The Herald of Bad Times To Come
I
Signs of bad times ring
The coming of the Elder days
When old and new join together, rotting away.
Is there anything left?
All pray, hoping some good will stay
As Earth glides into mordant clouds
Perhaps forever, or just for a day.
Either way...
Come what may
Even the Sun becomes
It's own prey.
So it continues to be written.
___*___
Handwritten Note, Date unknown
Found by Balkin
On the floor of Eagle’s Beak Cave II dig
___*___
‘So it does,’ he thought, thinking of the old poem...
‘Continue to be written.’
The clearing suddenly became very quiet
As the Antlered Man emerged from the deeper adjoining woods.
Exuding great strength
He silently, without fanfare
Moved through the crowds of Elves, Fairies
A few Giants, and an assortment of Midland peoples.
Upon seeing him, all separated from him
Each with their own kind
As they had at first when finding the hanging object.
It, silently swaying from the old oak’s main branch.
___*___
‘Bartholomew, that was it,’ the Antlered Man thought
Recalling the Wood’s ancient name
‘Bartholomew the Elder.’
What was it exactly he read…?
So little, he only remembered that title
Known by most people
Except for tonight…
When he thought better, using its secret true name
One he already knew, on a more relative level.
‘Bartholomew, He Who Stuns into Silence.’
This he knew as it's true secret name
Known only to a few historian scholars… and him.
As he added more lore from his memory
‘More often than not…
Living well up to that name, like... tonight?’
How much in this hanging was this old ancient
Wooded wisdom responsible for?
Bartholomew, a lone sentinel
That for well over a century surviving...
Now stood alone, the sole large living occupant of this wide field.
This, of an expanded acreage, surrounded by woods
That without the fine grasses
And seasonal blooming of red flowers
Held little other life calling it home.
Except evidently for now, seeing those here celebrating?
Or was that only one of relief.
Or, as in the past, just by those passing by
Both offering proper reverence
Though assuredly never staying long.
Not even the fairies were known to linger here now
No matter the best of nights for Ring-singing
When the fall, full Moon was in it's best
Reflective, mystic calling glory.
‘No dancing then...
And no revelry from them here this evening…’ he muttered
As he glanced over at their group
Fluttering at a safe distance
Quiet, nervous, looking ready to bolt.
He looked at the brightest, their yellow, twinkling leader.
‘Surely they are not part of this...’ he surmised.
‘Hmm,’ he also thought...
‘Was that leader holding the group together...
Was she who he thought it was?
If so, how did she fit into this?
She, Yalu, one who was he knew
Surprisingly very wise...
And always seemed close to any meaningful actions…
Like here'.
___*___
Automatically looking down,
He could still sense the Earth-shock
In dried bloods the deep soil held…
Still waiting for a final absorption...
‘So much of it… rivers of it,’ he recalled.
He felt his memory wakening to the long past events
He had witnessed here.
Actions which, though those times
May have been thought so far distant...
Still, sprang up vividly into clearer memory
As if yanked by threads.
‘His threads?’
For he himself had been present back then.
That feeling, strong, came on in a weird sensing.
Threads of thoughts and deeds, indeed
He felt each of the field’s occupants were now yanking on…
The threads holding the object there swaying from the tree
Where he had been hung.
He walked up to the center group gathered
The leaders who, upon seeing him
Separated to offer him honored clearance...
And in their respectful silence, remained quiet
Waiting for him to first speak… no introductions needed.
All knew who he was
Acknowledging their awareness of his prowess
Power of course, and standing in the group.
‘Well,’ he announced gruffly, looking up
At the hanging body of one of the Ancient of Days...
One he recognized now as an important acolyte
One of, The Three
Servant to the Most Ancient of Days.
‘Curious,’ he thought.
‘What was he doing so far South, here?’
He quickly shuffled that inner query aside
For a later private discussion.
“Who is going to explain this travesty…?” he said aloud
Speaking in his most authoritative voice...
One that allowed no preemptive discussion.
After all, these were his woods, his to protect
And, hold against all evils.
He looked for a leader to supply the answer
Nothing, it remained quiet.
Until, from the back of the group
Came a small diminutive voice.
“I saw it all…” she said.
(to be cont'd)
Copyright ©
Brian Rusch
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