Anarra

 The Queen of Air and Darkness

Pohl Anderson

(Sir Bela of Eastmarch)

 

It was the ranger Arvid

Rode homeward through the hills

Among the shadowy shiverleafs

Along the chiming Rills

 

The Dance weaves under the Firethorn

 

The night wind whispered ‘round him

With scent of brock and rue

Both moons rose high above high

And hills awash with dew

 

The Dance weaves under the Firethorn

 

And dreaming of that woman

Who waited ’neath the sun,

He stopped, amazed by starlight

And so he was undone

 

For there beneath a barrow

That bulked athwart a moon,

The Outling folk were dancing

In glass and golden shoon

 

The Outling folk were dancing

Like water, wind and fire

To ghostly ringing harpsong

And never did they tire.

 

The Dance weaves under the Firethorn

 

To Arvid she came striding

From where she watched the dance

The Queen of Air and Darkness

With starlight in her glance.

 

With starlight, love, and terror

In her immortal eye

The Queen of Air and Darkness

Cried softly under sky.

 

“Light down, you ranger Arvid

And join the Outling folk.

You need no more be human

Which is a heavy yoke.”

 

The Dance weaves under the Firethorn

 

He dared to give her answer

"I may do naught but run.

A maiden waits me, dreaming

In lands beneath the sun

 

And likewise wait me comrades

And tasks I would not shirk

For what is ranger Arvid

If he lays down his work?

 

So cast your spells, you Outling

And wreak your wrath on me.

Though maybe you can slay me

You'll not make me unfree."

 

The Dance weaves under the Firethorn

 

The Queen of Air and Darkness

Stood wrapped about with fear

And northlight-flares and beauty

He dared not look too near.

 

Until she laughed like harpsong

And said to him in scorn

"I do not need a magic

To make you always mourn.

 

I send you home with nothing

Except your memory

Of moonlight, Outling music,

Night breezes, dew, and me.

 

And that will run behind you

A shadow on the sun,

And that will lie beside you

When every day is done.

 

In work and play and friendship

Your grief will strike you dumb

For thinking what you are and

What you might have become

 

Your dull and foolish woman

Treat kindly as you can.

Go home now ranger Arvid

Set free to be a man!"
 

The Dance weaves under the Firethorn

 

In flickering and laughterThe Outling folk were gone.

He stood alone by moonlight

And wept until the dawn.      

 

The Dance weaves under the Firethorn