Ever, the candle seems smaller,
Ever, its weary wick grows thin,
Ever, the shadows seems taller,
And men declare that Darkness wins.
Ever, here, is of giants; rising and falling,
Ever, here, does age fall on ancient age,
Ever, here, is that to come, a-beckoning and calling.
Ever the seas still storm and rage.
Ever, their arms keep stretching
Ever they stretch the strings of their bows,
Ever, ground trembles at Vulcan's wrenching,
Ever, much doubt seems to grow.
Oh, where art Thee, Great One,
Master of Wind and ice and hail?
Alas, I search for the light of the sun,
When all else seems to fail.
Alas, the wayward path I've taken,
And for long it held me, before all gave way,
Alas, I return, frustrated and shaken,
I search for a refuge in Thy hidden bay.
Alas, of this I feel not worthy to request,
When the sorrows of others are sadder,
Alas, again I fail the test,
Alas, I dare to touch Thy up-going ladder.
Oh, Lord of All, I yet tire,
And I hope You still think well of me.
God who Sees my hidden heart,
It is good to know who Thou art.
Oh Lord, I ask of Thee Thy aid,
To teach me once again,
In spite of all the secret sins I've made,
I have come to make amends.
Oh might God only Wise,
How I long to please Thee,
If in all things Thee I cannot truly satisfy,
In this give Thee all of, myself, all of me.
Oh God, take this, this gift so small.
I have nothing else to give to you, my God,
Help me, oh Great Father of All.
Here am I, all given, pledged in full,
Here I place my heart's deed, the royal right to rule,
Here is my devotion, given, complete,
Here is my little kingdom's throne, Your place, your seat.
The Gift
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Danny was at soccer,
Mom was with the other moms.
Where does that leave me?
So I kept to me, in a little gazebo, at a quiet corner of Dan's soccer park.
Nobody was there.
Just me, and a few potted plants.
Well, there was someone else.
It was a tree, not too high,
Maybe a few feet taller than I,
And it was laughing,
Singing something in the manner of all other trees.
One trunk, many branched,
One branch, many-leaved,
One leaf, and there were many holes.
The little holes, like cold, clinking, circular, coins,
Gaping in and out of the leaves
Leaving only
Gossamer
Mom was with the other moms.
Where does that leave me?
So I kept to me, in a little gazebo, at a quiet corner of Dan's soccer park.
Nobody was there.
Just me, and a few potted plants.
Well, there was someone else.
It was a tree, not too high,
Maybe a few feet taller than I,
And it was laughing,
Singing something in the manner of all other trees.
One trunk, many branched,
One branch, many-leaved,
One leaf, and there were many holes.
The little holes, like cold, clinking, circular, coins,
Gaping in and out of the leaves
Leaving only
Gossamer
Layers of dead plant-veins, still clinging like cobwebs
To the hole.
Smiling tree turned to me.
"Hello there, human lad."
And so we talked,
She in the sunlight, I in the shade.
We spoke of weather,
Which was about as important to trees as politics are to humans.
No, I tried not to stare at her
Large, clipped, cookie-cut leaves.
But she saw my furtive glimpses.
She smiled even bigger now.
She chuckled,
"Come here, human friend, and let me tell you all about them," said she.
So I came to the sunlight,
With the singing tree,
And she told me her tales,
In a voice like melody,
Speaking of older days and times.
She told me of the way
She had been planted
In the park
By an old, lonely lady
Who had no space to keep me.
And so she lived and loved her life,
Singing of the grass about me
And the wind on my leaves,
And the soil that was good,
"Something like a cozy blanket, as humans say," said she.
"Now I shall speak of my holes.
Alas, the pestilence came on me.
Little infidels crawling on my back and leafy arms, creeping ever nearer to my
Emeralds
And they ate them up.
Again and again.
And what can I do?"
I said nothing,
for a while,
And she was silent.
Then I asked her, "And yet, why do you yet sing and smile and laugh as you do?"
"Because my roots are in the soil, and my mind dwelling on He that Is," says she, "you know Him, don't you?"
I nodded.
She went on.
"And so I live. Not for long, not as a healthy tree, but a joyful one."
I looked at her, smiling politlely, not exactly sure still what to say.
She chuckled again.
