The Songstone

The Songstone

  Canto I

  Simon Hunter

  Copyright 2012 Simon Hunter

  This canto should be read aloud.

  But Kora sat unmoving, in great magic.

  The walls, her home, faded about her. Warmth

  went; all alone and on a freezing plain,

  dressed in a tunic, sharp knife in her belt,

  bow on her shoulder, arrows in a quiver

  behind. Her eyes gleamed; a pale cold light,

  ˈlɪmpɪd ɪn ˈdʌlnəs

  She looked around. Away, at vision’s limit,

  a dark shape rose above the plain: a Tower,

  the only thing in all this barren place:

  no bird flew, no grass grew. Despite the wool

  she shivered. Breath-clouds hung in the raw air,

  ˈsləʊli dɪˈzɒlvɪŋ

  Then in eye’s corner something moved. She turned

  to gaze across the Waste and saw a Cloud.

  Far, almost straight behind her as she faced

  the Tower, it too reared up black and sheer.

  Unlike the Tower, moving, whirling, wisps

  trailing their tentacles around a core,

  ˈtwɪstɪŋ ɪnˈseɪnli

  *****

  The first, bright morning of her life, then Kora’s

  Mother and Father planted a green sapling;

  the custom of the Land. It took quick root,

  became a tree with fruit of red and silver.

  For so it was then: every child a tree

  and Faeries came from leaves and playing time.

  No war. No gates. No gold. The Land was light

  and wisdom shone, a blaze of peaceful faces,

  ˈlɒŋ ɪn ðə ˈdriːmˈtaɪm

  So passed the early days of Kora: hazy-

  honey the days. From babe to girl, and raven-

  haired, dark-blue eyes warm, smile pure. Sunlit Age!

  The Dreamtime now is myth, not in your books its

  ˈhɪstriz rɪˈmeɪnɪŋ

  Seven years old. Warm autumn, red leaves drifting.

  Then Mother came, and hand-in-hand they walked

  through everlasting garden. By her tree

  they sat, ate fruit. The sun made clear the morning.

  No speech, untroubling: Mother often looked

  to distant places where the Spirits move; her

  ˈgeɪz wəz ˌbraɪt ˈfaɪəri

  *****

  Far, but she feared it, feeling from it malice

  unlessened by the distance. As she watched

  it moved again, and changed its shape from Cloud

  to Crow. It hovered, head down, beak agape,

  searching, she knew with horror, seeking her.

  It cried across the Waste, commanding her

  to come, and though the voice was hateful, clawing

  at the ear's edge, it was insistent; she

  ˈkʊd nɒt ɪgˈnɔː ɪt

  She turned her back on it with effort, will.

  She must go to the Tower, and indeed

  her feet directed her, controlling, there.

  She walked across the Waste toward the Tower,

  ignoring urges to look at the evil

  ˈgrəʊɪŋ bɪˈhaɪnd hɜ

  For many hours the Tower seemed no closer

  than at her start, always on eyesight’s end.

  Yet slowly larger, filling more horizon,

  and when at last she came to it she saw

  its smoothness: polished greystone finger, stark.

  ˈdɔː nʌn nɔ ˈwɪndəʊ

  *****

  Today was different; Mother's eyes stayed still,

  unmoving. Kora reached for Treefaerie; an

  ˈaʊl ɪn ðə ˈmaɪndz ˈaɪ

  Something is wrong, my Faerie. What? Please tell

  what worries her. I nose a wicked smell

  of fear, though what it is I cannot guess

  nor know - whatever cause, my joy is less.

  And Treefaerie replied, with whispering voice,

  Danger is near; I feel in root and leaf

  a trembling earth, an anxious wind; a grief

  ˈfɑː əweɪ ˈwiːpɪŋ

  Then Mother moved. Her eyes now here, she spoke

  Dear heart, your days are full, your spirit strong.

