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Varr broke the silence first. “You saw him, then.
Our Lord is yet alive. I had not dared
To think the question, lest I should answer.
But the Old Man lives yet. So lives our strength.”
Shane muttered quietly “Not he alone.”
And when they looked at him, the boxer said
“I have seen, since I woke midst yonder trees,
An Old Man as you both described, and more.
I have seen something that he will not name.
He called it Sulfur Carrier. Have you
Heard tidings of it too, Brother Blacksword?”
Klau rose to the challenge, “The Old Woman
Who prophesies is yet among the throng.
She told me you were coming. She told me
You would be vital, and must captains be.
Of Sulfur Carrier she would say nothing but
That it was coming too, so, Champion,
If you are Battle-Seer, as it seems,
And have dreamed of it, pray tell all you dreamed.”
Shane blinked, befuddled, and said “I saw no
Battle. I saw a form, manlike, maybe
But of shadow and flame, and wreathed in smoke.
I tasted its sour diesel fuming stench.
And though it was but shadow in my mind
It very nearly killed me. How much more
Deadly will it be in the flesh? Is this
The blow you plan to strike? Is this the foe
You say your sword will flatten? I know not
What manner of demonic thing it was,
But even I could see it could take more
Than one sword, even one so great as yours.”
Klau stood, and drew himself to his full height,
Though this brought him up only to Shane’s chest,
Still seemed he to tower. “You think as those
Who live and live and will not die, who cling
To mortal life as if there were not life
In death and deeper death than this. My sword
Will slay the Sulfur Carrier. I know
Not how. I need not know. Why should I grasp
At hows and whys and what will matter not?
My edge will not grow sharper for them, nor
Will this Dark Manlike of Fire lie more slain
When I its breast have pierced, its heart cut out,
Because I know a how.” “Now hold!” Varr cried,
Smiting the table with his clanking fist,
“This is no summer afternoon, for games
Of manhood bragging! This is no beer hall
For drunken oafs to strip, and flex, and crow
At their own wine-inflated strengths!
This is war council! I grant, Champion
And blood-brother, this scheme does sound insane,
But what else have we? I grant, Berserker,
That what the Old Man promises will come
Will come, but we must strive with cunning to
Accomplish the foretelling into fact.
Now butt your heads no more! Let us call in
The council you spoke of, to lay our plans
And move on swiftly to deeds to be done.”
Klau took his seat again, glared once at Shane,
And gestured toward the door, “E’en now, they come.”
Just at the door, so silent suddenly
That ‘Where did they come from?’ was changed into
‘How long have they stood there?’ within Shane’s mind,
Two men in witchfolk patchwork stepped out of
The outdoor darkness. One was tall and broad
And blank of expression, as if asleep
Like porcelain guard dogs. The other short
And stocky, full of sour looks, and in
His beard he scowled suspiciously around.
Yet so like were these two unlike in
Movement and wariness, that they seemed more
Identical than twins. Between them came
The Lady of the Witchfolk they had led,
Her Granddaughter upon her arm, and like
Their shadow, the Old Woman Shane had seen
In his dream, switching places in his mind
With the Old Man, like some humorless dance
Behind the walls of being, in and out
Of hiding, and danced in deadly earnest.
“Hail, honored dead,” the Lady said, serene
As opium eaters, “If you have plans,
Then let us see how well they fit with what
We shall know and shall do.” The youngest said,
“Don’t worry, Champion. I trust in you.”
The Old Woman said nothing, until she
Swept past the wary guard and took the place
Furthest and opposite from Klau. She held
Shane in a sullen silent stare, as does
The sluggish alligator, caged, regard
The shouting children that peer in at it.
“We meet now for the second time, as I,”
She growled, “Foretold. We will meet but once more.”
As Shane and Varr retook their seat, Klau said,
“Where is your king? I would not strategize
Without conferring with the general of
All but a score and seven. Where’s King Roam?”
The lady helped the child onto a seat
From which her feet dangled, “King Roam knows not
That we are here yet. We have words to say
To you three that are not for him to hear.
He will come presently, then you may talk
Of plans and plots and possibility
But first hear of what was, is, and must be.”
“If they will hearken. Few do,” snapped the crone.
Shane leaned upon the table. “End your hints.
If you would say, then say, and on our heads,”
The boxer growled, “be worry whether we
Will hearken or ignore.” The Lady’s sphinx
Smile did not twitch as she pointed at Klau
And said, “You. King Roam will not help you. He
Will take all but your score and seven and
Leave you alone with the fate you covet
But do not yet expect.” She turned to Varr
Still smiling, “You. You will be left behind.
