The Call

Rán and her daughters in a storm at sea.

Reeling from the ice
Snarling from the blows
Grinning through the cold
Tired from the work
To hearth and home I fared
The ice and the night
The cold and the storm
I slammed behind stout doors
For fire and warmth

Yet my way I lost
In dreams
Into the sea I fell
From wind whipped rock

Spear straight I knifed
Through black waves
Cold that bit the skin
Venom making dead iron
Of muscles numb and stilled

Nine daughters of She Who Waits
Cast me in the depths
Far from light
Far from sound
Until the shore and surface forgotten

Bubbles from my mouth escape
Follow them I surge
The hammer of my blood
The thunder of the waves
Clawing through jade dark depths

Hunger rules all
For air, for light for life
Laughter sounds
Cold and cruel as Her whim

Shining in the depths
Naked in her glory
For the sea is her only garment
Glory and death her jewels
Black eyed and white skinned
Hair dancing in the waves
Dancing to the siren song

Black Ran
Lady of the depths
Death hunger of the deep
Cold mistress of the silence

I dove like a seal
Arrow straight to her side
Down from the light
My every muscle drove
In balanced perfection
Like killing, like loving
Like nothing else

Last of my air escapes
Bubbles rising
I had turned from them
Not the surface sought
Not the light
Not survival

Ran danced in the depths
Uncaring in her glory
Hunger beyond hunger
Deeper in me than life
Her song
Her call

A flick of her hand
From the depths I fly
Cast upon the shore
Shaking and cold
Weeping and empty

Muscles too weak to rise
Rage too strong to die
I claw back to my home
To fire
To life

This time she did not call
This time I returned
Black Ran
Who casts her nets for men
I am bound to you
One day to know your arms
Drown myself in your hunger
Lose myself in your need

—There is a god we offer to, bright Njord of the waves. He we remember in fair winds and calm seas. It is black Ran who rules the depths, she whose rage is the storm, whose casts her nets for men as we cast our nets for her bounty.

The seas will not give up their dead, not even at the end times, for Ran’s love like her hunger knows no limits. What is hers she will not give up.

By John T Mainer

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