So my blog is supposed to be at least partly about writing, but all the writing I've put on here are poetry samples, which aren't really my thing. So here's some prose. I wrote this a couple years ago in a creative writing class. . .building on something that I had started in my sister's writing group. It's long, sorry, and the format came out weird--no paragraph breaks--so it's not the easiest to read. Oh, and it's from a first-person-present POV. Kudos if you read all of it:)
A single, solitary drum rips the silence of the new dawn and echoes across the shadowed valley, resonating between the painted cliffs until it fades away into silence.
Tension fills the air as I wait, hardly daring to breathe.
Across the valley another drum responds, and then another, and another, until the whole of the world seems to rumble to their rhythm, as if the very mountains will crumble into dust around us.
The commanding drums threaten to still my heart with fear but I dare not succumb to the terror. I look around at my comrades, fear is written on their faces.
“Steady!” I cry. “Hold fast!”
My voice is faint compared to the crushing beat of the drums but the fear fades. Many of them glance to the banner that flies above us, held by our stalwart banner-man. The sun has bathed it in a golden glow, a good omen. The men take heart and clutch their spears in defiance of the drums that mock our existence.
I make several rounds among the men on duty, giving encouragement when I can.
“Remember what we stand for,” I tell them. “Remember that you defend your wives, your sons and daughters, and your people. Remember that you defend your country.” They nod their heads with determination.
One young soldier stops me as I approach. “Are we going to be alive when the sun falls?”
I smile. “Are you married?”
“No,” he says, “but I am promised to a woman whom I love.”
“Then think not of our survival, think only of her. You are fighting to give her another moment, another day. When the sun falls tonight, we may not be alive, but she will be.” I don’t know what else to say. I wish to tell him that all will be well, that none of us will leave this life today. But it would be a lie.
He is silent for a moment and as I turn to resume my rounds he salutes me.
For hours the incessant pounding continues. Thousands of drums throbbing in unison, spelling our doom. As the hours pass bitterness fills me. Each drum represents at least one hundred of the savages. I curse those who sent us here and then withheld the promised reinforcements. They knew what we would face, they had been informed of the mobilization of the enemy army. But they sent hundreds when they should have sent hundreds of thousands. It was no secret that the king of the invaders had declared that he would soak the earth with our blood.
My lieutenant puts his hand on my shoulder. I find that my fists are clenched, and with effort I force myself to relax. “Thanks,” I mutter. Gently I touch the talisman that hangs from my neck, a small hoop with an intricate weaving of catgut in the middle and the feathers of a red-tailed hawk hanging from the sides. My wife had given it to me almost a month ago.
I turn to find the Lieutenant watching me from his shrewd old eyes.
“She said it would bring me home,” I explain.
He shrugs. Lieutenant Benarieh is older than I, his long wild hair and beard streaked with gray, a veteran of almost a thousand battles to my hundred. Facing possible death is nothing new to him. He motions to the jungle below us, a thick wall of trees and vines that waits, dark and alive. “It’s a pity we couldn’t clear more for a longer field of fire.”
I nod, though I’d much rather have a thick stone wall between us and them. “We’ve done the best that we can with the time that we were given,” I tell him. “Wishing for more is the game of fools.”
He grunts. “Words of wisdom indeed.” His gaze travels out over the valley below us which is now fully bathed in the midmorning sunlight. The drums continue, as fierce as ever.
Benarieh turns towards me. By the look in his eyes I can tell that he is about to impart some of the wise advice for which he is well known. “Commander, you’ve had what, three? Maybe four hours of sleep in the last two and a half days? I suggest you get some rest. You know as well as I that they won’t attack until the drums are silent.”
I almost protest, but the logic of what he says wins me over. Of all the men here, it is I who need to think the clearest. “Very well then, but give me your word that you will notify me if anything happens.” After his nod I turn towards the command tent, but I can not sleep. After a brief moment of thought I retrieve a roll of parchment and begin to scribe the words of my heart.
