THE SKY TURNED TO FLAME
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POETRY CONTESTby E.N. Stinson
Cikath of Chorazin, witch of power,
Was suddenly free from the narrow tower,
Dragged from her cell to the great hall to try
To conjure up victory -- or die!
The men had marched at the call of Prince Dorange,
Eager to fight ’neath the Black and the Orange.
Dorange’s brother lay claim to the crown;
Nor words nor love would make him stand down.
Three princelings joined the Pretender’s alliance
And threw down the gauntlet of defiance.
The women watched from the parapet wall
Sure the treacherous league would fall.
They heard the clash -- horns blared for retreat!
The messenger gasped and died at their feet.
Claire wept for the fate of her prince so sweet
And weighed which was worse: the witch or defeat.
Cikath sent for her cauldron, box, and spoon,
A vile thing from an impaling log hewn.
Lady Claire stood guard with dagger in hand
As Cikath the dark incantation began.
Offerings from Flora and Fauna and Gaia
Thickened the brew as the flames grew higher.
A prescription of power, a litany rotten
Of demons delighted and old gods forgotten:
A spell to breed panic, despair and fear,
To shatter resolve and melt sword and spear.
Sly, from her pocket, one ingredient more
And two prickly herbs from her mystical store --
“A blatchet of sharse and a crocklefern
“Will teach the coldest fire to burn!”
Then in! Hair torn from Dorange’s pate
When he came to her cell to question her late.
So all was done save a last tragic part,
Lady Claire’s loving, willing heart.
Soft pleas to Heaven for her prince’s life
Were the final words spoken by Dorange’s wife.
Black smoke writhed like torture whips!
Cikath raised a spoonful to her lips
For a kiss of desire to ignite the fire
Of the magicks in the mixture dire.
From the pot there arose an ophidian hiss
As if the world’s first serpent were free in Bliss.
She called it by name and sent it to maim;
Beyond the window, the sky turned to flame!
The image formed in her far-seeing eye
How, that night, five armies did die.
Across the woods, on the killing ground,
Death like fiery stones rained down.
She saw the smoke and blood of battle,
Heard each prayer and dying rattle.
The smile on her face was wholly malicious
In this hour of her triumph delicious.
She laughed and capered and waved her spoon
And danced by the light of the bleeding moon.
Her heart held no mercy for carnage done
And souls sent screaming to Hell -- save one.
She saw not, but sensed, a light far below.
He’d be here as fast as his strength would go,
The battle deserted, the throne forgot,
Rivals and duty and honor for naught.
He’d step over Claire’s corpse to bring her a ring,
Her captor, tormentor, prince -- nay, King!
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