Out of that red twilight they came crossing the horizon as they surmounted the crest of those dark hills, long black shadows of nothing fit to quench the last gasps of that dying sun and it slid behind the hills and into embrace of mother night. Down past the warnings they came great piles of bones and skulls set upon spears jaws hanging loose and gaping lost in the maudlin laughter of death and past the fetishes protections against the other place warnings against spirits, devils, djinn and the hand of man.
What fear we? We brave men, we sons of brave men: Hai Vithana. Up into saddles we went, leather worn smooth under constant use, stained brown with blood and viscera with chasing of silver, foriegn work, lost under the skulls of enemies slain hair still stuck to skeletal brows. Hands heft lances, fingers run the length of bow-strings checking for moisture and men nuzzle their horses gauze covered heads which made them look like the veiled equine brides of desperate men.
There were but two of them. There were many of us. I said let us be at them. Out past the tree that hung over our hide we rode the sound of hooves muted by the sand and booties made of leather. All that could be seen was the steam rising from horse and man's noses. All that coule be heard was the cracking of the desert as it set down to slumber. Into the wadi we rode the false green of its trees fit to attract fools obscured in the steam and darknesss. Out of it we passed and with its passing went any semblance of life as the sand piled up in deep drifts fit to drown a man if he strayed from that unmarked path.
Even our harnesses were wrapped. Soft linen proof against sound. Our shoes removed for the same. All of our clothes tight against bodies hard with hunger and want and need. Of souls long since estranged from that other place where the women lived and laughter prevailed. That place where we were not yet welcome. In the darkness sometimes muffled against a grooms own veil came a curse as a horse-bride stumbled upon a rock for which it could not see. Not once did we come down to walk our loves. They knew the path as sure as we.
Now they are fading into darkness embraced in the blackness from whence they came as they passs the horizon into the lee of that hill. Out of sight and into imagination they walked our co-heirs to that dark night; our of courage and into fear went we. The stars dipped dimmed turn on themselves in a dance all of their own making and with a final turn they hide their faces to us. Into darkness we plunged. The moon did not dance but hid amidst a cloudless sky. The light of her eye winked out and a stream of light poured forth racing across the sky. We knew not then but they were her tears.
We rode on we the brave. Past fear into terror. The path lost to us though we had ridden it much. Horses plunging on into nothingness. They spoke to us then not in the language of men but in the way of horses. A quiet whinny of sadness for us on that ride. We knew then that we had died. In time they walked upon two legs carrying us along like babes holding us in the crook of their hooves against the beating of their hearts. Lost we rode on, man unto horse, horse unto man. Eyes straining against the veil that covers all things.
Soon the laughing began. Harsh sounds, easy to confuse with the desert fox. Erupting bursting upon the silence piercing it. Then nothing. We saw nothing. Heard naught but the beating of equine hearts. The horses had stilled. Sadness fading into silence. We moaned all collective in our grief and in the knowing of our fate. Lost. Lost of soul. Lost of fixed things. Left in torpor and darkness. Uncertainty and error our guide. We moaned once more. A flicker against the nothing just the barest crack. Nothing to see with eyes. But deeper than that rubbing the soul raw in its intensity and ambiguity and want. We cried then. Not for fear. We had long gone past that but for hope.
Darkness and silence. Hope and light. Again and again it changed. First pushing against our soul, then our hearts, prodding at the receptacles of our hope, kicking up against our minds opening them to it. To her. Once more we moaned. It dimmed threatening to burn out and leave us in obscurity. We prayed in the old way though we had no cause to. It burned shifting past our eyes and into our minds a great light illuminating us for what we were burning asunder that which it found wanting shifting and changing us in that light. Error fled its cry while uncertainty died. It burned low again then blue like the poor man's candle of fat starved of sustenance.
Then words came to us unbidden etched in our hearts though we had known them not. Words to prayers to a lady we knew not. It burned slipping past our mind and into our heart. Burning out ignorance and vice. And left in its place her. Eyes afire. Red as mulberries. Mark of the Gods. She turned. Figure of glory. Face shielded from us behind a veil of finest gauze. She danced away and the light passed from us. She sung alien tunes and it returned beaming to the rise and fall of her voice. We wept for salvation. She smiled.
And it shifted once more. Away from our heart deeper still into the soul. Searching pearcing. Eyes flaming like hottest coals. And the horses rode us. Drove us forward. Our heads against their breasts still. The beating of hearts long since lost to the intensity of the flames. Once more she smiled. And into our mind flowed her words you shall know I come when the horses shall walk on two feet and shall speak in the tongues of men.
Out of the darkness we rode. Into a fire that burned and into the company of the men we had proposed to kill. They had heard us long before, seen us almost as long and they had sat while we stood transfixed by her and lit a fire and cooked a string of rabbits and prepared flat-bread on the rocks around the edge of the fire. Sane men would not have stopped as they did. Sane men would not have stopped as we did. Their eyes fixed on us. No mercy. No sense. Cunning. Cruel. I knew then what the hare feels. Not before his last moment but before the chase. That moment of freedom sweet to savor snapping instantly into fear.
