But Tanschel's sword just struck with might
And buried to the hilt.
Traig tossed the body to the mass
And waited without care.
Let them come and bring his death,
Those of them who dared!
As he raised his bloody sword,
A shadow came to view,
With eyes of molten sadness and
With hair on honeyed hue.
The people seemed to be dismayed
As broken was their spell
By all the glinting magic of
The shade that is Tanschel.
Now, at last, they saw their "god",
And murder filled their eyes;
They tore the body of great Frace,
The Serpent Prince of Lies.
The vapored shadow turned to Traig,
The shadow named Tanschel,
And though her eyes were drenched with tears,
She only said, "Farewell!"
"No wait, Tanschel! Please do not go!"
Traig's voice, a shuddered breath.
There is no life without you, wench!"
And followed her to death.
Talk about taking an idea and running with it. Labyrinth, a movie I found mostly irksome because of the whiny female protagonist, managed to spawn my longest ever epic, largely because I found David Bowie's character interesting and, truthfully, nearly wasted. So, I "fixed" it. And, naturally, added romance. (Yes, I know he's a Goblin King in the movie - I don't care)
Dreammaker
He gazed up to the window
As she sat upon the sill,
And his heart kept beating faster
For he couldn't keep it still.
His eyes were old and wiser,
Aged a century or more,
And yet they glowed with passion
For this maid of twenty-four.
Her hair was black and lustrous,
Floating free in ebon waves;
Her eyes, they were as sapphires
Only found in deepest caves;
Her skin was milk and honey,
Gold-tinged splendor, soft as down.
He knew this, never touching,
Just observing from the ground.
Her body, fulsome, slender,
Her face of graceful mold,
Her lips so soft and tender,
Red the red of cherries bold,
Her laughter was of silver bells,
But rarely did it ring;
She knew so little happiness,
So bored with everything.
Her eyelids drooped with boredom;
Her lips curved to a frown,
And, in her very petulance,
Her silver voice was drowned.
"Oh, what a wretched life I lead
With all to do my will,"
And still he gazed in rapture
At the princess on the sill.
"A princess, I, with all I wish
And yet I have no joy,
With all the world the same dumb game
And wealth a paltry toy.
Adventure do I never know
And who am I to blame
That everyone obeys me
And everything's the same?
Why can't I have adventure?
Why do they guard me so?
Why do I care for nothing?
That's what I would like to know.
I'm smarter than our scholars,
So I know I have a brain;
I know that I am beautiful
For I have a thousand swain;
I know that I am wealthy for
One day I shall be queen;
I have imagination
For I've seen such things in dreams!"
She rose as if in wonder,
And her eyes grew wide and light.
He softly groaned and closed his eyes,
Then, watched her from the night.
"The dream," she said in dulcet tones,
"Oh, he that stalks my sleep,
With skin so pale, so frail, so fair,
With eyes of green so deep,
Those shoulders broad and awesome height,
That strange attractive mane,
That look of wild-thing in his eyes
That no one ever tamed.
For several nights, he's been there,
And he taunts me as I dream,
For everything he leads me to
Is not as it would seem.
He'd never give me all I ask;
He teases with his life,
Adventure I can never have
For I must know no strife.
Why do they always pamper me?
Am I a china doll?
Why are they always at my back
Or at my beck and call?
I wonder what they're thinking,
Do they love me as they claim,
Or do they think I'm foolish
Or look on me with shame?
I've heard so many suitors
As they begged me for my hand.
Do they all really love me . . .
Or just my father's land?
I wish that I could know this,
Gaze inside their secret lives.
I wish I knew adventure
And how the poor survive,
But, most of all, I'm wishing
To confront the man of dreams,
And prove that I can still prevail
When all's not as it seems!
But wishes are for foolish maids
And I am not a fool.
I am perhaps, an untried child,
Or just my father's tool.
Oh, dream man, save me from this fate!
I need someone to fear.
I need someone to make me think,
To set me free from here.
Oh, fight me, teach me, make me strong,
Ignore my paltry will!
I beg you, you who stalk my dreams."
Then, left the windowsill.
The Elven King stood far below
And tears were in his eyes;
They wandered down his pale white cheeks
For his beloved's cries.
"Oh, Larah, Larah, princess dear,
How sad to know no pain!
How sad to hear adventures bold
And never see the same!
For many nights I've touched your sleep
For you are all I see,
And how I'd hoped you'd love me too—
If it could only be!
