Song of Geoffrey
A composition of Mienrade of the Melics
as told to Sylva, the vizier’s daughter
Drueed took his own counsel, meditating in the shadows of
The rock, heights of Medialia known only to the few
Who would make of themselves men of valor and honor,
Those few who longed for the greatness of a past day
To return again to the present. And so did Drueed
Make a decision to himself in that day that such a one
Would arise from a strange people, a man not of the Melics,
And of this tree would he produce branches, two strong limbs.
And upon these branches would balance the fates of peoples
Scattered about the land, for upon strong arms and hearts,
Branches and roots, does the future place its hope.
And this one did Drueed raise, and he did fulfill
His due charge, to make his home with the Rufoux,
But befriend too all men of Medialia. And greatly prospered
The strength of his loins, and mightily the courage
That found seat in his heart, until the day of his passing.
But you, men of Medialia, will you not reserve the rest
Of your lives to mourn the doom of Geoffrey? Will you
Not proclaim your dirge for generations? Yet not today,
No not today, for even the mightiest trees are doomed to die,
But the lifeless standancrag stands tall and erect forever.
Indeed, the land cries out no, and the waters sing in response,
That on this one day you will celebrate the life of Geoffrey!
Hear! Oh men of leather and red, of bronze and fire.
Give ear, you clansmen of the trees and those who populate
The streams and rivulets! For a man lived before you!
Listen, O Bedoua, for the sands will not ring
With the echo of this song, nor will the stone walls
Deflect its tempest, oh you Raspar archers. For a man
Has walked the roads of Medialia, and traversed its waters
Like the greatest of his forefathers, and ours indeed. On this
One day, we will celebrate the life of Geoffrey!
“See what the future holds for you, oh Melics, what
The shadows will show you when the appointed day
Has come to pass upon Medialia,” said Drueed, the great
Mystery of the ages. “See what man walks into the forests
To challenge your choosing to dwell apart, above the heights
Of all those who surround you. For he will impart to you
An idea foreign to you, and a hope for your future.
Open your reasoning to a new thought, that with men
Should men settle. Take hold with the hand the invitation
To see beyond what the shadows foretold, beyond what
Your ancestors have seen; take hold of the reality that reason
Must concede does exist beyond the form of mere shadows.
Oh, Melics, you have done well, for you are Melics,
But now I send you another who will strengthen you
And help you see that a reality exists beyond reasoning.
That one will bring hope for the Melics, hope for Rufoux.
And one shall meet him, and one will make him welcome,
For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.”
Through the branches, though familiar to her feet, Hilde made
Her trek, against the setting sun, with the destination
Of land, of earth, and deserting the place of her upbringing.
“Why do you leave me alone, Drueed, oh you benefactor
Of the Melics? Do you find it difficult to speak,
Most high of the forests of Medialia? Or do you
Simply fear a woman? Do you find your tongue tied?
Why do you not defend yourself before me? Do you
Find me too difficult an adversary in my weakness?
For I am destitute in my home, alone within
The multitude of my clan, and there is none
To comfort me. Why then do you withdraw from me,
Oh Drueed? Why do you separate from me, just as
Surely as death itself does separate one from another?”
Yet did Drueed remain still, unwilling to reveal
The depths of wisdom, only the breadth of mystery,
Leaving Hilde to seek in her own mind the realm
Her contentment would at last discover.
“For what reason have you led me to the edge
Of my forest home, Oh Drueed? For what cause have
I been driven to the outskirts of my people?
What wisdom is this, Oh Philosopher, that you
Impute your contempt upon a destitute matron
Such as I? For there is no comfort within my
Family, nor succor either in the bitter arrows
Of my clansmen. Every word finds its mark,
Every glance stabs with its own blade, in this forlorn
Heart.” Yet still did Drueed hide within the shadows,
Still did he withhold his secret counsels from
The Melic woman as she trod upon her solitary way.
And her hard feet felt the cool softness of the soil,
And the trees stood behind, her past, and the leaves
Nodded a gentle farewell to their prodigal daughter.
“Oh, Drueed, you have surely abandoned those
Who need you most, those who call upon your name most
Desperately, those who have lost all hope except in you!
For my womb is empty, and my bed desolate, and still
You hide your countenance from me! Show yourself,
Drueed, or else show me the face of my salvation,
The one who would give me release from the drudging
Toil of my days!” Hilde screamed toward the treetops
Vanishing into the distance. “Who makes this noise?” said
The gruff voice, “That imposes upon Rufoux lands?”
Hilde did jump at the sound, for the voice was surely
Grand and daunting, and she believed for a moment
Drueed truly heard and answered; yet no terror quaked
Behind the voice, no threat that is the spawn of weakness,
For strength itself brought forth the words, courage
Breathing justice and honor into its spirit, for thus spoke
Geoffrey of the Rufoux, the grand patriarch of his clan.
