THE ROWAN CANTICLES - Canticle II: Canto I - A Vow Refused
A Tale Told in the Ancient Manner
The Rowan Canticles is an epic poem written in doggerel tetrameter. In other words, although each line contains eight syllables and rhymes with other lines nearby, like Shakespeare, I’ve used enjambment (one line spilling over into the next) here and there, especially in dialog sections. Mostly, though, I’ve striven for iambic tetrameter, which makes for a nice rhythm. You’ll notice that couplets, quatrains and other rhyme schemes refresh with each long Canticle. The old school language of The Rowan Canticles can be dense, but hey, it’s fun and it fits the fantasy.
Each week I will post a fresh Canto here at Substack, adding to the story. You’ll find ninety-nine Cantos in all contained in the three Canticles. The work is 13,000 lines long, about the length of Homer’s The Odyssey.
I hope you enjoy it!
Odds Bodkin
Don’t forget to download the companion Glossary below for definitions of archaic words to smooth your read!
CANTO I
A VOW REFUSED
To have a home, the very best,
For some, leaves all their fears allayed.
Yet whether in it they can rest,
Depends upon the price they’ve paid.
If honest labor earns one’s quilt,
Then all is well and sleep is sound.
Ill-gotten gains, though, and their guilt
Worry the soul, where dreams abound.
Undreaming, Devlin stepped down stairs
And to the Ocean Pool he strode.
Before him, nimble, drawing stares,
The Dwarf stood by, then pointing, showed
A throne that by the water stood.
"For him who stays pure to the bone.
Carved from this mountain’s stone, not wood,”
He chortled. “Years it's stood alone
Since we a certain brother lost."
"’Tis Magehood, then, you offer me?
The vow you spoke of is the cost?"
Devlin responded cautiously.
“Yes. Magic, magic to repel,
Young prince, if that is what you seek."
"You are no servant, I can tell."
"It serves the strong to first seem meek.
Each act then unexpected springs,
Confounding one's strong enemies,"
The Dwarf spoke, grasping golden rings
To climb a throne beneath a frieze
Depicting gates across some void.
"Not that you're either." A brief laugh
Made him seem friendly as he toyed
With pearls encrusted on his staff.
"You rule here, don't you?" Devlin guessed,
Eyes narrowed as they roved the hall.
"I make suggestions to the rest.
It matters not if I am tall.
My Will is wide. My chant is deep.
But, I am not the topic here.
You, Devlin, are. You stand asleep,
A tall dream-walker on the pier,
In all directions death, save one.
That one direction lies this way."
He touched his chest. "’Tis like the sun,
The Solar Plexus. Magic's day
From herein shines and sweeps the world!
From here, the Leash of True Intent
Leaps forth and strikes! And then is furled."
"Rowans-––this I did not invent––"
Replied Devlin, unsure just why,
"To Norns and spells need not resort.
Instead, they marry land and sky
And gently sun and rain import
In equal measure to the Hills.
Thusly, our vineyards, orchards, fields,
Swell all our farmers’ lading bills
Fat full by virtue of their yields.
We give no tithes. We have no poor.
And no magicians do we pay.
We simply Rowans do ignore,
And they their magic do convey.
It seems in this case, less is more.
I wonder, works yours too this way?"
He dragged his toe across the floor,
His nonchalance on full display.
The Blue Robed Brotherhood sat still,
Eyes heavy. Devlin’s words were bold.
"Not quite. We're men. Our stomachs fill
And empty. We feel warmth and cold
Much like you must, quaint outlander.
When not enspelled we live quite well.
To us, all kings and fools pander,
So that the storms we’ll grasp and quell.
All envy us our high estate!
Look ‘round you! Riches past all greed!"
"What of those thrones that empty wait?"
"They wait for those of proper creed!
Rare men, great men, who can endure
All pressures on the Vow they take!"
"Your vow." "Indeed! Vow to stay pure!
Vow to conform and never break
The Leash of Will, The Law of Seed!"
"Ah, yes. I've heard. Forced continence."
"Not forced! Required, if one shall breed
Not brats but brains enough to sense
The Power of Demon Control!"
The Dwarf's face bloated. Up he burst,
Eyes goitered, wet, each one a hole
Out of which poured unwholesome thirst.
"I am, I assume, free to leave
Should my choice fall short of your hopes?"
Devlin replied, his hand from sleeve
Extending swordward. "Join the dopes
And dupes and dolts, then, if you wish,"
The Dwarf laughed, mirthless in false calm.
"Fools tend to school, just like the fish.
It seems you're one if, without qualm,
You slight our Temple’s rarest gift.
So be it, then, King Rowan Fool.
Leave quickly, ere the winds do shift
And you regret your mind's misrule."
Devlin surveyed the wizard clan.
"A Greater Nature does contrive
To soften woman, harden man,
Than does within these walls survive.
Misrule differs from anarchy,
Fine priests. The former begs some king,
Some idiot in monarchy.
The latter lets the madmen sing
And run ascatter through the streets.
My heart is such. There's no misrule,
For no belief as yet completes
My ignorance, benign or cruel.
My life, fine sirs, is unconstrained.
I'll take my chances with it, thanks."
At that he turned, a bright smiled feigned,
And strode out past their glaring ranks.
Continue to Canticle II: Canto I →
A stranger in the town of Peloon, Gudrunlod drives her oxcart down the street until Big Gald, who doesn’t know who she is, stops her to flirt. After talking, she realizes he’s one of her lost cousins. Cautious, she gives him a false name.