"My mind can only dwell on Him.
He loves me, and yet,
He loves your kind, well, more.
That is your gift, Human-friend."
Her faded, grotesque braches danced in the wind.
"So use it."
She smiled and reclined.
"Hello there, human lad."
And so we talked,
She in the sunlight, I in the shade.
We spoke of weather,
Which was about as important to trees as politics are to humans.
No, I tried not to stare at her
Large, clipped, cookie-cut leaves.
But she saw my furtive glimpses.
She smiled even bigger now.
She chuckled,
"Come here, human friend, and let me tell you all about them," said she.
So I came to the sunlight,
With the singing tree,
And she told me her tales,
In a voice like melody,
Speaking of older days and times.
She told me of the way
She had been planted
In the park
By an old, lonely lady
Who had no space to keep me.
And so she lived and loved her life,
Singing of the grass about me
And the wind on my leaves,
And the soil that was good,
"Something like a cozy blanket, as humans say," said she.
"Now I shall speak of my holes.
Alas, the pestilence came on me.
Little infidels crawling on my back and leafy arms, creeping ever nearer to my
Emeralds
And they ate them up.
Again and again.
And what can I do?"
I said nothing,
for a while,
And she was silent.
Then I asked her, "And yet, why do you yet sing and smile and laugh as you do?"
"Because my roots are in the soil, and my mind dwelling on He that Is," says she, "you know Him, don't you?"
I nodded.
She went on.
"And so I live. Not for long, not as a healthy tree, but a joyful one."
I looked at her, smiling politlely, not exactly sure still what to say.
She chuckled again.
"My mind can only dwell on Him.
He loves me, and yet,
He loves your kind, well, more.
That is your gift, Human-friend."
Her faded, grotesque braches danced in the wind.
"So use it."
She smiled and reclined.
And I wondered if I had been
dreaming.
Broken Playground
Friday, August 14, 2009
I was on the way home,
Leaving some old neighborhood.
When I saw that old, sad, Broken Playground
And never forgot it.
The half-buried tires under the see-saw ends were
Worn and weary, weak, wounded,
Played much then, now forgotten.
The once gay-colored slides are damaged,
Faded colors, broken tubing,
All covered with graffiti.
Like contemptuous black vultures.
The swings are heartbroken.
There is no other word for it, I am afraid,
They are sad, their sturdy straps that once held
Lively, bouncing, children
Are torn or mangled.
They look like they want to hold children again.
Then there is the grass,
Not rich or full enough to cover the whole field,
Like a threadbare coat stretched over the bare shoulders
Of some sad, lonely, beggar.
The trees are gnarled grotesquely,
But not by nature.
Maybe all the crying sounds from the playgrounds have hurt them,
Their great branches stunted by their sorrows.
I didn’t hear birds singing,
But I was in the car,
And then again,
Who really cares
For one, lonely, sad, Broken Playground?
Leaving some old neighborhood.
When I saw that old, sad, Broken Playground
And never forgot it.
The half-buried tires under the see-saw ends were
Worn and weary, weak, wounded,
Played much then, now forgotten.
The once gay-colored slides are damaged,
Faded colors, broken tubing,
All covered with graffiti.
Like contemptuous black vultures.
The swings are heartbroken.
There is no other word for it, I am afraid,
They are sad, their sturdy straps that once held
Lively, bouncing, children
Are torn or mangled.
They look like they want to hold children again.
Then there is the grass,
Not rich or full enough to cover the whole field,
Like a threadbare coat stretched over the bare shoulders
Of some sad, lonely, beggar.
The trees are gnarled grotesquely,
But not by nature.
Maybe all the crying sounds from the playgrounds have hurt them,
Their great branches stunted by their sorrows.
I didn’t hear birds singing,
But I was in the car,
And then again,
Who really cares
For one, lonely, sad, Broken Playground?
Stalemate -Another Poem I Did for the Poetry Slam
Monday, August 10, 2009
The red queen of Chess stood firm in her space,
Her sister, the white queen, in the opposite place,
And they stared at each other, both bitter with hate,
(They were not on good terms, of late).
“My Dear Red Queen, ye overgrown lump,
Tis a wonder thy king smacks thee not in the rump!
