Years ago, a friend decided he wanted to change some things about his interactions in the world, and about his role in our tribe.  We jokingly came up with an idea to kill the old him and raise a new one.  And then things got serious.  I had a hand in it and needed to tell our stories of the event.  This is one of those stories.

Alherin

On the Eoghanachta’s sacred Hill
We called out to the Fetter-God,
And our dauntless kin offered himself
To the Wanderer in sacrifice.

Amadeo died the triple death
Lashed between unblighted trees.
I cut his throat, stopped his breath,
And spilled his entrails at our feet.

Grave Chieftain on his sunward side,
Fore-mother beckoning from the West,
He bore the cut, the noose, the bonds
As though he lay at a lover’s breast.

Tir Thalor stood–bold sentinels
As Goldmund scattered sacred leaves;
We muttered prayers with gasping breath
And called the ravens to their feast.

Sacrifice for Odin’s furor
Blood-helmed man, crow-clan warrior.

Twin trees held him in their breadth
And where he fell Alherin rose.

Iron-brow, one night quickened.
Blood-helmed man, crow-clan warrior.

Red he came with knuckles white
Groping free of clutching night.

Bold he came all fury seething
With flashing eyes and sharp teeth gnashing.

Strong he came with sinews straining
Blessed by wolf-cry and black wings beating.

Swift he came, slick with blood,
Our grasping hands to raise him up.

Sacrifice for Odin’s furor
Blood-helmed man, crow-clan warrior.

Iron-brow, one night quickened.
Blood-helmed man, crow-clan warrior.

© 2013 Amy Ripton

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