Sonnets in Waves: Interlude
Of how Loinnéörl is lost and on the run, and he finds the Hidden Kingdom of Targok – Caerdor
Verden lay in shadows deep, and the Dark Lord dwelleth atop the fortress, once the beacon of hope and in all-green clad. Alas! Forests marred with iron cold; línde lost – and with them, the light of steorran forlorn hath been. The place no longer merits its name, and the Dark Lord calls it a wretched name, after his crooked tower he hath built atop the hill; the highest one in all of land – Dëoratrum1. From atop he speaketh words of venom, and he taketh from his thanes; and he lays waste to the lands far and wide – burning línde and defying théön. But in his vile efforts he is not alone: he is aided by creatures which from neither théön nor steorran hath sprung. Those he forged from embers and smoke and poisonous mists, full of venom and spite, in deep and dark corners of Dëoratrum: bending iron and steel to his will with hammer and sickle. Wretched wyrms, fire-breathing, iron-bending menaces; and their chief lieutenant, the breath of ancient fire that lays waste to ages and time, Agnifýrnscaðawyrm2.
Perched atop the Eastern tower, the dragon pierces the land with its spiteful gaze, its yellow eyes; and the reflections of flames from down below the fortress flicker upon its scaled skin, dark as coal. And there is only one thought in its wretched mind, which the Dark Lord hath put there: to lay waste to the lynage of Hoté.
Down in the South, far removed from the claws of Dëoratrum, there is a kingdom of a friend; hidden from the spiteful gaze of Agnifýrnscaðawyrm – under a veil of dark green and blue woven around and atop the land of its king, Targok3. The veil was a gift of ancient times; times when the world hath only been taking its shape: it is the last remnant of the ethereal memory of time and age, warping the spacetime around the land just enough for it to conceal the kingdom of oaks of Targok, Caerdor4.
And so, Loinnéörl, after a long age being hunted by the dark shadow of the hand of Dëoratrum, reaches a place where the legends tell the Hidden Kingdom shall lie. But for days and days Loinnéörl would search, and the kingdom would not reveal itself to him. In despair at last, he sat down on a nearest rock, and as the first break of sunlight at dawn, from behind a cloud on a cold winter morn, a song reached his ears, in a tongue not known: it was mellifluous, though he could not discern the words – they sounded as though sharp edges of rocks were biting deep into a cold beating tide; yet the waves of melody and the somber tones blunted the unyielding spikes protruding from the water:
Óró, sé do bheatha ‘bhaile,
Tá Hoté ag teacht thar sáile,
A bhuí le Rí Targok go bhfeiceam,
Hoté agus míle gaiscíoch.
Cois bánta réidhe, ar ardaibh sléibhe,
Ba bhuadhach ár sinsir romhainn,
Ba dhúchas riamh dár gcine cháidh,
’S ag siúl mar iad i gcoinne námhad,
Sin breacadh lae na saoirse,
Tá sceimhle ’s scanradh i gcroíthe námhad…5
And so it came to pass that the bard’s gaze fell upon him, and he beheld Loinnéörl; and the glint in his eyes did not betray who he really was – the kin of Hoté, once a king, of whom the verse spoke, its echoes still lingering through the land.
Sonnets in Waves
Derke, n. darkness, VII 167. [OE. de(o)rc, adj.] See Þerk. Tour, Towre, n. tower, II 159, 245, 359, XVII 349; (of a ship = Castell), XIV c 18. [Late OE. tūr from OFr. tour.]
Agni - God of Fire; Fýrnscaða - ancient harm; Scaðæled - fire harm; wyrm - worm, serpent, dragon
Targe, n. (small) shield, XIV c 55. [OFr. targe.]; Ok, n. oak, XIV c 57. [OE. āc.]; Oakenshield - Dubček (dub = oak)
Dor - Tolkien, land; caerelus - Latin, greenish-blue
Oh you are welcome,
Hoté is coming over the sea,
May it please the king Targok that we might see,
Hoté and a thousand warriors.
In a valley green, on towering cliff
Our fathers fought before us
We are children of a fighting race
And as we march the foe to face
The long-watched day is breaking
There is terror and fear in the hearts of the enemy…