The Six Deeds of Harmony

by Defoloce

The Deed of Magick

──────THE DEED OF MAGICK──────

anguinity be ever hunted out
By what descents are born from its defeats,
When all the darkness comes into the breast
And, sweet in its own way, rots out the soul.

The Æther-Free, devoid of Magick full:
A wood of wildness and of ancient things
Which brush the under-side of all our ken
And push up from a place that none can see.

No glance of the divine could settle there
Where strong encroachments claim upon the seat
Of pony-kind, the Palace of the Sky,
And ever did it turn the Magick back.

The Chaos here designed to make His stand,
And brought up from the inverse spires of earth
A hate unfettered, umbra without peer,
A vacuum of all mercy given thought.

Her eyes were twining hells, her form the cloud
Which shutters out the stars on winter nights;
Whereto she brought her gaze was there transfix’d
By all the sundry horrors of the past.

The strange and cold disintegrating bones
Far in the earth beneath her spoke a tale
Of swevens everlasting, ne’er to wake,
A bed upon which Magick sleepeth not.

She looked upon the palace, knowing well
What she would have transpire presently:
A wound of heart, a shade of bitterness
To bring all living things into the dark.

And so it was that forest, which eschew’d
What maketh up our very souls, in stead
Was host then to an echo of the days
When Magick held no met over the world.

At close the borders of the Æther-Free,
The gracious mare Cadenza took her leave:
“O knight, thou art a stallion of the Earth,
A pony strong who sole can here redress
The old and strange which grips the forest’s heart
And give the gift of Magick to its fold.
Its blankness spreads like poison on a hide;
Anon would it take up the lands we love
And sap the Magick there, unmaking us,
Unmaking, yea, all that we ponies claim.
This be a place where even Sun and Moon
Bear not to tread, for they have alicorn
Like mine and like thy lover’s, painèd by
The passing of Old Ways which none can guess.
We be of Sky, and leaden do We find
This place, which pulleth to Our wings and horns
And hollow maketh Us, so here we part.”

The knight held up a hoof. “But stay a breath!
I grave beseech thee, goodly Goddess Love.
I am of Earth, as told, but what of mine
Be for this deed, an Magick be the thing?”

She smiled soft, and gave to him a kiss.
“‘The Spark of Magick wakens Harmony,’
‘Tis spoke, but ere a spark there be a seed to plant
And to a flower nurture, as thou wouldst.“

She then depart before his searching eyes,
And whither she had gone he could not make
To satisfy his new-found solitude.
He stepped into the wood to make his deed.

Within, the bowers fast became the mouths
Which call’d into his doubts and fanned his cares.
A hostile comb of hate played at his mane
And raked against his coat and sense beside.

The trees were twisted by the noisome winds
Which carried forth corrupted breaths of what
Lay deeper. Thus he saw the place was sick
And weary, every thing wishing to die.

The path spoke to him, finding him a one
Whose like had not since passed beyond the count
Of all days where the world was ruled by hooves.
The earth was wary, yet it held him up.

Quick made the darkness to embrace him then,
The moon-light flashing from his armour’s face
As though to keep it in unwholesome bays.
Yet, ever brave, the knight would yield not.

The hatred pressed him deeper, looming in
And sweeping ‘cross its shelters from the sky
Where hung its stern and rad’iant enemy.
He smiled unto the moon, and kept his course.

The way was gone from him ere much had pass’d;
But for the sense of earth, no path remained,
No way for him to follow, for the wood
Suffer’d him not, and beckon’d him to doom.

“O soil steady, bringst thou up to me
And tell me of a maiden in distress
Who findeth this place as a gainly tomb
And yearns for Magick brought, that I may serve.”

An ancient voice, a cool and saturnine
Tongue of a mare, so languid in its cares
That plainly did she think naught of the knight
Save for his presence in her haunting-grounds.

“Be still, my nephew! Stay the levity
That thou must have to speak upon the earth!
I am the only matron of the night
Thou willst find here, so now what shalt thou do?“

“I see thee not,” spake knight, “but mark thine hate
For me a-side, no plainer so ‘tis made.
So be it that thou hatest me, i’faith,
Yet still am I determin’d to my deed.“

“What deed be that? I sought up for no deed
But for a trifle granted unto me,
And what I wish I say thou canst not grant
For thou art mortal, and beneath concern.“

The knight turn’d not, but set his armour’d hooves.
“Speak sooth to me, O matron, and with haste:
What prayer made thee unto the Sky above?
Name out thy deed, else I shall name it mine.”

