Nivenmage

When War Comes

WHEN THE HORN SOUNDS AND THE LEGEND WEAVES

AS THE HAND GRIPS AND THE FEAR LEAVES

WHEN THOUSANDS MARCH WITH A SINGLE GAIT

AS MANY WIVES AND CHILDREN WAIT

WHEN SCHOLARS SHOUT AND INFANTS WEEP

AND NOT A SINGLE SOUL CAN SLEEP

WHEN THUNDER ROARS, BUT THERE'S NO LIGHTNING

AND ALL THE CLOUDS ARE BLACK AND FRIGHTENING

THE BIRDS WILL SING A TRAGIC SONG

WHERE EVERY SINGLE NOTE IS WRONG

THE GROUND ITSELF WILL SIGH IN PAIN

TO BEAR ANOTHER WAR AGAIN

Argenen woke to the sound of familiar words. The voice that spoke was low and strained, pausing often to catch the words as if they were too fast for the speaker. He kept his eyes closed and listened until the poem was done, and wished the words could penetrate him or grant him some infinite wisdom, perhaps passage to some better place. The words, however, meant nothing to him then. Those were only the concerns of the living, and he was no longer one of them.

"That's an old Nevean poem." He said, surprised to hear his own voice.

"Yes." Said the speaker. "Nevea wrote it, she was so wise."

When the speaker mentioned Nevea her voice became a mournful groan. He could hear now that it was a woman and rolled over to look for her. An ancient, deeply wrinkled face looked down at him with tired eyes. The woman was old and hunched and wore a thick robe that dragged in the mud at her feet. Her thin white hair hung like nothing more than vapour and a tattered shawl was draped around her.

"Good of you to visit, Serylor." The woman said with bitter sarcasm.

"I'm not him!" The boy blurted out. "He's still out there, he's still..." Then Argenen's heart dropped as he said the last word, "...alive."

"Oh, a living being, down here." The woman sang hoarsely. "You take me for a fool, Serylor. Only the dead can reside here, and you of course."

"No! I'm not..."

The woman leaned closer and stared at Argenen like a scrutinizing teacher trying to detect a lie. Then she shook her head and recoiled in surprise.

"You're not him?" She asked with her features twisted in awe. "How did you come?"

"I brought myself." Argenen answered and strangely his words felt weak; they were too little to explain so much. He tried to explain further. "I made a void."

"Impossible!" She snapped. "No child of Nevenym has the power to pierce the omnisphere."

"I did!" Argenen exclaimed. "It came from inside me, like a dark pit, or a whirlpool."

"As bizarre as your claim is, it seems to be true. Here you are, after all." The woman waved her doubt off like a fly with one skeletal hand and turned away from him. "It doesn't matter, you are not him."

"I'm Argenen." The boy said stubbornly. "Doesn't that matter?"

"Infinitely." She agreed in a surreal tone. "Who you are matters, always remember."

"Even in here?"

"Especially in here. We forget so easily in this place, I sometimes forget myself. But, I never forget my enemy."