The Psalm of Peace: Kindling of The Flame

Brother and Sister Moon

 

Praise to you Ruvyn, moon brother

Power, might, and wisdom in your light

Penetrating, strong, and bold like no other

Plunge the sky in your ruby might

 

Praise to you Syviss, sister moon

Peace and hope your light bestow

Prudent, kind, and calming tune

Present the sky with your pure glow

 

Previously, light and dark were mixed in one

Power and hope took to the sky together

Passing time side by side, light drowned by none

Pristine was the glow of moon sister and brother

 

Pivotal was the separation, the betrayal of

Prideful Ruvyn to his sister Syviss

Possessed by desire for another’s love

Profane treachery was Ruvyn’s remiss

 

Passionate Ruvyn and Syviss aggrieved

Parted until the End of Days

Praise the moons forever cleaved

Paint the sky as one sleeps and the other stays

 

• Ballad from the Psalm of Peace

 

​       Faint, flickering lamplight pushed back the ominous shadows that clung to the dark trunks of Lotorn’s Scarlet Wilds. Gnarled trees reached down out of the dark canopy toward a solitary intruder who traversed the cracked and overgrown cobblestone path that cut through the woods like a healing scar. He came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the path and raised the flame up high. Although its light was nearly engulfed by the darkness surrounding him, the faint candlelight stabbed at the obscurity, piercing the blackness to reveal wispy tendrils of eerie fog swirling in a vortex around his finely shod feet. He had lost the trail about fifty yards back and hoped that the lantern he clung to would reveal his destination. Unfortunately, the thick fog made it impossible to discern any landmarks or signs that he was on the right path.  
       Above, distant thunder rumbled prompting the hooded figure to lift his head ever so slightly toward the sky.  The thick darkness and overhanging blood red leaves, for which the forest had earned its name, suffocated any flash that lightning might have made to dispel some of the shadows. Despite the dim illumination, it was impossible to miss the foliage that hung low on skeletal finger-like branches. In the erratic dancing of the firelight, it was easy to understand why the locals claimed that any who ventured too far into the Scarlet Wilds risked losing their souls to the very trees themselves. What little he could see of the sky past the crimson foliage had grown crowded with dark thunderclouds that parted briefly, uncloaking the pale azure light emanating from the month’s last full moon. Known by most as Syviss, the pale moon. It hung there like a beacon from the heavens above for only a moment and then it was gone again.   
       The long silence broke as the groaning branch of a dying tree creaked and fell to the forest floor not too far away sending an unsettling echo throughout The Wilds. The tall, slender man tensed, and although he didn’t show it outwardly, anxious energy rippled through every part of his body; the foreboding feeling of dread growing with every moment he spent in this ominous place. Taking a moment to gather his courage, the hooded figure continued down his path, steady and unwavering. 
He tried to ignore the subtle rustling overhead, hoping it was just the wind disturbing old dying leaves, causing them to shower down and obscure the pathway. But as he continued, the crimson leaves fell slower than he would have expected. He stopped, watching the eerie scene before him and just before the foliage reached the forest floor, an impossibly warm draft of air swept them up again. He stood frozen like a statue in the center of the pathway, watching the mysterious breeze lift the leaves in a way that made them appear to be falling upward. 
       With shrouded eyes, he followed them up toward the sky and just as the leaves disappeared amongst the treetops, the unnaturally warm air that had propelled them upward seemed to coalesce and slither back down to the forest floor. Invisible, the eerie breeze displaced the leaves that had settled there, cutting a path toward the stranger, sweeping toward him at a speed that gave him no time to retreat. It seductively climbed his legs and ascended his spine like the caressing feeling of a lover’s fingers moving up his back. As the living breeze progressed upward however, its temperature decreased until he no longer felt the pleasurable touch of a paramour, but an icy stab at the nape of his neck of something much more deadly. The cold acuity threatened to tear down his resolve, to rip away the courage that he clung to, but as mysteriously as it had come, it disappeared.
