Ashelmir Of Yenwe

A work in progress

High in the Northern Mountains

People walk in the sky

Side-by-side with holy legion

Pray that none go awry.

Sacred hill, which they would fain

Keep blissful silence from all pain

And so meek, turn a blind eye

To the roar of snow and helpless cry

 

All but one boy

Yenwe’s son of twelve year old

Too young for bow, too old for toy

Sat by house-door in the cold

Awaited hunting-horn of late envoy

And sang the tune of ‘ihl-te-soy’

He mused on tales his father had told

And fell asleep as dreams took hold

 

Wicked chill came swiftly to

Those who slumbered in the snow

Fair sleeper to the Astral Plane flew

But harm to him he did not know

Though dreams of battle did ensue

Pale child’s lips turned to blue

His soft rising breaths began to slow

A flaxen prince in still white glow

 

The footsteps were told by no horn

The wind played their song so shrill

With heavy feet and beards wind-worn

They marched with countenance ill

But the absence of one they would not mourn

For too honored were they to be forlorn

This day they had brought in no kill

But thanked the gods for their good will

 

The men then pulled in their furs tight

Saw the great dark sky overhead

And heard the wind’s whispers

Turn to screams made to dread

Shivered even they those proud hunters

Eyes blank and cold as the winters

But stood they before the stony head

And promised it a bath of red

 

Into their hæfen lodgings

From cruel weather did retreat

The penitence-less offerings

In lieu of food to eat

Stony eyes to woman’s pleadings

They spoke the words of faithful beings

Never accepting any defeat

No matter how she did entreat

 

He heard his name be called

From some distant place

A familiar voice, roused

Him from his otherworldly quests

Eyes of blue opened he willed

But light was gone and dark now filled

His sight, hours he did not trace

Were gone, bespoke the look his face

 

Inside again he sought around

Scanned the lodge long-ways and wide

His father’s face would not be found

By pot or fire-side

Mother in shawls, a flask she downed

Looked not to son, his eyes there round

For might he tried

Could not deny the tear he cried

 

Handed bowl and made to sit

His mother took his hair to tie

And made herself busy with it

Aselmir looked up at her sigh

Her words he thought did not fit

Of praise and thanks the candle lit

No sadness did her gaze belie

And pain in his own, he did ask why

 

Aselmir of Yenwe

Would not stand aside

Alone in his soul

Abandoned by the gods

The question in his heart

Would ever boldly rise

Until the truth be told

Against all odds

 

But no answer would she give

As the growing storm wailed

And told of another winter with

Its terror comes. They ailed

The most in these months, to live

In the presence of greatness, captive

They would endure, as they have endured

For their faith would be returned

 

But one boy could not understand

Brave son of Yenwe loosed his hair

And took his mother by the hand

He had to go, though knew not where

But idle there he would not stand

For quest had called him search the land

He told her this with resolved stare

But soft, for in her eyes was care

 

Only temperance and good will

Hath she for noble sun-crowned son

All evil would her heart to kill

But back-tied Loss soon comes undone

And vile strands fall loose until

Truth comes and moves what once was still

Those silent lips that made to shun

And eyes that foolishly saw none

 

He donned his heavy coat of fur

Packed hunting-tote with many tools

Scabbard and sword, of his father

Now his, he took from under wools

Heavy steel felt even heavier

The weight of its former owner

Hung upon the hilt’s old symbols

This bore his name in golden swirls