I - along with my fellow members of Crowvus - are very excited about our new release on 16th September. We fell in love with this story for a number of different reasons, and one of the key ones for me was the role of history. Of course, when you have a story about the governing and governance of time, there is going to be some element of the past, but the way in which Elizabeth McKay so casually and seamlessly interweaves the past with the present is both clever and effective. Finding our own place in time is not always easy, and neither is finding a place in our current time for the past. Discussing an historical fiction book recently over the weekend's breakfast, we were led into the confusing cycle of how fine the line is between pioneering characters and utterly unbelievable ones. The conversation actually began because of a discussion into our family tree and a look at how the role of registry offices allowed for a step away from the power of the church. In our increasingly ...
Continuing from last week's post which explored Artwork as Inspiration (the starting point for Proof of the Old Faith) I'm sticking with Norse culture. Here is The Weave of the Norns, a poem I wrote a few years ago about these three frightening women.
Enjoy!
The Norns by Arthur Rackham
Beneath the threat of utter doom
he sought them at their fabled loom.
The king searched on until he found
them on the morrow’s battleground.
The tallest worked the wheel alone;
the next, a shuttle made of bone;
the shortest bore a silver sword
with which she severed each loose cord.
What pattern spun these women three,
dictating mankind’s victory!
“I come to beg you demonstrate
a gentle weaving of our fate.”
“Then know you this, oh man of peace,
we weave the thread and cannot cease.”
“Weave us an ending to this war
and grant us threads of peace once more.”
“What cost would such a wise man pay
for us to change our weave this way?”
And now he saw the bloody thread,
time’s fabric dripping crimson red.
As though she took him in her hand
he felt her pull aside one strand.
“You have forgone your chance to leave.
Your life is foretold in the weave.”
The sword cut clear, the thread hung down,
the mediator lost his crown.
For Fate demands a sacrifice
to cast aside her weighted dice.

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