Quieting The Dead

The hallway was dark.

Her  footsteps rang empty and hollow

on the smooth flagstone floor.

Errant drafts wound about her bare legs

with the unwanted persistence of  hungry cats.

Her candle sputtered and fluttered

creating shadows that danced...

eerily,  almost obscenely

on the ancient stone walls.

 

Oddly her person felt removed … as if entranced,

but stubbornly, with heart in throat,

she continued the downward slope.

It had to be done ... her will be done.

 

A razor sharp sword hung by her side.

A leather pouch bounced at her waist,

holding the sacred tools she required;

silently she prayed 

for the strength and grace required

to fulfill her deed.

 

In the gloom

her cool grey eyes opened wide,

wondering (as always) why

she was the chosen.

 

Moving deeper

the air became danker ... earthy,

moist with mildew and neglect.

The narrowing hallway grew steadily darker

absorbing more light

than her candle could reflect.

 

She was entering the bowels of the castle.

This,  the vassal of her birth ... she smiled grimly

but hers was a smile devoid of mirth.

 

The deeper she delved, driven and bold,

the lower the temperature fell.

Dampness encasing her body

in a preternatural cold burning her flesh 

with the iciness of hell.

 

Her mission awaited... 

deep below within the castles ancient cavity.

Onward she moved toward her sire’s den of depravity

where only the foolish, insane or  cursed dared to traverse

… or worse.

 

Which one would she answer to ?

Her heart thudded with doubt …

how could she tell?

But there was no backing out

onward to Hell.

 

When she could not imagine  going deeper

she tripped ... almost falling,

lowering her candelabra the carnage seen 

was appalling ... carcasses, rotting flesh and bone.

Stifling a  moan she swallowed her fear,

now was the time ... zero hour was here.

 

Opening her pouch she withdrew a fine stake

carved from dogwood so it would not break

and sharpened to a wicked end,

held firmly by a  pale hand so tender.

Next came the heavy silver hammer,

(and soon his stinking flesh she'd render).

 

In the shadows ahead lay his sepulture.

She fortified herself, ready to give him the “cure”.

Stopping only to read these words inscribed on his tomb:

 

"He's ancient and forever

He burns at the centre of time

and he can see the turn of the universe."

 

Gripping stake and hammer she cried out :

“No more, today you suffer for your crimes!”.

Then she quoth his secret name out loud

( three times):

 

“Ragebone The undying!”

“Ragebone The undying!” 

“Ragebone The undying!” 

 

... and opened the door.

 

Frozen by her spell

he could only whisper ...“daughter?”

She answered “ Go to Hell!”

 

 Then nimbly with the silver hammer she

staked his flesh, and pierced his heart.

His death throws made an awful clamor

while her incantations fought  profane black art.

His blood gushed forth, much like her pain ...

and soon the monster  fell.

 

Then with a flourish of her well -honed sword

once more she quoth his secret name:

 

"Ragebone The undying!

 

and on the final word, sure and swift

decapitated her hell bound master

 and waited for the curse to lift.

 

... but that moment never came.

 

She was indeed her father’s daughter

and when all was done and said,

her revenge, though duly taken

only quieted the  dead.

 

Reviews

[ANM]

Very imaginative with good imagery!

[felioness]

Thanks! And thanks for the read.

[ANM]

You are welcome!