Secret of the Ashes

Inspired by Game of Thrones a little bit. Just another one-shot

“You think they’ll take us back once we’ve killed the girl?” A tall man asked the man trotting on his horse in front of him. The man was much too tall for his horse, and the man behind who asked him questions was much too short.

“Eh, did you hear me?” the man spoke out, but there was no confidence in his voice. The air was quiet, and the winds were harsh. Each tree was a scene of attacks against the murderous winter, but these sights weren’t what sent chills down his back.

The one man in front of him held his hand up and they all stopped.  Within second the man was off his horse, he wore black hood cloak, boarded with silvers and coppers. When he turned around, all the men behind him began to quiver. He had a scar of twisted skin ride up from the bottom corner of his lip to the right of his brow. One eye was blind, and the other a blue colder than the winter they all stood in. His hair black as the horses eyes.

The man came closer as he spoke; his head down causing the rim of his hood to cover his eyes.

“Do you hear that?”  He went up to the first man who spoke out. He gulped louder than intended, and causes himself and the other three men behind him to jump. He shook his head screaming out ‘no’ for him to hear.

The scarred man smiled and put his hand on his shoulder, but it wasn’t long until his friendly pat transformed into a firm grip, slowly digging into his frozen skin.  The other men behind him didn’t flinch when he was thrown to the ground covered with ice and snow.  The scarred man pulled out his sword, a fin thin and silver piece of art.

“No, you can never hear them, but they can be awoken at any time, do you know why?” The man on the ground dared not move with the sword against the skin of his throat, but he managed to grunt out a week sound of question.

“Because they can always hear us, and you have just awoken them.” The scarred man’s sword pressed against his throat, and sooner than later, red poured from his flesh, as the sword reached the ice he laid on. The scarred man took back his sword, blood dripping from the mouth of his sword.

“Does anyone else wish to wake -” The men looked terrified, trembling on their horses; but they weren’t looking at the scarred man.

It didn’t take him long to realize the fact; he turned to look behind him, and there was nothing but black snow, crawling from every direction, slowly invading the white beauty of winter that laid upon the frozen grass. Before any of the men could scream, then black snows was formed as a man hovering over them. Blood trickled down each of their lips as the black man pulled the line of black snow out of the hearts, of what use to be living men.

Silence took over, as more black men came to gather around what had once been the living. The black man who came first was much larger than the others who stood behind him. But they all floated over the black snow; their eyes red, and tiny pieces of ash that broke off of them as the wind passed by.

“The living is now dead! Arrr!” A rusted voice cheered out behind the one he followed to celebrate their victory.

“No!” One by one each voice hushed into nothing but silence once again. The black man turned around to face the ones that followed him, slowly the little ash that was beneath him grew into legs, and he walked upon the cold grounds. Each step making more of his ashes fly into the winds.

“This is nothing but a small part of the living,” his voice was deep, and rough; if he ever had an inch of love in his voice - it had all vanished. There was nothing but duty and cruelty in his voice now. “I will go; you will all stay in hiding until I return.”  The body of the black man, crumbled and danced abnormally in the air, and floated into the first man that was killed; the man that was killed with the iced sword. The black man was gone, and the dead man was living, he stood, and the blood that trickled down from the wound in his throat began to heal.

 

“Master, you won’t last in a dead man’s body.” As cruel as they looked, they all had a love for their king. “Silence!” He hissed his words, but a fierce air of his breath still blew against them enough to push them back. “I will go to the lands of the living, and find the secrets of the ashes, so we may live again.”  Each man spoke out to praise him. “Secret of our Ashes, speak to the king. Secret of our Ashes set us all free. Speak and shriek, live again, speak and shriek, live again,” They chanted over and over again. The dead man walked past them, he started with a limp at first, but soon enough he straightened his body and walked tall with pride. The black men that were loyal to him, broke down into the black snow, and went back into hiding, as the dead man walked and sang the song of his peoples’ legend.

 

“The ashes speak, the ashes shriek, yet we will live again,

Upon the living, from the dead, we will live again,

find the heart beats, have no mercy, judge the good and bad.

Kill the strong ones, keep the weaklings, we will live again.

Take the dark roots, suffer brightly, love no more.

Use their bodies, hush the ashes, we will live again.

speak not of the ashes secrets,

secrets of the ashes,

secret of the ashes,

  secret of our ashes.”

Author's Note

This isn't as dark as some of my other works. [again ignore all grammar]

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I have read all five books of the Game of Thrones. I love myth and history. I enjoyed the story. Left the reader with places of murder and words of poetry to understand.
"speak not of the ashes secrets,
secrets of the ashes,
secret of the ashes,
secret of our ashes.”
I tell people often. The dead cannot speak. Ashes will return to the earth. Thank you for sharing your good poetry tonight.You made my night.
Coyote