Since far better poets than me have praised my stuff, and it is the first of the month, I had better keep my promise and post a chapter.
Chapter 1
Lake-girt Keuruu. In the cold night
The snow-caped ranks of regimented
Barrack hut-rows bare of comforts
A stark welcome bestow on Lalli,
Thin-limbed night-scout, unknowing pawn
In the far game of the four Icelanders,
At his dawn return. On his door he found
A gentle note to join his sibs,
Two Hotakainens, technical skald
Eager Tuuri, and Onni mage,
Wary dreamer, at the water-gang.
As the stream-car frets, strategist thinker
Taru Hollola her team members
Welcomes together. Ward-mage Onni,
Protective sib, to Taru pleads
That his two kinfolk, Tuuri and Lalli,
Must not be sent to the Silent Lands;
But Tuuri skald, tene in Keuruu
Long enduring, leaps at the chance
For a life released. Lalli night-scout
Brother unkenning, unbriefed, unsure
And unequipped, queries the purpose
In Taru’s call. Protective sib
Onni, wary, warned by his asking
Attempts again the two to bar
From the wild project, so wise Taru
Strategic skald, in the team offers
Onni a posting; panic locks him
In sure Keuruu – in shame he frees
Lalli and Tuuri. The lake-boat sails
On the gadwall’s track to the gates closing
The high lich-wall that lets horror
From the safe lands; sight of the outpass
Allures Tuuri, tempting with hope
Of liberty, risk and a life unchained.
Her first far glimpse of the fiend-haunts
Disappoints her; no peril looms
In the dull braes. Unbriefed, Lalli
Again attempts to get why the team
Brought him away, so breakfast's shared
At the refectory board, and a first briefing
From Taru skald, talk encouraging
Of the tasks ahead. Tuuri, eager,
Sweeps out her tales of Swedish folk
But Lalli hopes to homeward go,
And cease to endure his seasick voyage.
So Taru wise, strategic skald
Describes their way on the water road:
Keurusselkä’s cold gentleness,
Her soft lake-airs scented with pines;
A hundred isles, heron-sentried,
Close her southward; then cleansed gore-pools,
Bleak wilderness, waters tainted
With charred splinters, and channels close-set
To piers and quays, purposeless relics
Of brighter days; then the brisk current
Through tight reaches where the river frets
The hoar-dusted trees of Hongonselkä,
Into Paloselkä where pintail sleep.
In Mustaselkä the meeting waters
Mingle their hues in the mere-car’s wake
As the steamer’s earl steers her southward,
Navigates lake-chain Näsijärvi –
The long highway to the lost city,
Tampere huge, terror infested;
Past the tossing strait of Tammerkoski,
Find the goose-road of falling water:
Calm and verdant Kulovesi,
The cataracts in Kutala’s maze,
Rautavesi of the rich harvest,
Vammaskoski care demanding,
Leikovesi that legends know.
Then run the cascade, past skeletal wards,
Down the bouldered force that births a river:
The testing stream that timber wealth
Rides in convoy past ruins troll-blighted
For merchants' pay in Pori's firth,
Then ride salt-waves to assemble the team –
But shutter-lids close the ship’s side-eyes
And the ferry's cats enforce silence
As the three voyagers their venture begin.
The quietness lulls Lalli, sea-queasy,
To teneless sleep; his two companions
While time away in whisperless hush
Overseen by cats, securely held
In Vellamo's guard, virtuous Lady
Of the running waters. They wend unscathed
Through her power's grace to Pori hithe,
Its wonings cleared of the worst dreads
With Swedish help, so the swan's meadhall,
Sanderling's joy, sea-wender's holt,
Suomi’s threshold, Swedes' safe haven,
Rest gives to farers. The river courser
Hails a sea-drake, century-old
Relic of days ere the Rash ended
Shipwrights and yards. Yawning, its belly
Gulps the lakefarer; a good welcome
For the band of friends. Bidden by Taru
They explore the ship, plump for sleepsteads,
And their goods unpack as they gossip about
Their next federate in far Sweden’s
Björköfjärdin, Baltic fortress,
Rail-head and port. Expecting kin
And aid trysted, Emil, heart-sour
Callow cleanser, on cobblestones drags
His unhandy bag to the high entrance
Of the steamer’s berth. The stairs he climbs
To the waiting-room – wildered he spies
Siv and Torbjörn, savant couple,
His kin Västerströms, in the cosy hall –
Not the cold rail-quay or the cobbled streets
Where their aid lacked. Emil, wrathful,
Demands the cause of his unmet tryst
To know he arrived on the wrong day –
Unschooled Emil scanted the map;
One sun-turn had for the water-pass –
Few enough hours for the Finns to cross
The gull’s pleasance! Plainting Emil,
No lodging booked, no bed reserved,
Endures a night dozing on seats
A deceitful book set on his face
As long he slumbered. From litter of diners
Beside his sleepstead, a sliding foodplate
Defiles his tunic as fast in slumber,
The minutes drift. At morningtide
Over-late he wakes as the wave-traveller
Berths at the landgang and disbarks the Finns;
The friendly Swedes to the frommed guests
Welcome extend. Wild-customed Lalli,
Lone-scout noita, ignores their hands,
Wants no greeting; wide-eyed Tuuri
Gushing loudly over gorgeous Swedes,
Points up Emil, apparel marred
In his long sleep. Language hurdles
In making friends mean that the team
Neglect to track their train schedule;
Far is the stand, over stones ice-glazed,
Where the steel-courser loads its last riders –
Hopelessly far. To hold their chance
Tuuri commands mystified Lalli
To run full tilt to the rail-coach door
Forbidding to shut till his buddies come
Faring to Mora. The folk carrier,
Secure steel-horse, steam-borne castle,
Wends through the land, windows unblinked,
Proclaimed as safe by cleanser wight
Emil swaggering Swedish success –
But he sees the line of Lalli’s stare
To his marred tunic – and retires to wash.
Then food, and talk. Tuuri, eager,
Looks for a troll, while Lalli and Emil
Share cold distrust till they come to Mora.
