Old Things Have Strange Hungers

The war had threshed the land entire,
From mountains to the sea.
When Peace appeared, the people leapt
To greet her reign with glee.

The graves, all filled with nameless dead,
They eagerly forgot.
There’s nothing one can do for those
Who drew the fatal lot.

And lives are short enough when they’re
Not filled with cold despair.
All mortals know the gods have long
Since ceased to show them care.

They eulogized their country’s dead
And cursed the enemy,
As Peace brought spring, and flowers burst
To life on every tree.

It took few years for Western Cruor,
A town on the frontier,
To end the mourning, shed at last
The warfare’s final tear.

Not more than seven miles from town,
So near to Western Cruor,
There lay an ashy clearing and
An indent in the sod.

The war now gone, the town “forgot”
What lay beneath the dirt,
And questions on the subject met
Responses cool and curt.

The struggle, half a decade past,
Took many casualties—
A village in entirety
Once flourished ‘neath those trees.

When soldiers came and soldiers met
Opponents, not their match,
They slew the lot and laid to waste
That town of wood and thatch.

In taverns, men of Cruor declared,
“They harbored deadly threats.
They should have known whose side to back,
With whom to place their bets.”

And some who’d soldiers been back then
Agreed wholeheartedly,
Then drowned their minds in beer so they
Could neither think nor see.

A boy called Daimos, slim and sharp,
Refused to hear such things.
He’d leave the room as silently
As one graced owl’s wings.

When Daimos’s sister Kalonice
Had died, he’d stayed in bed.
For days he’d moped and wondered why
He lived when she was dead.

He snorted at the soldiers’ quips—
He didn’t see their ways.
He’d trekked unto that clearing grim
On many mournful days,

Rememb’ring Odessa, a girl he’d known
Before the war began,
The letters he’d exchanged with her
Across a season’s span,

Remembering that she was dead
And lay beneath that ground.
A gravestone he would carve her, but
Her bones could not be found.

He laid white flowers often on
The grassy barrow grim.
The light through leaves turned shadows green,
The twilight gray and dim.

Upon a bush of wicked thorns,
A nestling mouse impaled—
A bitter shrike with grating voice
Perched stalwartly and wailed.

“Her name was Odessa,” he told the bird.
“We met when she was eight,
And when my friend was only twelve,
She faced her bloody fate.

“I’ll never understand the way
My father speaks of war
As glory, yet so fiercely mourns
My sister, gone e’er more.

“Were we not much alike, dear shrike,
Us and the people slain?
And who’s to say that we won’t die
Should war flare up again?”

The shrike turned to the mouse she’d racked
And ripped into its side.
Her feathered face seemed then to twist
Into a smile snide.

“And what a brutal life you live,
My little pretty bird.
You kill with such impunity,
Necessity assured.

“Is death your gospel, death your truth,
Your godforsaken fate?
Your mortal soul, enchained by thirst
No blood can satiate?

“I’m sorry—‘haps it’s foolish still—
I’m sorry you must kill.
Your body ever cries for flesh,
A quota you can’t fill.

“I know I’m truly grateful that
I am not bound to slay
My meal and hang it out to dry
That I may live each day.

“I’ll leave you to your gory feast
Upon your thorny bush.”
He turned away; the wind died down
Into an eerie hush.

He left the flowers upon the grave
And hurried back to town.
His parents met him at his door—
Each wore a grisly frown.

“You’ve heard that brigands are about,
But stay out in the night!
It’s dangerous to walk alone,
E’en in the bright noon light!”

His mother chastised. Daimos yawned.
“I’ve heard the tales indeed—
Those brigands leave whole villages
To hang and scream and bleed.

“If they intend to come for us,
They’ll come into our home.
It matters not where I may choose
Near fall of night to roam.”

The devils know more fear resides
Within a wand’ring mind
Than in the massing hordes of hell
A sinner’s soul could find.

And in the dark, minds fill the gaps,
Inventing primal fears—
A forest turns to hordes of foes
All armed with lethal spears.

So nightmares start at sunset,
Curses only dawn may quell,
Like leeches sucking light and warmth,
As parasites they swell.

Two brawlers, Gavril and Ryuu, laughed,
Quite drunk and seeking home,
When something caught old Ryuu’s eye—
A flash of moonlit chrome.

He called to Gavril, “You see that light?”
And then a screech was heard,
As of the hunting battle cry
Of some enormous bird.

When others came to seek the sound,
They found no trace at first—
But upward someone looked at last
And balked, then howled and cursed.

For Gavril and Ryuu, dead and cold,
Hung from the rooftop’s side—
Their forms in twisted agony,
Their eyes with terror wide.

The town assembled, searched the streets
With torches held in hand.
Across the tiny town, a tide
Of weathered hunters fanned.

They spun around to face a noise—
Mere moaning of the breeze?
A distant hum of friction, ‘haps,
A dying creature’s wheeze?

A flash reflected torches’ light—
Eyes of a feral cat—
“Get out of here,” old Theon growled.
The feline hissed and spat.