How do you keep my heart in pain?
In you, what does it prize?
You're just a child, though lonely child,
Who looks through azure eyes,
But, beauty is not hard to find
In those within my realm:
My elves, who dress in magic gems
And wisps of fairy film,
Have bodies blessed with Nature's grace
And hair with silky light,
With eyes of slanted mystery
And skin of clearest white.
They sing with tones of highest sound
No human could achieve . . .
Why, while beauty there abounds,
Can I find no reprieve?
Why does their beauty stir me not,
While yours will warm my soul?
You cannot sing our magic notes,
Yet your voice makes me whole.
And I have nothing left, my love,
For you have caught my heart,
And, with your admiration,
Have taken it apart.
For you want to be my rival
When I want you for my mate,
But, perhaps, I can persuade you,
Just perhaps, it's not too late.
Just perhaps, I'll make you love me,
If I help you to be free.
Perhaps, you'll be a woman then,
A woman loving me.
I will show you
to adventure, dear,
So dream of me tonight,
For I shall lead you to the path . . . "
He faded out of sight.
She wakened in the morning
And her eyes were bright with glee,
With fear, with apprehension,
With sweet anxiety.
The man had touched her dream again
And called to her by name
And asked if she were brave enough
To play a little game.
He had, in his possession,
A ring of magic ore
That told the thoughts of those who spoke
To one whose finger wore.
Three days she has to gain this boon
If she will be so brave,
For if she loses, she is lost
And she must be his slave.
But, first, would she agree to this
Most dangerous of bets,
To risk her life and liberty
And be the Elf-King's pet?
How could she storm the citadel
And steal the treasured ring?
How could she beat the clever guile
Of him, the Elven King?
And, yet, those eyes, they beckoned her
And she could but obey.
Here was her chance to see the world
And make, in it, her way.
Three days, three days, she'd just three days
To find King Jared's lair,
To face the king with emerald eyes
And strange and shaggy hair,
Coarse and silky, black and white,
The mane she longed to feel . . .
But she cared only for the ring
She vowed that she would steal.
With stealthy tread and stolen garb,
She fled the castle walls
And wandered toward the verdant hills
She felt hid Elven halls.
The hours she spent to find them
Taught her hunger, taught her pain,
But she wouldn't let them slow her down
For she must win the game!
Just barely did she miss her death
From poisons, beasts and more,
Unknowing that the Elven King
Had saved her times a score.
He showed her with a hungry bird
That berries dealt out death;
'Twas he that tripped that angry boar
And saved her by hair's breadth.
And every time he saved her,
Though she did some things herself,
She learned another lesson,
Not of splendor nor of wealth.
Instead, she learned survival
In her rival's fine-boned hands,
And didn't know her teacher,
Just the lesson understands.
She thought that it was only luck;
He hid beyond her sight.
He didn't want his maid to think
She had no chance to fight.
She journeyed onward to the gate,
The gate that was her goal,
Goal that led to treasured ring
Or life in his control.
This gate was fast approaching
And she hurried even more
For the sun was close to setting
And she wanted in before . . .
Great Gods! How strange and fortunate!
Why, open was the gate!
How convenient, but too easy.
'This game's a piece of cake.'
She marched inside in triumph,
Laughing at the paltry king
Who couldn't stop her progress . . .
She was sure to win the ring!
And, then, he stood before her,
Even greater than she'd dreamed.
"How, child, do I teach you
All is not as it would seem?"
His voice just melted through her
And she gazed into those eyes
And longed to touch that shaggy hair
That framed a face so wise,
A face so finely-boned and pale,
Yet beautiful and strong,
His voice so smooth and elegant
That made each word a song
From lips that seemed to touch her heart,
That promised her such bliss,
For, as she gazed in wonderment,
She longed to feel their kiss . . .
She shook herself.
What a fool to fall in reverie,
To find yourself attracted to
A man, your enemy!
"You're game's a breeze!" she said in spite,
To prove she felt him not.
"Anyone could win your game,
Such simple rules and plot."
"A simple game, is it, my child?
But you have yet to play.
Perhaps you'd find a challenge
If you found you'd lost a day.
The gate's an empty conquest, child,
Because it takes no skill,
So, dear, you have no conquest
For, here, the law's my will!"
And as he spoke, there was a flash;
The city was no more
Or rather, she was far away,
Again on forest floor.
"That's not fair!" she shouted,
"How dare you send me back!
