A Mind’s Quest & Fight
Istan’d seen in the Maelstrom’s wind-whipped eye,
a snowy mountaintop crowned with a cross.
A symbol unknown, its blue shadow, sky-
wards reaching, casting all to doubt and dross.
Crawling up that snow flecked slope to shelter
by this thing whose call he didn’t understand,
yet when his numb hand grasped that iced welter
of grass, that bit of forest green where it stands–
his mind had cleared and the maelstrom’s grip’d eased.
That cross had grown to encompass all sight,
block the wind with its might; the attack ceased
as he’d stared at that pitted wood where nail’s bite
left blood and terrible loss; but there rose
hope and consciousness to help those opposed.
~ ~ ~
Istan put thoughts of crosses and dread deeds
aside and concentrated on the fight.
No winter’s mantle, no elements feed
his magic; to fight shadow and thought, might
need not come from ice or storm winds; extrude
from hands blades fashioned of intent and mind
gift’s psychic power; rise and slice the rude
ties that bind Undeem to purposes unkind.
Scatter their essence–black showers of motes,
falling like ashes that wriggle seeking
reconnection; their Queen screams, tries to smote
her, his one time love who’d left him seeking
power–forsaking her name, family,
their love and her past–back now, finally…
~ ~ ~
Hen watched a tall god cut through the Undeem.
His own sword lowered in awe; its glow hurt
the shadow-girl cradling the babe; it seemed
they might win, until a foul liquid squirt
from the sunken city’s walls and hit square
in the chest their blond savior, who staggered,
dropped to one knee as something dark ensnared
him with suctioned tentacles; e’en haggard,
he fought the cracken’s hold, which squeezed him tight.
“Go! Stab it with your sword!” cried Anasril
and Chero both but before he could assist,
the shadow-girl, holding the babe still,
touched a rill and the creature desisted.
It dropped the blond man who pooled on the ground
dragging in gulps of air as if he’d drowned.
~ ~ ~
Irene, the not-very-anonymous
woman, spared a glance for her beloved
but didn’t see him; she turned, threw off that louse’s
latest attack–a sea of mice–and shoved
pure force down the Undeem’s Queen’s bullfrog throat.
Around them her dark horde reassembled
to thrice their original number, smote
their chance of victory; she didn’t tremble.
“Do your translocational thing,” Istan
said, sounding tired, “and get us out of here.”
But how? Who’d keep the Undeem’s front woman
busy while she constructed a door here?
Two blurs rushed past, one black winged and one blue;
they threw dust at the queen, their aim was true.
~ ~ –
A girl of shadow, terrible purpose
in her viscous eyes, rushed her queen, screaming
her name; the Queen would not, her will, depose.
“Undreal!” the Undeem girl screamed, reminding
herself of her true name and the choice made,
and now unmade; she sought the ties that bound
her to this vicious queen; they grappled, stayed
the actions of her fellow Undeem, bound
to the will of the blinded queen, who gave
no orders to them; they stood still, quite lost
without instruction leaving those who’d gave
Undreal this opportunity to toss
her vile mistress out of her mind and part
ways if the other woman did her part.
~ ~ ~
Irene didn’t watch the fight; she grabbed power
and came up short; she’d pulled too much from this plane.
It had no more to give ’till its power
replenished; she sagged, touched Istan’s blond mane.
The black winged fairy–Anandarwen–youth
opened his pack and salvation crawled out.
Its eight eyes surveyed the place, then turned south,
and spun their tired hope into a way out.
Imelda, queen of the Undeem puppets,
cleared her eyes of the silver fairy dust.
Her attacker fell, a string cut puppet
loosed now from the mistress’ hand and trussed
up for the slaughter as her minions gathered.
The web flared from power elsewhere gathered…
~ ~ ~
The Quest continues on Monday, Feb. 8.
Sarn returns tomorrow…
If you liked this, you’ll love:
It’s an enthralling tale told in verse with a quest that centers on finding the heart of this winter season.
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