She laugh’d to hear him speak. “I be amused!
Then lo, here was my softly-singing prayer:
To me, my liberties, and to the Moon
Mine utter scorn, that darkness waxeth strong
With all the might of Magick at my beck!
My gaol be this wooding, willing none
Into it but what fate and Chaos deem
My worthy servants. Forest primæval,
So agèd that it transcends memory
Of all who live! yea, even Sun and Moon
Do fear me, though they know not what they fear.
I keep within me fell malaise beyond
What thou couldst fathom, even for the blood
Thou gives up to thy Earth, which drinks it deep.
I can not conjure me to such a form
That thou wouldst take as pony, or as such
From a well-thinking mind of recent days.
Yet I remember! and beneath the Sun,
That hated Sun, which once could burn alone,
Again alone will be, an I am freed.
Thy deed to me, O knight, as I would have:
Bring up the Magick to this fated place
And give me power to take mastery
O’er all this creeping forest, beating back
The new roads made unto thy precious Sky,
That I might bring a Sky of mine own make.
Give form to me, unbind me from His will,
And I will mark the day so truly won
A full reward beside will I gift thee.”

“Thou speakest now of Chaos!” roared the knight.
“I would defy Him, marry, to the last!
An thou art prisoner within this wood,
Benighted as it is, I bring thee hope!”

“I’m of this place,” said she, “and know the fount
Where willing turf doth stretch up to the Sky
In celebration of a fleeing point
Where Magick would alight, restoring me.”

“Then let ponies attend it,” said he then,
“For I be puissant with the earthen ways
And fain would coax a shrinking violet
Into the sunlight, bringing happiness.”

“So for it, thou shouldst then approach my voice,”
Spoke out the mare, at once both near and far.
“‘Tis but a small redoubt within the world
That giveth shelter from thy founded fears.”

He followed, as he could, yet she was coy,
Her words both sparse and nebulous to him.
Through grasping vines and nettles did he course,
But heeding naught save for the matron’s speech.

“Long this place hath been upon the world,”
She counseled him, “and long it festereth
With scraping dreams that seek a soul to sleep
That it might have new audience to court.”

“I fear not dreaming,” said he, “for my Mirth
Bestows a buoyancy upon my soul
As I bore mine own dreams unto a maid
Whose people swim and frolic in the deep.”

The forest darkened in the moon’s retreat,
Like sunning birds which flee the cooling winds
Of autumn in the waning of the year.
The knight trod on, and ever she with him.

“Still would it have thee, knight,” said then the voice.
“All wings be forfeit here, as thou hast seen
From thine own Princess Love, abandoning
Thee so for flight! And now thou walkst alone.”

“I fear not falling, for Benevolence
Doth lift me even when no wings I have,
As proffered I my aid even to one
Who valued my blood more than his own flight.”

The path closed into him, coveting then
His armour, every leaf was made to touch
And pull upon his person, leaving stripe
Of subtle burns and marrings of its shine.

“So thou art joy’d and kind, but art thou true?”
The voice ephemeral said unto him.
“What cost would take thee from thy loyalties
And set thee to an opportunist’s due?”

“I fear not grim temptation; Fealty
Be ever in my breast, as in the breasts
Of two goats who had lock’d their horns and hearts
But chose their friendship over gilded crowns.”

The birdsong died upon all Nature’s lips
While knobbed and thorny roots made treachery
For the knight’s passage through the elder wood.
A chill descended, but he would not slow.

“Then I am left to wonder what upon
These awe-some ventures thou hast left thy mark!
Has thy great noble quest come at no price?
Dost thou keep all the glory for thy self?”

“I fear not avarice. In Charity
I gave up to the wickèd mine own life—
My very life itself—for gentle deer,
Though Love did intercede and gift it back.“

No leaves now grew through where the knight did pass,
And all the trees were shrunk and dead within.
The choïr of the earth fell out of tune
Beneath the steelshod hooves upon its back.

“And this be truth, the yarn that thou hast spun?
What cause have I to mark it but as farce
And spiteful fanciment for thine own sport,
O pony gifted with a serpent’s tongue?“

“I fear not falsehood, for I speak but Sooth
And suffer naught but Sooth in my surround.
A lie so told doth turn the fair to foul
And mar a fetching face, sole for its words.”

