Two ride so quietly
Through forests dimly lit,
The throb from monstrous wings
Haunts air and land alike.
A finger raised to lips,
They halt and tune their ears
To hear great Bashtchelik.
Two sit so quietly
In shadows stark against
The loam and undergrowth.
Soft birdsong withers quick
In contrast to the wings
To two now growing near--
They know ‘tis Bashtchelik.
Two draw so quietly
Their swords from golden belts,
Metal to lacerate
The monster called ‘True-Steel.’
The silence dies under
The wings and burbling laugh
Of fearsome Bashtchelik.
Two watch so quietly
With fear overflowing
Their hearts and minds and form,
The monster land before
Their trembling steeds and selves.
“Why have thou come, warriors?
I slew thine own, have thee
Thoughts of revenge? Come now,
And I shall treat thee well,”
The one called Baschtchelik
Spoke regretfully, yet
A hint of joy tainted
His polite expression.
Two charged without a word
Toward the one ‘True-Steel,’
Their blades of true iron
But blunt upon his skin.
His edgéd sword a scourge
On their bodies, though clad
By armour thick were they.
His cruel sharp scythe swung swift
With alarming effect.
The fierce cries of effort
Grew weaker with their blows
Which injured not ‘True-Steel;’
True, he be Bashtchelik.
Two fell powerfully,
Their horses earlier
Having fallen to him.
Legs rendered useless now,
Feebly they sought to fend
Off cheerful Bashtchelik
With once strong swords shattered
Sharp, but well-nigh nothing.
Two, wearied beyond strength,
Released their bladeless hilts
From bloodied, raw fingers.
“I thank thee, worthy folk,
For thy great stamina
Today in this struggle.
Thy coming passing, though
Does cause me some regret,
Renders me the day’s victor.
I will indulge in spoils,
Thy horses, if it pains
Thee not--they cannot run
Or help in any way.
What better purpose can
They serve than feed victor’s
Deservéd appetite?
What does thou say to this?”
Two opened dismayed lips,
But sounds did not escape
Except for a desperate
Cry breaking mournful from
The prince’s drying mouth.
The monster Bashtchelik
Became a cheery cook,
He hummed and sang a song
That sounded cruel beside
The continuous cries
The prince released, weaker
They grew each time, he knew
His sister silent now.
His lids closed not, and yet
A darkness settled on
His vision, stilled his lips.
Before it overcame,
He saw the roasting horse,
A group of frightened men,
And ‘True-Steel,’ Bashtchelik,
Greeting them with chilling cheer.
A chilling end to a very good read!