Distracted, no one noticed when
The shadows spread their wings.
The wind on feathers hissed out tales
Of cold and slimy things.

« Sweet mercy! » Theon stumbled back
Unto the larger herd.
« It killed them, took them! » Theon cried.
« It’s huge! It’s huge! A bird! »

They calmed him down and went to seek
The place where « it » had been,
But found no trace as Theon roared,
« I know what I have seen! »

“It’s taken Daelan and Arkin, one
In each a taloned foot.
Its eyes are glowing, devil coals,
Its feathers gray with soot.”

They couldn’t find a sign of this—
But missing men there were.
That something hunted in the dark,
They, one and all, were sure.

A flash of movement ‘cross the sky
To forests drew their eyes,
And anger led them toward the wood,
Though this was hardly wise.

“Get crossbows, spears,” said Oriel, “and meet
Again to search the wood.”
They scrambled for their weapons, fast
As frightened hunters could.

They took their torches to the trees,
The dancing flames agleam.
Cold fog rolled ‘cross the mossy floor
In whirls of hellish steam.

A sudden, most ferocious gust
Erupted like a storm.
The trees, like twisting skeletons,
Distorted from true form.

The torches swirled—like kittens drowned,
They choked and sputtered—dark.
A terror rose through hunters’ blood.
Night smothered all light’s spark.

Roared Oriel, “Come out and show yourself!
Foul sorcerer, appear!”
The moon arose, a silver queen,
In heavens crystal clear.

Then stark against that moonlight glow
Appeared a silhouette,
That vanished in an instant but
Made many hunters fret.

And Theon, crying, “Madness this!”
Turned home, his bed to seek.
Another cry of “Madness!” rang—
And then there came a shriek.

They called his name into the dark,
No voice came calling back.
Resounding like a lightning strike,
All heard a bony crack.

They ran, and Oriel collided with
A boot—it struck his face.
The body wearing said black boot
Hung high and swung in place.

A pallor in his cooling skin,
A horror in his eyes,
Hung Theon from a creaking branch.
The forest filled with cries.

Amidst the fearful cacophony,
Said Oriel, “Be still! Be still!”
He’d heard a voice—or thought he had—
A distant, lilting trill.

They stilled as Oriel demanded, heard
That voice that rose and swelled—
The sorrow of a thousand wars
Each piercing sentence held.

She screeched. Inhuman, raw despair
Burned icy in her tone,
Like blizzard winds that shredded coats
And cut through flesh to bone.

“A shame, a shame, an eye for eye.
A shame now, dead for dead.
A little girl will wait for him.
She’s crying ‘neath her bed.

“A shame, a shame, her father’s gone—
And why won’t he come home?
A shame, a shame, his shattered bones
Lie ‘neath the bloodied loam!

“A shame, a shame, a little girl
Whose father’s ever late—
A shame, a shame, they’re at her door,
And soon she’ll share his fate.”

Their shouts resounded through the trees
As hunters fled like flies.
Said Oriel, “Stop! Stay!”—but scattered still
With terror in their eyes.

A whiz of crossbow bolts arose,
Then someone’s scream cut short.
Some few kept calm and stayed with Oriel,
His friends—a close cohort.

Dark liquid dripped, and all looked up.
Like scarecrows, forms hung raw,
Their faces pained and muscles slack,
All maimed by beak and claw.

Then Oriel demanded, “Raise your bows!”
And all took fearful heed.
Into the blackened sky flew bolts
With whistling, lightning speed.

For sev’ral seconds silence reigned,
Of movement none saw more.
But then young Frederick turned about,
He searched the dark and swore.

“Where’s Ryuu gone? Where’s Al?” he called,
But neither gave reply.
“It’s planned a bloody purge for us!
It’s stalking from the sky!”

They knocked their bolts and arrows, pierced
The night to no avail.
From distance came a howling shriek—
A man’s decaying wail.

Oriel heard a cry for help. He turned
And found himself alone.
A steely man, he kept his head
As fear pierced through to bone.

He put his back against a tree
And waited, arrow knocked.
And then there came another scream
So strong the forest rocked.

The silvered hunter’s moon above
Shone white upon the red—
A haunting sheen reflecting in
The eyes of cooling dead.

A wind came into Cruor, a storm
That slipped through every crack.
It whipped beneath each bolted door,
Down every chimney stack.

It strangled every single flame,
And fearful families
Closed every door and shutter, hid
Their children and their keys.

It made no difference to the beast.
With roar of ripping wood,
It tore its way through houses, snatched
The humans where they stood.

As Daimos barred their cabin door,
His mother changed her mind.
She’d meant to stay but now decreed
Her husband she would find.

“Your father’s gone. I’ll find him, though.”
His mother snatched a bow,
While Daimos shook his head and called,
“Don’t leave me here! Don’t go!”

“I’ll soon be back—now you stay put!”
She slipped into the night,
And Daimos felt he’d never more
Behold her in his sight.

