Evagh the Warlock - Part 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The history of Evagh the Warlock.

Submitted: May 07, 2011

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Submitted: May 07, 2011



Evagh the warlock,
Dwelling beside the sea,
Was aware of many strange portents
In untimely mid-summer.

The Sun burned above Mhu Thulan.
At eve the aurora was hung from zenith to earth,
Like an arras in a high chamber of the gods.
Wan and rare were the poppies
Small the anemones in the vales
Lying behind the house of Evagh.

He beheld the unseasonable flight
Of great multitudes of fowl,
Going southward from the hidden isles
Beyond Mhu Thulan;
By night he heard the clamour of other multitudes.

Always, in the loud wind and crying surf,
He harkened to the weird whisper of voices
From realms of perennial winter.

Evagh was troubled by these portents.
Being a past-master of all sortilege,
A seer of remote and future things,
He made use of his arts in an effort
To divine their meaning.

A cloud was upon his eyes in daytime;
A darkness thwarted him when he sought
Illumination in dreams and travels.
His most horoscopes were put to naught;
His familiars were silent or answered him not;
Confusion was amongst his geomancies
Hydromancies and haruspications.

It seemed to Evagh that an unknown power
Worked against him, mocking
Making impotent a fashion the sorcery
That none had defeated heretofore.

Evagh entered the chamber of the black tower,
A fire burned in the chamber vault,
Piled with fat pine and terebinth,
A deadly chill invaded the air toward midnight.
As Evagh turned from the Parchments of Pnom,
And saw that the fire blazed high,
He heard the turmoil of a great wind full of birds,
The cries of land-fowl driven on helpless wings,
And over all a high laughter of diabolic voices.

Madly from the North the wind beat
Upon his square-based towers;
Birds were cast against the stout-paned windows;
Devils teared and strained at the granite walls.

The room’s door was shut and the windows closed,
An icy gust went round and round,
Circling the table where Evagh sat,
Snatching the broad Parchments of Pnom.

Vainly, with numbing thoughts,
He strove to recall that countercharm
Which is most effective against the spirits.
Strangely, it seemed that the wind fell,
Leaving a mighty stillness about the house.

The chill gust was gone from the room,
Something of warmth returned to Evagh.
A light shone beyond his chamber windows,
As if a belated Moon has now risen.

Evagh knew that the Moon was a thin crescent,
Declining with eventide that night.
The light shone from the North,
Pale and frigid as fire of ice;
Going to the window he beheld a great beam
Traversing all the Sea, from a hidden pole.

In that light the rocks were paler than marble,
The sands whiter than sea-salt or candle-wax.
The walled garden of Evagh was full of the beam,
Its blossoms were like flowers  of snow.

The beam fell bleakly on the lower walls of his house,
In shadow the wall of that upper chamber from which he was.
Thinking that the beam poured from a pale cloud
Mounted above the seal-line, lifting skyward in the night.

Watching, he saw that it rose higher in the heavens
Climbing not upon his high walls.
Pondering the significance of this mystery,
He heared in the air about him a wizard voice.

Speaking in a tongue that he knew not,
The voice uttered a rune of slumber.
Evagh could not resist the rune,
Upon him fell a numbness of sleep.

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