eripio the scholar

The scholar I
Aye, a man of the mind
I was sent far afield
bidden by my Lord

Bearing art and the heart of knowledge
I rode and strode the northern roads
A merchant and his guard
A peddler and his wares
An ailing lady and her coachmen
And we the scholars
My brother and I

So soft the kiss
Sky’s eye bearing down upon horizon’s maw
Red the color of that setting stare
Red the color of that evening sky
Red the color of those flowing spirits

prairie grasses swishing across bared steel
leather hilted fangs flashing red
running to us with horrible howls
and a terrible hunger in yellow eyes

screams and shouts
And sweat
And blood
And fear

Yes.

Fear.

With my great courage I fell
Stumbling in my haste to find escape
My brother’s fingers clutched my robes
as dark lusts dragged him away
begging

It was then they came
Shadows dancing with shadows under the swollen moon
Fierce men to our rescue
Drenched in the blue black blood of the night

Men of the North
Beyond our gentle borders
I thought them savage
They took those left alive
The lady and I

You may look at the rough hide of my feet
The heavy calluses upon my hands
You welcomed me tonight as a scholar
But I speak to now as a man

I have felled trees for fire
Felled beast and bird for food
I have wrestled the finned serpents from the rivers
I have run from death through the great forests
I have climbed the Toes of the Sky
I have lived as none of you brothers

Astride living men with beating hearts

Turgid, brothers
A festering sore
Your hearts
are tumors
Bloated things a sickly gray

    The white robes around the Great Hall stirred, the men within them frowning with furrowed brow.  Heavy jowls quivered amongst red faces, fatty tumors beating faster within bloated chests.
    “You would dare step before us and bare insults as those savages would their petty swords and arrows!?  You lack the wisdom of those greater in years boy.  Perhaps you should contemplate your disrespect.”
    The swollen dragon, dear old friend.  I had expected no less from the Precedor, the first amongst equals within the written law.
    “What is wisdom?” my voice hung as a specter within the swelling sea of silence that tossed about as the tempests of the eastern seas, “what is truth?”
    “Wisdom is the guiding hand of our ever aging years,” he spoke, eyes a murky blue, lips a fattened red twisted by an ugly curve, “Truth is the will of the gods made manifest in us through the reason of the pen and the right of the Republic.  This is the cornerstone of our peace, the foundation of our prosperity.  Reason rules the…”
    His voice, the prating of a fattened swine, stopped as I drew the dagger from within my white new robes.  The hush held as the boulder does upon the edge of a cliff, men staring up from below.  With a quick, sure cut I loosed my robe and let it fall to the floor.  Some still healing, others an ugly purple I stood unclothed before all, scars marring once untarnished skin.  The black mark of my office lay emblazoned upon my chest, quill and eye.  Their sharp breath quickening the passion with my blood, I dragged the knife around the ink.
    “Cease this barbaric display!”
    Precedor.  Teacher.  Fool.  I looked to him and smiled, grabbing the edge of the wound.  The blade was sure, blood dripping softly upon the floor.  With one last powerful tug, the mark lay upon a patch of my skin.  Walking purposefully towards him I dropped the knife, the metal ringing sharply against the expensive tiles.
    “Curators, remove this man from the Great Hall at once!”
    Armor flashing with unnecessary décor they came for me with roughened hands.  I charged forward with a wild yell and threw my mark removed.  Aim true, my once hide slapped against his shaking cheek, blood dripping from where it fell to him.  I laughed as strong arms pulled me away.  I wrestled with a mighty joy for the sheer pleasure of testing my strength.  That old fat one screamed, red the color of his discontent.  Eyes full of doubt watched me wriggle away from their armored pawns, laughing.  My head would finish upon the ground for this offense.  But I did not care.

Mind the mist of morning’s ire
Peace drifts amongst the falling leaves
Kiss me gently with rough intent
I am free

* * *

    The pale sun held to the sky as a child clings to its mother, wisp of a cloud begging for a little less light.  Midday glow upon her purple eyes vanished within such haunting depths.  From across the square she saw him walk proudly up the steps.  His brow was stained with ill-gotten blood.  His face marred with that horrible smile.  She spit, the stone of the aged roof hissing in protest.  He said something she could not hear to the headsman, laughing as he placed his head upon the block.  Air dry with lies swept up from the streets of the sun baked city, tossing her night-fed tresses across her face.
    “Arthur,” her voice a whisper wriggling forth, scratching, clawing, searching, calling…begging…tickling his ear…

He looked up
eyes catching hers from across the square
and smiled
The axe fell and headsman looked up
But there was no one there.