Thou art too fat, disgusting, obese;
Indulging in fast food and banquets and feasts!”
“Take that back, I daresay, or I’ll tell my king!”
“Then I’ll tell my king, who !”
“I’ll set my knights upon you! Just wait! Just you wait!”
“My bishops will curse you to a terrible fate!”
“I’ll gather my armies of pawns,
With heads and hearts of solid bronze!”
“But by then my rooks will soon be readied!”
You’ll be sorry you tarried!”
“Have it your way, you curse of a sister,
I’ll tell my king, and you tell your mister!
Then, a duel to the death, to test our true mettle,
Then our troops will converge in heavy, pitched battle!”
And so they gathered their numerous hordes,
Knight pawn rook bishop, and the queens with their lords.
Pawns to the fore, the rest hide behind,
Stiff on the chessboard, in perfect straight lines.
They clashed in the field, pawn versus pawn,
It wasn’t long before half were gone.
The knights came, to rescue friend to rout the foe,
But the bishops came and cursed them, and their fate (who knows?)
The troops were exhausted; the knights were half-slain,
And the mighty rooks were the bishops’ banes.
But the queens were released, and went into the fray,
And each had in mind the other to slay.
Queen against queen, they battled and battered,
‘Twas the enemy losing, not the Winning that mattered!
They fought and they fought, they tumbled and tussled,
Armed with great swords and great Muscles!
The kings had long since retreated,
And the bishops were already defeated,
Almost all of the pieces were ready to quit,
Though that the old queens just refused to admit.
At last, no one else was still willing to fight,
Except, of course, the queens, (who yet battle and bite!)
With desire for vengeance naught could satiate,
And their forever they fight, so we call it . . . STALEMATE!
Her sister, the white queen, in the opposite place,
And they stared at each other, both bitter with hate,
(They were not on good terms, of late).
“My Dear Red Queen, ye overgrown lump,
Tis a wonder thy king smacks thee not in the rump!
Thou art too fat, disgusting, obese;
Indulging in fast food and banquets and feasts!”
“Take that back, I daresay, or I’ll tell my king!”
“Then I’ll tell my king, who !”
“I’ll set my knights upon you! Just wait! Just you wait!”
“My bishops will curse you to a terrible fate!”
“I’ll gather my armies of pawns,
With heads and hearts of solid bronze!”
“But by then my rooks will soon be readied!”
You’ll be sorry you tarried!”
“Have it your way, you curse of a sister,
I’ll tell my king, and you tell your mister!
Then, a duel to the death, to test our true mettle,
Then our troops will converge in heavy, pitched battle!”
And so they gathered their numerous hordes,
Knight pawn rook bishop, and the queens with their lords.
Pawns to the fore, the rest hide behind,
Stiff on the chessboard, in perfect straight lines.
They clashed in the field, pawn versus pawn,
It wasn’t long before half were gone.
The knights came, to rescue friend to rout the foe,
But the bishops came and cursed them, and their fate (who knows?)
The troops were exhausted; the knights were half-slain,
And the mighty rooks were the bishops’ banes.
But the queens were released, and went into the fray,
And each had in mind the other to slay.
Queen against queen, they battled and battered,
‘Twas the enemy losing, not the Winning that mattered!
They fought and they fought, they tumbled and tussled,
Armed with great swords and great Muscles!
The kings had long since retreated,
And the bishops were already defeated,
Almost all of the pieces were ready to quit,
Though that the old queens just refused to admit.
At last, no one else was still willing to fight,
Except, of course, the queens, (who yet battle and bite!)
With desire for vengeance naught could satiate,
And their forever they fight, so we call it . . . STALEMATE!
Went for the Poetry Slam. . .and Won!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
I can't believe it! I actually did well!. Hmm. . .
Here are a few poems I did. As I said on Facebook, don't say anything, Arief, David, Seng Kit, Toby, or Zhen Zhu.
First one:
True Treasure
For-ever we quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
In search for a source without measure,
In search, no matter how dear its cost.
For-ever, our silent souls still wander,
For what or whom we hold as our prize,
And sojourn to many lands, o’er and under,
To find what we pursue, and where it lies.
For as many who go, fewer will gain,
Many might search, for life and desire,
For as many who look, few will obtain,
Many youths go, yet too many tire.
