An Enchanted Quest

(Picks up where A Colorful Quest left off)

The more Henneth searched the more the cave walls
 wavered, transforming as he breathed perfume
 where floated rose’s kiss and a promised fall
 onto a bow-decked bed, veiled by no doom,
 just a mosquito net; no love mirrored
 there, just a door closing and a demon,
 pink carnations in hand standing silvered
 by a garden path, book in hand, reason’s
 flown as he follows, his sword’s grown heavy
 in his hand; mind’s traffic stalls; thoughts, their thrum
 quiets, as ability to resist
 the enchanter wanes; his sword’s dragging hum
 can’t break the spell he’s under, but enlist
 aid by reaching out to she who slumbers,
 anonymous, as she trips lock’s tumblers…

~ ~ ~

For most of history, Anonymous
 was a woman; one whose rising from ground
 in disregard; in pastel she’s all trussed
 up and corseted in courage she’s found.
 No weapons for her, she’s got a bowl full
 of buttons and thread enough to button
 up the foulest enchanter; the rightful
 cave’s owner, its her energy that’s spun
 into this farce; in theory, one good shove
 ought to catapult the fool captive free.
 She’s the element of surprise, this dove,
 not that she needs it, she was young and free
 when history was a caterwauling
 baby–or is that a real babe crying?

~ ~ ~

She pauses to listen but echoes fall
 silent; they risk not her ire and the urge
 to check dies out as she walks to stop all
 the madness that’s about to here converge.
 A minute’s run puts her deep into spells
 any man would have to hack through with swords.
 A basket of pale purple pears compels
 her to pick it up and toss it towards
 an emaciated thing practicing
 dark arts, making it scream as its matter
 disintegrates on contact thus cleansing
 the air, leaving his victim in tatters.
 “What just happened?” he asked though shaking still.
 “Buddy, you followed a thing made of swill.”

~ ~ ~

Henneth tried to process her words but no
 sense could he make of them not from his view.
 She yawned and stretched, “if you want food, you know
 how to cook it, grate’s over there. I’m through
 here, stay as long as your gear hold out, Dear.”
 She left then, stepping out into Storm King’s
 snowy tantrum, at which she paused to sneer.
 “This the best you got, you cotton crowned king,
 you moldy, cobweb addled, beardless twit!”
 The wind snatched her words and flung them to its king
 whose apoplectic fury loosed a blitz,
 frosty hounds bent on a long glacial freeze.
 She seized them, hitched them to a cart and soared.
 “I’m anonymous woman, hear me roar.”

~ ~ ~

Henneth watched all this in perplexity.
 Though bards had long maintained millennium’s
 children, known for their anonymity,
 oft dispensed with names; future’s premium,
 they said, but that seemed sad to Hen, that name
 should be forgot as pow’r massed to protect
 one’s independence, forgoing all fame — 
 but then what did he know ’bout detection?
 Perhaps the path she trod was link enough
 to the world that names were just letters read,
 their meaning carried forth while off the bluff,
 the letter was tossed never to be read
 ‘gain by anyone, not e’en the owner,
 who has no interest in a loaner.

~ ~ ~

The sword’s glow pulled him, like beaver to den,
 his mind to back to the reason for this quest.
 Listen he did but no baby’s cry then
 did he hear that hour or the next, that pressed
 him to search as the air chilled, but he found
 no baby, not ’round that last bend, just a kid
 goat, curled up and freezing; it’d made the sound.
 He had no milk to give, but warm the kid
 he did as he munched dried venison, tough
 as shoe leather, teeth crackingly salty,
 but food nonetheless and drank from rough
 streams that formed their own lanes while his faulty
 mind tried to work through it all; blanket wrapped,
 the goat kid and he, dreamed of trees and napped.

to be continued in A Starlit Quest, tomorrow.

New Year, New Quest….

Join me every day for 116 days for a quest of a different sort. An offbeat, humorous rendering of Shayari’s magicked miles as seen through a regular Joe (who’s having a midlife walkabout) and the misfits he meets along the way. His life’s never going to be the same. Shayari might not be either.

Part adventure and part travelogue, through hapless Henneth you’ll get to see a whole lot more of Shayari and its Enchanted forest.

~ ~ ~

Sarn and his family are taking a brief hiatus while I work on publishing their first full length novel, tentatively titled Enchanted. You can read drafts of the first 15 chapters by hitting up its TOC page here.

If you miss them or missed parts of their holiday adventure, you can pick up a copy of their holiday novella:

Stars and Angels Sing

Originally published at on January 8, 2016.