You will be Last to Flee, and when you flee,
You will have nowhere left to flee to.” Then
She turned her masky smile to Shane, but when
A voice rang “You,” it was not hers. The Old
Woman had risen to her feet. “Falconi. You
Have here a place you have not earned. Think you
That I know not the roles you seek to fill?
You cannot fill them. You were not foretold.
You cannot face the Sulfur Carrier.
You cannot pass back through death, you have not
Passed through it even once. Why do you dream
Of a world that is dead to you, and why
Do you still think on someone who you can
Not even name? Falconi, get you home.
This is no place for those not Champions.”
All three warriors started to their feet, hands
Upon their weapons. The three women seemed
Not to notice, but calmly sat as if
At a picnic supper in their backyard.
Varr shouted “Thou shalt not speak so to him!”
Shane seconded “Not to any of us!”
Klau growled “Try not my temper, witches.” but
For further fury there was no time. From
The door came a deep voice, but dry, that laughed
Behind each word, and froze behind each laugh
Saying, “I see that you are men, or ghosts
Of men after my own heart. Long have I
Longed to silence these meddlesome biddies.”
As is a tree that stricken seems, and for
A mummifying cerement is wrapped
With miles of ivy, with envenomed vines,
With mosses scented like funeral oils,
But within yet is lithe, and quick, and green
For all that it does bend, so seemed the man
Leaning against the door. His trailing locks,
His beard and mustache long and whiskerlike,
The charm-bedecked, verdigris moulded chains
As patchwork and mismatched as were his clothes
Seemed all to stoop and strangle him, yet with
One reflex like unbending of his neck
The two mute bodyguards bowed and vanished
Into the night. Klau moved his fist away
Off his enraging pommel, and said, “Now,
Is come at last one who speaks riddles not.
We can say what must needs be said. Behold
King Roam of the Witchfolk!” The silence swelled
As without word or nod the Witch King turned
The nearest chair right-angled to itself
And at the table’s foot reclined on two
Wood legs. Into a long clay pipe,
Carved with grotesqueries, bright with bluebells
Whose paint with years of use was cracked and chipped,
He stuffed oak leaves, and finally he said,
“Pray don’t mind me. Go on. I’m sure you have
Some deadly, deathly matter to discuss.
You always do.” Then from some sleight of hand
He pulled a match already lighted, and
Puffed out the sourly sweet of oak leaf smoke
Contentedly as if at a picnic.
Klau eyed him warily, then spoke again,
“Let each of us fit words to coming deeds.
We twenty-seven here will make our stand-“
“We wish you luck with that,” the Witch King said
And said no more. Klau scowled, and Varr spoke up,
“What would you have us do? For this we died,
For this we live again, for this did we
Come to the world. If you some other plans
More subtle than a simple warrior shade
Could grapple with have doctored or distilled,
Say on, and see that we hesitate not.”
Roam rolled his pipestem, chuckling, “I would not
Have any one of you do one whit less
Than as you would. The Sulfur Carrier
Carries its grudge against you, after all.
For me and mine it has only the hate
It has for everything. If we cannot
Survive its ire, we can outrun. If you
Are stubborn and unhesitating, we
Will have the time we need, and more besides.”
Shane felt his hackles rising. “You do not
Intend to stand with us,” his voice hollow
And waiting to be filled with rage. “You are
Perceptive,” King Roam snorted, “I had feared
That I would have to say it three or four
Times over.” Shane and Varr were on their feet,
The long bench clattering as it toppled,
Too angry now for weapons or for words,
So Klau spoke first, “This, after we have held
This place for your protection, after all
The brothers we have lost in guiding this
Or that fugitive rag-tag through the Soot,
After we have poured out our blood for you
And spent the strength that might have been stored up
For our glorious stand, in getting you
To where you can smirk in your treachery?”
“I should have known,” Varr growled, “you would repay
Salvation with abandonment. But think!
If you would but stand with us, what great deeds
Could then accomplished be! I have enough
Cunning to know that with your power upon
Our courage, we would have an even chance,
Then would there be no need for you to flee.”
The Old Woman spoke up. “We make no stands,”
She said sharply, “Forever is our way
To make a final haven in the grey
Of twilight of the ending of a world,
To gather there, to fly upon the paths
Where others, friend or foe, can follow not,
To leave lorn earth behind us forsaken,
To fade like mist, to scatter like brown leaves
When the last autumn nights are blown away,
To vanish like a dream at rooster crow,
And never to look back.” The Lady smiled,
“I told you we were not to be trusted.”
Shane did not wait for more. The boxer turned
And stormed out from the torchlit hall, his fists
So tight his knuckles whitened. At his back
King Roam had lit his pipe again, while Klau
Was slumped back in the throne, as is a child
For the first time bereft past comforting.
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Songs to Setirov. 