They search in hopes of finding,
In knowledge and riches and pleasure,
But see not these things are blinding,
Deceiving the Searchers of Treasure.
I place no trust in folly’s tales,
For all that glitters is not gold,
For much called solid oft will fail,
For blades rust; wealth does not hold.
I place stock in this that remains:
In the words of the Wisest of Kings,
That time and death may not stain,
Untarnished as the mountain’s springs.
In light of the Wise One’s insight,
Most truly our treasure must be,
In the wisdom of He, brighter than light,
Herein is the key:
Here is the place that all may find,
Youth regained, Death defied,
The fulfillment of spirit and mind,
The life by which I will abide.
For-ever I‘ve quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
Now I have found this Source without measure,
And will not let go, whatever the cost.
Beach
It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.
With the feel of soft sand between your toes,
And the little pulsing tickles
Of sea-waves splashing against your feet.
No other soul here,
Just God and me.
No one but gulls and crabs to hear us.
It is the silence
And beauty that is good,
On the beach.
All the kite-playing children have left,
All the people, except me,
Are far, far, away.
Here I hear
The sound of the steady
Beat of the ocean,
And taste the salt
As I lick the tip of the Wave.
And the quiet sensation of sand,
Like so many little pearls,
Lovingly caressed and smoothened by Time.
The air is fresh and new here.
And your mind is dwelling on good things.
And you meditate thoughtfully on
Words and sights you’ve seen.
Or observe the silent hobbling of hermit crabs,
Like pious priests on pilgrimage.
Wrapped in their
Bulky shells.
And at last,
I see the sunset,
All pinks and oranges and blues and indigoes and violets.
Before the great golden orb sinks,
Beneath the watery horizon.
It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.
Here are a few poems I did. As I said on Facebook, don't say anything, Arief, David, Seng Kit, Toby, or Zhen Zhu.
First one:
True Treasure
For-ever we quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
In search for a source without measure,
In search, no matter how dear its cost.
For-ever, our silent souls still wander,
For what or whom we hold as our prize,
And sojourn to many lands, o’er and under,
To find what we pursue, and where it lies.
For as many who go, fewer will gain,
Many might search, for life and desire,
For as many who look, few will obtain,
Many youths go, yet too many tire.
They search in hopes of finding,
In knowledge and riches and pleasure,
But see not these things are blinding,
Deceiving the Searchers of Treasure.
I place no trust in folly’s tales,
For all that glitters is not gold,
For much called solid oft will fail,
For blades rust; wealth does not hold.
I place stock in this that remains:
In the words of the Wisest of Kings,
That time and death may not stain,
Untarnished as the mountain’s springs.
In light of the Wise One’s insight,
Most truly our treasure must be,
In the wisdom of He, brighter than light,
Herein is the key:
Here is the place that all may find,
Youth regained, Death defied,
The fulfillment of spirit and mind,
The life by which I will abide.
For-ever I‘ve quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
Now I have found this Source without measure,
And will not let go, whatever the cost.
Beach
It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.
With the feel of soft sand between your toes,
And the little pulsing tickles
Of sea-waves splashing against your feet.
No other soul here,
Just God and me.
No one but gulls and crabs to hear us.
It is the silence
And beauty that is good,
On the beach.
All the kite-playing children have left,
All the people, except me,
Are far, far, away.
Here I hear
The sound of the steady
Beat of the ocean,
And taste the salt
As I lick the tip of the Wave.
And the quiet sensation of sand,
Like so many little pearls,
Lovingly caressed and smoothened by Time.
The air is fresh and new here.
And your mind is dwelling on good things.
And you meditate thoughtfully on
Words and sights you’ve seen.
Or observe the silent hobbling of hermit crabs,
Like pious priests on pilgrimage.
Wrapped in their
Bulky shells.
And at last,
I see the sunset,
All pinks and oranges and blues and indigoes and violets.
Before the great golden orb sinks,
Beneath the watery horizon.
It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.
Quotes I Like.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I love these!
"Be very, very careful what you put into that head, because you will never, ever get it out."
Thomas Cardinal Wolsey (1471-1530)
"It is the cause, not the death, that makes the martyr."
Napoleon Bonaparte
"Soldiers generally win battles; generals get credit for them."
