《The Haeldrun - the Book of Tales》


 Lulifae

    <h2>Lulifae - the First Legend of Erin</h2>


    Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young witch. Her hair was very soft, her broom was of silk and lace, and when she skudded across the face of the moon, she was like a leaf blown on the gale.


    She could sometimes be found down by the water, and often when the moon was full she would peer into the lake, searching the hidden light that hovered just beneath the shimmering surface.


    "Help me", she would whisper to the water, and the water would move aside and show her the truth. The truth of things unseen.


    Now there was a young man who lived in a village nearby, and he loved the young witch, for though she was fae, she was fair as any mortal maid. Often he would come down by the river or the lake hunting for her, but each time the water would whisper a warning and she would flee, out across the water or up into the greenwood span, and he would catch just a glimpse of her back, the toss of her hair, and a sweet fae smile flashed over her shoulders, escaping where he could not follow.


    The young man was kind-hearted but kind-hearted men may be cruel when the heat of passion is high in them, so he looked for a way to come upon her unawares, to trap her and make her his.


    That day he took his stick and dog and drove his flock of goats down into the water. Their cloven feet churned up the lake bed and the bright water became brown, and that night when Lulifae knelt by the lake to search for the reflection of the moon, she saw nothing but mud.


    Then the boy came on her unawares and seized her by the arm.


    ¡°Love me,¡± he demanded, ¡°Be my wife, live in my house, cook and clean and mend, and I will worship you every day and bring you everything you could wish for.¡±


    ¡°I cannot,¡± she said. ¡°Let me go, for if the moon sets, the ways will close and I will lose my magic.¡± But though she struggled, she did not struggle hard for the boy was handsome and full of fire, and despite herself, she did desire him.


    ¡°I cannot let you go.¡± Said the boy. ¡°I love you too much and I must make you mine.¡±


    ¡°Let me fly,¡± said the fae, for the moon was setting and with it her magic was waining, and she felt the shadow gates closing and the ways becoming tangled and thick.


    But the boy would not for his blood was hot. He kept ahold of her until the daybreak and he tamed her and took her back to his hut in the village, and so she became his wife.


    No more did she skud across the face of the moon. The broomstick of silk and lace rested in the corner, except when it was needed to sweep cobwebs from the door or ashes from the grate.


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    And so she lived there in the village, amongst the mud and the chickens. The other wives shunned her for she was not one of them, but she did not mind for at night the moon kept her company through the window and though she could not hear it through the glass, she knew it sang to her.


    Now the boy went out each day to drive the flocks and over time his holdings and his dominion grew. Each night, as he came home, he was careful to drive the goats down to the lake, and the stamping of their feet would lift the mud, so that when Lulifae came there beneath the moon to draw water for dinner, she would see nothing there in the depths, and would not be guided home.


    But each night, when he returned from his labours, he was unsatisfied. ¡°Why are you not happy,¡± he asked his wife. ¡°Have I not given you everything a woman could dream of? A house? Fine clothes? Comfort and security and a place to dwell?¡±


    Then he would give her a gift from the town, and she would smile, for in truth she did care for the boy. She liked his hearth and his comfortable ways. She liked the house in the village and the security of the flocks, but the moon still called to her and it was not her life.


    Now the king of that land was warlike, as kings are wont to be, and it came to pass one day that the kingdom was beset by armies. Soldiers tramped through the fields, thick as ants on the ground. They seized the crops and ate the livestock. They killed the men and they did not spare the women. Lulifae and the boy were quick and clever, and the soldiers never caught them, but the flocks were taken and there was no food.


    Now the boy had no goats to tramp the water in the evening and he grew desperate. He beat the water with his fists, but the water laughed at him, and when Lulifae came down to drink, she saw the moon shining on the water and remembered who she was.


    With a glad heart and light steps, she tripped back up the hill to the house, shook the cobwebs from her broom, and sailed up and up into the evening air.


    The boy called to her, but she laughed at him. ¡°I will not live with you, she called down. I will not bake your bread or draw your water. I will not sleep in your bed, but I will love you nonetheless.¡±


    The boy ran back and forth, unable to reach her, but she paid him no heed and flew up and up until she saw the whole of the kingdom, and saw the great weight of armies poised in the North to crush it with spears and swords, blades and heavy shafted arrows.