  I thought you'd live your time in Land, but wrong

  ˈkʌmz ɪn jɔ ˈmɔːnɪŋ

  *****

  She looked behind. The Cloud had changed its shape

  again: a black dog, higher than a hill,

  loping along, its nose aground on scent.

  Over the Waste she heard growling: a ragged

  ˈθʌndə əv ˈstɔːm ˌklaʊdz

  Fearbite. She circled the high Tower’s base,

  baffled: a building with no entrance? Hoping

  to find a clue. But when she had completed

  the circuit three times, and saw not a crack

  in stone, she sat and wondered. Light began

  to fade. The sun still hid behind gray sky.

  ˈkəʊldə ðə ˈnaɪtˌfɔːl

  Fearfang. The journey might go well in day,

  but darkness terrified. The cold seeped in,

  the Cloud put icy fingers round her neck,

  ˈliːvɪŋ hɜ ˈbreθləs

  *****

  A shadow passed, though sky was blue above.

  She felt the first fearbite, unknown, dis-ease.

  ˈmʌðə kn̩ˈtɪnjud

  You know that brothers, sisters speak with things

  when zephyr comes from South, from West, it sings

  to us of places far away. For this

  is joy-Land; harmony is all, but hiss the

  ˈwɪndz frm̩ ə ˈdɪstn̩s

  Far but too near Dark rises. Hateful. Wrong.

  We cannot see it clear, but hear its song; a

  cacophony of moans and cries along

  ˈklɪə brɪŋɪŋ ˈeəˌweɪz

  What Dark? Like Northwind, night-spitting, snow-death?

  No, dearheart. Northwind comes in time. For we

  grow then we wither. Perfect harmony,

  for things have time; new things must be. We are

  ˈpɑːt əv ði ˈɔːl ˌdɑːns

  No, Dark is not in harmony. Its terror

  loves war, wants power, owning, slaves forever,

  always more mastery, lands to grasp. No! Never

  ˈkɒrə ə ˈsleɪv ˌgɜːl

  And Mother's Spirit roared, its force a fire;

  Treefaerie trembled, silver leaves in light

  ˈglɪtərɪŋ ˈdʒentli

  *****

  Feartooth. She thought to move, away from Cloud

  and Tower, but at first step, the fighting Sun

  at last! broke through. Straight beams shone, lighting up

  the Tower in a glorious sheen. She blinked;

  its aspect changed completely: now a beacon,

  burning in gloom. She looked, high as birdflight

  but only halfway up, a window framed a

  ˈfeɪs lʊkɪŋ ˈaʊtwəd

  Halloo! she shouted. Here, down here, please hear!

  She waved, knowing that motion catches eyes

  more readily, but the face gave no sign.

  She yelled again, and ran around, in hope,

  so hoping, it would look down or hear her, but

  ˈɪt wəz ɪn ˈstɪlnəs

  *****

  Peace! Mother said, her anger passed, For hope

  remains. Though days of pain, joy-shrunken, slope

  towards us. We prepare; our Spirits grope

  ˈaɪː tu faɪnd ˈɑːnsəz

  But me? said Kor
a, though dimly she saw.

  And Mother smiled, a flash in face's rainbow

  All those who speak with Treefaerie have strength;

  their sea-deep love sustains its singing length,

  ˈgreɪtə ðn̩ ˈnɒlɪdʒ

  But in you, dearheart, there is Spirit, bringing

  wonder to those who hear; its pure tone ringing

  ˈhaɪ ɪn ði ˈeəˌweɪz

  *****

  Then she remembered. Quickly her hands nocked

  an arrow; drawing string to ear she thought

  ˈweə du aɪ ˈeɪm ˌfɔː

  If it's too near then danger. If too far

  ˈhiː wɪl nɒt ˈsiː ɪt

  And then she knew, and aimed above the window,

  letting the arrow fly. Up soaring, glinting

  in dying light, until it struck the stone

  and fell back. As the arrow passed him on

  the up, she saw the face flinch. As it fell

  his hand reached out, snatching it from the air.