An hour passes before I roll up the parchment, seal it with wax, and place it inside a leather bag that already holds several other documents—scouting reports from our campaign.
I fall asleep then, still sitting at my small writing table, but moments later a commotion outside arouses me.
A soldier pokes his head through the tent flap. “A messenger, Commander, from the capital.”
“Show him in, and summon Lieutenant Benarieh as well.”
I glance down at my armor with some thought of making myself more presentable but am disabused of the idea as I notice, not for the first time, the caked mud and dried blood. My entire force has been living in our armor for the last month.
The messenger enters followed immediately by Lieutenant Benarieh. Both give an appropriate salute, and after my response I motion them to sit down.
Before they are even settled I ask my first question. “Do you have any messages for me from the Chief Captain?”
“Yes, the Chief Captain said that your request has been denied. You are to retain your command and Lieutenant Benarieh will remain as your second.”
I ignore Benarieh’s raised eyebrow. “What else? Where are my replacements? I was promised at least ten thousand over a month ago.”
“They’re not coming,” Benarieh growls.
The messenger nods his head. “There was an uprising in the capital by a group known as the Kingmen. Your reinforcements were called there to help quell the rebellion.”
It is a struggle to maintain my composure. “Without those reinforcements our position is no longer tenable. Do we have authorization to retreat?”
“No. You are to hold this pass at all costs.”
“What? Why?” My temper breaks lose. “Do you hear those drums? Do you have any idea what they mean? My men have been in this region for a month delaying the advance of the enemy. An enemy that is innumerable. We’ve been engaged in pitched battles since we got here. The last real rest we had was over a week ago. If we stay here we will be annihilated. All of us. Either way this pass is lost.” I struggle for more to say, but my temper is waning and so I fall silent.
“I’m sorry,” the messenger says as he rises to his feet, “but those are the orders. Do you have any messages to send?”
Numb to any feeling I hand him the leather bag. “You are dismissed,” I tell him.
He ducks out of the tent.
“What was all that about you retaining your command?” Lieutenant Benarieh asks. “Because it would be very foolish if you wanted me to assume command of your men. I know for a fact that they would follow you through the fires of Hell.”
“I’m not going to lead them there.”
“What?”
“We are retreating, Lieutenant. We’ll fall back to the plains and then continue to harry them from the flanks like we’ve been doing. We’ll do more good that way.”
He grunts and then chuckles. “And that is why young soldiers and grizzled old men like me follow you. Because you make smart tactical decisions and you care about your men. Of course it will be your hide once all this settles down.”
“It’s my hide now. And the hides of nine hundred men.”
Benarieh nods. “If it is a retreat you want, then it best be done now. As tired as the men are we wouldn’t make it after the drums stop. The savages would be scalping our asses.”
I begin to laugh and he joins in. It is the first levity I have had in weeks. When our laughter stops it is silent. Completely silent.
Both Benarieh and I rush outside.
“Form ranks! Form ranks!” I shout as I rush to my position. The banner-man blows the appropriate signal on his horn, and within moments the men are lined up in formation ready for battle. According to preconceived plan they form into two companies, A and B.
“So much for a safe retreat,” Benarieh mutters as we reach our post. “They’d run us down in moments. Retreat was the smart idea, but it looks as if we get to hold the pass.”
Already we can see the enemy emerging from the tangle of jungle below us. Painted with blood and carrying their weapons in hand they appear as demons driven from hell.
I nod to the banner-man, and he raises his horn to his lips. The note he blows is long and pure. It is a challenge, a call to battle.
The enemy responds in kind, shouting their challenge from thousands of throats. At the same time they break into a run, slamming the earth with their feet.
I raise my spear into the air. “Archers ready!”
As soon as the savages are halfway to us I drop my spear. “Release!”
The flight of arrows swarms into the enemy. Hundreds fall and die, but there are more, thousands more, that drive towards us. They trample their own dead and wounded into the dust in their eagerness to smite us, their enemies, to the earth.
