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Speaking of dreams and dream-images ... A small fragment here, a rationalisation of a dream I had a long time ago. A little grisly, in the manner of fairytales.
Bones of Iron
The first sight of him was as a corpse. They had hounded us into the silent clearing, onto the low rise of the hill and the shadows of the vaulting bones of iron where he waited. Hung shattered on the crest of the hill, a grotesque bundle of splayed and shimmer-white limbs, the gleaming web of iron lattice-work speared breathless through his body. His head lolled brokenly to his chest, that pale and vicious face lax in death, tattered rags of some once-proud costume strung silver-white from taut, rigid lines of a crucified form. He was a white horror hung gleaming in the moonlight, a grisly statue raised to death. A corpse, we thought him first.
Then he raised that broken head, black eyes suddenly gleaming in that bone-pale face, and then ... he smiled.
We watched, in slow, horrified confusion, as the iron splintered around him, the lattice violently unfurling outwards with the screamed sundering of spun metal, and that shattered body flung itself headlong above our heads, a graceless tumble and the flutter of silvered rags. He landed in a spill of limbs, rolling across the ground between us and those who hunted us, and sprang laughing to his feet, spinning in place, arms flung outwards, head thrown back, throat pale and open as he cried to the sky, and the arced bones of iron above us. A dancer, a mad and deathly jester, he spun himself between us and our enemies, a white ghost on the rolling hill.
Beyond him, tumbling in milling confusion, the wolf-men staggered to a massed halt. Spilling into the clearing from the woods beyond, dark pelts gleaming in the moonlight, the pack stumbled to a halt, and stared at him with amber eyes that shone in sudden fear. The world spun to sudden hush, struck breathless for a confused and moonlit moment.
Then the bones of iron cried out, a thundered groan that sang the earth around us, and the Pale Jester leapt laughing to a sudden dance.
Mad and vicious, grinning blackly in delight, he leapt among them, flung himself careless through air and bone and flesh, and the iron followed him. The lattice-work of Heaven, bones spun from the earth, they leapt to his laughter, sprung from the earth and from the vast ribs overhead, spears and flung splinters of the song-metal, catching his limbs in daggered embrace and flinging him brokenly among his enemies. He vaulted among them, wild and laughing, broken limbs whirling about himself, iron shot through his veins, caught in his bones, and where those limbs passed, bodies sundered, torn by the bite of iron, and fell still. He caught the spears of iron as they rose, hung himself from their embrace as they arrowed skywards, a white corpse caught and flung to the stars, and he laughed, mad with delight, as the wolf-men fell beneath him.
We clung together, we three, caught horrified before the dance of blood, imprisoned by the vaults of iron and the shadows of moonlight in this haunted clearing, and watched him as he fell gracelessly to earth once more. Watched him as bone-white feet touched ground once again, as iron released its ridged, terrible grip upon his limbs, and he stood before us, tall and straight and clean, smiling in a white swirl of cloth, watching us with black, black eyes.
He stood before us, the Pale Jester, the Lord of the Bones of Iron, the Crucified Man, in the shadow of the vaults of iron, and we knew such fear before his corpse-like smile than had ever sung in our veins before.
The first sight of him was as a corpse. They had hounded us into the silent clearing, onto the low rise of the hill and the shadows of the vaulting bones of iron where he waited. Hung shattered on the crest of the hill, a grotesque bundle of splayed and shimmer-white limbs, the gleaming web of iron lattice-work speared breathless through his body. His head lolled brokenly to his chest, that pale and vicious face lax in death, tattered rags of some once-proud costume strung silver-white from taut, rigid lines of a crucified form. He was a white horror hung gleaming in the moonlight, a grisly statue raised to death. A corpse, we thought him first.
Then he raised that broken head, black eyes suddenly gleaming in that bone-pale face, and then ... he smiled.
We watched, in slow, horrified confusion, as the iron splintered around him, the lattice violently unfurling outwards with the screamed sundering of spun metal, and that shattered body flung itself headlong above our heads, a graceless tumble and the flutter of silvered rags. He landed in a spill of limbs, rolling across the ground between us and those who hunted us, and sprang laughing to his feet, spinning in place, arms flung outwards, head thrown back, throat pale and open as he cried to the sky, and the arced bones of iron above us. A dancer, a mad and deathly jester, he spun himself between us and our enemies, a white ghost on the rolling hill.
Beyond him, tumbling in milling confusion, the wolf-men staggered to a massed halt. Spilling into the clearing from the woods beyond, dark pelts gleaming in the moonlight, the pack stumbled to a halt, and stared at him with amber eyes that shone in sudden fear. The world spun to sudden hush, struck breathless for a confused and moonlit moment.
Then the bones of iron cried out, a thundered groan that sang the earth around us, and the Pale Jester leapt laughing to a sudden dance.
Mad and vicious, grinning blackly in delight, he leapt among them, flung himself careless through air and bone and flesh, and the iron followed him. The lattice-work of Heaven, bones spun from the earth, they leapt to his laughter, sprung from the earth and from the vast ribs overhead, spears and flung splinters of the song-metal, catching his limbs in daggered embrace and flinging him brokenly among his enemies. He vaulted among them, wild and laughing, broken limbs whirling about himself, iron shot through his veins, caught in his bones, and where those limbs passed, bodies sundered, torn by the bite of iron, and fell still. He caught the spears of iron as they rose, hung himself from their embrace as they arrowed skywards, a white corpse caught and flung to the stars, and he laughed, mad with delight, as the wolf-men fell beneath him.
We clung together, we three, caught horrified before the dance of blood, imprisoned by the vaults of iron and the shadows of moonlight in this haunted clearing, and watched him as he fell gracelessly to earth once more. Watched him as bone-white feet touched ground once again, as iron released its ridged, terrible grip upon his limbs, and he stood before us, tall and straight and clean, smiling in a white swirl of cloth, watching us with black, black eyes.
He stood before us, the Pale Jester, the Lord of the Bones of Iron, the Crucified Man, in the shadow of the vaults of iron, and we knew such fear before his corpse-like smile than had ever sung in our veins before.
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