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 XXIV
MURDER
Vengeance is a potent flower.
Rooted tight in pain, ‘twill glower
On the same stem as forgiveness.
Poisons, though, comprise its business.
Dripping sweet, they fill its vessel,
Squeezed from glands where mem'ries nestle,
Infected, whitish, swelled by hate.
Here, retributions percolate
Down past imagination's stare,
Rehearsed and glorified with care
Until that bloom, bent near the clay,
In paroxysm falls away.
Long thought had Nembagrog the Norn
Given to Harcto. How, once torn
From all whom he had loved and known,
Destroying him would, as a bone
Is picked clean of cooked, loosened meat,
Take little effort to complete.
Besides, he’d allied with the Mage
Who ruled the Temple’s mighty cage;
Revengeful, the Headcaster Dwarf
Now strode out on the Temple’s wharf
With hot disgust at Harcto’s lust
Aflame within his Leash. He thrust
It t’ward the Apse of Eighty-Nine.
There, Slode the Eldest, huge, supine,
Slit-eyed and lipless, oozed consent.
Out through the Gates Nembagrog went.
Next instant, on the placid bay
The breezes roared and peeled away
As Nembagrog invaded space.
Below him, waves began to race,
Foaming the prow of Clol's small barc.
It pitched and rolled. The sudden dark
Beneath the Norn, cocooned in clouds,
Seen from the shore, attracted crowds.
They marveled at the amber light,
A wide, fell beam, unearthly bright,
Which then, suddenly, lantern-like,
Shot down a ray that made a strike
Upon Clol’s craft with perfect aim,
A moth in water, struck by flame.
Half through the forest, Harcto stopped,
His thoughts of fish folk quickly dropped
As plasms charged the ambiance
And leaves spun, whirling past the fence.
"Nembagrog," he gasped, perceiving
Evil in the ether weaving
Spider threads of sudden danger.
Back he ran, a wide-eyed stranger,
Shoving through the muttering throng.
"Pray now this regrown magic's strong,"
He whispered as he saw the scene:
The blue sea roiled now, bilish green,
With Clol's boat, Silya, and his child
Trapped in dark swells that quickly piled
To heights above its masts and flags.
"Demon!" he screamed. "You dog who wags
For me, your master, show thy form!"
At once, blood rained down from the storm.
Onlookers screamed and fled for home.
"You lurk unsummoned! Yet you roam,
Great Puppy, unleashed in our world!"
Yelled Harcto as his leash unfurled
Within his solar plexus root.
"Come forth and I’ll give you my boot!"
Now, as if sorely offended,
From the clouds the Norn descended,
Huge above the foundering craft.
But then, worms twisting, loud it laughed,
Like death squeals of a thousand hogs.
"Ho, lustman! Do not speak of dogs
When you your power traded off
For doglike rutting! Hear me scoff
At you, your litter and your bitch
To whose stars you've been fool to hitch
Your cindered soul!" At that, the Beast
Loosed spinning gales out of the east
Which spiraled to a waterspout,
A twisting, whining, roaring knout
Of deadly wind, fast bearing down.
"Back to your pit, you matted clown,"
The Wizard cursed, then loosed his leash.
"Your magic is a bad pastiche,"
The Demon laughed as Harcto’s force
Impaled the distance, straight on course.
It fixed upon the Norn's wet mass.
The Demon sped, a giant bass,
Hooked and annoyed, beating its fins.
Dragged hard, Harcto slid on his shins
Down the long quay and slammed the wall.
There, overwhelmed and calling all
His strength, he grasped at anchor rings,
Arms outstretched like two breaking wings.
The Norn gave him a savage pull.
Then, circling like a taunted bull,
It yanked again. In agony,
Harcto’s blood dripped into the sea.
"What? No more strength? You whining whelp!
Come, dog! Come, cur! Call out for help!
I'll rip your ribcage from its nest
Then pack my plasms in your chest!"
