The Gods of War

 

 

The Gods of War

By

Christopher J. Dawson

 

 

 

 

Approach the drifting sand, bringing down the night’s gloom. All is quiet; for now. Calm before the storm, or is it the peace before death? The Dunes shift and change with the winds as though figments of A restless imagination. War rages between the two rival tribes deep in the blistering heat of the unforgiving desert. But blood is only shed during the absence of the sun, at nightfall when the weather dips to dangerously frigid temperatures. Shockingly young warriors earn the title of man and woman only through the trials of war and chiefs are chosen solely based on the number of offspring who have survived the three year war deep in the sands. For these are the gods of war.

Consume your nightly fear with the beast of hatred and desire. The soft, thunderous thud of a thousand camel skin war boots. The whipping and cracking of the tribal banners of war. All else is silence… Thud… thud… thud… thud… The armies are within spears length now as each warrior tries to burn out the soul of his or her opponent with the fire that screams from their eyes. A low chant begins to dance and drift eerily upon the wind from the backs of both armies. The chants swell as their curse slowly, methodically drifts forward to crash upon the front line of the enemy. Finally the deep unearthly sound reaches the lips of those who are face to face and a ritual of motion begins. The bodies sway and thrust hauntingly, trying to unnerve those across from them. An eternity is spent in the endeavor… But as expected, there is a stalemate. For these are the gods of war

Come; feed the devil’s lust, for on this night we shall become the reapers of hell. A single spear from each side cuts the night sky as the full moon reflects from the spinning blade. None move. There is a heavy thud and a soldier from each side is claimed by death. And with that, as if in perfect rhythm, the two sides collide. Blades and blood fill the darkness of the night but none make a sound. For if a warrior cries out in death, the demons will find them and lay claim to their soul. Only the clinging of blades, the panting of the fatigued, and the distinct sound of a thousand boots sloshing through blood soaked sand. In these wars, there are no tricks, no strategies… just death. To die is to add your burning soul to the flame of the great god. To survive is to feed that god with the souls you send. For these are the gods of war

Bow in awe as the great god of gods shatters the veil dark, for his queen is set to her slumber. The sun breaks across the tops of the shifting dunes and all fighting immediately ceases. All who are able, drop to their knees and place their foreheads upon the crimson sand and give thanks to the great god for giving them enough strength and courage to survive the night. The dead and wounded are left as the armies return to their camps. No ceremonies will be held, the dead now belong to the desert. The staggering ocean of sand slowly devours the bodies and erases all signs of the bloody war. But her hunger is not sated... Tomorrow she must feast again upon these, the gods of war.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[skadi29]

A warrior cries out in death, the demons will find them
and lay claim to their soul.
Bow in awe as the great god of gods shatters the veil dark,
But as expected, there is a stalemate. For these are the gods of war .