The din and press of the battle had long abated. It could have been hours. It could have been minutes. If not for the doleful marching of day into dusk, it would have been impossible to tell.
To keep my peace, I meditated on the weeks of trainin
(more)g that led me to this moment. Pictured the fierce faces of my comrades, eyes afire. Fear, anger, and bitter resolve jockeying for place in their expressions as they grappled with infinity, mortality, glory, and a hordeful of other intangibles their young minds were too innocent to bear.
While the harangue of war rung in my ears, the last song of the clan-mother echoed in my head. "Most of you will die," she said. "But all of you are vital. If we all play our part, some few will indeed survive. And on the shoulders of those few rest the hopes of the rest of us, and the fate of everything our people have ever been."
Most of those who heard her speak that day didn't realize that the few she spoke of had been pre-ordained, their roles chosen for them far in advance. The rest, for all intents and purposes, were fodder. I'll never forgive myself for keeping that truth from my fellow soldiers. My neighbors. My friends. My family.
The armor we wore was important. Tattered, stiff, ill-fitting. Something not even the lowest ranking foot-soldiers would bother to pillage after the day was won. But enough to disguise the slow and steady breathing underneath-- for hours, if need be.
Darkness blanketed the battlefield. I began, very slowly, to rise. As ordered, I followed the lowborn star for hours, over field, wood, and rolling hill. Until I saw a single lantern by a glittering stream. Our rendezvous. Our last chance at redemption.(less)
