Caelte's Book of Songs

[MJZ]

[SIZE=10]~This is a goodly sized book, it's pages taller than they are wide, moreso than usual. It is bound in a stiff reddish leather, but encased again in a thin layer of hide. Held closed by a reinforced strap with no lock, the book somewhat resembles a suitcase, for there are many loose leaves of parchment, scraps of leather and paper, even herbs and leaves between the pages. There is no title, but a carefully carved symbol on the front, depicting an oval of outreaching vines, and a stylistic howling wolf's head in the centre. The script within varies both in colour and style, sometimes it is hastily scrawled, at others it is noticeably more carefully written. Regardless, the lettering is simple and somewhat strained - not elegant nor elaborate, to say the least.~
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Among my people, there are no books of song. A tome is a man; his mind and his heart are its pages. My people honour works and deeds in ballad and song - they pass down the ballads to their children. A bard is a lorekeeper, historian, poet. His word speaks of courage and tradition, his song is the spirit of his kin. The chieftain leads the clan, the warriors defend its borders, the shaman consults the stars. The bard reminds them of who they are, that they may never forget.

My people keep no written history. Perhaps that is why I fear when the last tribesman dies, we will all be forgotten with him. Most of my tribe, what's left of it, have already forgotten who they are. The tribe's ways should be as secrets, even our names are not given lightly. There is much one can divine with the knowledge, and always there are enemies in wait. To break a man is far harder than to read a scroll, so while the tribe is whole, its secrets are safe. But what good is secrecy to man who is dead? In death, all is laid bare. If the tribe dies, who will write a song for it?

[MJZ]

~Continued, at a later date..~

That's why I learned to read and write. There were more than a few among the ones that dishonoured my tribe who practiced the skill, finding it aided them in their dealings with townships, cities, merchants. In my homeland I lived not only with the weight of oppression but that ill-formed cloud called doom that overhung hill and meadow, that cried sand like an hourglass. Decades had passed, I only knew of my mother and a few others who hated our enemies with a fierceness undimmed by time. Most had traded their suffering, along with their honour for the comfort and ease cooperation gave them. They are no longer of our tribe. Those that could not live under the yoke of a master had long ago fallen on a foe's sword - or their own. My granduncle was such a man.

And what then - was I to do so, too? He tore the chords of his harp rather than hear it played near a prisoner's hearth, surrounded not by freemen but by slaves! Should I have let my enemies rip the soul strands from my chest, and bleed out into the land I loved, and let my flesh be ground into it by the boots of the oppressors above me, who would soon erect their huts over it?

Why did my mother's sister pass the harp to me, when I first drew blood?*

*Among my people, when a youth comes of age, he makes his first kill in the hunt to symbolize his passage into adulthood. Girls pass into adulthood by the same ritual, but into womanhood  upon their first cycle, which is precedent. Once a "woman"; though, she may chose not to partake in the hunt if she is soon to marry.

[MJZ]

The minstrel boy to the war has gone
in the ranks of death you will find him.
His father's sword he hath girded on
and his wild harp slung behind him.
"Land of Song!" cried the warrior bard,
"tho' all the world betrays thee -
"One sword at least thy right shall guard
"One faithful harp shall praise thee."

The minstrel fell but the foeman's chain
could not bring that proud soul under.
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again
for he tore its chords asunder.
And said, "no chains shall sully thee!
"Thou soul of love, and brav'ry!
"Thy songs were made for the pure and free -
"They shall ne'er sound in slavery."

