01 - Aletz

Chapter 1

The sun made its lazy trail through the sky, the clouds hiding and revealing it in turn at their leisure. The steel heated and cooled as the two masses of men drew closer. They were a twin forest of spears sprung up upon an empty field.

From each heaving mass a procession emerged, and they were led by two men; each with a golden crown atop their head. They met at the center of the field. Many times before had this pair met, and always afterwards they had gone back home with all the rest, but not this day.

The horns bellowed. First would come the horses and their riders, with their long wooden skewers and their second shining skin. Rising dust and rumbling the ground. Soon they would clash, agile and deadly, and dance their dance of death. The horns bellowed.

One solitary soul watched from afar, unseen among the trees of a nearby forest. There was sweat on her brow, not hot from exhaustion but cold from fear and doubt. What she would do, what she had to do, long had she contemplated. Would things change and never go back to be the same, this question echoed in her mind. Ahead in the field, the grass began to drink the red elixir. Soon all things would be nourished.

Now would come those on foot; a wall of shield, spear, and sword. The horsemen would soon draw their dance to a close, the steeds of one color would flee and the ones of the other would have their way clear. One of the walls of shields would split asunder, and thereafter the battle would end—and the lives of many would end. The horns bellowed.

What right did she have? the one in the forest pondered. She was not a soldier, she was barely more than a child. Maybe she was mad. Could she really do all these things she believed she could? Perhaps once she went out into the open—ready and bold—to try and carry out the deed, it would all come crumbling down. Perhaps she would discover herself a fool, and chance be a dead fool at that. Deep within her however her soul—like a whisper, pressed her on. Ahead her fate awaited and it would wait no longer.

And the horns bellowed. Pandemonium—men turned away from the onslaught, they would not dare see the blade of the great reaper as it made its harvest. The lucky would find mercy, crushed under hoof or impaled through and through, their spirits whisked away in the blink of an eye or less. Others would live perhaps longer and be made to suffer all the while.

Near her a snail began a trail along the length of a tree trunk for a new meal. The longer she stalled the higher the cost would be. With a tight grip she pulled the torn shroud that covered her body closer, before drawing its muddy cowl over her head. She was already late, the red was already flowing. The time for doubt had ended. She would watch no more. And the red would flow no more.

The air cracked, the forest bowed, and no men could ignore. From one banner to the other they cowered, first turning their heads down in fright, then around and about, searching. A second crack was heard—even louder than the first—up in the skies, and the clouds bowed. The horses, their trance broken, scattered; their riders, befuddled gazed above in search of an answer. There was a solitary figure standing in the clear blue; as high as the sun of noon. A shadow presiding over them.

A third crack came and the shadow vanished. A whirlwind fell upon the men on the field, impossible to contend. All of them on their knees clung to the dirt, humbled. The forest of spears was felled, wood broken and steel bent. Horse and rider rode together no more. The battle was dulled. Two golden crowns were swept up into the air. There was a fourth crack and the field bowed. The shadow was among them.

A tattered cowl on its head to obscure its face and a loose shroud blowing in the wind, barely clinging to its body. A stranger. Silence. Men did not know whether to flee or kneel. Some did the former, others did the latter. In none was there left the will to challenge. The men who called themselves kings, too, found themselves prostrated on the ground—wordless. Violence was defeated.

Quiet ruled supreme over the battlefield eternal. The sun went on sailing slow and patient. The pastures once more were darkened by the clouds, then lightened, then darkened again and no one spoke, no one moved. At the end of the tree trunk the snail at last reached its meal.

A man kneeling on the grass close to the stranger, suddenly—as though he had been woken from a dream—remembered his own self and spoke.

"Who are you?" the man asked the stranger. "Are you with them?"

The man seemed to realize the folly of his question as quickly as it was uttered. This entity had allegiance to none. And yet, as if to give an answer to his inquiry, the figure lifted its hands up in the air. And in each was clutched a crown.

The crownless kings rose to their feet. If it had come to it, they would have made this field their graves; they had come ready for this, for they—unlike so many other rulers—were not cowards. Yet, the stranger clenched its hands and both crowns crumpled like dry autumn leaves, precious jewels turned to shards and all. Whatever momentary defiance had blinked into existence in the minds of the two men had been blinked out just the same.

The ruined crowns fell on the grass. A fifth and final crack thundered, and the men bowed. Gone was the shadow, the stranger. The men puzzled and panicked, but steel did not meet steel again. The banners and colors were now only cloth and dye. Before long all men had left the battle plain. Perhaps they would fight again another day, but not that day.

The cold sweat was gone. Her shredded cowl smelled of lightning and ash, Aletz hid it before returning to the camp with all the others who had been left behind; the women, the peasants, and the laborers. She had gone to fetch water, or so she had told the others, and none would be the wiser. Her hands trembled, yet, whereas before it had been from inner turmoil, now it was consummate resolve coursing through her being. Was this how it was supposed to be, to feel? The whisper lingered in her soul. It felt right. But it would only be the beginning. And most important of all, it would remain a secret, it had to.

From the soldiers to the common folk the story spread, at first slowly, then like a wildfire; even though they had been forbidden to speak of that fated day, new myths and lores would spring, a god had been born that day. The god of peace. 

~*~*~*~

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

The chapters after this one are written in a more traditional POV format. Thanks for making it this far! Although as polished as I've been able to make it, it's still a work in progress, and I intend to give it a couple more major editing passes, after I've published 20-40 more parts or so. 

This is part of a larger series of works all set in the same universe. Each major story is preceded by a numerical which determines the order in which each story/character was created. There is no need to read them in any particular order but it's there if you'd like to.  This is the main story to read.

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