A Daemon-Horn Blade Ch. 25 & Epilogue

"Already I think I can hear their laughing, my love." She wheezed, her breath barely more than a faint puff. "Hold my hand tighter, for I think I can feel myself slipping away to join them and I would have my beloved partner by my side. Our life was good, but the trials that remain must now fall to others, now comes the time that we rejoin all of our lost friends and join their play at the great feasting halls, that we might laugh and make merry without care until the Weavers set us upon us our next great task!"

"Never shall we be parted my lover, not even for a moment! Rowan gently replied as he kissed his wife's lips and then her forehead and hair as she gently drifted off in to a gentle and increasingly deep sleep, with her weak efforts at breath slowing, as Rowan slumbered as well, holding her tightly in his arms, together, their hearts beating together in unison, but slowing and eventually failing.

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Their eldest son found them that way still, early the next morning when his father did not arise as usual just before dawn to light the forge fires. Their bodies, like the forge, were cold, but the smiles on their faces warmed the sadness of their passing. Their joint tomb, already prepared in readiness next to their friends Boyle and Ayleth would remain a favorite picnic area for the villagers, as the deeds of the four heroes were faithfully told from generation to generation.

Their stories of duty and honor lived on, told by countlessgléamenin dozens of lands, and particularly by an especially sad Foole of indeterminate years wearing an old battered motley that he had once worn fifty years ago in the past, while also wearing another name. Here, on this sad winter's day, a man who once might have been called Gléager Oddtus stood over the dirt of their graves, by their headstone, and his tears flowed like the ale that he would later try to drown his sorrow in.

"Rest, play and feast well, my old friends, for Weavers and my brothers shall have much need of you in the long years to come, but we shall never forget you and what you have done for us, to bring an end to the old age and to perhaps light the spark of better, happier days yet to come, may the Weaver make it so and thrice honor your sacrifices! Good lad, you could have indeed brought this land to a golden age, but in truth the burden would have indeed taken much of the joy from your heart, and driven you both to early graves, long before now. You are both my belovedgemæcca, your paired threads joined now and forever at their heart, bound to the Weaving forever. It is not farewell forever for us, for again our paths shall cross, but alas ye shall not know me again. Still, one day yet, if thegangewifre, the weaving of the web of the future, remains on path, your descendant shall indeed wear the crown of this land, and then shall much be made put right, to the glory of your memory!"

The Godling, but a seventh of his formerly divine self, trapped upon this world to do the bidding of the Weavers, spread some more handfuls of grass seed upon the bare cold and wet soil, with a prayer to his absent banished brother,Yweorfan, the God of Cultivation and creator of the race of men, to bless the ground and to keep it forever lush and green. A place of joy and happiness forever, and not where an ill-summoned Daemon once slew scores and led a pair of young heroes to all-too briefly unite five duchies in its greatest time of need.

With a final tear or two from his eyes to moisten the fallen seed, the Foole bowed his head in a final brief prayer of thanks. He would sing all of his wondrous tales of Rowan and Gwenda's goodness, and of the pains and trials that they suffered, until there would not be a single dry eye in the village tavern tonight, and for this once, would not accept a single coin in payment.

On the morrow, he would have to travel west, to take a boat across Crystal Lake to take another ship and from there travel to Oswein. Cwengyth, Rowan and Gwenda's youngest daughter, might need his help to see that the Daemon-Horn blade made it in turn to its next wielder, her own daughter, and to bring several completely unexpected new heroes to their proper places, ready to perform their needed roles for the next part of the Foole's great plan.

The young girl just might need some heroes to help save her, but fortunately the wise Foole knew just where such a young man, and a most unexpected young lass could be found!

EPILOGUE

The Matron Urðra frowned as she completed weaving her first panel of the new tapestry for this age. 'Still too fucking dark!' She muttered, mostly to herself, as she looked towards the new Crone for advice.

"Certain it is!" The Crone Veránda muttered, in rather annoyed concurrence. "The last panel of the old age that I weaved, before I took the shears, was bright and held forth some cheer. Now, with your first weavings the world is again dark and sinister. Where is that nice bright double-thread that I just cut?"

"Here now in my hand!" The Maiden Skúlda giggled with impatience. Now that that it as been returned to the tree of life, this thread will serve you well again indeed!"

"I hope that it shall!" Urðra replied, to the Maiden. For if the weaving continues ill, it may be your turn once again at the loom before the Æðelings are returned to their divine duties. If it were not for the doings of the seven Cisalo, I fear that the weaving would be even blacker indeed!"

"They have done their duties well." The Crone agreed. Already several of Gældra's seven lost necklace stones, with her divided powers, have been recovered, although they are not all are yet into the proper hands. While her restoration is not necessary for the return of the Æðelings, she will be needed before any final permanent barrier can be created between our world and the Infernals. What they have done to that once beautiful river valley is a mortal crime! The Dweorg, upon their return, are going to be pissed!"

"And well they should be!" The Maiden simpered with annoyance and impatience. "Can't you resolve that particular mess? It is most offensive to me as well!"

"Soon, I think, and I shall need that special thread for that task as well, but for now there another duty that must be done first, and I shall start to weave that now. All shall be well, in time... I hope!"

"Hrrumph!" The Crone muttered between clinched teeth. She knew the Ymbwyrcan was in an especially delicate state, and she was less than convinced that a suitable outcome could be woven. In fact, the destruction of this particular tapestry, to being anew afresh with a new world, was ever more appearing to be the only suitable answer. So many mistakes had been made by Æðelings, she had to admit, but if the Infernals could be forever barred from this world, then there would be a chance. A slim one, but still nevertheless a chance! She had been cutting too many threads short these days with her shears, but that long delightful double-stranded thread, the gemæcca' the two lovers that were one with a single shared heart, indeed had possibilities for a fairer, brighter future!

THE END