Napoleon Bonaparte
"Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration."
Thomas Edison
"I start where the last man left off."
Thomas Edison
"I confess that in 1901 I said to my brother Orville that man would not fly for fifty years."
Wilbur Wright
“It is the job that is never started that takes longest to finish.”
J.R.R. Tolkien
“I do not love the bright sword for it's sharpness, nor the arrow for it's swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”
J.R.R. Tolkien
“There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way”
C.S. Lewis
“Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.”
C.S. Lewis
“We are all fallen creatures and all very hard to live with.”
C.S. Lewis
"I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."
Alexander the Great
"Hasten slowly."
Augustus
"Be very, very careful what you put into that head, because you will never, ever get it out."
Thomas Cardinal Wolsey (1471-1530)
"It is the cause, not the death, that makes the martyr."
Napoleon Bonaparte
"Soldiers generally win battles; generals get credit for them."
Napoleon Bonaparte
"Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration."
Thomas Edison
"I start where the last man left off."
Thomas Edison
"I confess that in 1901 I said to my brother Orville that man would not fly for fifty years."
Wilbur Wright
“It is the job that is never started that takes longest to finish.”
J.R.R. Tolkien
“I do not love the bright sword for it's sharpness, nor the arrow for it's swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”
J.R.R. Tolkien
“There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way”
C.S. Lewis
“Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.”
C.S. Lewis
“We are all fallen creatures and all very hard to live with.”
C.S. Lewis
"I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."
Alexander the Great
"Hasten slowly."
Augustus
Bidal-Karon: Part II
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Now the six daughters came to the private hall of their house, as they were bidden, and Licoann came also. When they had gathered, Tiendar and Venyai described and read out the proposals. The eldest of Dyavan’s sons was to marry the eldest of Tiendar’s daughters, second eldest with second eldest, and so on. They spoke quietly among each other for a while, exchanging thoughts and impressions of the suggested arrangements, and the suitors. At this (for little could be made of their true intentions and the color of their hearts), Licoann told of the glances and furtive peeks during the feasts last summer.
At this Neler, the eldest daughter shook her head, but did not speak until she had thought a little more. “I know not what to say of this, for though truly they ask for our hands in marriage, who but Amentoris can judge their spirits and deepest thoughts? Nevertheless, we must discern what we may. What say you, Father, Mother?”
Tiendar and Venyai heard this, and remained silent for a while. Venyai ancient gray hair gleamed briefly like silver, as did Tiendar’s beard, but then it stopped. They turned up to their children, and smiled somberly. “Perhaps, it would be wise to bid the sons of Dyavan to come again to our house, so our children may speak with them, as is the ancient custom. However, we must be wary, and keep our eyes and ears and minds open and alert. Then we shall make our choice.”
And so it was. The messengers were sent back to Dyavan’s household, at which, when Dyavan heard the reply, brought his sons together and was furious, for he hadn’t until then realized what his sons had done. “What is the meaning of this? Your iniquity is testament to the training of your mother and scorning of your father!”
Alas, the father sent his sons away to Tiendar’s house, though without his blessing, and sent them with many gifts and golden-made objects to the house of Tiendar (to make all appearance all was well in the Court of Dyavan). The six sons left immediately, and sojourned for two weeks and two days. They were welcomed into the house, though not as warmly as when Dyavan had first come, for the daughters were careful and wary.
For the first and second days, the brothers remained ever courteous, constantly being good in seemingly all ways. But during the third day, Thelin the Eldest son requested that he and his brothers could speak with the Sisters. The message was sent to Tiendar (who was elsewhere in his realm). To this, Tiendar accepted, though he insisted that he and Licoann be there at each meeting, for Tiendar had desired to be careful with this potential arrangement.
Thelin and the Brothers consented, and so Thelin, the eldest, met with Neler the Eldest, as was the custom. Tiendar and Licoann sat between the two, but watched closely. They met by the lakeside, and spoke. Neler asked of Thelin many questions, of interests, of wisdom, of passions, and of morality. What she found in the Thelin the Fay was warlike of heart, strong in will, brave, but lacked the control to hold his own might. Yet, though she was not pleased, she spoke a little more before until sunset arrived, and they group left for the evening meal.