They then were come, and our knight saw the point
The voice had spoke to him, beneath a swell
So slight within the Earth, it carvèd seem’d,
A scintillating cave of jewellery.

“A seed be here, lo! Seed of Harmony,
Which long doth thirst for caring from the earth
Thou canst deliver, Magick to give bud
In its own turn. Now hasten, and be done!”

Within him could the knight sense all the good
Inside that blacken’d space, and meek the Seed,
It shallow sleeping in the unturn’d earth,
But quickened to him and his breath of life.

“O little spark of Magick,” said he soft,
“I pray Thee take my succour and my strength.
The Earth cries out for Thee to make It well,
And I, of Earth, would fain protect Thee both.
I be a pony, made in image of
The Sisters of the Sky, the Sun and Moon,
Who built us for the gladness of the task.
My kin be the custodians of earth
And Earth besides, so Thou art mine
To tend and to be loved by mine own hooves.
Now quicken, Magick! Spring up from the ground
And blossom to a spread of newer days
Of happiness for this accursèd wood!
Thou art the nexus of our Harmony,
And soon will rive the illness from the land
And halt the slow retreat of æther here
Unto its betterment. So prithee, grow!
Take up and give the New Ways to the land,
Restoring fair designs of goodness here."

The weight of air was made to bow above
The heath of silence burgeon’d on the legs.
The knight’s own crest of weal was made to plunge
And winnow out the hope from sterner fears.

“This cruel mischance!” he neighed, “be I undone?
Or earth is now impermeate as air?
What veins be left for æther to surge out
An now below doth shun it, as above?“

A seedling burst and fanned up from its cage
Like showers falling up-ward to the clouds!
It grew not much, nor greatly, but it gleam’d
Out all the promise in a crystal’s shine.

“A shoot is come! The Tree of Harmony!”
Whinnied the knight. “It visits now the realm
And scope of basely brief mortality!
The æther be embraced, its Magick found!”

The hollow there did brighten for a glimpse
Of hope eventual, the jewels a-glow,
But darkness then furled its material
Into the Magick, bringing out a form.

She was a night-mare, tall as goddesses,
A mouth like unto beasts that eateth flesh,
A hide obsidian, infinite black,
And her eyes were a hue of brimstone-flame.

“I am remade!” cried she, and spread her wings,
The brace of air about her made to squeal
And burn in magicked energy a-cross
Her horn, an icicle of eerie light.

The knight stood ground and lifted up his head.
“No matron, this! An thou didst pray for me,
Then wherefore did the Sky heed such a hate
And mark it as a goodness? What art thou?”

She circled him, in thoughts, like spectral sharks.
“I be no traitor, neigh, not even now.
I be a doting aunt, giving a gift
Unto a goodly nephew’s service fit.”

“No kin of mine!” said he. “Stay up thy gift,
I’ll have it not, for thou art venomous,
And hatest me, I mark it, for my good.”
She to him, then, and closed about his gaze.

“I pay my debt, and I have debt with thee.
I hate thee not, O worthy saviour;
I’faith, thou hast not Magick, but for me!
A pony of the earth made oracle!“

Ere he could protest more, images came
Unbidden to his mind, the tableaus ghast
And reaching far into the skeins of time
Beyond which he had lived, nor any could!
A younger sun without a guardian,
A younger moon without a stewardess,
A land of straighten’d edges, reaching up,
Great towers wrought, but not by any hoof
Or horn or furnished ancestry thereof.
‘Twas world ere Magick, where but Chaos play’d,
When time was not a river, but a sea
Without a current, depth and stillness sole
Upon its reasoning. When ‘bated one,
Another rose to him, beheld thereto,
And he could not, or would not, look away,
For fast the night-mare had him so embraced.
From past to murky future flow’d the lights
Of special portents, matters alien
To what he could there conjure. At the last
Did cometh his own life, and ere he woke
He saw the face of her, his maiden fair.

The night-mare reared and laughed with sharpened teeth.
Her bay held in't a sick'ning, baleful joy.
“So ‘tis! thou foal, what sacrifice thou wrights!
Magick be ken; now thou art curs'd with it.”