[Thomas Moore]

[MJZ]

The Wolf and the Dog

 
  The wolf came to visit his cousin the dog one day, feeling weary and in need of some company. The dog regarded him with concern, and shook his head. The wolf was mere skin stretched over bones, his stomach hollow and sunken with hunger. By contrast, the dog was the very picture of health. His full coat gleamed in the sunlight, his belly was hard and full, and his entire countenance was hearty and stout.
  “Greetings, dog,” growled the wolf, “how goes it with you?”
  “Far better than it goes with you, wolf,” the dog replied, looking the near-starved creature up and down.
  “Times are hard,” the wolf replied. The dog shook his head sadly again.
  “Ah then, you should take up and live with humans – they feed me a full bowl three times a day, and any scraps they leave from the table.”
  “Oh?” asked the wolf, intrigued, and his stomach growled.
  “Oh yes,” the dog replied.
  “And what do they ask in return?
  “Pah!” the dog said, “very little indeed. Oh, I chase the cat away every now and then, bark at any passerby. Sometimes they have me keep the crows from the field, and really that’s all there is to it.”
  “Well that doesn’t sound very difficult” said the wolf, beginning to take the proposal seriously. He sniffed his cousin – he certainly smelt of meat and good treatment. But just then the wolf noticed something, a sort of raw patch around the dog’s neck.
  “And what’s that sore?” the wolf asked, growing suspicious.
  “Oh this? Why this is nothing, nothing at all! You see, at night the people fear I may wander and get lost, so they tie me up on a chain outside. It’s quite harmless, really.”
  “Ahh,” the wolf’s eyes narrowed, understanding at once. “I thank you for your concern, cousin, but I’d rather snatch what scraps I can and be free, than to feast each day and be in chains.”


 

[MJZ]

~The following is scrawled on a scrap of parchment thrust in after the last entry. It is the same hand as the script on the previous pages, but noticeably harsher. The words spread angrily across the scrap. At times, the angular  lettering is pressed so hard into the parchment that almost makes for tears. The paper is warped slightly by dried raindrops.~


Hell's teeth! If poverty comes to the door in the form of a woman, I've met either poison or plague. I should have known better than to go on ahead with a hunt after seeing such an omen - my time spent away from my people is blunting my senses and my judgment. As I passed Fort Llast along the northeast passage, I thought I saw a red light in the grass by my side. I looked down only to see it was my own shadow, floating red along the earth - my own form outlaid in blood. I stared into it, it walked beside me. In moments it had faded into the deeper shadows cast by the forest around us, but the sense of dread it bore stayed with me. Loathe to say, some spirit of foolishness possessed me and I chose to ignore it. How I wish that I had returned then to safety!

I pressed on into the High Forest, my lust for my quarry coursing stronger in my blood than did the warning in my heart. Boar is no easy prey to hunt, and dire boar no less. Even a good pack of hounds can be wasted if you don't hold them back - those tusks can gore a man wearing anything less than a sheet of chain.

But I heard a faint rustling to my side, and thought I saw a tall figure half-concealed in the gloom. When I heard her curse, I knew it was not another vision. Well, who do you think it was?! The instant I drew nearer with my torch I regretted it - it was Jhad'zea, or however you might spell her name, a perfect stranger who had crossed my honour and insulted me at the craft house in Hlint. I was civil, and again, I regret it. She directed me toward a boar she said she had only just glimpsed, even told me to follow her to it. I did, and waited a few moments in the underbrush to assure myself there was no surrounding pack. The instant I plunged through the brush though, the very instant I lay my axe once upon the beast, three wraith spiders melted out of the night air. I turned to see the woman running, overwhelmed and poisoned I followed her.

I lost sight of her near lake Palden, and paused to see if I was being pursued. The poison in my veins was sapping my strength and I could barely bring myself to walk under the weight of my pack. When I stopped to rest a moment, one of the wraith's rematerialized. I parried it's blows as best I could in that state, hardly able to lift my own axe, it shames me to say. I called out her name, enraged to think she was lurking somewhere and watching this. She did come though, and warded off it's poison-barbed legs with her long staff. Just as quickly as it had appeared it fled, and I collapsed. She bandaged both our bites, and told me the poison would leave my body eventually. Feeling grateful for the assistance, weakened by the poison, I thought I might have misjudged her.

I dragged myself after her and she led me to a place of rest. I should sooner have let my body lie by the roadside! She told me her earlier assault had meant no offense, and added that I might yet find a way to redeem myself in her eyes! I was too sapped to return in kind but after resting told her I had done nothing to require redemption. Her next words were that "prattling like this distracts us from our task." Apparently, she wished to hunt boar with me, unable to defeat one herself. I wasn't about to have her presence deter me from my hunting, at least, and told her if she wished to follow I wouldn't stop her.