“I am Hilde, a Melic, and I abandon the trees
Of my homeland to tread upon your hallowed ground,”
Replied the woman. “I wander alone upon your lands
Even as I am alone in the branches. So do me no
Injury, Rufoux man, for surely I mean no harm to you
Nor to the ground of your feet and fathers’ feet.
For a butterfly can land anywhere, but only
The most tender petal would feel its weight.”
“Woman, I know not of what you speak,” replied
Geoffrey. “Only do I know that you tread upon Rufoux
Lands, and in all my life the Melics have forever
Remained in the trees. Often have I heard their songs
In the dusk, but never have I seen the singer, neither in
The leaves nor standing upon the dust of Medialia.
What brings you here, woman, before I call the warriors
To wreak their vengeance upon you and your clan?”
“Have mercy, my lord, for my people know not that
I enter among you. The Melics grow tired of my ways,
And there remains none to console me. Therefore I leave my
Homeland to seek another, one who might bring fruit
Again to my womb and comfort my arms in the night.
So, my lord, have mercy upon me and upon my people,
For they have
none of me, nor will have any part
Of me, and are innocent. As for me, as I linger
In my suffering, it matters not, for your mercy
Might extend my years or cut them short today,
It matters not. But within your own borders,
I have surely put my fate within your hands.” And
So did sorrowful Hilde beseech him, hands enjoined.
“Well you speak,” said honorable Geoffrey, “For the ages
Have passed without new war between Rufoux and Melic,
And I seek none now. Nor would I do harm to a lone
Woman, if indeed you do not scheme to deceive me,
And do not produce clansmen from the trees like droppings
Of the kinderfalcon. What your complaint is, and what
Remedy you desire, yet escapes me and any power
I have to drive you from this land in contentment.”
Gently did he rest his eyes upon her, not wishing
Any evil upon her, seeming so deprived of hope.
“Sir, listen then to my lament, that your understanding
Might open upon my desire.” And Hilde did lean
Her breast upon his shoulder, and look into his clear
Eyes, searching for weak flesh in the strength of his
Gracious spirit. Thus did Geoffrey fall into the wiles
Of her graces, the muse of her tenderness, and did
Bequeath upon her the Rufoux bloodline. But yet
Not to his shame! For still is Picta among us, a
Shadow for a future generation, the
Fruit of a merciful man, born from the honor of
This father of many, never speaking, never lamenting,
But only casting his memory upon her and the matron
Forced into the mountains in her guilt — for truly
A Rufoux man showed grace more than the trees — yet still
Offering hope to the Melics, the dying people, hope
That the sins of the past would not be visited upon
Generations to come, but instead life would call their spirits.
For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.
Again did Drueed sit among the shadows and meditate
Within his own counsel. Again did crisis arise among
The Melics, and Drueed called upon a man of separate
Nation, but not cause. For across the land of Medialia
Did a strange race invade, roaming the land in rage
And destruction. Towering high above the heads of men,
Mighty Aoten ranged the fields, with grievous footsteps
Claiming rights to Medialia. And the Melics did protest,
To see the hideous giants below, but their efforts fell
Weakly to the ground, for they boast not a warrior race,
But a people of thought and reason, for so continues
Drueed’s gift to them from of old. And so did
Drueed again consider them and the words of their
Prayers lifted toward him, and did sit in the shadows
And meditate within his own counsel. “These Melics
Recall their need again, and all of Medialia, trees and
Lands, and they call upon me for wisdom and
Deliverance. But they yet fall upon wisdom, already having
Been defeated by the encroaching Aoten, and knowing
To seek out aid. But who shall I send to rescue them
From their distress, and to make a war against these giants?
For there dwells none within Medialia strong enough to survive
The slaughter of the Aoten, the might of their blows,
Except the Rufoux, and Geoffrey of the Rufoux.”
And so did Drueed again call upon bold Geoffrey,
Endowed with the courage of age, the audacity of the
Passage of years, for so little did he care about
His own life that he would gladly give it for that
Of another. And Geoffrey heeded the call of
The Melics, and did bring his clan into league
With the tree-dwellers. And so he did at last lay
His eyes upon Picta, and his hand upon her shoulders,
And so he did make pact between the Rufoux
And Melics. “But we cannot win alone!” he declared
To the gathered warriors, “For our strength still falls
Short to defeat the hulking Aoten, who hunger
After our grain and the taste of our flesh. There remains
A secret matter for us to uncover — we must
Bring into the battle all the clans of Medialia,
All the peoples who belong to this most grand land
Upon all the Earth, or neither will the Rufoux,
Nor Melics, nor any clan live to tell the tale
To children dandled before the ceremonial fires.”
Did Geoffrey cease? No indeed, for the ancient Rufoux
Saw truly that still weakness vexed his forces, not enough to
Overtake the raiders of the land, those who would rape
The forests and meadows. Even as the desperate cry
Lifted from the land, even as its people fell destitute,
Ships of the Koinoni brought their own terror,
And the Rufoux saw anew the despised vagabonds
Of the Earth. What new trouble would arise – just as
The eyes of the clan had diverted to saving
Their village – from the desires of the traders, vessels
Weighted down with ill-gotten wares and fiendish reputation?