The next day, the second eldest, Baranin, and the second eldest, Feian met. They spoke, and Feian found the same in his heart.
Then Borthonin met with Thiendori, then Carin with Pienhor, then Thruilin and Lerya, and then finally Thruanin with Treyal. After this, the family of Tiendar took counsel once more, and they spoke as one. They all found, though, that the Sons of Dyavan were as Neler had perceived; willful, uncontrolled, fearless, yet not disciplined in righteousness or the way of right. Their father had seen this, but had perceived also a kind of darkness over his heart whenever he saw the swords at the Brothers’ waists. This he spoke of none to, except Venyai (many a season later). This was one of the least wise of the acts of Tiendar, though he was discerning and upright throughout his immortal days on Endramius. Perhaps had he brought his troubled thoughts to Amentoris the Wise, the course of events may have differed, but he did not, and he regretted his silence.
But for the time, Tiendar spoke carefully, and he and his family declined the brothers’ proposals. But though they refused, they still invited the Sons of Dyavan to a great feast at Tiendar’s table. A messenger was sent, and Thelin received the news in his apartments (for all guests of Tiendar and Venyai were given large staying quarters). Thelin read this, and was infuriated, and he flew into a terrible rage, for ever had his desire been growing, and his initial disappointment turned itself into the black form of hate. He then read the message to his brothers, and they too became angry. Now in his rage, Thelin devised a second wicked scheme, now for the purpose of obtaining vengeance. He suggested this, “My brothers, we have been scornfully rejected by the great house of Tiendar the Steward. He and his household have believed that their place shall be happier without our presence here. We must deprive them of happiness forever! We, of the Greater Fays, sons of Dyavan the Mighty, shall, by this time in three days, slay the six daughters of Tiendar!”
It was done. They declined the feast, and pretended to need to be on their way home, on the pretense their father was expecting them. They then left, cordially making their farewells and blessings upon the household of Tiendar. But they only had left the borders of Tiendar’s realm before they stopped, and camped there. Every day they would move silently towards the Dinkaron Lake, and waited for the six daughters to pass by. The first and second day yielded nothing. But on the third day, Thelin (who had been scouting, sighted the six daughters with Licoann their brother, and he quickly returned to his camp to alert his brothers. They were ready, and ever so silently they crept back into Tiendar’s realm.
They sighted the Stewards again, and stalked them silently. Alas, when they had stopped by the lakeside for a drink, the six brothers sprang their trap, and rushed out of the woods. Licoann drew his sword the instant he saw them, and he call his sisters to go behind him. Then Thruanin fell upon Licoann first, with his sword drawn, and the two fought fiercely. Thelin drew his sword out, and slew Licoann from a mighty spear thrust from his side. The other brothers rushed upon the sisters. They had at first intended to rape the six Stewards, but Thruanin and Thelin had been adamant, for they wanted nothing other than their swords to touch the six daughters. The other brothers consented, and, one by one, the slowly plunged their swords into the six daughters they had once desired.
As each daughter fell, each cried out “May Amentoris remember us!”
Then each perished.
Neler fell first, followed by Feian, then Thiendori, then Pienhor, then Lerya, then finally, Treyal. Treyal wept bitterly, for she had to see all her other sisters slain. Then she wept for a moment, and said, “May my blood yet bless this reddened ground!” Then Thruanin’s sword fell upon her heart, and she died.
The six brothers left.
When Tiendar and Venyai did not see their children again for the evening meal, they began to grow worried, for their trip was to be a short one. Then they, with troubled hearts, began to send search parties in search of them. The searcher found their dead bodies on the ground in the northern stretch of the lake. They brought their slain bodies to Venyai, then Tiendar. The whole household wept for many a season afterward.
Now Amentoris the Wise saw his faithful Servant’s distress, and he came down from his great abode in Thol-Maran to speak with Tiendar and Venyai. When he first came down, he did not speak, but only sat down and wept with them. Then, when they had settled themselves, Amentoris spoke to them.
“My friend, I have heard your sorrow, and have seen the sadness in your eyes. I come to pay my deepest condolences.”
Then Tiendar looked up and said, “My Lord, You have come!”
Amentoris smiled sadly, and held Tiendar’s hand firmly, and comfortingly.