  ˈhiː dɪsəˈpɪəd ðen

  *****

  Then Mother spoke until the Sun was high,

  and the Land dappled with soft light. She talked

  of the beginning, when their people woke

  by the great river, its far shore unknown.

  First dawn, they saw the beauty of their Land,

  and swore an oath to be its guardians, while

  they lasted. How their Land accepted them,

  by telling them to make of her a garden,

  ˈskætəd wɪð ˈflaʊəz

  The people walked their Land with joy and power

  speaking to others, even to world's end,

  ˈlɒŋ ɪn ðə ˈdriːmˈtaɪm

  Then Mother grew sad, like an old, bent branch

  in rain. She spoke of the Corruption: some

  forgot the oath, abandoned stewardship,

  cursed the All-dance and leechclung to tired life,

  denied their death, refused their place to others,

  wisdom forgotten, domination all -

  ˈkruːlti kn̩̩ˈsuːmd ðm̩

  *****

  Her shoulders dropped. She had scared him away

  and dark was almost here. Before she could

  despair the face returned, and looked straight at her.

  She shouted, waved. A movement and down hissed

  a rope, a silver line against gray stone.

  Running to it, she saw it was exactly

  the right length, end brushing the ground as it

  ˈsweɪd ɪn ðə ˈblʌstə

  She grabbed it. As she did, the Sun’s red slipped

  below horizon, and the Waste was thrown

  into the twilight. Looking up, the window

  was now invisible, the rope unseen

  ˈʌp tu ə ˈnʌθɪŋ

  Behind!. Fearhorror! For the Cloud had changed

  again, and in the dark she saw it clear.

  It was a man, running across the Waste

  at vicious pace, his glaring yellow eyes on her.

  His bones were on the outside of his body,

  a cage of sick white, clickclacking, clickclacking.

  His mouth grew from his head like a wet organ,

  expanding till it filled the eye and mind,

  greater than she and terrible; ferocious

  ˈblʌdˌslaɪmd ˌtiːθ ˈgrɪnɪŋ

  *****

  We fought and won, the battle hard and fierce

  but victory was not complete, and tears

  ˈfel əz ə ˈklaʊdˈləʊd

  We do not know Corruption's how or why.

  Some say it was a seed before the sky

  ˈevə dɪd ˈsiː ʌs

  Planted within; an evil root, and rotten

  that grew; its twisted underground forgotten

  ˈlɒŋ ɪn ðə ˈdriːmˈtaɪm

  But others say there was a rent in whole;

  our happiness illusion, and a toll

  ˈwɒz tu bi ˈpeɪd ˈaɪː

  The wholeness of the Land is broken, gone.

  Corruption lives in distant feargrounds, on

  ˈskaɪlaɪnz həˈraɪzn̩z

  And listening O-mouthed, Kora said, Corruption

  comes here again? Is this your fear? But we

  defeated it before, why slavery?

  Alone Corruption causes fear, said Mother.

  We watch when we would play in our joy-Land.

  Now it is not alone, the wind-sharp sand

  from deserts, wastes, carries the screams that span

  ˈklɪə brɪŋɪŋ ˈeəˌweɪz

  Something is with them: summoned, born, unknown.

  Hateful! All earth about fog-smothered: sown with

  ˈwiːdz əv dɪˈstrʌkʃn̩

  To root them up, our Spirit serves, and now!

  Not slowly. That is why I speak below

  ˈtriːˌfeəriz ˈbaʊˌkɜːvz

  Dearheart, I ask if you will go from here.

  A place awaits you, dangerous, cold, but where your

  ˈspɪrɪt meɪ ˈraɪpn̩

  And Kora's world then changed; the time that was

  was ended. I must leave? she said, eyes wet

  with tears. Will not. I want my home with you

  and Father, Treefarie; the life I knew.

