The Saga of Conn the Black - Canto IV

Canto IV

Then stood Conn the bold square before the door.
Collum knew well that Conn would pass his way.
Well he knew the words of truth,
Born from happier times, free from fear,
Times when Druid or Bard would wander
The land's long length,
Their words alone, safe passage.
A decision made, his spear was raised
And his arm outstretched for Conn to take.
Then both men stood arm to arm,
The warmth of battle-brothers firing their hearts,
The joy of ale to come and bread in the stew,
The tales of old memory flowing free
As a spring's sun-filled bubbles.
"Enter within, friend," said Collum.
"You'll find all at feast in the clan-hall."

--- ++ ---

Animal movements rustling in the dark,
Snuffling and bleats told Conn where he was.
Low walls of rough stone surrounded
Dark shapes of wattle, mud and thatch
Enwreathed in night-time fire smoke
As noises of tired people drifted on the air.
In the centre around a warm, ruddy glow
The largest dark shape loomed in front of him,
A sharp mound deeping against the stars.
Conn strode to the door, ancient wood ajar,
And halted he there to find his centre.
Decision of a sudden, he thrust out his hand
Striding forward from chill air into warm air,
From warm comradeship into chill stares.

Slán

Silverwolf
http://gateway.batcave.net

The Saga of Conn the Black - Canto III

Canto III

Tall and straight, Collum the Warden,
Gate-keeper, stalwart and worthy.
Fair braids tumbling onto shoulders broad,
Spear-shaft strong in steady hand,
Holding its point to Conn's proud heart.
"Whither goest thou?" in voice of thunder,
"And whence have you come?"
Conn's eye-hair raised in unspoken question
And he paused a while - an emerald fire.
"Know you me well, Collum of the gate.
We have stood shoulder to shoulder
On the line of rending death.
We have called loud to the same gods
And broken our fast at the same board.
Why do you ask me such?"
Then Collum the Tall, bending his head
With shame-glimmers flashing through his eyes:
"'Tis the Word of the King, old friend,
That none enter whom he hath not named.
I know of your worth, as does he,
But for the mead... I have said too much."
Then stood Conn to the ground, tired feet
Squelching in the mud of a host's passing,
His eyes straying through the gate
At the flickering light beyond.
Then smiled he at Collum and clapped
Hand to tired shoulder.
"Tell me, my friend, have the old laws
Of guesting and fire fallen by the way?
Is a tale or words from afar
No longer the price of a meal!
These are the gifts I bear, spear-brother,
And I can give them to none but the King."


Slán

Silverwolf
http://gateway.batcave.net

The Saga of Conn the Black - Canto II

Canto II

Trees waving proud in full leaf,
The ground wet and deep beneath hoof,
The wind rushing from a screaming sky
Howling with the pounding and heavy breath
Of the moss-brown stallion, heaving and sweating.
Lightning sparks flying from stones
As iron-shod hooves dance up the hill
Towards the mound, the dun, black against the sky.
Conn the Black, he of a thousand battles,
Thrice blessed and thrice cursed,
Son of Donan, son of Crom the Red,
Hailing from the Westmarches,
Deep within the marsh mists,
Fey-friend and wielder of the Flaming Brand,
Bending forward into the stallion's whipping mane,
His breath ragged, his hair crow-dark with life of its own
His eyes warm glowing with emeral fire.
Urgent, he urged Blackmane on
His message a sword cutting the threads of time.
Two paths spread from this moment -
The message the cross-roads.
Urgent was the news, urgent for ears to fly to.
The lips of brave Conn trembled,
Trembled to let loose the fateful words,
His heart beating pace with hammering hooves.


Slán

Silverwolf
http://gateway.batcave.net

The Saga of Conn the Black - Canto I

Canto I

Long have I stood, watching the trees,
The Skies ever-changing, the grass around my toes,
Living and ever-living, undying
The Voice of the Ages.
I tell the story of Men,
Of the sons and daughters of men,
Some long forgotten, others etched in stone.
I am the song of the breeze
Amongst the waving meadowsweet.
I am the voice of the heart unsung,
The harp unstrung, the plan undone.
Three songs have I sung in ancient times:
The song of the battle on the plains of blood,
Where men stood, died and stood again;
The song of the long-armed and the silver king,
When the champion's cup was passed around;
The song of the Hound, the Hound from the North,
With chariots thundering in a cloud of dust.
These songs have I sung, yet more are to be.
The tale of Conn, thrice renowned;
Conn the Black, with heart pure as thistledown,
Son of Donan, son of Crom the Red,
A tale that grew in the telling,
Told by the bards that tasted the blood
Spraying like spittle from dying heroes.
From heart to hand the song takes its flight
And now it is my geas
To loose the music from my harp,
As the words come stumbling into trembling song,
Building a swell of saga - a tale to be told.



Slán

Silverwolf
http://gateway.batcave.net