Wrenogal: Act III, xl-xlvi
xl
Soil
The Wren was silent as they left the tree,
whose bloodied leaves soiled the little boat.
“There is a play on words right here,” said she
who navigated out of the lake-moat.
“See how the red leaves soil ‘neath our feet?
We are not seeing mess, but otherwise.
What is called soil to something kept neat
is rich earth to a little seed’s soft eyes.
You see it, yes?” But Wrenogal still held—
he was not sure what anything meant now,
and kept his feet from where the said leaves welled,
and looked not at Lya, but o’er the prow.
“They are like soil. Soiled, though they are,”
said he—but she: “Because of it, they are.”
xli
“I must take you somewhere that I would not,
unless it was to help you. On we go.”
But Wrenogal, looking up with some haught,
said, “hold now. There is something I must know—
you know more of me than you should. You speak,
of elements far more than man, as kin.
I cannot simply follow, kind and meek,
if I cannot tell where your soul has been.”
Lya had been about to take the reins
as she had done to get here. Now she turned,
“you know now that the world you know contains
both souls and fates that neither one has earned.
The time is short, and lessons there are great,
come: two flights more and all your wants will sate.”
xlii
She brought him to a tower deep inside
the wilderness, but near its southward edge,
built just so that it could, from keen eyes, hide
surrounded by both canopy and hedge.
Within it, from a window, they two peered
as spiders, secret, and as silent, too.
And inward were philosophers, who leered
at someone sitting on a little pew.
They asked him questions which he answered well,
until he knew no answer—then he stood
and read from books and could, the answers, tell,
and then went back to sit right where he should.
“You’re seeing new life born—or old life caged
in ways that should make anyone enraged.”
xliii
“This life will live to do one thing alone:
to tell and to be told what it should do.
But any man or woman to condone
conditions such as this is nothing new.
You’ve seen it often before. And back and forth
the collar goes, and now they think that one
can bear the leash because it’s what it’s worth,
and all the oscillation can be done.”
There was a flame within her eyes just then
that never had been witnessed there before.
So full of kind compassion—then again,
perhaps it was compassion, only more.
“But collars must be broken—leashes torn—
for anyone to tell it is the morn.”
xliv
“And what leash have you now? You wear one—yes!
It is as tight as any that I’ve seen!
You are no slave by law, but nonetheless
you bear a dog’s own collar: cruel and keen!”
The Wren stared back, his hand reached up to feel
what he knew was not there. Her zeal was bold
enough to make a metaphor so real
he thought he felt the collar: crisp and cold.
“Your world so holds you—no, not even Zlyr
can claim it. But there are those who have judged
you better. They were where the good hearts were:
the ones whose openness needed no nudge.”
More than he knew, but less than he would know,
Wrenogal saw the source of Lya’s glow.
xlv
“I do not understand this simile..
I am not bound but by my own two feet!
And even they are blessed to, skyward, be,
what with a dragon’s wings with which to beat!”
“You call my song a simile?” she said,
(who had not sung the words). “No, little wren.
You will not on my testimony tread:
I speak what I have seen, and seen again.
The soul that stands before you will not know
but this life that you see before you now.
His is mute telling only. None will go
into his heart, though they would not know how.
They keep him on his leash. Not just to tell,
but so they never have to know him well.”
xlvi
“They’ve done the same to you. You say you’re free—
that anywhere in Ralquez you may be.
But can’t you feel the confines? Can’t you see:
you are invisible to all but me.”
And Wrenogal at last had words to say
to all his sad adventure. He was not
confined at all to country, but to stay
away from any mind and any thought.
“I must not be a thorn in any side,”
he said, staring into the window, where
the Tell was in his element—his stride—
telling but what they wanted to hear there.
“This is the last leash that shall be undone,”
said Lya. “Till your many songs are one.”