VIII

Lives and years later, the sword uptaken

again.  They deem it time to recapture

the lost realm, a trifle no longer, but

suddenly important.  The players in

positions, the stage set, the curtain

drawn back – now another act can begin.

They come into a stifled world, one rank

with fear, the stench of hatred boiling for

centuries, grown now to pestilence.  ‘Cross

the earth, the blackness spreads, dawn o’ershadowed

by threat of night.  Putrid, vile, a land

uncultivated and left the rot.

No spring in this place, no freshness, and for

a child of the sun, no respite.  She

witnesses before she understands the

blood that comes with disease, sacrifice of

the scapegoats, unheard appeals to an

unfeeling god, and blame swiftly displaced.

The nominal holies, the church of men

lashes out to protect itself, choosing

for its victims those whom it dreads, those with

knowledge, or power, or the strength to stand

when all else fall.  The blessed targets, who

survive la peste die from la jalousie.

She is a child yet when first she sees

the hateful poison take its toll.  Her soul

cries out in anguish, comprehending what

her young mind can not.  A golden youth, high

and away, feels it too – a link reforged,

a pair, but uncompleted for this time.

The horror strikes their hearts, the unfairness

of such judgment.  In girl and lad both lurks

the thought, Someday it could be me, though they

could not say what force compels the idea.

Sacred children, these, ever in danger,

protected while small to save them when fledged.

Each grows, with stakes and lines to keep them well,

and straightens to the sky, to reach beyond

black pollution to crystal above.

But other powers have other plans,

and would not see bright youth mature, lest combined

vitality threaten careful structure.

Marked since birth, this dark-haired girl with too-wise

eyes, bred from a line once powerful, born

into flame, destined to die in the same,

and her copper-haired partner, the lord and

knight, who must first find her to win her, yet

only when they have been both well prepared.

But patience is not a virtue bestowed

liberally on either, and soon their

frustration drives desperation,

tears them from their aims and flies them towards each

other.  Too passionate, these two, and too

heedless: fate tangled by rash actions.

From secure nest, he flies, and she bursts forth

from den.  Though warned, though cautioned, love and

desire prove stronger than sense.  They meet

in mid-battle, brief elation lost

with the cleave of a heart.  Torn asunder,

separated so near to unity.