They spoke quietly of things, of other things, that took Tiendar’s and Venyai’s minds off of sorrow. But their minds came back to their children’s murder. And they beseeched Amentoris the Mighty, “Oh great One, could You not have prevented it? Could You not have allowed them to live?”
Amentoris looked into their eyes, and his eyes were sorrowful. “Oh my dear friend, I cannot explain all now, but one day, when the world is no more and you will return to dwell with me in Thol-Maran, I can explain, but for now, I cannot.”
“But, as a reminder, and a gift, I will give you my last token of love to you.” He pointed to the sky. “See that bow of seven colors in the firmament. Of red, and orange, and yellow, and green, and blue, and sea-indigo blue, and violet. That shall be my gift. May it be a bittersweet reminder for all of us to see, in memory of each of the colors that your children had chosen as their own,” he paused, “Then may this be. A gift, a reminder, a joy, a sorrow, a beam of hope to this world, as Endramius may endure.”
Then Amentoris’s presence left them. Leaving the rainbow to hang there, for the rest of time.
At this Neler, the eldest daughter shook her head, but did not speak until she had thought a little more. “I know not what to say of this, for though truly they ask for our hands in marriage, who but Amentoris can judge their spirits and deepest thoughts? Nevertheless, we must discern what we may. What say you, Father, Mother?”
Tiendar and Venyai heard this, and remained silent for a while. Venyai ancient gray hair gleamed briefly like silver, as did Tiendar’s beard, but then it stopped. They turned up to their children, and smiled somberly. “Perhaps, it would be wise to bid the sons of Dyavan to come again to our house, so our children may speak with them, as is the ancient custom. However, we must be wary, and keep our eyes and ears and minds open and alert. Then we shall make our choice.”
And so it was. The messengers were sent back to Dyavan’s household, at which, when Dyavan heard the reply, brought his sons together and was furious, for he hadn’t until then realized what his sons had done. “What is the meaning of this? Your iniquity is testament to the training of your mother and scorning of your father!”
Alas, the father sent his sons away to Tiendar’s house, though without his blessing, and sent them with many gifts and golden-made objects to the house of Tiendar (to make all appearance all was well in the Court of Dyavan). The six sons left immediately, and sojourned for two weeks and two days. They were welcomed into the house, though not as warmly as when Dyavan had first come, for the daughters were careful and wary.
For the first and second days, the brothers remained ever courteous, constantly being good in seemingly all ways. But during the third day, Thelin the Eldest son requested that he and his brothers could speak with the Sisters. The message was sent to Tiendar (who was elsewhere in his realm). To this, Tiendar accepted, though he insisted that he and Licoann be there at each meeting, for Tiendar had desired to be careful with this potential arrangement.
Thelin and the Brothers consented, and so Thelin, the eldest, met with Neler the Eldest, as was the custom. Tiendar and Licoann sat between the two, but watched closely. They met by the lakeside, and spoke. Neler asked of Thelin many questions, of interests, of wisdom, of passions, and of morality. What she found in the Thelin the Fay was warlike of heart, strong in will, brave, but lacked the control to hold his own might. Yet, though she was not pleased, she spoke a little more before until sunset arrived, and they group left for the evening meal.
The next day, the second eldest, Baranin, and the second eldest, Feian met. They spoke, and Feian found the same in his heart.
Then Borthonin met with Thiendori, then Carin with Pienhor, then Thruilin and Lerya, and then finally Thruanin with Treyal. After this, the family of Tiendar took counsel once more, and they spoke as one. They all found, though, that the Sons of Dyavan were as Neler had perceived; willful, uncontrolled, fearless, yet not disciplined in righteousness or the way of right. Their father had seen this, but had perceived also a kind of darkness over his heart whenever he saw the swords at the Brothers’ waists. This he spoke of none to, except Venyai (many a season later). This was one of the least wise of the acts of Tiendar, though he was discerning and upright throughout his immortal days on Endramius. Perhaps had he brought his troubled thoughts to Amentoris the Wise, the course of events may have differed, but he did not, and he regretted his silence.
