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mastin2 -> A Mountain and an Ant (6/29/2010 6:53:56)
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A Mountain and an Ant
Mastin
Dawn. The late chirping of bugs and croaking of frogs is slowly replaced by the humming of the birds’ songs, all in a blissful harmony to the coming day. The red sun appears on the horizon, slowly bringing life to the world, its eternal heat sweeping the night’s cold away, inch by inch.
“Sir, it’s time to go.”
A figure still in the shadows approaches from behind, outstretching a limb to a figure below. As the sun begins to beam down on them, the figure on the ground rises, and the figure who had been above takes a seat on the still-damp grass of the previous night. The brilliant now-orange streaks of light shine down on their faces, revealing them to the world as two men, in a small camp of eleven.
“Thank you, soldier.”
The first man simply smiles, reaching his right hand for his belt, untying a bag and laying it on the ground. The bag flattens, revealing the contents within: breakfast. A ration of meat for all of them to eat. After swallowing a small bite and seeing is comrade and superior doing the same, the soldier speaks again.
“It is nothing, sir. We all have our flaws; your flaw is the same as half the other heroes you normally travel with—you oversleep. But then again, you have a valid reason. No matter one’s background, heroes have harder lives during the day, and are more mentally exhausted when retiring for the night. Some soldiers share this problem, but for soldiers such as me, we’ve been born and raised on early rising. One person per community normally wakes up an hour or so before the rest and then disrupts them from their slumber when they are ready. It’s a difficult thing to explain to those who have not experienced it, but I was that person, and my comrades here, obviously, were not.”
The hero frowns, before taking another large bite. The soldier half-panics, realizing that whatever he had said had somehow upset the hero. He swallows the current bite of his meal, and then inquires as to what the problem is.
“Did I say something wrong, Sir?”
The hero is taken by surprise at this line. After a full second of worry from the soldier, the hero’s cheek begins to distort, his left lip rising. Soon, a full grin reveals a few of his teeth, and he breaks out in laughter. Confusion replaces fear in the mind of the soldier, questioning this reaction.
“Oh, not really.”
“I hate to challenge you, Sir, but you’re a terrible liar. You do not have to be polite to me.”
“Well, your reaction to my reaction I find humorous. I frown at a statement you make, and you treat it as if you just received an instant trip to the chopping block.”
The hero’s smile lessens, and then disappears again, another thought overwhelming him. The depression in his mind irradiates strongly enough to be easily picked up by the soldier, who instantly falls from a brief moment of happiness to more despair.”
“What about before then? And right now?”
“Okay, I admit it: Several things.”
“Well, I am here; you can tell me.”
“First of all, I’m tired of being called ‘sir’. I wasn’t raised a hero; I have a normal name, a name which I prefer to go by. To be called ‘sir’ just seems…well, unnatural to me.”
“Very well, then. Unless you specifically order me not to, though, I will insist on calling you Sir Trenton.”
“Isaac. Isaac Trenton. Last names are too formal; if you must call me ‘sir’, then have it be ‘Sir Isaac’, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Isaac reaches his hand out for the soldier, slightly angry and concerned. “I thought I just—” The soldier begins laughing. Isaac realizes then that he was just joking, and Isaac joins in on the laughter for a full minute. “Oh, that was a nice one.”
“I do try, Sir Isaac. Nobody likes a depressed hero.”
“Which reminds me of the other points. I am extremely unnerved by…well, everything that’s going on in my life. People address me as ‘sir’, calling me superior. I am forced to lead an army in a war that I never asked to fight. I dreamt of just living a normal life, the life of a peasant, the life I had been living my entire life. Then one day, I am carted off, given training, forced to defend my home, and, well, as they say, the rest is history.”
“Actually, Sir Isaac, it’s all history—heroes have few secrets they can hide regarding the details of their early lives. But you’re alone in that regard.”
“You mean that you don’t want to live a normal life?”
“Quite the opposite, Sir Isaac. I have dreamed of the grandest adventures imaginable, of being the hero that saves the day. I love my life, and wouldn’t ask for any single element of it to change, as I am happy with it. But that doesn’t mean at least part of me, mostly subconscious, doesn’t want to; we want what we won’t get, in this case, being a hero. You could’ve talked to any man or woman in our army and gotten an identical response.”
“But…I never, ever, dreamed of being a hero. I wanted to be normal. You’re saying that out of thousands upon thousands of men, none of them have dreamed of being normal?”
“Let me put it this way to you, Sir Isaac: If you ever hear of any person who dreams of being ordinary, keep a close eye on them—they might replace you someday as a hero. Like I said, we want what we won’t get. For people like us, it’s to be the hero, remembered for all time. For people like you, it’s to be normal, and not to have your name famous to all households.”
“So true. You’ve been a great help to me, soldier. Perhaps you can answer my next question as well? It’s something that, for my life, I can’t fully understand myself, not being a normal soldier. Oh, how I wish I were one.”
“Go ahead and ask, Sir Isaac.”
“Why do you follow me? I’m not exactly a perfect leader, I make mistakes, and the pressure is amazing. I can’t do it some of the times, and to see all of you so blindly follow me, a leader who could fail…it’s bothersome. How can I live, knowing so many people trust their futures in me, where if I make a critical error, the whole world could fall and all of them could die?”
“No man is perfect, Sir Isaac. You are no exception. The life of a hero contains more stress than I can possibly imagine. You feel the guilt for every loss of life, every man and woman who trusts in you. You contain greater power, and the greatest responsibility. You’re far from perfect. But you’re the best we’ve got, and if you can’t defeat our enemies, then nobody else would be able to do even nearly as well against them.”
“That helps more than you can imagine, soldier. But…I don’t have the confidence to do it forever.”