    Then she saw the boy running around far below, and she pitied him. She sailed down low and swooped over his head.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± she called. ¡°Come away and we will fly free together.¡±


    ¡°Come down,¡± he called back. ¡°Pull me up.¡±


    She was afraid of him, for she thought perhaps he would take her broom from her and break it, but she saw the armies approaching and saw how helpless and small he was before them, so she flew down anyway.


    ¡°Take my hand,¡± she called to him. But he was too heavy. He hung from the broom and she could not pull him up, no matter how she tried.


    Then the armies of the North came up over the hill and swept down over the valley. He let her go and she went sailing up above it all, dodging arrows and axes. The men took the boy, and broke him in pieces beneath the wheels of their chariots and the iron-shod hooves of their steeds, and his blood ran into the lake and turned it red, and she flew up and watched it all, until all the armies had passed away and the village lay silent and ruined.


    It is a true story, and though the kingdom is now dust and the lights in the lake are gone, Lulifae still rides there on the wind, calling for her love and looking for the way home.

 Feather and the Knife

    <h2>Feather and the Knife</h2>


    I¡¯ll tell ye a tale of old times, before the Drift and the Lennel men. Before the War even, when the world was ruled by petty lords, and every man owed his own due.


    There was once a young princess who was uncommonly gentle. All who met her loved her, for she would do no harm to anyone, man nor beast. People called her Feather, for it was said that her voice was as soft and light as eiderdown.


    Her father was lord over the land. He was as cruel as she was gentle. People called him the Knife, for he was not shy to use one in pursuit of power. Because of this, he had many enemies.


    So it came to pass that, one by one, the neighbouring lords took up arms and attacked, until the land was overrun and furious swords hedged the castle on all sides.


    That day, there came into the besieged court a darkling creature, with shadowed hood and shadowed hand. He brought with him a book which he called, the Book of Truth.


    He pressed in close to the princess, murmuring and hissing as darklings do. ¡°Take this,¡± he said. ¡°It will listen only to you. Whatever you write in it, you will become.¡±


    The princess was unwilling, for she knew her histories, and she knew  the darkling folk bore no love for the people of the daylight realm


    But her father pressured her. ¡°Take the book,¡± he said, ¡°for all is lost otherwise, and weak as you are, perhaps you will still do us some good.¡± So she took it and that evening it lay on a table close to her bed.


    After nightfall, she watched from the window. Seeing the fires of her father¡¯s enemies surrounding the castle walls, she took her quill and wrote the word ¡°Warrior¡± on the first page. The ink sank deep into the paper, becoming one with the fabric of it, like flesh forming on bones.


    The next morning, she woke early, full of fire and passion. She called for the gate to be opened and she and went out alone amongst the enemy host. The armed men fell back before her, for they had no wish to fight a frail young girl and none would strike her.


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    With the rising of the sun, the word she had written rose up in her heart. Armour of burnished light flushed into being around her. She wielded a sword of fire, and men withered before her like insects before a flame.


    As she fought, words formed in the book that lay on her pillow. Words that told of her deeds. The writing continued all day until fully a quarter of the pages were filled, such was her fury and the strength of her arm that day.


    All the while, her father, the Knife watched from the castle walls.


    When she was done and all the fire was burned out of her, she became her true self again and fell, exhausted onto her bed, dreaming of heat and the smell of burned flesh.


    The second night, seeing that the siege could not hold, her father''s enemies attacked by sea. She took up her quill and wrote the word ¡°Dragon¡±, and she became a sea dragon. That day, the words that formed in the book showed her rising from the depths, crushing ships in the harbour. A thousand men died between her jaws, and a thousand more drowned trying to escape. The sea was stained red, and blood and brine ran mingled from her mouth.


    At the end of the second day, fully half of the book was full. She sank into her bed and dreamed of a drowning man''s eyes, staring wildly into the depths, bubbles escaping from his mouth.


    The third night, her father¡¯s enemies came up over the mountain. She wrote the word ¡°Giant¡±, and so she became. She was beautiful and terrible with limbs of silver-green and a helm like a white crown. She wielded boulders as clubs and a pine tree as a broom. She swept the invading armies into a chasm, and they were nevermore seen.


