A horned head is reared
and there - a grizzled snout
samples the acrid air
something comes
Bodies out of the ground
heeding the call of doom
ready now, to dance
the time is here
They stretch their limbs
cracking, disjointed, withered
strong as solid stone
they grin
Horrid faces in moonlight
horrid torsoes in mist
lumbering about, colliding
laughing
And the Maestro comes
He shakes off their beseeching hands
he laughs at their feeble prayers
he scoffs at their devotion
and he raises his arms
gripping them all as one
with his furnace eyes
He wants them to do his bidding
he wants them to dance his dance
as he knows they will
They defer to him, mere puppets
skipping, dancing, mad mazurka
under his commanding hands
rolling, falling, ever onward
each twist of the Maestro's finger
each leer of his hungry lips
sends them about like rattling bones
turning, spinning, sweating streams
streams that fly in reeking drops
and where the drops fall -
Little critters green and blue
red and yellow, ochre, brown
spring out scuttling, mad with glee
bite and lick and prance and shriek
rivulets like mirky slugs
merge and part, shrink and grow
new mites, old mites, everywhere
the beasts look on and laugh
and the dance begins to move
into the thickening fog
away

Elsewhere there is light
seeping through dewy leaves
from a rising sun, illuminating
caressing with its soothing fingers
a valley lush and green
the well of peace
and the reason for delight
The abode awakes and rises
the Keeper first of all
with him, the little ones
shrew and sparrow leave their nests
trilling tones, tentative, falling
on the ears of older ones
Falling in with the sure notes
of the Keeper's beckoning flute
the song begins, all join
The eagle soars in the sky
the unicorn from his virgin loch
returns and greets the lion, loping
from his rolling plains in east
A host gathered about the Keeper
exultant in their eagerness
another day here
the Keeper sets them
about their lives
Now they run and stalk and seek
living all the lives they know
feeding, fighting, making love
there is a song about them
the Keeper plays his flute
the land rejoices and lives
fully
but something comes
and the land is silent before it

A bird sings but falters
peers toward the waste in west
a fog is rolling in
Another bird answers, falters
as it feels a shiver
beneath its very feet-
earth groaning
All stay in their tracks
all rapt attention
something comes
a fog is rolling in
Restive hooves, claws sharp
paw the ground, unsettle leaves
fluttering, frightened, birds alight
asking themselves and each other
what comes?
The Keeper is there, but today
the staff is not in hand
but the sword, keen and bright
must serve
They ask him what comes
he shakes his head
he raises his blade
and they rally round
Lives behind them, set aside
for another day ahead
if such there be
Doubt is settling on them
like dire dew, aching
in their hearts, seeing loss
ahead

They gaze ahead
and the mist creeps closer
there is movement within
shapes looming, leaping,
cavorting - it is the dance
The word spreads and the shapes twirl
caper, tumble - it is the dance
Fear catches, grips, holds
blood rushes in trembling veins
the shapes shimmy - it is the dance!
The last dance is here
Forth hurl the Gradrach, slavering
forth fly the Amnui, gibbering
the lion roars, the unicorn rears
the eagle shrieks and plummets
the last dance is joined
Red dance, black dance,
clawdance, beakdance
time stands and rushes, death
falls on dancers all, on Ducch
and fox and bear and Slaig and Kwahr
The last alive - unicorn, broken horn,
lion and eagle topple the Maestro
before their lights are snuffed

The Keeper stands alone
in silence
head bowed, craggy brow
looks around
ruin, bodies
he wanders amidst
searching, sorrowing
A single tweet from a sole bird
shines a ray of hope -
there is still life
Cradles it in his hands
its peppercorn eyes seek him out
blink and fade
Tears on blood
as he builds their pyre
his friends, his wards
beyond grief, beyond toil
lost to the world
lost to him
to love
A cracked note from a cracked flute
no more life pours from his pipe
it joins the pile
the song is lost anyway
lost in fire
flames
rise
and with them
rises

The Maestro
the Keeper feels his shadow
turns, thrusts
Swords clash, ring, part
hilts lock, twist, rage
hate burns hot as steel
loss whets thirst for death
sparks fly from brand and blade
one steps back, the other up
triumph is too soon
one riposts, the other cries
and retaliates
Edge in glittering arch
edge like sweeping night
back
and forth
forth
and back
and then
the shadow
is cleaved
The Maestro falls
head first
body next
soul last

Again silence
but only without
not within
Now, the Keeper
remembers them all
first the friends
and then the foes
Raises his hand
holds a moment
holds another
slashes down
and again
Two fists against a blood-red sky
two eyes seeking the sun
forlorn, forfeit, forsaken and lost
Two feet turning, running
gathering speed
leaving the site of the last dance
through the silent gate
the gate waves farewell,
slams
and again
and is then
closed.