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Lost and exhausted,
The boy gasped for air.
Around him danced shadows
Of ghosts and despair.
Writhing and hollow
At barely eighteen,
His veins burned with fire
From liquid bright green.
He reached for the vial—
The flask he had brought
Of crystal clear water—
But all, all for nought:
The water was nowhere,
It vanished on sight,
He retched and he whimpered
In fast-falling night.
He cried for his brother,
For comfort he yearned,
But he’d been abandoned,
And hated, and scorned.
We’re no longer siblings,
His brother had said.
Good luck and good riddance.
Their friendship was dead.
And though the boy missed him,
He’d never admit
That ache had consumed him,
A pitiless pit.
The lad left alone had
Grown cunning and fey.
He’d found new companions.
His ache went away.
He’d found them and with them
Done horrible things;
He knew now what terrors
A hardened heart brings.
But one day, repenting,
He’d started to fight.
Could he still be saved?
He hoped that he might.
And now he lay dying
On stone slick and cool,
And desperate for water
He turned toward the pool.
He faintly remembered
A warning he’d shared
To not touch the water—
He no longer cared.
He stood, stumbled forward,
And at the lake shore
He crumpled, exhausted,
And trembling once more.
The sinister surface
Received his two hands
Just one cup of water
For one broken man.
Then cruelly, the water—
The thing he craved most—
Gave unnatural birth
To a dark, undead host.
(And that was the way that
His whole life had gone;
All his desires went
Horribly wrong.)
As terrible monsters
Arose from the deep,
The water split open;
He started to weep.
Their long, cold hands grasped him—
He scrambled away;
Though weakened and tired,
He kept them at bay.
But then, in delusion,
(His head hit a rock)
His brother came towards him.
He wanted to talk.
I’m sorry I left you,
I shouldn’t have done.
We’re brothers forever;
The victory’s won.
Come here, let me see you,
And don’t be alarmed;
You’re home! I’m here with you;
You’re safe in my arms.
Then from this last comfort
The dying boy woke
To strange and pale faces
That leered as they spoke.
Sweet child, young master,
Come in from the cold.
We’ll cure that which ails you;
You’ll never grow old.
For living is painful
And dying is peace
Harsh ashes of being
Sweet nothing, relief.
See, now you're approaching
The end of your life.
Give up now, be tranquil,
You’re twisting the knife.
From threshold of safety
Brought violently back,
The still valiant son of
The old house of Black
Just couldn’t die quiet.
He raged and he fought,
He laughed in fierce anger,
He’d found what he sought.
Divorced from his family
And all that he knew,
In those final moments
His courage held true.
In five feverish hours
He’d settled the score
And made the cruel tyrant
A mortal once more.
Then ten, twenty, thirty
Pale faces like Death
Drug him to the water
One last, final breath—
He sank to the bottom.
He made his amends.
Made peace with his brother
And longed for his friends.
Some say he was rescued,
Most say he was not.
But if they speak truly
They'll say what they ought.
That far from the sunlight,
Alone in the cave,
The second Black brother
Was finally brave.