I motion to the banner-man and again he blows the signal on his horn. This time a series of staccato notes. At his signal a barrier of wooden stakes is raised from the ground. The leading ranks of the enemy try to slow themselves, but the sheer weight of their comrades carries them forward and they slam into the barrier. Their bodies jerk with the impact, forward and back, like limp dolls. Immediately the men of Company A are there, thrusting with their spears to force the savages back. The charge stalls, but gains momentum again as they tear their way through our flimsy barrier. For a moment there is fierce hand-to-hand combat as my men stand and fight.
The drums have started again, further down the valley. I can barely hear them over the pounding feet and furious cries of thousands of men.
I again motion to the banner-man. “Signal a retreat.”
At the sound of his horn Company A wheels away from the savages to my left. Their retreat is quick and disciplined and the savages charge after them, mad with bloodlust.
“Perfect,” Benarieh mumbles at my side. “They’ve spread themselves out.”
As the horn sounds again Company B charges from the right, raking across the flanks of the savages in a wide arcing motion that follows the path of their comrades, who have formed a new front line a hundred yards back. The attack has a deadly effect and completely halts the enemy advance.
“Call them back before they overextend themselves,” Benarieh advises after a moment. At my command the horn sounds again and Company B retreats behind the new line.
The space between the two forces is littered with the dead and dying. The vast majority are savages, but a third of my own men also lie on the blood-soaked ground.
After a moment the enemy begins their charge again. This time there is no barrier of stakes to slow their advance, and they slam into Company A like a buffalo stampede. The entire front line is carried back almost fifty yards before the charge stalls.
Benarieh curses at my side. “The line is falling apart!”
At my command the horn sounds and Company B charges into the fray, filling the gaps that are opening in the line. For a moment they are able to drive the savages back, but then their momentum is lost. My force of nine hundred has now been reduced by half. It is obvious that the battle is lost, as the enemy counters and swarms around them.
I turn to face Benarieh. “You are a good man Lieutenant. Your wisdom has been invaluable.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “It has been my pleasure, commander.”
I nod and turn to face the enemy. “Banner-man, sound the final charge.”
The banner-man plants the flag in the ground and raises his horn to his lips. The note he sounds sends chills down my spine as I break towards the heat of battle. Benarieh and the banner-man flank me on my sides and with us charge my last few reserves. We match our feet to the rhythm of the drums of our enemy.
I lower my spear and raise my voice as we slam into the mass of writhing bodies. I find myself face to face with a young man, his eyes wide with fear, and then my spear plunges into his chest. A look of surprise crosses his face and he falls to the ground. I wrench my spear free, and ignore the blood that gushes across my foot.
Something glances across my scalp and blood begins to trickle down the side of my face.
Behind me the banner-man falls to the ground, his horn flying from his outstretched hand, his other hand grasps at his stomach to stanch the rapid flow of blood.
Benarieh is still by my side, screaming like a madman. He is covered with numerous cuts, but he ignores them all.
Behind us our men are dropping rapidly. And the swathe that we cut into the enemy formation is collapsing. Soon we will be surrounded. I take all this in as I dodge and twist, stab and thrust.
A gigantic savage, almost twice my size, swings a club toward me. My spear breaks as I block the blow, and I am thrust to the ground with my head ringing. I find myself lying across several dead soldiers, their eyes glazed over with death and their faces masked with blood. I roll over in time to see Benarieh impale the giant who clubbed me. I grab a sword from one of the dead and surge to my feet.
I am no longer thinking coherently; fighting only on instinct. My veins feel as if they are filled with hot lead. Even calm Benarieh, at my back, is fighting like an animal.
It seems we are alone in a sea of savages; none of our soldiers are visible. It is likely they are dead.
“No!” Benarieh screams, and I am shoved to the ground. Seconds later he falls beside me, with the javelin intended for me protruding from his chest.