Astonished, Harcto saw behind
The Norn the Dwarf’s own leash, entwined
With Nembagrog's own pulsing spells.
"Behind this there are deeper hells,"
He moaned, hoping to concentrate.
Alas, no chant could penetrate
The doubled Wills of Dwarf and Norn.
"Now you’ll regret that you were born,"
The Demon, thick with vengeance, spoke.
"You thought the proscriptions a joke,
Magic Maker? Ascetic tripe?
Now look. Your spine’s a yellow stripe!”
"Spare them," coughed Harcto, "let them live."
"Ooh . . . spare them. Why? Norns don't forgive.
Neither do Mages, I recall.
But you're no Mage. You've had your fall
From grace, you stupid, tender fool!
You bled once by the Ocean Pool
And lost your taste for Magic’s life.
Choose then. I'll give you child or wife."
Out on the bay the spout grew still.
"No," Harcto gasped, "I don't . . ." "You will!"
Roared back the Demon, waxing wild.
"You heard me! Choose your wife or child.
I'll save but one. The other dies."
"Kill me, you hateful pack of lies!"
"Choose, wizard! Choose! Or both perish!
Surely, one you more must cherish!"
His ribcage loosened in his chest
As Harcto tried his best to wrest
A moment's silence from the roar.
But then, Clol's barc, not far from shore,
Exploded into flying planks,
Tattered sails and twisting clanks,
As chains and decks and passengers
Flew up. "Food for the scavengers!"
Hissed Nembagrog. "Yet, there’s still time
To make your choice and halve my crime.
Oh conscience, conscience, painful nub!
Against my heart two loves do rub!
Choose, Harcto! Choose! One you love more.
Just name her, wizard. Child or whore?"
Tears poured down Harcto's anguished face,
Red tears, torn tears, burning the place
Each fell, for he had made his choice.
Unwanted, his own private voice
Within had howled out Silya's name.
Forever afterwards he‘d blame
And curse his mind for that wild cry.
"What's this? Did I hear your reply?"
Probed Nembagrog, pouring off stench.
"The worldly wizard wants his wench?"
"No, no!" choked Harcto, "I can't choose!"
"Oh, but you have. Pray, don't confuse
The issue, then. Be glad you live.
And glad to you her life I give."
Engorged and laughing, up it soared.
Guilt pangs tore at him; more tears poured
Down Harcto's lined, eroded face.
Helpless, he watched the Demon race
Into the showering debris.
He swooped down through it carefully,
Plucking a burden, worm enwrapped.
Then up he shot. Loud thunder clapped,
Enshrouded in a foulish mist
Where heat and cold made stinking tryst.
Perturbed, the ether rippled near
Harcto. The Norn was close. In fear,
Blood soaked, chest aching, Harcto stood,
Wobbling, until his stance was good
Enough to look up at the cloud.
"I have her here." The voice, not loud,
Was tender in a horrid way,
The sort of game torturers play
As they our spirits move to crush.
"It’s blood, you know, that makes you blush,"
The voice went on in measured pace,
"Those rouge stigmata on the face.
But look! Your blood stays not within
Your fleshy sponge. Again I win,
Old foe. But this time, we’re complete.
From this closure there's no retreat.
You see, I thought to wring you dry
But that's too quick––to let you die
And reach the Havens as some shade.
No, no; instead, hay must be made
Around the issue of your chains.
To forge these shackles I took pains.
Behold, they're soft! Still, how they'll cut
Wrapped ‘round your heart. Here, take your slut!"
At that, Silya fell from the pall––
Her corpse splashing against the wall.
Then next, Gudrunlod, wailing loud,
Was shoved, quite safe, from out the cloud.
Continue to Canto XXV →
Gudrunlod now knows that a Dwarf Mage freed Nembagrog the Norn, who then murdered her mother in front of her powerless father. Harcto dies but leaves behind a beach grass periapt, a sigil that defies the Law of One.