The Tale of Ingrey

This tale is set    in the south of its world,
where a ship, from its icy    island home,
northward has sailed    from the Southern Sea,
to moorage safe    in a mainland port.
The men have scoured    the markets around
to find the finest    and freshest of foods,
their safe arrival    to celebrate,
while their leader has been    abroad in the city
about the business    that brought them here.
Sun has set    ere they see him returning,
bringing a stranger    striding beside him,
an honored guest    to grace their feast.
Food in plenty    piles the tables
and wealth of drink    to wash it down
and speed the tongue    to speech or saga.
At length the leader    looks to his guest.
"Good," he remarks,    "you grow less glum.
I will honor you now    with Ingorry's Tale."
 
        And he rises.

Hear now the tale    of Ingrey kin Wolfcliff,
who fought with a bear    of the floating sea-ice
that sinful men    had maddened to fury,
stealing for gold    the gods' own blessing.
No blood did he shed,    no blow did he strike
save a single stroke    of his sword to earth
and a weirding word    as weighty as stone.

In the north, in the country    they call the Weald,
did Ardric the old,    of the Harefield kindred,
breathe his last    in the bed of his fathers.
Many the kinfolk    who came to mourn him,
his body to give    to the grave in honor,
his soul to the gods,    as sign should show.
Five are the gods,    the greatest of souls.
Five were the beasts    brought for the sign:
A hen for the Daughter,    all azure and violet,
the Mother's bird,    of a brilliant green,
for the Son, a colt    the color of copper,
the Father, a hound    like a fogbank gray.
And last in the line,    leisurely pacing,
a great ice-bear    of the Bastard's white.

How came he hither,    from home so far?
A wanderer brought him,    wisdom seeking.
Years before,    he found in a rockfall
a trembling cub    by the corpse of its mother
on the Daughter's Day,    the dawn of springtime.
Fafa he named it    and fondly reared it.
But now he would beg    a boon of the Temple:
a missioner, learned    in the lore of the gods
to teach his people    the paths of the Five.
Ill it befits    one asking a gift
to come to the hall    with empty hands.
His beloved bear    he brought therefore
on a silver chain,    and a chest of silver,
and casks of the heady    island ale
that strong men savor    in sips on the tongue.
So came Fafa    to serve the gods.

Now would the Five    in the Father's courtyard
signal the fate    of the soul of Ardric.
The hen stirred not    from her handler's side.
The green bird gripped    the green-clad arm.
Still was the colt    and quiet it stood.
But the dog, when led    by leash to the bier,
nuzzled with nose    and nestled beside it:
a sign for his sons    to see, and to know
that the Father had taken    their father home.
Forward then    came Fafa the bear,
strong and steady    of step and gaze.
White the fur    of Fafa the bear,
white the garb    of the groom who held him.
Whiter his face    and the fists that clenched
on the silver chain    to check and choke,
cruelly breaking    breath and stride.
Little did Fafa    love this bridle,
shook his head    and harshly grumbled.
Shrilly the mourners    shrieked in panic,
running for safety    or rushing to aid.
Suddenly forward    Fafa strode,
locked his jaws    on the leg of Ardric,
dragged the corpse    from the court of the Father
grimly glaring    and growling in warning.
The groom as well    in his wake he towed,
stumbling and gasping    with staring eyes,
swinging wide    on the silver chain.
Hand over hand    he hauled himself
toward the gripping jaws    and grabbed for the corpse.
The bear half-rose    and reached for the man,
struck at his side    and sent him reeling,
screaming prayers    and scattering blood.

That hour was Ingrey    on errand near.
Hearing riot    and running ready,
he witnessed the stroke    that wounded the groom
and placed himself    in the path of the bear,
raising his sword    to slay the monster.
Blocked and baffled,    the bear rose upright,
roaring in rage.    The red jaws gaped
as Fafa stood    to his full   size,
towering over    the top of Ingrey,
half again    his height and more.
Above Ingrey's back    the bright-edged blade
found the level    of Fafa's heart,
like an arrow drawn    and eager to fly
and kiss with blood    the breast of the foe.
From Ingrey's throat    then thunder rang,
a single word    in a weirding voice
that rolled and echoed    around the court.
"Down!" he bade    the bear, and carved
with sword a shining    circle in air,
then swung its tip    to touch the earth.
Low the bear    then bowed to Ingrey,
abasing himself    like a servant shamed
and staring up    in awe from the floor.

All were staggered    who heard that word,
as if lightning    had lashed the air
and blown them back    with blast of storm --
all but the groom,    with gaping eyes
fleeing crabwise    across the floor.
Ingrey seized him,    sword forgotten,
lifted the man    as lightly as mother
whisking her babe    away from the hearth.
To the holy fire    in the heart of the courtyard
Ingrey bore    the babbling groom
and pressed his back    to the base that held it,
leaning him over    the licking flames
with feet beating    above the floor
and throat by terror    tightened to silence.
Inches before him,    Ingrey spoke.
Low was his voice,    but vast it carried:
"Where is the fool    who defiled the rite?
What were you bribed,    the blessing to thwart?"
Bidden, the groom    found breath and tongue:
"I confess my fault!    The Father's man
said there would be    no sin, no harm!
Harm me not!"    Ingrey loosed him
to crumple and fall    to the floor in tears,
his smock asmolder    and smeared with blood.
"Lies!" cried the groom    in gray, "He lies!"
and "Silence, boy!"    to the Bastard's groom,
who pled, "All silver    seemed his eyes
and a terrible weirding    weighted his words!"

The while, a man    in white had come.
His robe was bare    of braid or sign
but sharply he spoke    to the shuddering groom:
"If weirding it was,    'twere well to heed."
Soon many among    the mourners were shouting
of bastardy, bribery,    breaking of faith,
and who should inherit    Ardric's wealth.
The one in white    to the wanderer spoke,
"Until the Temple    unties this coil,
best take your bear    back to your boat."
Gladly the traveler    took up the chain
but Fafa whimpered    and would not stir
till once again    the weirding voice
echoed rolling    from Ingrey's lips.
Then the bear rose    and ran to his master,
who led him back    to lair on his ship.