    And she wept as they fell, for they were as fair as her father was foul. But she consoled herself, for she knew that after all the killing was done, she would have one page left on which to write a happy ending.


    But that night, when she lay down in bed, the gentle princess found that the last page of the book had been torn out. Recognizing is power, her father had taken it, hoping to keep it for later. She hunted high and low for the paper, but could not find it anywhere, and when sleep finally claimed her, the page, which was locked in her father''s cabinet, remained blank.


    And so she became.


    As she slept, everything she was or wished to be was silently washed away. Blank she was, without love or hope of laughter, and as the castle celebrated its deliverance, she drifted un-noticed through the gates, and up over the mountain.


    Some say she wanders to this day, wherever there is pen and ink to be found, hunting for the final page of the book so that she might write the word ¡°Death¡± and so end her torment. Some say the blood of the slain still drips from the corner of her mouth.

 The Justice of Animals

    The Justice of Animals


    A Fae Tale of Mercia


    Lean close, and I will tell you a secret story, of violence and cruelty, and the wickedness of men.


    A fairy tale it may be, but ¡®tis not fit for the ears of children. I am old, and things long-known are not easily forgotten. Now you will not forget either.


    There was once a hunter who went by the name of Rinler, though his true name was hidden. He lived alone in the forest, and he loved nothing more than to range out into the wilds, trapping, shooting, killing and skinning. Every few days he would return to his hut with a brace of birds tied around his neck, or a young deer strapped to his shoulder.


    One day, he followed a badger track and found himself in a part of the woods that was unfamiliar to him. The trees grew wild and tall, and the path he walked seemed to whisper secrets, as though it knew his way better than he did.


    As he walked, he heard a voice calling to him from the undergrowth.


    ¡°Man,¡± the voice said, sweet as clover. ¡°Man, come to me.¡±


    Rinler wished more than anything to follow the voice, but he had good sense, so he remained on the path and made his way back to his hut. That day he caught no animals and made a meal of bread from his storeroom.


    But that night, he heard the voice, calling to him in his dreams.


    ¡°Man,¡± it said. ¡°Why won¡¯t you come to me?¡±


    And so, well before dawn, when the moon was still up, he woke and walked. His feet found the path they had trod before, and the moon shone down and pooled in the spaces between the trees like metal.


    He came to the hidden path, but though he searched he could not find the owner of the voice. He lay down at last in a clearing like a fawn and covered himself over with dried leaves.


    The next morning he awoke with a start to find a woman lying in the crook of his arm. She was naked as the moon but for a crest of white feathers that graced her neck and she smelt sweeter than the first spring rain. He lay very still, not wishing to disturb her. After a time, she opened her eyes and glanced around a though seeing for the first time.


    ¡°Man, you are welcome here,¡± she said.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Who I am is not important, but know that I am bound by the Court of Animals.¡±


    ¡°Come away with me,¡± he said.


    ¡°I cannot,¡± she said. ¡°Not until the time is right and I am unbound. You may visit me every day, but you must wait until I am free before you may make me yours. Until that day:¡±


    I may not live in your hut, I will not eat your food, I must not bear your children.


    Rinler went away dissatisfied, but promised to return the next night. And so he did. Each night he came to her, and each night she bade him come back to her the next, for each time her hour had not yet come.


    But the hunter was not a patient man. One night he came to the clearing early. He set a snare, saying some words he knew to make it hold but not kill, and when he returned he found a white swan, caught by the wing, flapping and struggling there in his trap.


    ¡°Man, what have you done?¡± said the swan, and at once it became the woman that he knew.


    But the hunter would not answer her. Instead, he tightened the cord around her arm and dragged her, half bird, half woman, flapping and biting along behind him, back to his little hut.


    When they reached the hut, she lingered outside, for a bird will not enter a house willingly.


    ¡°I may not live in your hut,¡± she said.


    But he pulled hard on the cord, and dragged her in, then shut and barred the door.


    ¡°Man,¡± she cried. ¡°You must release me, for I am not yours to keep.¡±


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    But her words only made him angry. He struck her and knocked her to the ground, then he went out to hunt, leaving her bloodied and sobbing on the dirt floor.


