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