       Determined to continue his mission, the shrouded figure clenched his teeth and fought against the urge to sweep the skin at the back of his neck. Superstition overpowered him and he brought a gloved hand back to confirm that nothing was there. Gooseflesh rising, he let his hand drop and turned his attention toward his goal. It was then that he realized that the old path ended where he stood. Retreating into the cowl that covered his face, the man squinted into the darkness. He lifted his lantern again and turned in a circle, searching for some kind of trail marker that would point him in the right direction, but there was none. Instead, glowing faintly in the distant gloom, was a single iron lantern hanging loosely on a rusty chain at the entrance of a small wooden cottage which appeared to have materialized from nowhere.
       Despite his reluctance to remain where he was, he considered the rotting structure that looked as if the dark underbelly of the wilds itself was trying to claim it. It looked like a place a witch would live. He was told that she would not be easy to find and that once he had found her, he would wish he had never sought her out. Thus far, what he had been told had proven to be true, but he had questions. Questions that needed answers. Finally, after a longer pause than he would like to have made, he leaned forward and started walking across the remaining distance. 
      The eerie sight of what could only be her house lived up to its reputation. As he walked closer, the man could see no path to the cottage. He searched the ferns and barbed vines, hoping to at least find a game trail. He used a foot to move the underbrush aside and found that the ground was littered with the bones of small animals. The sudden feeling of eyes watching him from the darkness made him swing the lantern out wide and he came face to face with a bleached white deer skull. His heart leapt in his chest at the sudden encounter and he nearly dropped his light. 
      Angered by how easily he had been startled by the skull balanced on a thorny stick, he pulled his hood lower over his face and snarled. The man supposed that the witch had placed the bones where they were to deter any unwanted guests, but he was no coward, and it would take a lot more than bones to scare him. He growled in frustration, thrusting the lamp in his hand ahead of him but, just before he decided to brave the thorny undergrowth, a rusted iron band, half buried in the dirt, glinted in the candlelight. Using his foot to push dark red ferns to the side, he found several rotting planks of wood held in place by thick iron bands. What had once been an obvious route to the cottage, was now grown over and barely visible. 
      Keeping his eyes on the elusive footpath, the man warily placed a clean black boot on the first plank. It groaned under his weight and he inhaled sharply. Watery mud seeped up from the ground, threatening to suck his immaculate boots into the boggy mud below. Curling a lip in distaste, he thrust the lantern out further and could make out the next few planks that would keep him out of the mud. She would live in a bog! He cursed under his breath before he nimbly crossed the decrepit path, only slightly marring his boots in the process. 
      The last plank set him down on solid ground only a few paces from the cottage. From the cobblestone path, it had at least resembled something habitable, but from this close the hooded man could see that each rotting plank of the structure warped and bent at strange angles due to thick black vines that erupted from the ground and weaved between them. Long, malicious spikes sprouted from the vines, each of them just slightly longer than his fingers. Movement from out of the corner of his eye brought his attention to the crooked roof where coarse hair-like moss draped down. He could have sworn he had seen the vines slither between the gaps in the boards, but with his full attention on them, nothing so much as quivered. 
      Faint light flickered from the cracks that peppered the decaying shack, a subtle indicator of someone's presence within. An ominous atmosphere enveloped the small, shack-like building, sending a ripple of unease through the man’s body. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on his own lantern, the unyielding metal pressing into his palm. Ghostly wind taunted the lone lantern by the door, causing its feeble flame to dance and nearly vanish. With each unpredictable flicker, his breath hitched, his senses high on alert. The rusty metal chain securing the lantern scraped against its hook, unleashing a bone chilling screech. Startled, the man dropped his own light source to clap his hands over his ears, protecting them from the otherworldly sound.  
      The flame extinguished as wax splashed up over the wick and the darkness of the Scarlet Wilds wasted no time in crawling closer to the hooded figure. Looking into the predatory darkness, the cloaked man slowly lowered his hands and backed away from the encroaching gloom until he leaned with his back against the rickety door, scarcely lit by the only remaining flickering lantern. To his dismay, the hanging lantern beside him began to waver, encouraging the darkness to move ever closer. He felt his breathing quicken as he watched the oily front of the black shadows ooze toward him unperturbed by the boggy ground. Eyes wide, he spun around intending to demand entrance so that he could escape the wilds, but found the door swung open. An elderly woman stood in the doorway, backlit by a small cooking fire.  
