S is for Skoven

        (My A to Z Challenge theme this year is Characters from My Own Books.  For each letter I’ll share an excerpt from my writing that centers on one character.  I hope you enjoy meeting them!)

        In that long, deep valley between the Mountains of the Sky and the Mountains Mioruilt Ãdun fought strange, dreadful beasts and won his way past the haunts of terrible monsters, and ever he followed the course of the River Oosial, until it brought him north into the sharp heights of the Mountains Mioruilt and led him at last to the cave of Skoven, the White Dragon who could speak only truth.

     At conquering Ãdun's call, great Skoven came,

     The white steam curling from the stone cave's brim.

     His argent crest struck diamond sparks from the rock

     In the dark cave's doorway as he raised his head.

     The rattling scrape of scales on the blackened floor,

     Gouged into grooves by the dragon's silver claws,

     Brought the bright Skoven's jaws and his flickering tongue,

     Blue as a stormy sea, into Ãdun's view.

     Long as a man was the monster's narrow head

     Mailed in his milky scales and whispering steam,

     And his talons rasped the rock like sickle blades

     As Skoven flicked his forked and pointed tongue.

     Three-cornered eyes like moonstones blue as ice,

     Slit like a cat's, stared into Ãdun's own.

     And when the dragon spoke, his silver teeth

     Clashing like knives against his armored lips,

     His breath hissed flaming with his clangorous voice,

     Boiling the icy Oosial into steam.

        Skoven asked King Ãdun, "How has this journey atoned for the death of thine innocent brother?"

        And the king was stung in his pride and replied haughtily, "I have faced death many times since then.  That is atonement enough for a warrior and a sorcerer and a king!"

        But the White Dragon who could speak only truth replied, "No, King Ãdun, it is not enough.  For it was pride that killed thy brother and pride that turned thy victory false, and thou hast not given up thy pride.”

        And there amidst the peaks of the Mountains Mioruilt, scalded by steam from the spring that would become the Oosial, King Ãdun allowed his pride to make him foolish.  Once he had believed lies spoken by one who wished him ill, and it had brought him only grief.  Now he refused to believe the truth spoken by one who wished him well, and again he drew his furious sword in pride.

        Long was the turbulent battle between those two, the mighty Ãdun and the dragon Skoven.  The blue dragon-fire flared from Skoven's throat, and Ãdun's sorcery drew down blazing copper lightning, so that even in Eotheort could people see the jagged and forking flames kindling the sky above the peaks.  The clapping of the dragon's unfurled wings cracked the air like thunder, the ringing rattle of his argent scales writhing on the mountaintop shivered the valleys' pines.  Iron clattered against dragon mail, talons rang against iron.  The Oosial seethed into billowing steam, the stream-bed was scorched dry, until it ran again with gore, brave Ãdun's flowing mixed with the dragon's sizzling blood.  And finally King Ãdun's violent pride guided his fell sword to Skoven's heart and drove the notched point deep.

        White Skoven who could speak only truth now roared his death cry, the brazen echoes rolling ringing down the frozen mountainside, and King Ãdun, having slain the noble dragon, in the very moment of his fierce triumph realized the crime he had committed.  Crying, "Atonement!" he threw himself beneath the falling dragon, letting himself be crushed in Skoven's death.  And where two heroes had met at the birth of the Oosial, now lay one heap of bones, the slender rising spiral of steam still marking the place to those on the plain below.

        Skoven from Song Against Shadow, first book in a high fantasy series for middle school-or-so through adult (excerpt from Chapter VII: Angduv).  More information here, or “Look inside” at Amazon.

[Picture: Drawings of Skoven by AEGN, c.2007.]

A-Z Challenge, all posts for the letter S.

Poems of Middle Earth

        Today is Bilbo and Frodo’s birthday, in honor of which let’s talk about the poetry that is such an important part of Middle Earth.  J.R.R. Tolkien loved poetry and wrote dozens and dozens of poems related to Middle Earth, and one of the things that he did particularly well was explore a whole range of registers and types of poetry.  He was, after all, a scholar and was familiar with the importance of poetry in pre-literate societies, when giving words rhyme and rhythm made it easier to remember and pass on everything from riddles to epic history.  Tolkien’s own poetry included casual snippets and entire long lays, elegant hymns, rollicking drinking songs, and somber laments.  He wrote marching songs, humorous ditties, prophesies, mnemonic lists, love songs, ballads, reimaginings of nursery rhymes, praises, elegies, trash-talking challenges, and more.  His characters knew and used poetry in all aspects of their lives, as  real people really do. (If you don’t believe me, revisit my previous posts Poetry is Everywhere.)  This idea of the wide variety of poetry in culture was extremely influential to me and inspired me to try writing many different types of poetry for my own fantasy Otherworld.  It’s a fun and challenging exercise that ensures you don’t end up making all your poems sound the same!

        As for Tolkien, here are a few samples of his poetry that I especially like.

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? 

Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing? 

Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing? 

Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing? 

They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow; 

The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow. 

Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning, 

Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

  This Lament for the Rohirrim is an elegy of a historical figure, and involves no actual magic, but I find it quite moving.  (From The Two Towers.)

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them,

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

        This one is more fun for its content than its actual poetry, but it’s a touchstone for all things Lord of the Rings, and fun to adapt and play off of, too.

        And I can’t fail to include my favorite Middle Earth poem of all (from The Hobbit):

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep,

In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord

There many a gleaming golden hoard

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung

The flowering stars, on crowns they hung

The dragon-fire, in twisted wire

They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day,

To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves

And harps of gold; where no man delves

There lay they long, and many a song

Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red, it flaming spread;

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale

And men they looked up with faces pale;

The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire

Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;

The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom.

They fled their hall to dying fall

Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!

[Pictures: The Knight, wood block print from Caxton edition of Canterbury Tales by Chaucer, c1485 (Image from Luminarium);

One Ring scarf, design by Lyle Stafford, made by dhglenn (Image from Ravelry);

Untitled (Alpine Landscape), color woodcut by Oscar Droege, 20th century, probably 1920s-30s (Image from Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco).]

Ode to Spot

        April is National Poetry Month, and I can't miss the opportunity to share another fantasy poem… except this one isn't really fantasy.  I'm counting it as sci-fi despite the fact that the content isn't really explicitly speculative in any way.  However, this poem was composed by an android, so doesn't that count for something?  The poet is Lieutenant Commander Data of the USS Enterprise from Star Trek: The Next Generation.  The subject is Data's pet cat, Spot.  I think the poem is a perfect depiction of the whole sci-fi trope of thinking, sentient, almost-human robots and how they might view the world.  (I don't think obviate is really the word Data meant in the second stanza, but I guess his positronic dictionary must have experienced a slight malfunction.)

        The thing is, I've been hearing this poem a lot recently.  My son P has memorized it and spouts it at the least provocation.  (I'm so proud!)  So here it is:

Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature,
An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature.
Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses.

I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations,
A singular development of cat communications
That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection.

A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;
You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion,
If often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.

Oh Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display
Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.

        (The poem was really written by Clay Dale, a visual effects artist for the show.  It first appeared in the episode called "Schisms" in 1992.)

[Picture: Cat Attack, rubber block print by AEGN, 1999.]