Moot Beneath the Apple Boughs
The story
No house is big enough, so the table is carried out beneath the dripping apple boughs, with one chair level with all the rest. On it lie the backward knot, the convoy hours, the broken seal, a folded white cloth, a bell and a blackened bowl. The village does not invent what the paper cannot prove. Nella lays down the speaker's key. She is not exiled, but the stores pass to rotating witnesses, and her hands will carry bread to those whose walls are gone. Then the bowl moves forward, a knife beside it. The circle will not bless the ambush and will not crown revenge. Boots turn hard beneath the branches as one path breaks toward the eastern bend. Toman takes the evidence and goes after it, with a task but no command.
The knife placed handle-first on stone at the very end leads straight into "A Knife Refused".
Lyrics
Carry the table out; No house can hold us all. Set it beneath the dripping boughs, One chair level with them all. The backward knot lies dark with rain, Copied hours beside the grain; A broken seal, a folded white, One little bell without a name.
Place what is known upon the timber. Leave every missing line unfilled. Let those who carried out the ashes Set down the weight before we choose.
Leave the high chair empty. Bring every hand into the rain. No secret key, no sharpened sorrow Speaks for every door again. Take the task and name its ending; Lay the borrowed power down. Leave the high chair empty. Let no need become a crown.
A blackened bowl beside the paper, A borrowed key, a seed-cup rim; The tokens circle every answer, No two losses weigh the same; One roof held against the burning, Other roofs remain as names.
The speaker's key strikes apple timber. The store books open in the wet. The fragment proves a choice was hidden; It cannot tell us every debt.
No signer rises from the torn edge. No line names which road paid the cost. We judge the hand that ruled in secret; We will not invent the missing loss.
The key stays bare upon the table. The ledgers pass from hand to hand. No exile waits beyond the orchard; No old office keeps command. The stores remain for shared accounting, Witness changed at every door; The hands that kept one window burning Carry bread where walls are gone.
No pardon hides beneath the service; The choice stays answerable in day.
Then the blackened bowl moves forward. Steel lies quiet at its side. Beyond the eastern hedge, the scouts Have tied the inward signal twice. Crown steel guards food and healer markings; No clean target can be named.
The circle will not bless the ambush. The circle will not crown revenge. Boots turn hard beneath the branches; One path breaks toward the eastern bend.
No throne for law. No throne for shelter. No throne for grief that orders all. Name the burden. Name the witness. Name the hour the power falls.
Take the list and take the white cloth. Take the bell and backward reed. Carry only what was answered; Claim no rank beyond the need. Reach the cut; set guarded names in sight. The task ends where the truth is carried; No command leaves with the task.
Leave the high chair empty. Every hand remains in rain. The key lies down, the bowl bears witness; Neither rules each door again. Take the task and name its ending; Give the borrowed power down. Leave the high chair empty. Let no need become a crown.
One set of footsteps takes the east road. One takes the older path unseen. The apple knock becomes a road pulse; The speaker's key stays in the rain.