The Battle

         As the smoke clears it reveals the battlefield. Thousands of men and

boys who have fought and lost. It is a river of bodies as far as the eye can see. The

screams of agony of the wounded and dying echo so loudly that it can be heard

from miles beyond the field of death. Then begins the procession. The wives,

mothers, sisters. Walking amongst the carnage, hoping to find their loved one.

Praying that they would find them alive and yet praying that death comes quickly for

those who will not survive. This has been a bloody battle, the chances of survival are

less than slim. Those who have been injured and are still alive at this point will be

dead with in the next few hours or for the unlucky ones a few days. The smell of

death begins to fill the air. The raw smell of flesh and blood. The birds begin to

circle, waiting for their prey to die so that they may eat.

         The battle was a long and losing one, but the fight was a worthwhile one.

Most of the men have forgotten what they were fighting for, most are just praying for

the suffering to end. Then, above the rest of the voices and tears a woman has

found her husband. Her screams are high pitched, louder than the rest. She falls at

his side. His body torn apart by the sword of a boy. His arm severed at the elbow,

his abdomen open and his entrails spilling out of the warm wet cavity. His eyes

open and he whispers his last words of love to his woman and then with a last

exhale he dies in her arms. Madness and grief over takes her and she pulls his

blade from his belt and with out a thought of the children that are at home waiting

her return she jams the sharp blade deep in to her belly and lays her head on his

chest to die with him. Her children? They will become slaves unless there are family

members to take them in and raise them.

         The fires were still burning on the field. Houses in the village are still

burning. Hundreds of families are now without a home and without village and many

with out the men of the household. Those who survived pack their few belongings

and begin the long walk to nowhere. Some having babies and very young children

packed on their back, others making the older children carry the precious few

belongings. Nowhere to go, only walking.

         Out of the smoke he rides. A lone hero. He seems almost larger than life

to the villagers. His horse a mighty black steed dressed in battle armor. His own

armor is dented and torn from fighting his own battles. He removes his helmet, his

hair long and matted with blood and sweat, his face has scars from the blades of

those who have oppressed and tortured him, but his voice is strong and determined.

The villagers stop and look as the stranger rides forth to them. “People of Arcadia,

those of you who are left, come now, follow me, fight with me and we shall begin a

new world. Let me take you to a place where you shall begin again, ap place where

you will never have to endure the pain and suffering of war ever again. We shall over

come. Let us be as one people and rise to rule.. We shall journey to Elysian fields

and build our houses on a foundation which is strong enough that no one will ever

take it from us. Tell me people of Arcadia, are you with me?” His shouts are loud.

The villagers desparetly needed leader and here was this man who came from

nowhere.  Surely he was sent by the Goddess to save them, and then one voice of

the crowd called, "I am with you stranger" and then a second voice is heard until

finally the low drone welling up in to shouts of victory and challenge “We are with

you stranger.  Lead us to your Elysian fields were we shall begin again.


Then the stranger said in a voice calm and controlled "For remember good people,

before we find nirvana, we must first endure the trials of fire, pain and misery of hell.

This has been your hell, this here today, the stranger made the people look at the

carnage around them, let us now carve our path to heaven”  And with a renewed

vigor and hope for a new life the work began. First the graves had to be dug. Every

man woman and child that were left began digging the massive graves to lay the

bodies in to. After ten days they were done. There were forty holes in the ground,

twenty feet deep and fifteen feet in circumference. With the passing of time and the

heat of the long days the decomposing bodies were more than many of the people

could stand, but still they pressed on. Filling the holes with the corpses. Finally

when the field was cleared of all of the bodies the villagers took the wood from their

abandoned homes and cut down old, dead trees from the forest and began lining the

graves where the bodies of the villiage warriors would rest. After five more days the

work was done and the match was lit. Forty large bon-fires lit the sky releasing the

spirits of the dead to go on to their next existence. The smell of  decomposing and

burnt flesh made many run to the wood and become violently ill. The other villagers

just mourned. On the sixtieth day it was over. The journey was to begin.