"Fragment from Burned Text" by Aubra Penner

[The beginning of this narrative is lost due to severe charring of the pages. It is, in fact, the only surviving fragment of any length, though the book is believed to be of the library of the Abbot Kalen, at a monastery deep in the forested lands of Tell. The village referenced in the poem is unknown.]

...and when the wind with weighty force
      crashed down the staggering door
and lightning ushered in with glow
      a figure gaunt and gore
and when the thunder did not hide
      the stranger's whisper hoarse and sore-
"I come from the village of Killendore.
I come from far off Killendore-
And Killendore is no more."

Up started Gran from by the fire,
      up Joel from the stool,
up father from the table bench,
      up Mother- calm and cool.
And down the bloody stranger fell
      in a lamplit, muddy pool-
he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

Although his wounds still ran with blood
      which caked his night-cold skin,
still he lived, this stranger lost,
      the storm had welcomed in.
And while we looked, afraid and cowed,
      the storm renewed its din-
for he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

We put him by the burning fire
      and tried to staunch the flow.
We wrapped him close against the cold
      and watched for the signs to show;
the stranger's fate this lonely night,
      the wisest could not know-
for he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

Despite the fire, a chill he took
      that wracked his sleep with pain
and when the shivering spasms passed,
      the only sound was... rain.
Nor moved the man, nor twiched, nor shook,
      as though he should not move again-
but he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

And then he breathed and dreamed again,
      his brow with fever flush;
each sleeping sight rasped rough and loud,
      each breath a whispering rush.
The air grew rank and close with time,
      and sat we still in hush-
for he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

At last arose from where she sat
      our mother; walked across the room,
and opened wide her dowry chest
      and searched a moment in the gloom;
withdrew her hand and closed the lid
      as slab upon a tomb-
for he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

She pressed upon the stranger's skin
      a pin of silver bright,
beneath the which flesh writhed and burned,
      and smoked as though alight-
for he came from a cursed place,
      and bore the cursed bite;
for he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

And Mother's other hand came up,
      a silver dagger bore
and sought and caught the stranger's heart
      with killing strength, and sure.
He screamed but once, and bared white teeth-
      and then he moved no more-
for he came from the village of Killendore.
He came from far off Killendore-
and Killendore was no more.

The hearth burns still with glowing light
      and still lies blood upon the floor
the turf breaks raw upon the grave
      and ill at ease stands the door-
for news has come of Killendore,
my mother's native Killendore,
the cursed, far off Killendore-
and Killendore is no more.