Introduction:

“Once Upon These Very Frozen Steppes”

I have heard the black pines whisper
Where the winter will not sleep,
And the standing stones remember
What the living dare not keep;

I have heard the old folk speaking
When the fire was burning low,
Of the antique isles of Ro’Edyne
And the things beneath the snow.

Once upon these very frozen steppes,
Where the moon lay pale and thin,
There were kings beneath the mountains,
There were dragons on the wind;

There were bells beneath the black ice,
There were doors no hand should find—
Once upon these very frozen steppes,
In the elder, darker time.

I have heard of scarlet Demons
Coiled around the northern crown,
With their wings above the heavens
And their shadows on the ground;

When they roared, the seas grew silent,
When they fed, the daylight fled,
And the snow came down like ashes
On the living and the dead.

Once upon these very frozen steppes,
Where the moon lay pale and thin,
There were kings beneath the mountains,
There were dragons on the wind;

There were bells beneath the black ice,
There were doors no hand should find—
Once upon these very frozen steppes,
In the elder, darker time.

I have heard of halls enchanted
Where the candles burned in blue,
Where a curse could wear a fair face
And a false heart could beat true;

There a maiden kissed a warlord,
There a brother slew his kin,
And the frost grew through the windows
Though the summer had begun.

I have heard of one proud city
With a thousand towers of gold,
Where they laughed at every warning
And denied the tales of old;

Then a fire crossed the firmament,
White as morning, hot as wrath,
And the city turned to glasswork
With its people in the glass.

Once upon these very frozen steppes,
Where the moon lay pale and thin,
There were kings beneath the mountains,
There were dragons on the wind;

There were bells beneath the black ice,
There were doors no hand should find—
Once upon these very frozen steppes,
In the elder, darker time.

I have heard the dead go marching
Under banners stiff with rime,
With the iron still upon them
From some half-forgotten time;

Not a foot disturbed the snowfall,
Not a mouth was heard to breathe,
But the ravens fled before them
And the wolves went underneath.

I have heard of ships returning
After seven hundred years,
With their sails as white as mourning
And their decks untouched by tears;

Not a sailor stood upon them,
Not a chain or timber stirred,
But from deep within the darkness
Someone sang in words unheard.

“Rowan red and iron bright,
Bar the door and bless the night;
Heap the peat and bank the flame,
Never call the lost by name.

Should you hear them cross the snow,
Let them pass and let them go—
For the antique isles remember
What the living must not know.”

I have heard of swords unbroken
That were old before the sun,
And of kings who swore to wield them
Till the final war was won;

Some lie sleeping under barrows,
Some were cast beneath the foam,
Some still wait within the mountains
For the hand that calls them home.

You may call them winter stories,
You may laugh beside the fire,
You may say the stones are silent
And the dead have no desire;

But when moonlight crowns the hilltops
And the northern heavens weep,
You will hear old Ro’Edyne breathing
Like a dragon in its sleep.

Once upon these very frozen steppes,
Where the moon lay pale and thin,
There were kings beneath the mountains,
There were dragons on the wind;

There were bells beneath the black ice,
There were doors no hand should find—
Once upon these very frozen steppes,
In the elder, darker time.

Once upon these very frozen steppes,
Ere the sea devoured the land,
There were oaths no grave could silence,
There were blades no years could damn;

And though snow conceals their footprints
And the ages hide their names,
The antique isles of Ro’Edyne
Have remembered all the same.