    When he returned many hours later, carrying a brace of wild ducks he found her lying in a pool of her own tears. She looked up at him with reddened eyes.


    ¡°I may not eat your food,¡± she whispered, for as everyone knows, it is an abomination for a royal swan to eat its own kind.


    But Rinler would not listen. He cooked up the ducks into a stew, then forced the food into her, holding her mouth shut until she had to swallow, speaking all the time into her ear:


    ¡°You will be mine. I will make you mine.¡±


    After some time, night fell. She huddled in the corner, sobbing and retching, and watching him make ready for the night.


    ¡°I must not bear your children,¡± she said quietly.


    I will not tell what happened next, save as to say that the animals are right to fear us, for we are worse than them by far.


    The next morning, when he awoke, the window was open and she was gone. He ran to the door, and saw a speck of white, moving fast across the sky. He grabbed his bow and shot at her, seeking to wing her, but the swan was agile and the arrow passed wide.


    Muttering curses, Rinler set out on foot, following the direction she had gone. He was a good hunter and could listen to the wind and the weave of the world, but even he could not track a swan in flight.


    But the bird did not streak off into the distance. Instead, it wheeled in the air, always allowing him to catch up as though she wanted him to follow her, as though she were leading him on a dance.


    Each time he came within bowshot he would loose an arrow, but each time she would turn in the air and glide away, until he had but a few arrows left.


    Hours stretched into days and even weeks. He slept under leaves and rose with the dawn. The path whispered beneath his feet, as though it knew his way better than he did, and all the forest cried out for justice, though he had not the ears to hear it. The trees grew wilder and the sun darkened until it hung, black and cold as a spent ember in the roiling sky, but he did not notice this either, for his intent was darker than the sky and blacker than coal.


    Sometimes she was lost to his sight for hours, days, but still the path whispered to him, and the trees cried out for vengeance as he ran onwards towards his doom.


    Until, at long last, he came into a clearing where the swan lay waiting for him. Quickly, he seized the bird, pinned it between his legs and held the strong beating wings tight between his knees. Then he felt along the wings for the long bones, and snapped then between his finger and thumb, so that she could not fly again.


    ¡°Now you are mine,¡± he said.


    Only then did he see the child that she guarded.


    Oh, but she was a beautiful child, with a white crest like her mother, and lights that danced in her eyes, and she looked up at her father with a mixture of innocence and loathing, as though she knew him for what he was, and wished only to be a piece of his undoing.


    Rinler saw none of this, for he was a fool. His heart melted at the sight of the girl, his daughter, and he did not sense the danger. The mother''s eyes were hooded and cruel, for she knew the justice that waited for him, and she held the girl tight with her broken hands.


    And then, into the clearing came the animals.


    There were partridges, ducks and swans, rabbits, otters, deer, elk, and even a great black bear. Every animal Rinler had ever killed but not eaten. Every creature he had ever wounded for sport and left to die alone, for she had led him into the Court of Animals, and now he would answer to the wild.


    There were other animals too. Animals that stayed at the edges, where the dark shadows pooled. Shapeless things with hanging black flesh, banded with bone and metal. Narrow creatures that disappeared when they turned sideways.


    The animals all jumped and skittered nervously, but they did not flee away. A great stag with spreading white antlers presided over the court, and to Rinler, it was as though it spoke to him, bright and cold as fresh melted snow, though really it was the wild itself that spoke.


    ¡°Man,¡± it said. ¡°you have come into the court of the animals. Do you know your crimes?¡±


    Rinler shook his head, for still, he did not understand his nature. He tried to walk away, but the animals pressed against him and pushed him back.


    He knelt by the broken swan. ¡°Tell me how to get away,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me now, so we may be together.¡±


    But she would not speak, no matter how many times he struck her, and even when he cried she was not moved. And still the stag stood, looking down at him.


    Then Rinler took his knife and began striking at the animals, trying to undo the spell. He killed rabbits and deer, ducks and geese. They died in their hundreds until Rinler stood at the center of a wall of bodies. Blood soaked his clothes and clotted in his hair. Blood filled his eyes and he could not see, and he struck blindly, over and over but even now he felt the eyes of the forest upon him, the spell unbroken, and always there were more animals pressing in.


