[archaeolept]

Song for a young Jarl

Wails and weepings were the words
of the wives widowed on the north coasts;
from a monstrous terror, striking,
out of the sea's cruel heart.

The Wyrm laid waste, wicked
in the wreck of the Van. Many a hearth's smoke,
down against the trees' line, dark on the water;
the flames, free from their proper bond-place.

So roused the angry one, out of his sick-couch,
calling to him his sword servants and thanes,
and to him his jarl Andre; he of whose fury,
the good lord approved.

Along the kestrel's clamour, out
from wind's home, our lord and bondsman
spied now the beast; massive with menace,
from out of the forest's torn flank.

Prepared they for battle, using the old ways
and wiles of the Vannish. And the beast it did also;
yet the mists held no secrets
from the lord of the Van.

Vast in its bulk, the vile sea-thing
roared out some challenge, heads rampant, sprays toxin;
young Andre felt fear's clasp, yet
stayed steady for his dread liege.

Two swords flamed in the dawn's light, and two serpent's heads
met and missed, the bloody back and forth,
until the Jarl Andre struck in with his true axe.
The fiend, screamed and lashed at his baned one; his two heads tearing in twain.

Yet the Wyrm's ribs now jutted,
ships staves on the founder;
and it, feeling the doom's dire, sped for the cliff's edge,
seeking sea's safety.

But the lord of the Aesir, avenging his sworn one,
cut down the beast by the clash of the waves.
Down to the muck was layed low the mighty Wyrm Pasha;
and the Lord burnt one head on the cairn of his bondsman.