      Her purple skirt hid her bare feet and over it she wore a black, silk blouse that covered almost her entire torso. She looked to have once been a tall woman, but now she stooped forward, her spine curving unnaturally at her shoulders. Her shriveled and disfigured ears were adorned with large golden hoops and a diamond that hung loosely through the upper part of her left ear, threatening to fall out. The matted white hair atop her head was pulled back into something that resembled a nag’s tail. It was too long for the man to measure as it trailed down her back, and to the other side of the room where it was piled in a dusty corner covered in superannuated cobwebs.   
   “I have been expecting you.” Her raspy voice cracked as she quietly spoke to the stranger at her doorstep.  “Come in and sit.” The man took one more look over his shoulder at the wilds only to find his lantern still alight on the ground, flooding the forest floor with its steady light. Had he imagined the encroaching darkness? “Shut the door behind you.” The woman added as an afterthought and led the hooded stranger to a chair placed under a small round table that looked nearly as old as the cottage itself. The chair was splintered and looked as if it would break the moment he sat in it, nonetheless he obeyed his hostess and cautiously lowered himself into the seat. 
      Glancing about from within the shelter of his cowl, the stranger could see that the one room house had short wax candles placed randomly throughout in attempt to banish the darkness. Their flames cast dancing shadows across the walls and floors as the woman shuffled by, giving the room a haunted aura. Unwelcomed thoughts of the darkness penetrating through the cracks in the walls made the stranger shiver. There was something very unnatural inhabiting the wilds tonight. 
      Shifting in his seat, the hooded man continued to cautiously survey his surroundings. His nose twitched, essence of cinnamon and other unknown scents filled the dwelling. The smell was pungent and overpowering, nearly stinging his eyes. He suspected the old crone was putting on tea or some other witches brew as she stood with her back turned to him in what served as her meager kitchen. 
      When she finally turned to face her guest, she carried a small tray with two cups of steaming liquid.  It teetered on the tray as she set it down and then painstakingly lowered herself to sit opposite him. She looked up from pushing a chipped eggshell blue cup his way with ancient, green eyes that peered into the shadows cast upon his hidden visage.  In reaction to a crawling sensation across his skin, like ants vigorously investigating the terrain of his face, the man leaned back in his chair and pulled the hood lower over his eyes.  He instinctively wiped a hand over his jaw to rid himself of any crawling insects, but his fingers only glided over the smooth, tortured surface of a scar that covered half of his face. He snarled when he remembered it was there.  Immediately, the crawling regressed, and he knew she was no longer searching his soul.  The woman grinned, revealing six gold teeth and discolored gums.  
      “You wish for me to tell you of your future.” She coughed a wet cough and sat silently looking down into her drink before slowly taking a sip. Still holding the cup, she looked back at the stranger without raising her chin. He nodded uncomfortably and she set the cup back on the table’s surface. When she straightened, his eyes were drawn to a sparkling crystal wrapped in a leather throng around her neck. It was a piece of jewelry that he did not expect to see on such a homely old woman. She didn’t seem to notice his peaked interest in her pendant and cleared her throat before she continued.
      “Well, let’s get started then.”  With agility unexpected from a woman of her age she waved her clammy palms over the smooth surface of the highly polished, antique table. Thick gray fog curled up from between the cracks, creating a small unnatural cloud of smoke.  Slowly the fog cleared, leaving a wrinkled deck of cards in front of the gypsy where there had been none only moments ago. Her dexterous fingers moved purposefully as she shuffled the deck before unexpectedly setting them aside.  
       “Your payment is required for me to go on,” She scowled “and you better hope you have some, because you don’t want to know what will happen if you came here just to waste my time.”  A tight, grim, smile stretched across her face once again as the hooded guest plunged his right hand into his cloak and held out a bag of coins that clinked as they shifted.  