He waited, waited, ‘midst the cries,
And on the whispering wind,
An ashen voice he heard—a voice
By pain and distance thinned.

“A shame, a shame, an eye for eye.
A shame now, dead for dead.
A little girl will wait for him—
She’s crying ‘neath her bed.

“A shame, a shame, her father’s gone,
And why won’t he come home?
A shame, a shame, his shattered bones
Lie ‘neath the bloodied loam!

“A shame, a shame, a little girl
Whose father’s ever late—
A shame, a shame, they’re at her door,
And soon she’ll share his fate.”

He’d thought to leave and seek his kin,
He’d deigned to take a knife,
Some token lie of safety ‘midst
The terror and the strife.

But hearing this, he left the blade
And found his mother’s vase
That held a dozen lilies, snatched
The flowers from their place.

He’d listened long to rhyming bards
And paid more mind than most.
He knew it wasn’t blades one took
To face a vengeful ghost.

He left his house. The village dark
And silent, misty cold,
Those starry lilies like a shield
Within his shaking hold.

About him, carnage reigned supreme,
And many friends lay dead.
He put aside his terror—
To the deepest wood he sped.

The whirling in the mists about
His feet and ‘round his head
Filled up the night to heaven’s brim
With rippling, gaseous dread.

As Daimos stepped into the trees,
Long branches creaked and groaned,
And in the distance, countless souls
In dying sorrow moaned.

He called, “I hear you crying, and
I know that you are near.
Why not come out and speak with me?
You know you’ve naught to fear.

“I’m but a poor and mourning boy,
And you are mourning, too.
Are we to spend these hours alone
And cry the whole night through?

“I had a friend for many years—
Her bones now dusty, dried—
Unjustly in the days of war,
By soldiers’ hands, she died.

“And then I lost my sister, too.
That pain felt much the same.
I hear your song, and I agree—
It puts our race to shame.

“My father’s missing now, you see,
And many friends of mine.
And ‘haps I’ll never see them ‘til
We meet in lands divine.

“And ‘haps there’s nothing I can do
To wash the ashes clean,
No words that I can say to stitch
The wounds from all you’ve seen.

“This night, I know enough of pain
To wish no pain on you.
So come—feel free to slaughter me
If what I say’s untrue.

“But do you really wish to kill,
Make humankind your feast?
Or would you have your rites and rest?
Though I am not a priest,

“I’ve brought you flowers for a grave
And know the words to say—
At funerals, to seal the death,
To send you on your way.”

He stepped on needles, smelled the pines,
But also iron gore,
And saw a scene of fury like
The front lines of the war.

She reared before him, raised her wings,
So feathers blotted sky.
The only light within the black—
A gleam from either eye.

He knelt and laid the flowers down
And quailed beneath her gaze,
Then mused on life and on its end,
Time slowed by terror’s daze.

The creature pounced and nicked his face,
Then lilies seized in claw.
Alike to striking snakes, she moved,
As Daimos watched in awe.

Dissolving in the darkness, wings
To fragile fingers turned.
She stood, like solid light of stars,
Her gown in tatters, burned.

Her foggy eyes were sapphire blue,
While blood and ashes stained
Her salt-pale skin. She moved as one
With bonds of madness chained.

Her gilded hair, as gossamer
As feathers, drifted wild.
A dripping cut across her throat
Still scarred this wayward child.

She held the lilies, buried nose
In flowers’ kind embrace.
The cold remains of lifelong dreams
Carved tear-tracks down her face.

“A shame, a shame, he never came.
I waited—where’s he gone?
He said that he’d be back for me,
He’d come before the dawn.”

When Daimos reached to take her hand,
She let him pull her down.
She knelt beneath the trees, her face
A haunting, addled frown.

Then Daimos took his coat and wrapped
Her bony shoulders slim.
She ran her ruined fingers through
The softest, furry trim.

“It is a shame,” he said to her.
“You know he won’t return.
You know your friends and family
Were left to bleed and burn.

“A mighty sorceress, I’m sure,
You someday would have been.
Against the very myth of life,
Your murder is a sin.

“Poor butcher bird, in nightmares chained,
You drew my village in.
So all of us are caught like flies
Within the web you spin.”

She raised her head. He held her hands.
She whispered in his ears,
Her icy words evoking all
His hidden, darkest fears.

“They’re coming here. They’re smiling, and
Their swords are gleaming claws—
Like villains from my storytime,
Who break the good king’s laws.

“The smoke’s so thick, it strangles necks
As sure as hanging rope.
The taste upon my chalky lips—
As harsh as mother’s soap.

“I have to leave, I have to flee—
Oh god, they saw me run!
The fires paint their armor red
As dying twilight’s sun.

“Please, trees where songbirds hide in fear,
You green, obscuring cloak,
Deliver me from swords and knives,
Deliver me from smoke.

“Their hands, like talons, wrench through hair,
And drag me, throw me back.
It’s bodies that I land upon,
An oozing, towering stack.”