Wrenogal: Act II, lix-lxii
lix
The mercenary chewed on cheap stew chunks
that hadn’t softened in the boiling broth,
and listened over chair scrapes and boot thunks
for any talk with more weight than its froth.
He heard the gist of what had happened to
the market. How one woman was, alone,
the benefactor of the residue,
whose clientele had, past its balance, grown.
But also overheard a little child
tell a hard-bitten man that he should come
with him to a rough place out in the wild
where he might find work, if he wanted some.
He hearkened to the rendezvous, and went,
to spy a witness of the shy event.
lx
Arriving very early, Erison
stood underneath the Moon. Her Stars stood round
and glared at him, the fury of the Sun
emblazoned in their eyes where he was found.
For see, the Children of the Sun and Moon
know what the secret hearts of men conceal.
Both Star and Phantom see clearly, as soon
as seeing you, what you do not reveal.
But their squabble is with each other. Men
are free to stow away whate’er they will.
Though, be careful what you reveal, and when,
for once a thing is known, they know it still.
But now, Erison knew something so great,
even the Stars, for answers, had to wait:
lxi: The Third Song of Wrenogal
The rendezvous was half a mile out,
and Erison chose somewhere he could see
the place, and have no need even to scout
the area for what there soon would be.
And o’er his screen, the wings of Wrenogal
beat down, showering leaves upon his head.
He looked from whence the gale made them all fall,
and saw what would have caused other men dread.
But daunting though the Moon-blackening wings
should be, their whole effect was ruined, some,
by he who on the back of those wings sings
an obvious and tender requiem:
Write on, beyond where you are gone,
tell well your everlasting spell.
Yon wanness of your living song
will still, your dying treasures tell.
And write, tho fright consumes the light,
and speak, tho weak, and hope is bleak,
the sight of right that was your might,
and speak! Your pen was always meek.
But if you can’t, I will recant
my word, and tell what I had heard
you say, though in the only way
I know, an echo, even so.
The Shroud grew tense, and mocked the quiet song,
while Erison’s heart, absent, hummed along.
lxii
The dragon dropped a tarp, laden with ore,
down in the clearing, where a wagon drove
from an unrutted aisle in the shore
of the trees’ edge, out from a quiet grove.
And from the wagon, dropped the little boy
who’d said to find this place that very night,
followed by a huge man in his employ,
who started loading rocks like they were light.
But Erison saw not the other man
who Durn had last invited join that throng.
The Moonlight showed him something greater than
his mark. The Shroud had not, it seemed, been wrong.
I said you might find something that you crave,
as Erison eyed Nolda like a grave…