They were dressed in cowls of rags finger-bones to hold their hair a skull upon their staffs and ears pricked through with ribs like the evils of old. Not men then but monsters. Fit to pluck fingers from hands, rip skulls from necks and pull ribs like teeth. Not monsters then but gathers of men. They looked and we sat. And long into the night did they tell us of her. Our lady. Our temptress of the soul. Our wife.
What fear we? We brave men, we sons of brave men: Hai Vithana. Up into saddles we went, leather worn smooth under constant use, stained brown with blood and viscera with chasing of silver, foriegn work, lost under the skulls of enemies slain hair still stuck to skeletal brows. Hands heft lances, fingers run the length of bow-strings checking for moisture and men nuzzle their horses gauze covered heads which made them look like the veiled equine brides of desperate men.
There were but two of them. There were many of us. I said let us be at them. Out past the tree that hung over our hide we rode the sound of hooves muted by the sand and booties made of leather. All that could be seen was the steam rising from horse and man's noses. All that coule be heard was the cracking of the desert as it set down to slumber. Into the wadi we rode the false green of its trees fit to attract fools obscured in the steam and darknesss. Out of it we passed and with its passing went any semblance of life as the sand piled up in deep drifts fit to drown a man if he strayed from that unmarked path.
Even our harnesses were wrapped. Soft linen proof against sound. Our shoes removed for the same. All of our clothes tight against bodies hard with hunger and want and need. Of souls long since estranged from that other place where the women lived and laughter prevailed. That place where we were not yet welcome. In the darkness sometimes muffled against a grooms own veil came a curse as a horse-bride stumbled upon a rock for which it could not see. Not once did we come down to walk our loves. They knew the path as sure as we.
Now they are fading into darkness embraced in the blackness from whence they came as they passs the horizon into the lee of that hill. Out of sight and into imagination they walked our co-heirs to that dark night; our of courage and into fear went we. The stars dipped dimmed turn on themselves in a dance all of their own making and with a final turn they hide their faces to us. Into darkness we plunged. The moon did not dance but hid amidst a cloudless sky. The light of her eye winked out and a stream of light poured forth racing across the sky. We knew not then but they were her tears.
We rode on we the brave. Past fear into terror. The path lost to us though we had ridden it much. Horses plunging on into nothingness. They spoke to us then not in the language of men but in the way of horses. A quiet whinny of sadness for us on that ride. We knew then that we had died. In time they walked upon two legs carrying us along like babes holding us in the crook of their hooves against the beating of their hearts. Lost we rode on, man unto horse, horse unto man. Eyes straining against the veil that covers all things.
Soon the laughing began. Harsh sounds, easy to confuse with the desert fox. Erupting bursting upon the silence piercing it. Then nothing. We saw nothing. Heard naught but the beating of equine hearts. The horses had stilled. Sadness fading into silence. We moaned all collective in our grief and in the knowing of our fate. Lost. Lost of soul. Lost of fixed things. Left in torpor and darkness. Uncertainty and error our guide. We moaned once more. A flicker against the nothing just the barest crack. Nothing to see with eyes. But deeper than that rubbing the soul raw in its intensity and ambiguity and want. We cried then. Not for fear. We had long gone past that but for hope.
Darkness and silence. Hope and light. Again and again it changed. First pushing against our soul, then our hearts, prodding at the receptacles of our hope, kicking up against our minds opening them to it. To her. Once more we moaned. It dimmed threatening to burn out and leave us in obscurity. We prayed in the old way though we had no cause to. It burned shifting past our eyes and into our minds a great light illuminating us for what we were burning asunder that which it found wanting shifting and changing us in that light. Error fled its cry while uncertainty died. It burned low again then blue like the poor man's candle of fat starved of sustenance.
Then words came to us unbidden etched in our hearts though we had known them not. Words to prayers to a lady we knew not. It burned slipping past our mind and into our heart. Burning out ignorance and vice. And left in its place her. Eyes afire. Red as mulberries. Mark of the Gods. She turned. Figure of glory. Face shielded from us behind a veil of finest gauze. She danced away and the light passed from us. She sung alien tunes and it returned beaming to the rise and fall of her voice. We wept for salvation. She smiled.
And it shifted once more. Away from our heart deeper still into the soul. Searching pearcing. Eyes flaming like hottest coals. And the horses rode us. Drove us forward. Our heads against their breasts still. The beating of hearts long since lost to the intensity of the flames. Once more she smiled. And into our mind flowed her words you shall know I come when the horses shall walk on two feet and shall speak in the tongues of men.
Out of the darkness we rode. Into a fire that burned and into the company of the men we had proposed to kill. They had heard us long before, seen us almost as long and they had sat while we stood transfixed by her and lit a fire and cooked a string of rabbits and prepared flat-bread on the rocks around the edge of the fire. Sane men would not have stopped as they did. Sane men would not have stopped as we did. Their eyes fixed on us. No mercy. No sense. Cunning. Cruel. I knew then what the hare feels. Not before his last moment but before the chase. That moment of freedom sweet to savor snapping instantly into fear.
They were dressed in cowls of rags finger-bones to hold their hair a skull upon their staffs and ears pricked through with ribs like the evils of old. Not men then but monsters. Fit to pluck fingers from hands, rip skulls from necks and pull ribs like teeth. Not monsters then but gathers of men. They looked and we sat. And long into the night did they tell us of her. Our lady. Our temptress of the soul. Our wife.