Ah, Prince of Wolves, why hadn't I read the signs?

The instant I spotted a boar I waited, good and long, despite the impatience of the woman behind me, just to be absolutely certain there were no wraith spiders in wait this time. Of course, of course, the very instant I raised my axe, there they were again! And once more we ran! I wasn't about to lose sight of her this time, this woman is obviously their mistress, or a fell arachnid herself in a woman's guise. The lone boar was clearly nothing more than bait, and I had been fool enough to fall for the same trap twice!

She ran back to the selfsame spot we had just rested in, and her spiders followed me there. My potions from Ameli were not enough. I sounded my horn and one of the creatures fell helpless to the ground, but the poisons were mingling in my blood again and the other felled me. Aye, I fell there, and before my eyes failed I saw Jhad'zea running.

The journey back to my grave was mournful. I write this now at the site where I fell, though I shan't stay here a moment longer. The woman must be a fiend, and not a woman.

[MJZ]

To-night a dream came to me
I lay on a floor that wasn't my own
I saw the land's end,
it's arm cast against the sea
I saw the land's blood,
pale blue, roiling green.

Was it that the sun was rising?
for there was much of gloom
And yet with light the sand was wet,
the light a prism in the spray,
a shaft between the clouds.

I stood within a tower,
behind tall windows of glass.
I strode from out its iron walls
to dunes, to dusk.
The gloom crept up against my steps,
the light and the growing shade.

T'was no a rising, but a sun falling
upon the waves. I spoke only,
"How beautiful," and only,
"and how bereaved,"
For the waters festered, and
the pools with rot were rank
Where the land met the sea.

[MJZ]

~The following song is scribed on a page its own, with no title and no date.~


 

The blood bled out his hands and he said,

 

‘I can feel the pale wind’s rising –

 

Lifting, rising, a soul and a wing,

 

O’er this land, and it says to me,

 

Thy soul shall ne’er fail.’

   

The blood bled out his ears and he said,

 

‘I can hear the bells’ song calling –

 

Tolling, calling, the clarion of spring,

 

O’er the land, and it says to me,

 

Thy strength shall ne’er fall.’

   

The blood bled out his eyes and he said,

 

‘I can see the lost before me –

 

Weeping, longing, her tears the streams,

 

Across this land, and she says to me,

 

Thy love shall ne’er falter.’

   

The blood bled out his heart and he cried –

 

‘It is now my chains are dropping!

 

Now break my bonds, my fetters loose,

 

My body lies behind me!

 

My one true flight, now, here, in death,

 

Where slavery won’t find me.’

[MJZ]

War Band Returning

 Thin ribbon of the road lies before me,
Thin ribbon of the road in the ice-tipped rain.
Bright circle of the hearth lies before me, before me,
Bright circle of the hearth and sun again, again.

  My kin at my side and the moon is full risen,
My kin at my side and we ride through the day.
Thou blue wisps of cloud and thou clear sky behind us,
And the white stars thou guide us, thou lighten our way.

  Slow-flowing river runs with me,
Slow-flowing river by the wind-raked hill.
Willowy ashes toss leaves that run with me,
Willowy ashes’ leaves in the new wind.

My kin at my side and the moon is full risen,
My kin at my side and we ride through the day.
Thou blue wisps of cloud and thou clear sky behind us,
And the white stars thou guide us, thou lighten our way.

  [FONT="]Long grey grasses sweep past me,[/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] Long grey grasses ripple like waves.[/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] Curlews and plovers fly past me, past me,[/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] And reach home before me always, always.[/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] [/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] My kin at my side and the moon is full risen,[/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] My kin at my side and we ride through the day.[/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] Thou blue wisps of cloud and thou clear sky behind us,[/FONT][/COLOR]
[FONT="] And the white stars thou guide us, thou lighten our way.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT="]  
 

*This was an oft-sung song amongst my people, when returning home from battle. Of course, when you've lost the war on your own lands, there is no place to come home to.


