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Short stories: Medieval tales

Warrior's Death Song

Have you ever really listened to the wind as it sweeps over the hills and rustles through the treetops? Have you ever clearly listened to it sigh and heard the words of the songs it sings? The wind sings the same song, consistently, I heard it all those years ago and I can still hear it now, the words whispering like flame

Call her down to meet me there

Call him down to fall
Dream them all to shattered stillness
Wake them all to world's release

I am old now, and I know that I am dying. My hand no longer can clasp the hilt of my swordshe has not aged as I have. The rivers and seas within my body are drying up. I am fading like an autumnal day, into the chilly frost of that eternal sleeping night.

Do not fear the dreamless sleeping
Dread instead the breaking dawn
Nothing perfect is worth keeping
Nothing held lingers for long

I am not afraid to die. I remember all the times I fought so hard to draw another breath, but now the struggle has left me. I have not the will to fight any longer. I listen to the wind's lullaby and, where it once chilled me, I can feel my pulse dance to its intoxicating rhythm.

Drowning in the river silent
Drifting through eternities
Living's agony forgotten
Here alone is there release

The wind's song awakens longings in this old frame. Where once dread
resided, now there is only hopehope that the end will come quickly, that I will face it like a man. I do not wish to weep and tremble. Won't someone let me die like the warrior I am? Stop that weeping and give me my sword. She should be in my hand! I should have died in battle, not here and now, as an old man. The wind's voice is growing louder; can you hear the words too? She always sang to me thus! Ever did she sing to me as she does this night!

Who can say that death is dreaming?
Who can say that life is real?
Who can say where lies the ending?
Who can say where stories begin?

That song, that song! Will it never cease? I heard it in my cradle. Will I hear it in my grave? Where are the men? Where are the horses? Where is the glory that once was mine? Who are all these strange faces? Charge, my valiant warriors, charge ahead! Do not be afraid of the gloomy darkness- we will yet again prevail! Where is my sword? Where is my horse? Why does the wind shriek so?

Open ye all the doors
Lay wide all the hidden places
Secrets lie in frosty tombs
Their hidden graves forsaken

I can hear the call of battle horns. They are ringing


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