    ¡°Justice,¡± they chattered, and they fell towards him until he felt he were wading through a sea of mice and rabbits that rubbed against his legs and crunched beneath his boots.


    Then suddenly all was still, and when the blood cleared from his eyes, he saw, lying across the heap, his wife and daughter, dead from a hundred knife wounds, their white feathers stained red, and the small animals withdrew as though shocked by what they had seen.


    Rinler¡¯s strength left him. He suddenly understood what he was, and what his life had brought about, and he wanted no part in the tapestry anymore. He lay down, still and meek, accepting the judgement of the wild, as a fawn will lie still and accept the lion.


    He did not move, even when a very small rabbit hopped up to him and took a careful bite.


    Still, he did not move, as one by one, the small animals chewed away pieces of him. Even as the deer levered up his kneecaps with her long teeth, and the field mice dug tunnels through the marrow in his bones. He did not move, for he was guilty, and he knew his punishment was just.


    The rooks took his eyes and left him in darkness, but he did not stir. Even as the crows tugged loose his guts and looped then up in the trees, he lay still. As the grass grew over him and the worms ate their fill, he waited for a death that would not come.


    And still he waits, for this is the justice of animals.

 Amalitae - The Song of the Shades

    Amalitae - The song of the shades


    A Mhel of ¡®Laicia


    ¡®Neath the white city the Chasm of ages,


    Beckons and wails as it calls you by name,


    Down where the shadow men rattle the cages,


    Ten thousand souls and the undark¡¯ned flame.


    Picture the prisoner slave of the mages,


    He dreams of his lover, remembers the pain,


    Lost in the folds of history''s pages,


    Ten thousand league lengths of shadow forged chain.


    --


    Picture the prisoner, bright copper riding,


    Damascene gold o¡¯er tight clinkered mail,


    Riding to where his princess lies hiding,


    love without ending, world without fail,


    A king without equal, high duty calling,


    For the love of a maid will his duty forsake,


    Astriding across the great plain of Erin,


    Down to the riverbank, down to the lake.


    --


    Amalitae waits there, the bright waters riven,


    by the light of the stars that hang in her hair,


    And she clutches the rose that her bright lord has giv¡¯n,


    A promise of love to a maiden most fair.


    Amalitae, spark of the dawn on the meadow,


    Amalitae, fresh as the spring in the glade,


    Amalitae, lithe as the reed in the tempest,


    She sang as she waited, the songs of the shades.


    --


    But her voice was of sweet, summer¡¯s deepness unbounded,


    And the Shadow Lord heard her; desiring her song,


    He sent out his servants with orders to find her,


    To fetch her; to bring her;


    to seal her; to bind her;


    To drag her soul down to the Shadow-lorn throng.


    Up came the shadow men, up from the water


    Clambering up from the unsunn¡¯ed plaines


    And they unlatched their bows and their thin fingers drew them,


    The barbs of the men of the undarken''d flames.


    Amalitae ran from her place by the water,


    the place where her lover had bad her to stay,


    But the shafts of the night are not easily slighted,


    With heavy tipped arrows; black feathers aflighted,


    Barbed promise of shadow-lorn love unrequited,


    They pierced her,


    They slew her,


    She fell in the green grass,


    The moon of the day.


    --


    Picture the prisoner, his heart strong apounding,


    the king of day¡¯s dawning o¡¯er Erinthor¡¯s lai,


    He rides down to the river bank, love full abounding,


    he seeks out his princess, the bride of the day.


    And the hooves of his horse are the ring of bright thunder,


    But his heart that was hot, becomes still as a stone.


    At the vision that renders his hopes all asunder,


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    For her eyes that were bright are now food for the carrion,


    And the rose that she clutches is faded and blown.


    And the arrows that felled her, like the shafts of Fentallion,


    Are black as the heart of the unliving throne.


    --


    Picture the prisoner, setting his bridle


    T¡¯wards Amalitae¡¯s soul all his passions now bent


    And he vows he will seek her, will bring her, will bind her


    Though the shadow has claimed her, he vows he will find her


    ¡®spite death, he will never relent.


