The Darklands by Stuart Clayton

I woke in a daze up not sure where I had fallen from and wondering what had caused me to fall in the first place. I was not sure where I was either, for the darkness was the only thing that I could make out. I laid there for a while waiting for a thought of things past or present to come to my mind but all that came to my mind was a blank confusion. The earth around me seemed to groan under the misery of the conditions that had befallen it.

After lying for a while I decided that this was no time for ignorance, something had to be made of the conditions that I found myself in. I sat up to discover the ground under me seemed to move as I arose, and in fact I was on no ground at all, a small wooden canoe had become my resting place. The canoe may have been 6-7 feet long and held nothing but an oar and a pole that stood at the front of the boat. The canoe had clearly seen better days, some of the wood near the top of the canoe seemed rotten and a small hole sat on the starboard side high enough to let a drop or two of water leak in with the occasional wave that would drift by.

Confusion seemed to abound as to why exactly I was in a canoe until I looked out at my surroundings; Water seemed to stretch for an eternity.  Tree stumps poked out of the water sporadically causing me to believe that the water may have been 5 feet deep in the deepest spots. The darkness seemed to be broken slightly by flickering points of light in the distance that were dimmed even more by the thick fog that seemed to be as constant as the darkness. 

Complete loneliness and fear began to envelope my being, "I was never prepared for this" I thought. I knew of nothing to say or think it was as if fear itself came and sat with me in my canoe, and as I opened my mouth to scream for help I found nothing came out for I had nothing to say.

            Two options were presented to me I figured, wait or begin to paddle into the foggy darkness. Waiting seemed to be the most obvious option, after all I knew nothing of the place I was in and fear seemed to be the only companion I knew at that point, so wait I would do until I could find something else out about this place. And about this time I saw something in my canoe that I must have missed in the darkness. A small wooden sign that sat at the front of my canoe that read:

                                               Searching is the way of the Darklands
                                               Questions do abound, paddle out to find your way.

(For the continuation of this story go to the "Darklands Continuation" link on the right under the "Pages" header)

The Veteran

The battle weary soldier stood solemn.  Sweat and blood mixed and dried on his face and body.  Cuts and wounds, now fresh, in time would become scars and the story tellers of the battles of yesterdays gone by.  The war was far from over, but this brief lull in fighting brought much needed respite to the worn and battered body of the Veteran; not so much that he could lie down and rest, but enough to search for a moment some peace of mind to focus on the battle that still lay ahead.

Many brave men and women followed the Veteran.  Many were lost in the fighting.  Many more remained at his side and fought just as bravely as he.  All would receive the promised reward. 

Behind him stood those who continued with him -- bloody, exhausted, determined, valiant to a person.  All were here not just by choice but because they were chosen, handpicked by the General himself to go to war against an enemy known as the Plague.

Memories of battles and strategies for war, always on the forefront of the Veteran's mind, were set aside for this brief moment as he looked heavenward and breathed out a prayer.

"What would you have us to do?"

The General's answer came quickly, silently, as if whispered in the Veteran's ear:  "Draw them into the valley.  Meet them there while you still have the advantage of the higher ground.  Fight them and you will win."

Silence, as the calm before a very bloody and gruesome storm, hung heavy in the air, an almost tangible substance, as the Veteran turned toward the host of heaven.

"It is time," he said in a tone that was somber, though not defeated, but rather seasoned in wisdom in the face of the reality of the confrontation that awaited him and his men.  Many would die.  Many more would continue on to fight many more battles to come.  All would receive the promised reward.

Dathan Stephens