Beyond the West, beyond the night; Beyond the waning of the light; Beyond Keeadin’s fearsome waste, Where eagles flee and wolves are chased; Beyond the grip of Ussdonc’s hold; Beyond the grasp of greed and gold; There runs a river, swift and deep Through grass and gorge; then turns to sweep From rock to rock in eddied leap Beneath the stone of mountains steep. By that river Pinnock fell, And Martenvole, and Sess as well; And many more there passed the day Cuhurran with his sword held sway. And mothers wept and children cried From Malmoret to Rimwichside. Twas Mennon who had journeyed west, Along the road that Martis pressed. For Wayland’s sage had said he’d find A hidden way to pass behind The legions on the Banking side. But Mennon, who had thought to ride Against Cuhurran in his pride Himself was taken.  Martis lied. For none then knew that Wizards preyed In Martis’ words, Cuhurran’s blade; And Banking did with Wayland vie Until it seemed that all would die As Verrel chased the Wayland men Across the plains to Undrun’s fen; And only Mennon last was left To flee the ghost of fell Areft. The bracken brushed against his knees; Dark birds gathered far from trees; And Mennon fled until his way By river swift was swept away. Cuhurran paused to laugh at him And jest; perhaps he wished to swim. But hidden by the bank he saw A small canoe, a hidden flaw; A last escape from Wizards’ hands, A last mistake in Martis’ plans. A crudely fashioned native boat To take him south, where he might float To some place safe and creep ashore; Where he might wait and rest before He tried to seek a way back home. He pushed the craft into the foam. A cry of rage Cuhurran gave As Mennon could once more be brave, And flee away on streaming wave, Undusted by his open grave. The river raced through rocks of spray, The current swiftly poured away, And Mennon wept, as water hissed, At what his fate had closely missed. Cuhurran’s lips in grimness pursed; To humans, and to hate long nursed. He took in hand his bow of bone, Shafts raven fletched, hard arrowed stone; And stretching forth from palm to ear, He loosed his missile.  Struck in fear And flesh and heart, down Mennon fell; Afloat on cold and bloody swell. The current carried round the bend, And hurried Mennon to the end Cuhurran thought his only fate. For he had seen the stony strait, Down which the river’s racing led On water swift and white and red. He knew not of cave or tunnel, Arch of stone, or whirlpool funnel. Instead he thought that teeth of stone Would break and grind the Wayland bone; And cataracts would blind from sight In plumes of mist, all Mennon’s flight. And then no trace would ever tell Of those poor Wayland men who fell Beyond the West, beyond the light; Beyond the evening of the night. And so the Wizard turned aside, Not knowing that the mountains hide The bones of earth, and all inside: The Bryddin to restore the pride, Of Wayland, and of humankind. For down within the caverns blind The mansions of the dwarves are mined; The lamps of Uhle glow undefined From deep within cut hearts of stone, Where life unceasing lies unknown To all who rest beneath the sun, Until such day as had begun At sword point in the world of light. Cuhurran, who had thought his might Remained full-gripped, remained still bright; Watched Mennon whirl beyond his sight. For Mennon, though his hurt was deep And lay as if beyond mere sleep, Was swirled upon the rushing stream As lightly as within a dream; Through crashing rocks and foaming falls, Round twisted pools and granite walls, Until at last the river dropped Beneath the earth, and flowed unstopped Through caverns sharp with hanging stone, That echoed with the gushing groan Of water plunging on unplumbed Through cold and dark that struck and numbed; Until at last the bark gave way And Mennon sank beneath the play Of noise and night and cold and spray, Beyond the touch and feel of day. Below the light, below the dawn; Below where all our kin have gone; Below the root of tallest tree; Below the deepness of the sea; Where manders creep and water falls; Where Bryddin carve their ancient halls; Below where even bats take flight— But still above the final height; There Uhle did search through endless night To limn his lamps and find the light, Of which his own was just a pale Reflection.  Upwards was the trail He sought; up past the stony block, Through vented veins and chimneyed rock, To find the world he knew would run Above his head, the dreamed of sun. No thought to ever see had he The dappled green of sunlit tree; The red of berries; yellow leaf; (And moonlight was beyond belief). Yet still, once he created fire Within the hearts of gems to sire A silent flame, a light inspire, He knew that something must be higher. A something felt, but not perceived. A something dreamed of, undeceived. A light from which all others grew, As Brydds breathed Bryddin life anew. A something Uhle knew he must find, Or doubt, and never trust his mind. For all that he had learned in skill Was nothing, if he doubted still. And so he climbed through rock and stone, Upwards, though all the world’s hard bone Might lie between his heart and goal And harden fast around his soul. And with him went a single friend With extra hands and eyes to bend The unknown darkness to their will; To find the path to what might fill The emptiness within Uhle’s thought; The light imagined, but uncaught. For Nolo had learned much in craft Beside the forge of Uhle.  He laughed When told that they might never Glimpse the gleam of their endeavor; Laughed and said, “I only know That where Uhle leads, so I will go.” And so they journeyed through the maze Of caves and tunnels, and always Fresh veins of rock found overhead; Fresh marbled lanes that upward led. And sometimes they were forced to hew The stone in tunnels to pass through, And open up in chambers vast New mines and diggings as they passed; Where gemstones sparkled all uncut From vaulted roofs and walls.  But Wealth of stone was theirs already; They sought not for the unsteady Gleaming of mere jeweled reflection, Mirrored spark, or imperfection. Still, nothing else their picks exhumed For all they quarried, deep entombed. Until one day, as they returned From yet another search that earned Them nothing more than useless mines, And mansions vast that showed no signs Of ever coming to an end, They passed along beside the wend Of Darkenmere; where oft before Their searching failed to ever score A path beyond the stream that gave Its cataract into the cave. But this time by the tumbling falls They saw a form beneath the walls; A sodden lump that, drenched in spray, Seemed more than something cast away From higher up the endless tiers That formed the ceiling of their fears. So Uhle and Nolo, footsteps soft, Approached the thing with lamps aloft. It lay upon the wetted stone, A thing not Bryddin; but alone Among the creatures they had known Most like themselves.  Except its bone And fragile skin were far too light To stand for long against the bite Of mander’s hunting on the height Of the abyssal, endless night. And sad they were to think they’d found This wonder dead upon the ground. But had Cuhurran only known What chance had with his bowshot sewn, He would have angrily reclaimed Each arrow he had ever aimed. For soon the dwarves saw they were wrong; That what looked weak was truly strong; And Nolo, stooping, felt the boon, Beside the dark and cold lagoon, Of heartbeats in the stranger’s chest; And gently pushed; and gently pressed. And fingers hard as stone caressed The creature’s life back to its breast. And from the depths of Mennon’s ride There rose unlooked for at his side The might and wisdom of the hosts Of Bryddin, to defy the ghosts Of Areft; and to end the sway The Wizards cast on all whom they Had ever sought, with sword or spell, Their faith and fealty to compel. Then Bryddin nursed the wounded proof That rock and stone were more than roof. And more than stars and moon they learned From Mennon, when his strength returned. Cuhurran, known as Ossdonc’s guise, And Fornoch, shown in Martis’ lies, Were to their brother forced to run When first the Bryddin reached the sun. And even Usseis’s spells Full magicked from the coldest hells, Will never quell the dwarven might, Now risen with the sun so bright Above where even bats take flight; Above the never ending height; Beyond the West, beyond the night; Beyond the waking of the light. (Click here to return to the home page.)