He took his breath. “No curse be this, methinks,
In stead a boon, however was it brought.
I am no coward, night-thing, not for all
Thy tormenting designs—still have I won.“

“Forsooth? I be the ills of pony-kind
Unchain’d, to work her frettings o’er the world,
But ken this too, my knight who cowers not,
Who keepeth now the past which doth evade
The Sky Herself, the virgin diarchy:
There is a second seed that I would plant,
And cultivated so, brought to its fruit,
Becometh all the meals of the Moon
'til She be broken, and we made the same."

“That seed be but thy self,” spake plain the knight,
“And thine ambitions seepeth out beyond
My stretch of years, as all immortal things,
Yet more have I loosed here than evilness.“

“So shall I see, but thou shalt not, alas!”
The night-mare kissed him, and it burned his poll.
“Do fare thee well, for what life so remains!
The Magick’s mine, with thine a heavy heart!”

She flew a-part, like smoke beneath a sneeze,
And where she was was made material
Cadenza, who flew out from clearing skies.
She landed and beheld the new-born Tree.

“The young and growing Harmony is come!”
She cried and joyous grasp’d the knight.
"The Magick be restored to Æther-Free;
Thy deeds are done, thy quest so seen to close!”

“I wonder at that,” said the grimming knight,
“But ‘tis in sooth enough the Magick grows,
For Thou canst take to wing above the trees
And weave Thy spells as sure as anywhere.”

“No more will Chaos lash this place to Him,”
Said Princess Love, “so shall We make the name
To Ever-Free, by mastery of none,
Not even by mine Aunts who liveth near.“

“The wood hath sorrows still,” confessed the knight,
“And Magick so elusive to its faults;
Above all other Harmony, it shifts—
This one shall be forgotten for a time.”

“Once seed, but now a Spark in coming days,”
Said kind Cadenza. “Let it rest and grow.
The best of it will cometh yet, I know.
That evil seizes ‘pon it now is moot.”

“Moot for our actions, yea, mayhap ‘tis so.
Thine Aunts, my goddesses, live close to here—
In selfsame wood, i’faith, so worry on
For them and what shall pass in coming years.“

She frown’d to that and bowed Her beautied head.
“I mark that grave, O knight, and take its pause.
I pray thou tell’st me what thou means of it
An thou would have Me ken, so speak to peace.“

“My peace be here a-ready;” said the knight,
“No further happiness can I give Thee
Or to Thine Aunts, a mortal as I am.
But I am proven, and the quest is done.”

“So sayest thou, and sure enough in sooth,”
Replied the princess as they walked them home.
“They would receive thee, and give accolade
A-new, an thou wouldst have it as a prize.”

“I would,” said he in nodding, “but a prize
Still better is the one the night gave me,
The darkling creature whom I beneficed.
It turns my resolution to the new.”

The princess there in silence took his words.
A smooth foreboding tickled at Her heart,
And discontent, like ulcers, nested there,
As though the knight somehow had lost himself.

“The Spark will not be found for many lives,”
The knight did say while She did cogitate.
“In interim, the Magick be a tool,
An object for the good or ill of all.
Its service must be brought to Harmony.”

They passed out from the healing Ever-Free,
Where Magick would proliferate itself
Beneath the slitted eyes of a black beast
Whose foul caress would spawn unwelcome things.

Chaos saw the Tree, perceiving doom,
And shifted from the cares of mortal things
To then address a flow’ring Harmony
Which, grown uncheck’d, would send Him to the void.

His passing was felt only latently;
He was not seen again, nor felt in form
Of any due capacity to mark
For years uncounted, ere He battled Sky.

Author's Note:

The final entry remains. Stay tuned!

Comments

[Dan]

Think you can be done by January 31st?

I'd nominate this for a lit Nobel.

[Defoloce]

3739260

I will make every effort!

[OddOneOut]

i dont know that I'll ever read this, but i'll give you a like and a fav for actually writing this

[Defoloce]

3740835

I've kept the imagery light in this poem, so it's mostly word choice and transposed parts of sentences to provide the challenge. Hope you enjoy!

3740935

Well, if you change your mind, it'll be here waiting. Thank you for the like and favorite just the same!

[alt-tap]

I want a leather-bound copy when it's finished.

[Dafaddah]

3740987

“Long this place hath been upon the world,”
She counseled him, “and long it festereth
With scraping dreams that seek a soul to sleep
That it might have new audience to court.”

And cast upon the Aether multitudes,
Did skry the forest and the plains without,
It's many-hued inhabitants to see
Equine Elysium in Harmony.