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[MJZ]

I shared camp with a forest gnome traveler, only days before my arrival in the town of Hlint. While he did not leave me his name, he left me with a song, one well-known he said amongst his people. It stirs me to the bone. When I sing it, I change the nominals to my own faith, and I shall scribe it here such. Perhaps he shan't mind.

The Light on the Meadow

   The wind is blowing, blowing over the grass.
It shakes the willow catkins; the leaves shine silver.
Where are you going, wind? Far, far away
Over the hills, over the edge of the world.
Take me with you, wind, high over the sky.
I will go with you, I will be wolf-of-the-wind,
Into the sky, the feathery sky and the wolf.

The stream is running, running over the gravel,
Through the brooklime, the kingcups, the blue and gold of spring.
Where are you going, stream? Far, far away
Beyond the heather, sliding away all night.
Take me with you, stream, away in the starlight.
I will go with you, I will be wolf-of-the-stream,
Down through the water, the green water and the wolf.

In autumn the leaves come blowing, yellow and brown.
They rustle in the ditches, they tug and hang on the hedge.
Where are you going, leaves? Far, far away
Into the earth we go, with the rain and the berries.
Take me, leaves, O take me on your dark journey.
I will go with you, I will be wolf-of-the-leaves,
In the deep places of the earth, the earth and the wolf.

Folian lies in the evening sky. The clouds are red about him.
I am here, Lord Folian, I am running through the grass.
O take me with you, dropping behind the woods,
Far away, to the heart of light, the silence.
For I am ready to give you my breath, my life,
The shining circle of the sun, the sun and the wolf.

   
 

[Adapted, from Richard Adams]

[MJZ]

Ah Sataida, what have I done?
  Is there more freedom in these lands, than in any? A man sits wet by a smouldering fire, his hair plastered about his face. Drops of rain, and flakes of charred scale drip back into the flames. He’s managed to catch one fish.
  He sits alone, the sound of ogres rustling behind him. He is cold, and he shrugs fear from his shoulders like a clammy hand. A vision of himself, roasting slowly in place of the fish over an ogre’s hearth, warms itself at his side. Sometimes, the sky is so dark he cannot even see the stars.
  What is a man without the stars to guide him?
 

A Song of the Times

 

Crows brought the message, of bodies in the vale
Lay heaped and lay unheeded, by the hemlock, ash and kale.
And the hills they roll away, each barren slope enfolds the next
On and on and without end, they whisper songs of loneliness.

It’s here the wind that will not cease,
And here the land where thrushes cry,
Where mists churn ‘round the rocky heath,
And darkling clouds obscure the sky.

The rocks lie hazard, black and grey, craggy teeth o’ the very land
Like gnarled gravestones here they stand, unnamed, uncut by any hand.
No pyres to light our dead the way – these scattered stones there only lay,
 And on and on the slopes still stray, they ebb and flow and ebb away.

We sit in huts, on wind-washed hills,
Amongst the shadows of the vale
And crows that circle o’erhead
And we’ve no flames to guard our dead
By hemlock, white oak, ash and kale.


 

[MJZ]

~This is another entry written upon a loose leaf, pushed in between the pages of song in the book. It bears no date as well, and is not too readily legible.~


Sataida, let me be!
Why is it we reach out to these things, these spirits we know will bring us harm? Why is it we are helpless against their taunts, their calls, their eyes? We know we are heading into darkness, I cannot believe we make ourselves fools to that knowledge. And yet we crawl along, mute and dumb like dogs on a lead, toward some measure of hope, half-felt and dim; though if we came to look within ourselves we would foresee the calmly approaching pain, for it must come with spirits such as these.

We may enter life weak and unformed, but we leave it piece-by-piece, as men with holes in spirit and missing parts of soul. Things such spirits have taken from us, things we will leave this world without.

It must be that we walk the only path we can, the only path we are set upon when first we open our eyes and take in the land. It must be fate that drives us to such spirits as these.

But the fates that tie our lives to this land! And the man that treads where he knows he will be harmed! Let me be a wolf, let me tear out these ties and run to the forest, and become something wild. Without running into you.