What words are there to say? That he was strong,\n\nThat he was brave, that he his honor kept\n\nAll knew who knew him. We knew him, therefore\n\nShall I the memory of my brother\n\nIn blood, in battle, and in last resort\n\nKeep not in further words, but in my deeds.\n\nThe wind all words may blow away, but deeds\n\nAre graven in the living stone of time.\n\nAnd there shall his memorial be writ.\n\nSo sayeth Shane the Champion.\" He laid\n\nThe torch beneath Varr's feet, upon the logs\n\nWith oil anointed, and as the flames spread\n\nThe Old Man and the Champion bent their backs\n\nTo push the boat into the rising tide.\n\nAnd if it had to fight the breaking waves,\n\nIt won through with the easy mastery\n\nThat fights and wins and looks all effortless.\n\nThe flames, as they rose, blended with the sun\n\nBehind the wind and waves, until the ship\n\nAlone rode on a not too quiet sea\n\nBearing a scarlet halo into which\n\nIt gently was consumed. As does the spark\n\nThat rises on the rocket's peak devour\n\nIts own substance to fuel its glorious\u0026nbsp;light,\n\nSo soon enough there were but fragments left\n\nThat disappeared beneath the placid sea.\n\nThe three upon the shore a moment stood\n\nIn silence. Then the Old Man sighed, and it\n\nWas too the sighing of the waves. The dark\n\nOf his wrapped eye was one with the soft night\n\nNow emptied quite of terrors, and his voice\n\nWas wind among the fallen autumn leaves.\n\n\"Come, Shane. Upon the morrow there will be\n\nBoth much and mighty labor for us both.\n\nThere are halls to reraise, walls to rebuild,\n\nTowers to reerect, swords to reforge.\n\nA new Valhalla shall assembled be,\n\nAnd at its head shall be a Champion\n\nFor all the dead in bravery to see,\n\nTo honor, learn from, and as sons to love!\"\n\nShane turned not from the sunset as he said,\n\n\"I thank you, in good faith. When yet I lived--\n\nSo long ago it seems--and I set out\n\nTo fight for glory, young and foolish, I\n\nWould not have dreamed to set my sights on half\n\nThe height of glory that you offer now.\n\nBut no. For death has never been the end.\n\nThose that I left behind thought I was done\n\nBut here I stand. Where now, then, does Varr stand\n\nPerhaps already in high battle, and\n\nWithout a shield-brother upon his back?\n\nFor there are other worlds than this--I have\n\nBeheld them, Old Man--and who is to say\n\nThat they do not pray for a Champion?\n\nFor among infinite worlds, there must be,\n\nSomeday, somewhere, somehow, one fated to\n\nBecome the place where I behold again\n\nBarbara's face, among the linden blooms,\n\nWhen she adventures too has had, and been\n\nThe better savior of a better world\n\nThen I could ever be. And settle there?\n\nPerhaps. I am no soothsayer. Farewell!\n\nYour world is saved. I go to seek for mine.\"\n\nHe turned to find the girl with solemn eyes\n\nAwaiting him, and said \"I cannot stay-\"\n\n\"I understand,\" she raised a hand to take\n\nHim by the hand, \"I shall not ask you to.\n\nBut neither would I have you go without\n\nA token to remember one you had\n\nAs much a hand in saving as did Varr.\"\n\nThen like a conjurer pulling a coin\n\nOut of the startled ear of a rude child,\n\nShe held a belt before him, woven from\n\nSlick knotted leather, and the living twigs\n\nOf Bittersweet, the berries red as blood\n\nAnd hard as jewels, and golden crowns on each.\n\nShane had no words, and found he needed none.\n\nAs they along the sighing shore, away\n\nFrom the Old Man left all alone, wandered\n\nTogether, he buckled and pulled it tight.\n\n\"And shall you be happy, among the trees,\n\nYour Witchfolk will return to, by the by?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"The Witchfolk don't return.\n\nA thousand thousand worlds we have left.\n\nYet not a one have we returned unto.\n\nBut fret not on me, Champion. I too\n\nHave a long journey laid before my feet.\n\nI go to bear the tale, through all the worlds,\n\nOf those who stood against oblivion,\n\nTo any of my people I can find,\n\nTo any folk whose ears are open yet,\n\nTo any who has dreams, and will to write.\"\n\nShane turned to look at her, concern upon\n\nHis sunset painted face. \"You go alone?\n\nI cannot leave you unprotected, let\n\nMe travel with you, as your bodyguard.\n\nWe may as well travel together, if-\"\n\nHer laughter stopped him, and she shook her head\n\n\"I think that I shall find my way aright.\n\nGo, Champion, and your next challenge find.\"\n\nShane sighed, and bowed, and turned away. Upon\n\nThe wind he read the message, and he knew\n\nDelay and argument were vain. Upon\n\nHer hand he left a sacramental kiss,\n\nThough not for her, nor him, but for those who\n\nMight have beheld it: fireflies, mayhaps,\n\nFor who else was there to behold? Upon\n\nThe blowing waves of grass on the first dune\n\nHe turned back to her. The sun's final ray\n\nFell full upon his face. He smiled at that.\n\nThen once again he turned. He walked away.\n\nThe firefly-crowded night replaced the day.\n\nAnd where he has now gone, she cannot say.\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Ragnarok","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1722326-ragnarok-xxvi.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1722657-ragnarok-epilogue.json"}}