Valley of the Damned: Kursch Cherval

Valley of the Damned, Vol. I, The 'Halla
Kari, the Valkyrie, tells a story of love and inspiration

Chapter Sixteen: K?rsch Cherv?l (Kursch Cherval)

The Turk again now stood and pounded a demand,
This, a hard soul who lost his life long before it began.
“Tell us of ‘love and benevolence’ my sweet killing dear,
So that I, to its light, may draw to its warmth so near.”

Kari hmmmd the ways of spirit-men all too well, 5
She could tell at a sharp those bound to Heaven or to Hel.
“A consuming love,” soft hón, “is all that one would need,
For her jealous fires take in all that she can see.

No force can oppose Love in Earth or Heaven above,
No, not even the damned of Hell can stop relentless Love.” 10
Kari eyed the crowd of gloried, enraptured souls,
Hand on hilt, a two-edged swordead tale she now began to unfold.

Still, with hesitance spoke she; flutterance in fragile voice,
It was not a lore she longed for, being envious by discordant choice.
For all that she was, a reed of a girl, untried in the ways of the Hall, 15
Compared to her most ‘accomplished’ guest—
A flower who lived and died; yet ne’er did fall.

Yet Kari pressed on, telling the ballad open, true and wide,
Of K?rsch Cherv?l, a certain lad-prince and of those whom she ’cid.

“Unique of her kind, this Cossack warrioress, 20
Alone she stands; no peers of regrets.
Her sword, ‘Symphony of Destruction,’ gleaming at her waist,
Blues notes dripping off, catching the morning’s somber lace
(String-bladed instrument full of wiles and grace).

Green piercing eyes, green ringed with eternal fires, 25
A blaze unquenched—and so fuull of all spirit’s desires.
And long and luscious that ashen lithe, blonde hair
(That dark haired maidens whisper jealous in their saddest of despairs).

Indeed her locks floated upon gentle west zephyrs,
Shim’ring in the sun; haloing upon hers. 30
Red rubied lips pouted the wisped winter air,
And kissed the cold and embraced?as if she had a lover there.

With shad belly coat and her black whip in tow,
Fair breasts a’gleaned, ’gleaned ’gainst the whitened snow.
Her name a legend throughout the hushed pressed land 35
(A warrior vixen to be sure—that no spectre could withstand).
Her name only whispered on lonely crossroads,
Her deeds fantastic; (legends bid it so).

And beside her, great Bursheen, companion?that ravened-steeled s’able steed,
Enjoined her in battle amidst red carnage’s darkest creeds 40
(Aye and roughshods sundered Styx’s blackest weeds).

An unspeakable companion in the rite of death throes fight,
Lightning hoofs of flint and steel a’sparkin’; spirits fleeing in the fright.
An ancient team they were, right from Hell’s Mouth start,
She and the Hellion-stallion lived each other’s tempoed beating hearts. 45

She played the cur for his deadly warhorse dance,
Her stallion breaching/bucking in lethal dressaging parlance.
Cur Airs above the misty cold damnpened ground,
He knew them all–all horrific ancient battle-trumpet sounds.
As treacherous a fighter than ever was bloodlet called. 50
A Dressier-in-arms—many did he in hoofen battery fall.

A contrast, yes her golden tresses and his lustful midnight mane,
Eternally bound to the battle, from On High they were together twain.

K?rsch Cherv?l, warrioress deeds too numerous to be redressed,
Yet upon oceans vast and lands beyond her compositions are addressed. 55

Now, the king had summoned in long dead of night,
Her and her spirit for a mission without mortal light.
?To bring the lad-prince safely through,
Through desperate wildernesses and snow that flew.

The clan in trouble; the last of his dynastic line, 60
The prince to sanctuary to a Temple Divine.

The prince she had to deliver both safe and sound,
To go forth alone–no one was to be found.
Many were the trials of the mission accepted,
Sloughs, bogs, plains and deserts; hardnesses attested. 65

Then came the snows, the terrible snows,
Wind whips cold; desperation throes.
A mountain pass; visible bare seen,
To but cross yond’; the prince would be free.

But then the Horde released the mighty wolves, 70
Weremen by day; their appetites predacious, not full—
To track the prince and slay that K?rsch Cherv?l,
To gain the clan and jaw-crush the bones of her all.

Wind whistles shrieks and moans,
She heard them coming and strummed her sword bow. 75
Neatly strung the boy tightly to her back,
Prepared for ‘The Battle’ Overture so that none would come back.

‘Sword of Destruction’ now in hand,
Played it gently then by grave de-mand.
A mournful kakoph?ny of rhythmed music thus, 80
Made the arrangement—on symphonic thrust.

Sword well-ro’sinned now but platinum made,
The diva stepped in; crescendos to be waved.
And then they came, twelve in all,
Weremen but wolves; their feast to fall. 85

K?rsch Cherv?l in center of ring,
Heard their growls; a most desperate nocturne thing.
“Give us the boy,” one snarled and saliva dripped and snapped,
“And we’ll let go you, appetizer, you as yet.”

Her eyes barbed, then with slight smile, 90
Red their score with a knowing beguile.
“There are twelve of us and only one of you,” bared the toothful Were,
“We’ll make it short and sweet, ‘save you fatigue,’ that is,
if you come to our lair.”

“If you were twelve or 1200 it would not matter still,
You see, I’ve ariaed your vhowel before, just for the kill.” 95
Were’s eyes gleamed in sudden dissonant inspiration,
The Movement had arrived; ‘Death by Blood-fanged Dis-unction.’

Bloodingicingswhirrrrlingcolorrrrk-fuuuulingmêléeing,
Symphonic record; notes de-furred, Were’s heavy-metalled; waylaid.
Sheaved like slanted razors in the sonorous, bleak winds, 100
An elegy of execution; malodies was to her sword of sin.

An arrangement in blade, fervor to tell,
A chambered orchestra fit (—bass, cello, viola, violins—),
For the bloodspring pits of Hell.
Notes fell like lead maces on blood snow rrrifting, 105
Snarlsscreeches died off; the wind doth sififfting.
Wild music true to its baying call—a sonata all to slay,
Made the impassioned melancholy as the Were’s in heaps did lay.

The opus was her sword; virtuoso; played she so very well,
A song she violinced, wailing as it did, her enemies knell. 110
Her edge, no less, she called it her most unchained ‘pet,’
That no enemy should boast; it killed in dischord unrelent.

Still resounds the deed on the mountains they say,
And snow and rain falls to commemorate the s’playing day.

Then to the Temple to deliver the boy, 115
The clan was spared to all a great joy.
Honors were heaped upon K?rsch Cherv?l,
Mistress of the ‘slanted light’?(yea: both wicked and small).”

Kari lift sighed eyes, knew the woman, resonant,
Yet a hero’s tale overall; she would not recant. 120
“K?rsch Cherv?l, I’ll say it again, unique of her kind,
Beware her only, for her harm’ony upon you, you will one day find.”

–Huh.–Love was still mysterious to the man, a foreign truth unknown,
For from his own dwarfed soul, it insincerely shown.
His heart ached strong for things that might come to pass, 125
Wishful desires of life, long lost, perhaps, found at the last.

Yet how he loved her, this sweet Kari of the Blade,
How he a?dored her in her bloody, sainted ways—!
A soul so fine displayed with that cutting edge,
Yet . . . yet shrunk he back into unut darknesssss . . . 130
Remembering she was of the tribe of the dead.