diamonds from ash

a curious little thing happened to me the other day; a verse got stuck in my head. i’ve had ideas for stories get stuck and need to be written, but rarely a particular phrase or rhyme as in this case. but these things do happen, and so the rhyme became meter, the meter became a poem, the poem became a song, the song became a story.

my garden is such an untidy place sometimes because i simply let it grow thus. may you find the fruit appealing. there will be another part and maybe more.

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“Ho there, hero.”

The hero glanced up to see a bardly figure approaching in the firelight. “What makes you think I’m some kind of hero?” they grumbled, shifting down some distance on the log seat to make room.

The bard, for so they were, sat. “Ah, who else would be out under the stars in a dreadful place like this but a hero on a quest, hm~?”

The hero simply huffed quietly, and stared into the fire.

After a few minutes passed with nothing but the soft sounds of the forest, the bard produced a delicate little harp and set to playing. It was neither a mournful tune nor a joyful one, but something insistent, with grim purpose and determination behind the notes.

And then they began to sing, a sweet alto.

“Oh my hero, on your lonesome, scowl embedded in your brow,
Still surviving in these times, if only just;
Though it may seem so attractive to relinquish all, somehow,
And you don’t desire to keep on-
but thou must.”

The hero’s scowl deepened just a touch. But the bard pressed on.

“Have you seen and heard too much of all things evil, far and wide,
Have your friends betrayed and broken bonds of trust?
Even if you were the last to fall with no one by your side,
To the last you’d hear that voice say
‘but thou must’.

For I’ve walked the path, the same as yours, I know it all too well;
And a hero cannot stop ‘til they are dust.
For the thought of falling short of who you are is its own hell,
No denial can suppress the
‘but thou must’.

Those false heroes that you know are after glory, coin, or gains
Are forgotten well before their blades can rust;
But the hero true, refined by fire, has steel within their veins-
and I’m certain you’ll receive a just reward for all your pains,
on the day your questing meets its end and nothing else remains;
Until then, be strong, and keep on,
as thou must.”

The hero was silent for a long time after that.

“I’m not sure I like all of the message there,” they finally grumbled.

“I didn’t either, when I first heard it,” the bard replied, with a soft laugh. “Life is a funny thing, no?”