How can you be a victor
If, of honor, you've a lack?"
"Life is rarely fair and this
You'd best ought not forget—
A thief who barges to his take
Deserves whate'er he gets.
You strode so boldly to my keep
And thought I'd not react?
You cannot win this game unless
You think before you act."
"But you have all the power!"
She shouted to his voice.
"You know this contest isn't fair."
"But, child, you had a choice!"
"Do not call me child, you beast!
How blind you cannot see
My childhood's far behind me now."
"You must prove that to me."
And then the gentle voice was gone
To let her scream in rage,
Then plan, in fury, how to beat
The King both strong and sage . . .
Her dreams that night were different
Than those she'd dreamed before:
She stood within a ballroom,
Stood alone upon the floor.
The gown she wore was fairy silk
And sown with fairy strand,
A gown of sheerest gossamer
Ne'er touched by human hands.
Then, all at once, came faces
That she saw—and yet did not,
And she knew they planned to turn her
From a goal she found she sought.
She did not know for what she searched,
This dream she had to find.
She felt she sometimes glimpsed it,
But she always fell behind.
A shimmered splash of peacock blue,
And eyes such fiery green
That taunted, haunted, beckoned her
While never being seen.
There he was! Her heart would leap,
The man behind the fan,
But emerald-eyes had disappeared
And left another man.
Come back, please wait! Don't leave me here!
How vainly did she call?
She found herself alone again
Inside a long white hall.
The man, the king, she'd sought so long,
He waited for her now,
With long wild hair that loosely fell
Upon his pallid brow.
His eyes were dark, intriguing, but
They shone with verdant flame.
His arms, they opened up to her
And she heard him call her name.
"Larah, Princess Larah
, come,
Come and take my hand,
Rain upon my desert, love,
And sweep away the sand.
Come and I shall love you
As no other has before.
Come, my love, and dance with me."
He gestured to floor.
She took his hand; he held her,
Whirled her round in graceful glide,
Round the ballroom in his arms,
With her dressed as a bride,
But she saw nothing but his face,
Too drowned within his eyes,
Too warm within his circled arms
To think of a disguise.
They flew around the airy room
And gazed as if entranced,
While all his subjects stopped to watch
And wonder as they danced.
Then, slow, they danced, and slower,
Close and closer still.
Her blue eyes grew more lustrous
As, with love, they seemed to fill.
He closed his eyes in rapture—
In torment. Was it real?
Did Larah really love him
Or did he make her feel?
Perhaps he'd know her feelings
If he touched her in a kiss,
Would know if this was just a lie
Or true eternal bliss.
Lips met for just an instant—
Then he tore out from the dream.
The master of illusion . . .
All is not as it would seem.
He'd never had a dream before
Or been caught in its grips
Or known the awful pleasure of
Not really touching lips.
He'd known that it was fantasy,
Her own that he devised
And yet he'd yearned her just the same . . .
Was he not old and wise?
Why did he give this dream to her,
One he could not escape?
A dream that captured him, at last,
Its power was so great.
The kiss had made him know he dreamed—
Her lips were just a lie.
He did not want a forgery,
An elf-made dreamy sigh.
A tear coursed down that snowy cheek.
He sat beside his love
Who lay in slumber, soft and deep,
That he had been part of.
Those rosy lips called out to him
But never made a sound;
Those fragile arms were beckoning
But never left the ground.
He bent—his wondrous strength was gone—
Too tempted, now, to stay,
To keep from touching lips to lips,
To keep himself away.
He kissed her for an instant,
Blissful instant 'til she woke.
Their eyes met for a moment
'Til he blew away as smoke,
In mist, in magic memory,
Or just a fantasy?
Had she seen what had really been
Or what she longed to see?
"I'll waste no time in dreaming now,"
She hurried on her way,
Despite the fact she walked alone
And it was hours from day.
She stepped outside an orchard,
So enchanted with the sight
Of stands of tiny fairy trees
That shone with fairy light.
They grew as leaves the gleaming strands
The elf-folk used for thread
And each one glimmered rainbow light,
Each fine as spider's web.
And, all at once, a thought she had
That grew into a plan.
Perhaps the Elf-King had his charm,
But, still she'd beat the man!
The Elven King slept fitfully
Inside his royal bed,
Now plagued with dreams he'd never known
That roared inside his head.
They always come to Larah
Who'd turn away in spite,
Storm away in fury, or
Musings of a Nascent Poet Page 6