But for the time, Tiendar spoke carefully, and he and his family declined the brothers’ proposals. But though they refused, they still invited the Sons of Dyavan to a great feast at Tiendar’s table. A messenger was sent, and Thelin received the news in his apartments (for all guests of Tiendar and Venyai were given large staying quarters). Thelin read this, and was infuriated, and he flew into a terrible rage, for ever had his desire been growing, and his initial disappointment turned itself into the black form of hate. He then read the message to his brothers, and they too became angry. Now in his rage, Thelin devised a second wicked scheme, now for the purpose of obtaining vengeance. He suggested this, “My brothers, we have been scornfully rejected by the great house of Tiendar the Steward. He and his household have believed that their place shall be happier without our presence here. We must deprive them of happiness forever! We, of the Greater Fays, sons of Dyavan the Mighty, shall, by this time in three days, slay the six daughters of Tiendar!”
It was done. They declined the feast, and pretended to need to be on their way home, on the pretense their father was expecting them. They then left, cordially making their farewells and blessings upon the household of Tiendar. But they only had left the borders of Tiendar’s realm before they stopped, and camped there. Every day they would move silently towards the Dinkaron Lake, and waited for the six daughters to pass by. The first and second day yielded nothing. But on the third day, Thelin (who had been scouting, sighted the six daughters with Licoann their brother, and he quickly returned to his camp to alert his brothers. They were ready, and ever so silently they crept back into Tiendar’s realm.
They sighted the Stewards again, and stalked them silently. Alas, when they had stopped by the lakeside for a drink, the six brothers sprang their trap, and rushed out of the woods. Licoann drew his sword the instant he saw them, and he call his sisters to go behind him. Then Thruanin fell upon Licoann first, with his sword drawn, and the two fought fiercely. Thelin drew his sword out, and slew Licoann from a mighty spear thrust from his side. The other brothers rushed upon the sisters. They had at first intended to rape the six Stewards, but Thruanin and Thelin had been adamant, for they wanted nothing other than their swords to touch the six daughters. The other brothers consented, and, one by one, the slowly plunged their swords into the six daughters they had once desired.
As each daughter fell, each cried out “May Amentoris remember us!”
Then each perished.
Neler fell first, followed by Feian, then Thiendori, then Pienhor, then Lerya, then finally, Treyal. Treyal wept bitterly, for she had to see all her other sisters slain. Then she wept for a moment, and said, “May my blood yet bless this reddened ground!” Then Thruanin’s sword fell upon her heart, and she died.
The six brothers left.
When Tiendar and Venyai did not see their children again for the evening meal, they began to grow worried, for their trip was to be a short one. Then they, with troubled hearts, began to send search parties in search of them. The searcher found their dead bodies on the ground in the northern stretch of the lake. They brought their slain bodies to Venyai, then Tiendar. The whole household wept for many a season afterward.
Now Amentoris the Wise saw his faithful Servant’s distress, and he came down from his great abode in Thol-Maran to speak with Tiendar and Venyai. When he first came down, he did not speak, but only sat down and wept with them. Then, when they had settled themselves, Amentoris spoke to them.
“My friend, I have heard your sorrow, and have seen the sadness in your eyes. I come to pay my deepest condolences.”
Then Tiendar looked up and said, “My Lord, You have come!”
Amentoris smiled sadly, and held Tiendar’s hand firmly, and comfortingly.
They spoke quietly of things, of other things, that took Tiendar’s and Venyai’s minds off of sorrow. But their minds came back to their children’s murder. And they beseeched Amentoris the Mighty, “Oh great One, could You not have prevented it? Could You not have allowed them to live?”
Amentoris looked into their eyes, and his eyes were sorrowful. “Oh my dear friend, I cannot explain all now, but one day, when the world is no more and you will return to dwell with me in Thol-Maran, I can explain, but for now, I cannot.”
“But, as a reminder, and a gift, I will give you my last token of love to you.” He pointed to the sky. “See that bow of seven colors in the firmament. Of red, and orange, and yellow, and green, and blue, and sea-indigo blue, and violet. That shall be my gift. May it be a bittersweet reminder for all of us to see, in memory of each of the colors that your children had chosen as their own,” he paused, “Then may this be. A gift, a reminder, a joy, a sorrow, a beam of hope to this world, as Endramius may endure.”
Then Amentoris’s presence left them. Leaving the rainbow to hang there, for the rest of time.
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