The Oath Stair — the keepers' verse

Carved down the risers of the great processional stair, one line per step, so that a keeper descending to his post read his whole oath by the time he reached the bottom. The second sealing-fragment — and the reason the barrow's dead cannot simply be laid to rest.

[Each line is cut across one broad step of the monumental stair, worn shallow in the middle where centuries of feet — and then centuries of no feet — passed over them. Read from the top down, a step at a time, the way they were meant to be walked:] I GO DOWN OF MY OWN WEIGHT. NO ONE DROVE ME. NO ONE MAY RELIEVE ME BUT THE ONE WHO SET ME, AND THE ONE WHO SET ME IS ASH. I TAKE THE KEEPING OF THE WOUND. NOT THE HONOR OF THE DEAD — THE DEAD HERE ARE NOT HONORED, THEY ARE ON WATCH. I WILL NOT COUNT THE YEARS. THE YEARS ARE THE ENEMY'S. I WILL COUNT ONLY THE WALL IN FRONT OF ME. IF I DIE AT MY POST I WILL HOLD MY POST. THIS IS NOT A CURSE PUT ON ME. IT IS THE OATH I AM WALKING DOWN THESE STEPS TO SWEAR, KNOWING IT. LET NO SINGER SING ME UP. LET NO PRIEST CLOSE MY ENDING. AN ENDING CLOSED IS A POST ABANDONED, AND I DID NOT WALK DOWN HERE TO ABANDON A POST. THE NAMED ONE IS KNOWN BY THE WIND, NOT THE BANNER. UNTIL THE WIND NAMES HIM I AM THE LOCK. AFTER, I AM STILL THE LOCK, FOR THERE IS NO SUCH WIND, AND I KNEW IT WHEN I SWORE. [Below the last step, in the same hand, smaller:] Do not pity us. We chose the wall over the world. Every keeper you meet below chose it. If you would put us down, understand first that you are not freeing us — you are relieving a watch we swore no one living could relieve, and the wound does not care who holds the door, only that the door is held.

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