        She quickly snatched the leather satchel from his hands and stuffed it into her skirt pocket as the other hand moved the cards in front of her.  She drew the first card and grinned, “Your life will be enjoyable… while it lasts.” Her voice was high in pitch and had a tendency to crack the longer she spoke.  The stranger was quiet.  Her words seemed rehearsed and dull, as if she had said this to all those who had come to seek her special abilities. Sensing a degree of charlatanism in her act, the hooded man began to relax, gaining confidence that he was not the more vulnerable of the two of them in the room. Leaning back in his chair he motioned for her to carry on.  
The old woman flipped another card, setting it face up on the table.  
      “The Emperor.  You will hold great power and your enemies will prostrate themselves before you in trepidation. You have the potential to gather many peoples under your leadership and rule with an unmovable force.”  She bowed her head to him as if she would to royalty.
Though she emanated some kind of power, this showmanship suggested she may not be much stronger than the delicate and fragile façade she had originally put on.  Smiling sarcastically in the darkness of his cowl he almost chastised himself for the apprehension he’d allowed himself to feel upon meeting the woman and even more for allowing the rumors of seers stealing souls to take hold in his mind.  He knew it was rare to come across someone who truly had the ability to peer into the future, but now due to her practiced words, he was almost certain that she was a fraud.  As she drew the next card a frown furrowed her brow.  
      “Your lust for power will be your demi –” Suddenly, as if her wispy hair had yanked her head back, she stared at the dust covered rafters through blank eyes and continued despite the unexpected dimming of all the candles in the room. “The Gods have put their champions into play and in less than one year’s time, life’s precious breath will be stolen from your lips.” Shaking the trance off like she’d been dowsed in freezing water, the old witch stopped, eyes darting nervously about the room and the stranger’s sense of foreboding returned.  The woman looked genuinely nervous, as if she was afraid to say what she saw from her prophetic trance. Skepticism battled within the man as he tried not to fall prey to imitation foresight, but curiosity got the better of him. He had to know what she saw, or what she thought she saw.
       “By what?  What will kill me?”  The stranger asked urgently trying to see over the card at the picture on the other side, hoping it would tell him what the gypsy wasn’t.  
         Still visibly shaken, she collected herself and took a breath. 
        “Ancient beings forged by the Gods to restore balance will descend upon you.”  She paused before revealing “Your Highness.” 
The stranger, no longer encumbered by secrecy lowered his hood, revealing himself. The right side of his face from his jaw to his brow looked like melted wax that had hardened just before sluffing from the bones beneath. Creases in the misshapen skin puckered in places where it had once been smooth. In a quiet, unyielding, tone The Prince continued,
        “What manner of creature are these beings?” His disfigured face was stern. Whether they be the Ruskan variety or those of the old religion, he didn’t believe in the Gods, but any threat to his life was something to be taken seriously.
        “The Psalm of Peace names them Lurreans. They are human in nature, but they carry within them power far greater than you could ever achieve.” The prince furrowed his brows as he tried to recall the prophecy she spoke of.  As a child, his tutors had often lectured to him about the importance of the Psalm of Peace, but he never did care much for prophecy, let alone the Gods. Frustrated, the prince stood, toppling his chair to the floor as he did so. 
        “How do I stop them?” 
        “The cards do not reveal this.” She muttered quickly, not bothering to be sure her words were intelligible. She seemed distracted like some impending doom was rushing toward the little cottage. Sweeping the cards up into her hands she stood and after pocketing them in the folds of her voluminous purple skirt, she grabbed The Prince under the elbow to guide him to the door.  
        “But it can be done? These Lurreans, they are human, so they can be slain?” His statement came out more like a question. The prince turned around just as he got outside the small hut to face the elderly woman. She already mostly shut the door, but his foot stopped her from shutting him out. There was a new look to the old woman’s face.  She looked at the man with undeniable fear, when just moments ago she treated him like a normal paying customer.  Through the crack that remained open, the witch finally spoke.
         “They can.” Taking advantage of his confusion, she used her bare foot to push his boot away from her entry and the heavy door screamed on its hinges when she pushed it closed in his face. 

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