The Edge of the Earth - 3

Ever the winds go blowing, blowing,
Over the desert dunes,
Over the land of a thousand suns,
The land of a thousand moons

Ever the winds go blowing, blowing,
Under the desert sun
Seeing everything we say and do
And all that has been done

Ever the land shifts and groans,
Sandy moor upon sandy moor,
The parched oceans stretching wide
To beat on mountain’s shore

And ever the winds go blowing, blowing
Under sun, and under moon
Whispering to us many a story
As we sit beneath the moon

So if you sit and observe, hear and listen well,
She’ll sing you a tale,
Of two great lovers long passed away,
Of Edmund and Elandale.

And the wind goes blowing, blowing, blowing,
As ever it has done,
Her memory going back to younger days,
Under a younger sun.

Edmund the proud warrior brave,
Is chained and made a slave
Saved by his captor fair Elandale
From a sandy desert grave

Saved from her father’s cruel decree
But bound to chains of steel
A proud hearted warrior from distant lands
Made to grovel and kneel

His back is bent from sorrow and toil
His dreams are fading fast
Yet nothing shall remain the same
When the dice of fate are cast

And ever the wind goes blowing, blowing,
Over this sand filled sea,
Over this desert that’s all there has been,
And all there will ever be.

Across the sand an army rides
Bearing ebon blades
Nearing, ever nearing their goal,
As the daylight fades

They are the Sylph of  Desert deep
The people of the sands,
And also the enemies of the Dunlings
Who share their lands

They ride from distant mountain’s shade
Where they keep their abode
Their Ebon swords brandished high
Their faces blue with woad

And Ever the Wind go blowing, blowing,
A zephyr of desert realm
Whipping Dunling's flags to a fury
Glancing off enemy helm

In Dunling's camp the day goes on,
Its people unaware
Of the enemy riding down on them
To mar the daylight fair

Unaware of black clad men
Who ride with death in hand
To slay their men and take their women
Back to their distant land

Unaware of the danger approaching
Of their hated enemy
As ever the Sylph draw nearer to them
Across the sandy sea

And Ever the wind goes blowing, blowing
Ever the fair Zephyr Dances
Singing of history with her soft voice
Seeing all with unseen glances

Working weary at his forced toil
Edmund withers in the heat
Worn and weary from too much work
Unwilling to admit defeat

And over him Elandale stands ward
A master to her captive
Watching with dark eyes the man
That by her mercy lives

And when she glances away from him
Edmund lifts his eyes
Unable to ignore her strange beauty
Though he firmly tries

And ever the wind goes blowing, blowing,
Across the sandy sea,
And the fates wait with bated breath,
For what they know must be.

Across the sandy seas they come,
Their camel’s hooves pounding
The fearsome Sylph of many a tale
The horns of war sounding

Their flags of crimson and deep black
Streaming in the gust
Of their own passing over desert sands
As to go to do what they must

With fearsome eyes they come on fast
Their enemies unaware
That they have passed so far away
From their shady mountain lair

And the wind goes blowing, blowing, blowing
Over the desert wide,
This wind that sees and hears all things,
And from which none may hide.

Upon the camp of the Dunlings they come
Swords brandished high
Descending on the peaceful camp
Uttering fearsome cry

And below the Dunlings scream with fear
As enemy descends,
And warriors run for their swords,
As weaving fates wend

Then comes the clash of steel on steel
As blade meets ebon blade
And all life hinges upon this battle
In which all is won or unmade

Elandale stands against hated enemy
Silver bow singing light
And Silver Arrows leaping on high
As she joins in the fight

Down upon her the enemy bears,
Determined to see her die
Yet still brave maiden stands her ground
Refusing to break and fly

Then at last she’s overwhelmed
Struck down by enemy
Bearing down with Ebon sword,
Heart devoid of mercy

Then once again fate intercedes,
Falling like lethal dart
As taking up fallen warrior's sword
Edmund takes her part

Bound in chains he stands tall
Against the Sylph attack
Facing down the fearsome enemy
Beating them roughly back

His shackles biting at his hands
He fights though they cut deep
Though his enemies bear down on him
And though his wounds weep

The light shines on his golden hair
In sun turned flaxen white
And on his skin burned tawny brown
And silver sword shining bright

And from his might the Sylph flee
Breaking their assault
And left alive in their wake
The Dunlings win by default

From the ground Elandale climbs,
Clutching bloodied arm
Weary and battered by battle
But else, free of harm

Across the desert sands she stares,
After fleeing fearful foe
After which brave Edmund runs,
And after which winds blow

“I’ll have my horse of gold brought”
the maid speaks aloud
and mounting ocher fighting mare
Rides after Edmund proud

Upon the desert sands she finds him
Still bound by cutting chains,
Still fighting the fleeing enemy,
And felling whom remains

“Why do you fight these men sir?”
asks the Dunling maid
“When you refuse by reason of pride,
to bear the golden blade”

“I do not wish to fight them, maid”
speaks Edmund bold
“But it is for you that I fight,
Not for swords of gold”

“You speak of what you do not know,
I am not easily adored,
For my mouth and hands are rough
A thing in women abhorred.”

“Oh but your face is fair enough,”
speaks Edmund brave,
“And I do not mind rough hewn hands,
and it’s your mouth I crave”

“You will not speak to me stranger bold,
with such little respect”
Speaks Elandale sitting proud
But pausing to reflect

“Maid though you may crave me not,
and though I be your slave,
Know that though chains I may abhor,
I’d follow you to your grave.”

Now Elandale alights from her mount
Crossing sand to Edmund's side
Standing amidst the fallen enemy
Who by the blade died

“What is it sir that you say to me?”
the maiden now replied,
“Who only seven days before,
service to me denied.”

“I speak of what cannot be spoken”
said Edmund, bold,
And leaning down pulled her to him,
She unable to fight his hold

Then leaning in he kissed her deep,
Pressing her lips upon his own
And struggling in his strong armed grasp,
Elandale softly moans

Then at last the maid relents to him,
Pulling him against her,
And hearts hardened soften now,
And love begins to stir,

Then together they fall to the sand,
Their lips again nearing, meeting
Holding each other in painful embraces
Hearts together beating, beating

Thus ends another telling
Of their winding tale
Of the Bold and Brave Edmund
And Fair Elandale

And the wind goes blowing, blowing,
To greet the coming dawn,
And For now all tales are heard,
And the teller is gone.

Yet here at the edge of the earth we sit,
On sand of golden white,
Waiting for the wind to speak to us again,
On the coming night.

And ever the wind goes blowing, blowing,
Whispering to all who will hear,
Whispering to all who sit on dunes at night,
When the sky is clear.

Now the Nighttime wanes, though
Another story is told,
And spent are silver arrows,
And sheathed are swords of gold.









By Analexii