    --


    The paths of the shadow are narrow and winding,


    Close are the ways of the unsunn¡¯ed plain,


    The gates of the shadow are not for the finding,


    but find them he does by the strength of her name,


    He rides out with his host and he calls forth his armies,


    To a man, they lay siege to the gates of the night.


    Oh their spears are as bright as the sun at the dawning,


    And their shields: like the stars as they ready the fight.


    --


    Picture the Lord of the dark now arising,


    Picture his bride, fair Amalitae¡¯s shade,


    And the rose that she clutches is black as the chasm,


    And her fingers are bones, and her body unmade,


    And she sings for her love, and cries out to her lover,


    And she wills him to stay, to return, to retreat,


    But all of the forces of Erinthor gather,


    At the place of the shadow; laying siege to the gate.


    --


    Picture the Night King arising in splendour,


    Stretching his hand to the throng of the day,


    He touches each soul and he finds there - the darkness,


    It grows and it spreads till the light flees away,


    And where once there had crowded a clamoring army,


    Now long fingered shadow men, silently sway.


    --


    The chasm is calling, the chasm is hungry,


    Its mouth opens wide to the bottomless deep.


    Amalite¡¯s shade watches over the turning,


    She will not shed a tear for the dead cannot weep.


    --


    The shadow men clamour, who once were his brothers,


    They carry him down with their hooked hands unkind.


    The fate of the man who lays siege the shadow:


    To the depths and the darkness unfathomed, consigned.


    But the prisoner breaks from the dread army, roiling,


    With the light of his shield and a spear in his hand,


    And he slips from the grasp of the shadow men, coiling,


    He scales to the gates where the shadow king stands.


    He seizes her hand, the dead hand of his lover,


    Amalitae¡¯s soul, now her soul he has won,


    And he slips through the gates from the mouth of the shadow,


    And they travel the ways to the land of the sun.


    --


    But death is not kind to a body untended,


    For ravens had taken her eyes that were bright,


    And her body though living now cannot be mended,


    And the stars in her hair are now black as the night,


    And the voice that was clear as the sweet summer dawning,


    Is swinging about on a fulcrum of mourning,


    Now her song tells of men into chasm mouths, falling,


    And her soul hates the grass and longs to take flight.


    --


    He carries her home to the white crested city.


    The people are glad that their Bright Lord will wed,


    But applause turns to cries of confusion and pity,


    For the army he took is now lost to the dead.


    And she snatches his knife and she presses it to her,


    The tip breaks her skin, but he catches her hand,


    For she longs for the peace of the gates of the darkness,


    And she longs for the rest of the Shadow Lord¡¯s land.


    --


    He locks her away in the highest of towers,


    A strong gilded cage; he forbids her a blade,


    And she sings as she sits and waits out the hours,


    Songs of her new love, the King of the Shade.


    Oh, the chasm is waiting, the chasm is patient,


    He dreams of her songs as he lies on his bed,


    His mind filled with shades of his shadow-lorn army,


    They sway and they watch at the gate of the dead.


    Picture the prisoner silently sitting,


    In the uppermost tower of the ring gilded keep.


    Picture Amalitae silently yearning,


    But she does not shed a tear for the dead cannot weep.


    Now the songs that she sings are songs of her new love,


    Songs of the Dark King who sits on his bleak throne,


    And the sounds that she makes are sounds full of yearning,


    Of desire for the chasm - desire for her home.


    And the months turn to years, all her beauty is faded,


    She sits in her cage at the top of the spire,


    And she sings of her true love - the King of the Darkness,


    And dreams of the pit of the undarken¡¯ed fire.


    --


    The chasm is calling, the chasm is turning,


    The years flee away, for this is man¡¯s fate,


    For life, it is fleeting and love is a candle,


    But death is eternal, the chasm awaits.


    One night filled with passion, he ascends to her chamber,


    He opens the cage in the tower of the keep.


    He snatches her hand, and gladly she takes it,


    Then he opens the window and together they leap.


    --


    But the chasm is churning, the chasm is boiling,


    The chasm is there where it always has lain.


    Beneath the white city, the city of honour,


    The deep and the unliving darkness remain.