Grief fills me. Ignoring the savages I drop my sword and cradle Benarieh’s head in my lap.
Around me the battle is over. It is strangely silent after the previous chaos, even though the air is filled with the sounds of the dead and dying. Even the drums have stopped. The savages begin to go through the bodies, searching for any living comrades. They see the black armbands on my wrists that mark me as Captain and leave me alone, to them the dishonor of defeat is worse than death. They effectively kill any other survivors from my army.
After several hours they march off in an almost never-ending stream. Some of them watch me and laugh as they pass by, but none bother me. They are gone by nightfall.
All the night I remain there, unmoving and numb to the world. Even the sounds of wild animals fighting over the bodies of my friends don’t bother me.
Dawn reveals the stark vision of the dead spread out around me. Ravens, vultures, wolves, and other eaters of the dead feast upon the cold carcasses, though they have not bothered me. As the sun paints the mountains in a pink glow, and then colors the leaves of the jungle a golden green, I come back to myself.
I leave Benarieh’s side, and with the aid of a spear, stripped from an unresisting hand, I make my way across the battlefield. The going is slow and there is a constant wave of black feathers around me as I disturb the birds with my passage. At one point I come across the young soldier with whom I spoke the day before. An arrow protrudes from his shoulder and the left side of his head is crushed. His right eye is missing, and his body shows other marks of scavengers.
“I hope your death wasn’t in vain,” I mumble through parched lips. As I walk away I pause to look back. “But she’ll most likely die anyway.”
Within hours I have left the battlefield behind. My wanderings have taken me up the side of a mountain where the heat of the sun is almost unbearable. I haven’t had water since before the battle. My mouth feels like leather.
Suddenly I find my path cut off by a cliff. The valley stretches out bellow me filled with the green of forests and the blue of rivers and lakes. It is beautiful. But all I can see is the dead, their eyes open and staring.
“It was all a lie,” I say touching the talisman from my wife. “I can’t return to you after this. I couldn’t look into your eyes. Farewell.”
I step forward into space and the ground rushes up to meet me.
Far to the north she stands in the door of her home waiting for the running man to reach her. As he draws closer she can see that he is a soldier with the stripes on his armor that mark him as a scout. Small puffs of dust rise under his feet as they strike the worn path.
In moments he reaches her. Sweat drips down his dust-marked face, but his breathing is easy. In his hand he holds a small roll of parchment. “Lady, I regret to inform you that the southern passage, where your husband was Captain, has been overrun. As far as we know there are no survivors. We received this missive before he died.” His words are clipped, short, and businesslike. “It is for you.”
She takes the extended roll slowly, carefully, trying not to let her hands shake in front of this hardened warrior. She breathes and begins to speak, but it is some time before the words come out. “Thank-you. May I offer some water?”
“No need; my waterskin is full.” He smiles, a sad smile. “I must go, the Chief Captain has raised his banner in the capital and all the armies are mobilizing. Be well.” He offers a short bow and then jogs back down the path. In moments he is gone.
She sags to the floor and leans her head against the doorframe. Her hands begin to tremble as she opens the roll and begins to read.
I do not know if I can explain the feelings of my heart in the time that I have left to me. Even now the enemy is sounding the drums. Though I hope otherwise, I fear that our small band of soldiers will be destroyed in moments. Should I live, I will soon look into your eyes and hold you in my arms. Should I die, this is to be my final farewell to you, whom I have loved. Even as I write words fail me. There are no words that can encompass the depths of my feelings towards you. Should my mortal body fall into the dust this day, know that if it is in my power I shall wrest my spirit away from the paradise to which it is sent and wander at your side, for even Paradise, without you, would be Hell. And so, with these words I say farewell until we meet again at the feet of our God. You have brought peace to my heart and I am not afraid.
Naturally, being a typical male, I gravitated towards insanely beautiful female faces, and I had visions in my mind of creating something equally grand. . . maybe after a couple years of experience as a stone carver.