The Rusty Spear Remembrance

[fictitiouswhimsigot]

When the sound of war reached the village, they were sorely afraid.
For they had no warrior-heroes, no ancient sorcerers.
And the thunder of horses and the song of the sword would be their undoing.
But there was one woman who so loved her home that she took up the spear,
And they wove her the lion banner in the manner of their custom.
And she departed south to seek the Lion at the End of the World.

And the sands became as sun-bleached bone,
And the deserts as cremation ash,
And the heat beat without the comfort of brightness,
And cracked and thin, the woman continued to seek him-
The Lion at the End of the World.

The lion skeletons rose to meet her,
They snapped and yowled,
But they saw that by her banner she was beyond their reach-
The prey of the Lion at the End of the World.

And the mirages that danced with the faces of dead men,
And the villages conquered by the undying lords,
And the ghosts that howled all bowed their heads,
To her, the fool, who would duel him,
The Lion at the End of the World.

And his men did meet her,
Bound in armor as white as bone,
As dark as night,
And as silent as a hero’s grave.
The rode with her for a time,
For she was the woman who would face him-

The Lion at the End of the World.
When she came at last to his citadel,
Night-black and unlit,
Sitting in a field of bone wider than kingdoms,
The lone power of this dismal land,
The fortress of him-
The Lion at the End of the world.

So she entered and so she met,
So she saw-
Iron clad, giant of frame,
Agile like the lion, cruel like the snake,
A man who man betrayed; yet-
Death dared not claim.
Him, forsaken in his glory,
Black hearted and invincible-
The Lion at the End of the World.

So she raised her rusty spear,
And so she met him in battle.
Then, with a single motion,
An old technique long practiced,
She became a woman slain by him-
The Lion at the End of the World.

As his custom demanded,
He heard her then- The need that drove to death,
What had caused her to face the unfaced one,
The ancient lord of heat and violence,
Him that could not die,
The Lion at the End of the World.

So she spoke and so he heard,
And he returned to his iron throne,
And thought long.
For where warrior-queens,
Where heroes great,
Where monsters of dark violence,
Where all swords failed to reach his heart,
This woman, who faced certain death-
For the sake of home,
For the sake of people,
Who laid down her life in the name of others-
Troubled the heart of him,
The Lion at the End of the World.

And so when armies met,
When the lightning horses danced,
When the mud mixed with blood,
A single village of no import,
With no warrior-heroes,
Survived.
For at the gates, unweeping stood,
Him who had honor not forgotten,
The Lion at the End of the World.