Chapter IX

Poetry

A mountain, a summit and a journey.
To what? We never knew.
The boy so weak, the girl the same,
snow and hail swept through
our bodies, leaving,
taking and reaving
our weary souls in pieces.
More was required
and jaded and tired
our hope and strength decreases.

Angel and bear; guardian and toy;
a team of unspeakable power,
brought crushingly down by the sly and the blade;
defeated in our finest hour
of need. We tried
The angel cried
in a tone that still endeavours.
The sharpest blade,
swung o’er his back,
and there his wings were severed.

Dead to the world. Branches and dust.
Everything empty and finished.
What do we do when we have not to do?
When our hope and our drive have diminished?
We strive again,
our methods arcane,
to find another technique.
The fates we defy,
continue to try,
even when all routes are bleak.

I lift from red snow, his body.
My arm buried in time and crystal powder.
Magick or none, two arms or one,
I lift up his whimpers both fainter and louder.
The city is here.
Fog becomes clear.
The gates show us what is within.
Inside they dwell.
I heat a faint knell.
Sweeping white wings bring us in.

My Ivy is gone and into the mist,
taken by him who we aimed to defeat.
The boy must be dead or close to his end.
The vampyre’s plan is almost complete.
His power so deft;
all that is left
is to wait for our end to arrive.
I’m chilled to the core.
Our plan is no more.
No one can hope to survive.