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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Demon Dream - 3. Following On
.
Some one hour later,
The trail growing dimmer
With each footfall they made,
And the shadows taking
The last hue from the plants,
Tarogo stopped to light
The wick in the lantern.
It was while he was stooped
The sound first came to him.
Nearly toppling over,
Thinking the meadow grass
Had somehow conjured song,
And was singing to him.
He jolted to his feet,
But Yukei raised his hand
To keep his servant hushed.
For deep from within the
Sea of switchgrass prairie,
The men could hear a chant
Rise as faint as if from
The crescent moon inching
Above the waves of green.
“Listen,” Yukei then said,
“We’ll let these strains of song
Be our guide and loadstone.
If the people are good
To wayward travelers,
They’ll offer us shelter.”
Room and board, Tarogo
Had no objections, but –
What irked him was Yukei’s
“If.” If they were good folks –
But then, what if they're not?
Lantern-less they started;
Stepped off the relative
Safety of the roadway,
And into the dark wilds.
By the time the moon had
Tracked a part of the sky,
The travelers’ progress
Made them appear as two
Dismembered heads floating
Atop the rustling grass.
Ever following on
To where the singing led.
Entering the clearing,
They stumbled on a shack,
Which, from its roof of thatch,
Seemed more straw than structure.
From the house, a clearing
Held the wild plain at bay
In all directions by
A dozen yards or so.
Otherwise the grass would
Consume the thatch of the
Little house carved from it.
In the quartered moonlight
Casting blue character
Of the haziest sort,
Contrasts of height and width;
Of ground and growth, diffused
A rounded appearance
To every opposite.
And all moaned in pleasure
When the night caressed them.
The singing was louder
And more mysterious
As its notes blended with
The natural world which
Couched it in such beauty.
Tarogo, uneasy
As the first to see this,
Got a shock when he turned
To Yukei behind him;
He’d sort of forgotten
Anyone else was there.
Instantly recovered
Once more, his eyes grew round
With fearful panic that
He had been rude to his
Own earthy provider.
He humbly begged pardon.
Coming ‘round to the front,
Yukei then boldly stepped
Into the clearing and
Cupped hands around his mouth.
Towards the shack’s front door
He shouted out calmly:
“Greetings unto this house.
May we meet the one who
Dwells within this abode?”
Within, the enchanted,
Siren voice drawing them
Barely lowered a hitch
As it sang its eerie
Tale of ancestral woe.
However, when the door
Slid on its frame a bit,
Letting flickering spill
On the colorless ground,
The song faded away.
In the modest doorway
Stood a frail old woman.
The two traveling men
Looked on with mouths agape
For the peasant appeared
Quite old indeed as she
Got down on creaky knees,
Assuming the perfect
Attitude of deep-bowed
Humility to them.
“Dear grandma,” Yukei said,
Stepping from the clearing
Into the door’s squared light.
“Such formality’s not
Warranted on a night
As lonely as this one.”
Helping her stand, he asked,
“Gran, where is thy husband?”
Now to Yukei’s glancing,
The deep-furrowed wrinkles
Of the old one’s face showed
Heroic endurance.
“Oh, master,” she began,
“Please forgive me, but he
Died a lifetime ago.”
Assisted to her feet,
The slightly winded lord
Bid Tarogo step close,
For he’d stayed by the grass.
“Dear, gray-headed lady,”
The master assured her,
“You have nothing to fear
From I or my servant.”
‘Or,’ Tarogo wondered
Silently to himself,
‘Had we better her fear…?’
But within an instant,
The thought was driven off.
Yukei started once more.
“We’ve travelers who’ve lost
The day and guiding warmth,
For thieving petty night
Would steal our fuel, but give
No direction in turn.
May we rest our worn bones
By the hearth that comforts
The ground you inhabit?”
She glanced slowly, shyly
From one man’s hopeful face
To a second less sure.
To Yukei she replied,
“My lord, those of heaven
May find it a sore task
To wrest some rest from earth,
But what little I have
Is at your disposal.”
Her timid utterance
Then stooped with her into
A truly humbled bow.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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