What indeed? For it mattered not to Geoffrey, who saw anew
Upon the ships only strong arms to bear weapons,
And mighty robes of mail to deflect darts and arrows,
And ingenious devices from foreign lands that would
Serve him well to flummox the thick-headed Aoten and
Add strength to the swords of the Rufoux, the axes
Of the Melics, and the imaginations of all others
Who would partake in the great adventure he led
For all of Medialia. “So join with us!” he proclaimed.
“Take up your arms with us, in the glorious battle for
The life of Medialia’s clans, and be one of us again,
A lost nation found once more in Medialia;
Be among the race of humans again, and no longer the hated
Wanderers of the waterways that flow you know not where.”
But yet still the army stood weak, and its number too few.
And so yet again did Geoffrey of the Rufoux, the man
Who makes Mog himself jealous for the power
Of his bravery, the impudence that prepares for battle
By putting aside armor, jealous for the courage that
Lays siege against giants and dead elders alike, unafraid to
Challenge the weapons of a gigantic enemy or the mindset
Of entrenched culture, so did Geoffrey set out upon his
Desperate journey into the blowing desert sands of
The Bedoua, the strange people who had so long hated
The Rufoux. But Geoffrey, without fear in his heart,
Without doubt of mind, sought them out, to make his
Peace with the legends of warfare, to show his people’s
Desire now for treaty, and desire now to right former
Wrongs, so that even the great lancers of the Bedoua
Might join in the battle to save Medialia. And in his
Wisdom he did bring the mighty desert nomads into alliance
To defeat the Aoten, even down the River Alluvia did he
Bring them, making peace between the Bedoua and Rufoux,
Between the Bedoua and the waters, to be cursed no more.
For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.
Nor even yet did Geoffrey rest satisfied, this man of godlike
Stature, the thumbless one of g
rand reputation, for still
The defenses of the clans against the giants could not
Withstand their assault. So even still he coveted the aid
Of the hidden clan, the hermit dwellers of the stone city,
The Raspars, who alone know the secrets of the high
Walls, the stronghold of warfare, the polished death
Of the fine stone arrowhead. Never had they been seen,
Never had they deserted their fortress of cut boulders,
But Geoffrey would not be restrained, nor would he
Be discouraged from his mission, and he gallantly marched
Across the expanse of Medialia, navigating the rivers
That hold the land in their tender embrace, and approached
The foot of the walls surrounding the great city,
The towers of stone, glistening in the sun, crowned with
Gargoyles, witness to the greatness of mankind, the glory
Of man’s mind and muscle, the genius of his creation.
What foolishness, they claimed! But do not the shadows
Cast by the moon seem less dense in the darkness?
Did not Geoffrey’s tree lift great missiles through the air,
Driving the giants into the river and across the land?
Was it not Geoffrey who returned? Did not Geoffrey
Advance across the fields, back to the awaiting Rufoux?
Was it not Geoffrey leading a great battalion of Melics,
Of Bedoua, of Koinoni, and thousands upon thousands
Of Raspar archers, bristling with tools, weighted down
With weaponry, desiring to spill the blood of the Aoten?
Was it not Geoffrey, or do I think of another?
Will my song end with this salutation? Or will I sing
More of Geoffrey? How could there be more still to tell of this
Man of Medialia? I must confess, still more I must tell,
For he has brought hope unto the Melics, the people
Of the trees, but as well all the clans of Medialia,
But more so he has brought hope to the Rufoux.
For in the days of his travels, he came to see
The sore melancholy of Artur, and the bruising of his heart,
And the prison of custom did hold his son in cruel grip,
And Geoffrey vowed this calamity would not fall
Upon this, his youngest son, nor fall upon his clan. In
That day he spoke his word to overrule the tradition
And end the solitude of Artur, and the shame of Andreia —
Just as his mercy touched the heartache of Hilde —
To ensure the line of Artur, the line of Geoffrey,
The chieftains of the Rufoux, that their leaders might
Grow in prosperity and fatness in all the years ahead
After driving the Aoten from the land, and all
The clans may live and work and play and marry,
Even as Artur and Andreia marry against expectation
Of the gods, and peace will reign upon the Earth.
For what is old is passed, what is new has begun.
Let us celebrate this hero, even as his funeral flames
Reach into the skies, his own fiery countenance taking
Him into the heavens without flint and kindling.
Surely the magic of Drueed shows us a great thing,
Taking Geoffrey into his reward at his own calling.
Let us celebrate the hero! For he has shown us
The way of the new world, the new Medialia,
A time when all clans will join together for
The better good of all! Let us celebrate the hero!
For he has battled the tyranny of traditions that
Held all men prisoner, and has led us into a better
Way, even as we do battle against looming rivals of
Simple flesh and blood, but no less fearsome!
Let us celebrate the hero! For Geoffrey lives on
Among us, always in the heart, always in the memory,
His spirit anointed to lead the new future of Medialia!
For what is old is passed, what is new has begun!