“Then don’t take forever to get it done. In the mean time, just do what you are now—seeking help. Under normal circumstances, you would ask the friends you have known for years and newer friends, the ones you fight the most in battle with, the other heroes. We’re here to save them, though, so you’ve got to make due with what you’ve got—me, just another warrior on the field of battle. We’re here for when you need us. While, if we fall, we are not remembered by name, we still die fighting for you, in the hopes that our sacrifice will make the world a better place.”
“That could change.”
“What, Sir Isaac?”
“Your name not being mentioned. Seriously, you’re the one who said historians want to know everything about people like me, including missions such as that. By you simply helping me, your name can go down in history.”
“I don’t mind it, Sir Isaac, but it would be unnerving. As I said, while I dream of having my name mentioned for all of history, I actually do not wish for any such thing in my normal thoughts.”
“Still, there’s one last thing that’s bothering me, and I’m ordering you to give me an answer.”
“Yes, Sir Isaac?”
“Your name. What is your name? I only remember those who have stuck around me for a long while, my friends, mostly heroes, as you mentioned. I’m amongst thousands of soldiers under battle conditions, so remembering their names is impossible as well. Yet that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”
“My name is Will Black. It’s a common name.”
“So is Isaac Trenton. And I imagine half the newborn population around the world will be named that within a few years, at this rate.”
“It is to be expected, Sir Isaac. Farmers such as me have good memory.”
“So you are a farmer. I thought that was the case. You probably know that’s what I was, what I wanted to be. Where were you raised? I don’t recognize your particular accent.”
“Just another farm boy. What you want and what you are happen to be two different things, though. I’m a member of a family farm on the outskirts of Free Will Fort, yet I am also a soldier fighting to defend my home. I practically hope that if our foes actually reach that far, I die fighting, because if the war ends, then death would be more pleasant than a life without the possessions you’ve cherished your whole life, gone up in cinders.”
“Well, you simply mentioning that to me will ensure that any whose homes are lost will be given the best compensation I can give within my humanly powers. Hero status and all that; it’s one of the few advantages—being able to help people.”
“I suppose so. It’s been an honor talking with you, Sir Isaac, but I should wake the other men, and we should depart shortly. We’re all risking our lives to save your friends, whose own safety is at risk every moment we delay.”
Will gets up, stretching his muscles once again. He takes the now-empty bag and tosses it into a backpack. He checks the straps on his silver plate armor, and then reaches for the brown shaft of his spear. After packing a few of his possessions, he throws his backpack onto his shoulders and grabs his spear. After walking around the camp and waking his comrades up, Will joins Isaac in preparing.
“Let’s go, Sir.”
The yellow sun pounds down on two individuals below, hovering over several mounds of dirt. Day had long-since come to them, and they had just finished with even more personal business.
“Isaac…why are you staring at these ten graves?”
“This was a regiment of soldiers, Jake. All from the same area, all who fought and died for us. See those four, the furthest to the left?” Isaac points to the appropriate section. “They died rescuing you, eight years ago. The other six lived on, mourning their comrades’ loss. I didn’t even know their names.”
Isaac points to the next three graves, the agitation in his voice great. “See the next three? They died when we fought at the battle of Knife Hope. Away from their family, and away from most of their friends as well.”
Isaac then points to the final group, the one that he and Jake now stand over. “The last three, the three we’re standing over right now, they died in our final defensive battle, fighting for their homes, fighting to protect us at the battle of Free Will Fort, four years ago. This one was named Will Black. He’s the only one I knew the name of. He talked to me. He died, when he was so close to going home to his family, his wife, his sons, daughters, and siblings. I might not have known him well, but I knew him well enough.”
A slight tear comes to Isaac’s eye. “Jake…these men all died because of me. And there are thousands more, just like them. We’ve had our own personal losses as well, lost those we’ve called friends. But we’ve been selfish; others have had losses as well. How can I live, knowing what this cost us? They trusted their lives in me. And yet, they are still dead, and we still live. They died because of me. Their names will never be remembered. Perhaps a note in a history book, if that much. In this case, they are the ten men who helped me rescue you, and who four died in the process. Nothing more. It’s wrong. Their lives weren’t any less precious than our own. They had their own stories, their own reason for fighting, and their own history. And it will all be forgotten, yet we will be remembered for all of time. I…can’t stand it.”
“It’s not true, Isaac. They died fighting for you because they chose to fight. They wanted the same thing that we did, and they eventually got it. They were ready to sacrifice themselves for us, because they wanted the victory that we eventually earned, at a heavy cost. They trusted you because they saw you as the person who had the greatest chance of giving them that, the victory at the smallest cost possible. We won. No person could’ve prevented any less damage. As single, individual men, they might never be remembered, and their stories will be forgotten. But for those who lived, at least part of them will be remembered. As individuals, they were insignificant. As a whole, as an army, as the ones who fought and died for you, they will be remembered. The ten soldiers who helped you. The thousands who died fighting for you. Simply the mentioning of their group is more than what they could’ve possibly asked for. They’re going to have memorials for the thousands of them that died, and history will record them as noble sacrifices for a greater good. War is bloody. Whole bloodlines die out every time we fight. You know this.”
“Alyssa was the last daughter of the Trinity’s…”
“And she is just among many. They, like her, knew the risks, yet wanted to keep fighting despite all that. For our race to continue, as a whole, with their memories partially living on in us, for the army that died fighting, so that their comrades, the rest of their army, could survive…it is necessary for there to be sacrifices. And they were happy to do so. They died doing what they wanted to, and will live on for an eternity. If you ask me, they, in some ways, are better off than the ones who lived, better than us. In their own ways, each of them was a hero themselves. Charisma, bloodline, courage, and abilities all contribute to being a hero, yes. But the thing that makes them truly great, greater than even us…is their spirits.”
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