  But Mother said, No 'must'. We have not lived

  in harmony to force now. Even if

  we lose our whole, we will do this before

  ˈlu:zɪŋ auə ˈspɪrɪt

  Enough. Soon one will come. Then things will move

  and you will choose. For now, dearheart, life's love, a

  ˈgɪft fɔ jɔ ˈgrəʊɪŋ

  In Mother's hand a blue stone on a cord

  of hemp. Placing the cord round Kora's neck

  until the stone lay over the heart-bone,

  ˈmʌðə ɪnˈtʃɑːntɪd

  This is the Songstone: all your Spirit. Wear

  it now, and let you grow; then all may hear

  ˈtəʊnz ɘv greɪt ˈpaʊə

  Then, brushing grass and leaves from her gray dress

  she took Kora, and hand-in-hand they left

  the tree, walked down the hill, and the Land's peace

  ˈsæŋ ɪn ðə ˈdriːmˌtaɪm

  But Kora was not happy as before.

  The autumn colors rioted gently, she

  played in the wood and meadow, but her joy

  was now a shallow surface; underneath

  dark things crawled, leaving slimy traces. Then

  the Winter came, the darkening days arrived,

  ˈnɔːθˌwɪnd wəz ˈhaʊlɪŋ

  *****

  An agony. Slowly she went, her feet

  against the Tower, body straight; a twig

  on a tall pine. Her hands hauled on the rope

  mechanically as she went higher, higher,

  refusing downward glances, though she could

  hear snarling, scuffling, clickclacking below,

  as something waited for her slip, and willed

  her fall. Often she paused, her arms on fire

  and yet the harder it became the stronger

  she was. Cool Spirit flowed in her, and through,

  until inside she was as hard as stone:

  ˈgrɪm ædəˈmæntaɪn

  *****

  It was an evening of snowfall. She sat

  with Mother, Father in a warmth of dancing

  fire. They had eaten. Father read aloud from

  a storybook, as often, Kora listening

  to tales of dragons when there came a sound: a

  ˈnɒk ɒn ðə ˈdɔːˌwʊd

  Father stopped reading, looked up. Mother rose,

  candle in hand. Who knocks, she called, although

  she did not seem surprised. Memory returned:

  soon one will come. Then Kora shivered, cold

  ˈɔːl
əv ə ˈsʌdn̩

  Who wanders in the dark? cried Mother, loud,

  but unafraid. And a reply there came,

  ˈsɪŋɪŋ θru ˈsnəʊˌfleɪks

  I am the Teacher, summoned, willing, come to

  ˈgaɪd ə friː ˈspɪrɪt

  When your young days are done, I am the Teacher,

  come from afar.

  For all the things that were and are, I am

  the Teacher, cold and fair.

  Then Mother closed her eyes, opened the door;

  ˈɪn keɪm ðə ˈtiːtʃə

  Nightshade-black eyes, his face a thousand creases

  of life. His body wrapped in a stained cloak,

  a long oak staff in hand. His hair ice-white,

  and live! It moved and curled and changed in endless

  rhythm. He bowed to Mother, and without

  a word he strode to the room's corner, sat.

  ˈɪnstn̩tli ˈsli:p ˌkeɪm

  Mother stood quietly for a moment, grief

  within her. Then she sang, in a soft, aching

  ˈvɔɪs fʊl əv ˈsædnəs

  The time has come, the Moon is new and dark.

  A circle is complete.

  For all our hopes are moving now at last

  and distant paths shall meet.

  ˈlɒŋ ɪn ðə ˈdriːmˈtaɪm

  Smiling but watereyed, she crossed to Father,

  who sat there glowering, kissed him and they walked

  together hand-in-hand, out of the room,

  ˈentrɪŋ ə ˈsaɪln̩s

  *****

  Dark now complete about her, and she was

  a pearl suspended in the void. She went,

  inch by slow inch, her breath burning, until

  she saw at last the window. Strong arms reached

  out, and they grasped her, raised her up and pulled her

  ˈɪntu ðə ˈtauə