THE CAUSALITY OF TIME

The Reality The sand hit the nostrils with a tempest of acrid nausea as the impact of a strike to the stomach. The sun shone down thrusting sweat from the pores of men and beast alike. The bellowing of elephant and horse hit the senses with a cacophony of sound that confused the senses and dulled the perception. Men yelled out their tension and fear to the blue sky invoking their gods for courage and strength. They beat their swords against their shields creating a thunder of rolling sound meant to intimidate their opponent. He stood towards the back of the column sweating with anticipation and pent up fear knowing this was the time he had slaved for over the past four months pushing himself almost to the point of breaking, learning what it meant to survive and live or give out and die. Today is a day for glory, the gods be honored. It is a day for victory and conquest a day for history to remember. He knew he was a part of something momentous and wanted the glory as the acrid smell of desire and fear blended into the possibility of death and everlasting life in the annals of remembrance. He stamped his foot and hit his shield in response to the thrumming drum beats of artificial bravado. He yelled into the sky releasing the pent up tension, roaring for the inevitable rush into battle. The trumpets shot out their orders and the soldiers moved forward as one mass of organized death, one step upon another step moving towards the enemy with the growing courage and determination of youth and the persistent prodding of the captains. Drums and trumpets continued blaring out into the day issuing orders and masses of men, hundreds of thousands strong, pushed forward towards the amassed enemy of Assyria; Babylon and Persia initiating an involuntary reaction pushed their columns toward the wall of men while bellowing their defiance and roaring their petitions to their gods. It had arrived, the day of battle and who was to be victorious was up to the gods. Had the entrails or the stars been read properly? Did the masters of the unknown divine the unknown adequately? Those questions were to be answered in the hours to follow with the expected results of battles gone and battles to come. The column stopped and the front line closed rank with a snap of its shields and a lowering of its spears. The archers started firing their arrows with a rhythmic whump of strings snapping back and missiles being shot into the sky blackening out the sun with a momentary shadow of expectation. He watched the arrows as they arched their way over the column of men bent on destruction of the enemy. Hitting their mark and felling masses of men as blades of wheat to a reapers scythe. The column began to move forward again with an increasing intent and a quickening pace. The captains barked their orders and began to push the men forward into a trot. The whole front began to run with determination, towards the enemy that was at the same time running towards them bent on killing as many of the Assyrians as possible. The two armies smashed into each other pushing with all their might trying to break the collective will. The man continued shouting encouragement to his companions in the front willing them to fight for each other and for their will to live. Stabbing, jabbing and grinding into the enemy as one monster of murder, pushing while the men behind the front stabbed the downed enemy as they fell under the ferocious attack, releasing their spirits into the nether world of damnation. The rotation of men moved with precision as the front line once exhausted moved towards the back of the column allowing the next in line to fight on with renewed vigor. Soon the man was second in line to the front, looking into the eyes of veteran soldiers bent on his death with the same determination and will as he. He pressed forward pushing into the man in front of him while jabbing his sword into the belly of the enemy, a young man with bright green eyes of shock and despair. Blood gushed out of his mouth vomiting onto the ground with a finality that only death would covet. The rotation changed as the horns blew and he found himself growling into the face of another man with shoulders like mountains and arms like trees. He feinted to the left and jabbed to the right finding only air and a shield slamming into his chest with the force of a sledge hammer, pushing the breathe out of him in one exhale. He took a step back and re-positioned himself while thrusting upwards towards the opponent’s face with his sword cleanly slicing through the nasal cavity and up into the brain, exiting through the top of the skull in one fluid motion while exiting the thrust with a dance of pivoting balance. The ballet of death went on while dust, blood and bodily fluids turned the ground into a dark brown mud almost making it impossible for the man to find his footing. The trumpets blared and the men rotated to the back of the column but the man continued on with his dance of death neither tiring nor giving out. Speed and strength seemed to emanate from him as the minutes passed into hours. He seemed to feed off the action willing the enemy to match him step for step cutting into the mass of flesh and bone, slicing through the memories of men, decapitating hope and ending desire with the ferocity of a lion ripping its prey apart in a death spiral of feeding. To the man time seemed to slow to the point where he could anticipate the very thoughts of the adversary thus weaving and dodging in and out of the thrusts of the opponent without effort. He could see the movement of the enemy’s commands as if they were written on the very air and he could react with a timeliness allowing counter strike upon counter strike, parrying the blows with ease. Covered in blood and dirt with sweat pouring down his face the man hacked his way through the column soon finding himself alone and surrounded. Violence was his only friend and he moved with the ferocity of the hypo slamming his sword, slick with the bile of the dead, into the chests and stomachs of men in an ever increasing mass of death. Pile upon pile of bodies amassed together while time slowed to a crawl. Suddenly, the man found himself facing nothing but the dead and their ancestors in a story of the nightmarish finality of battle. Panting he looked around wondering what had happened and to his surprise found the men of his company standing and facing him looking with awe and wonder in their eyes, mouths hung open with trembling fear as they whispered among themselves asking who he is and what had he just accomplished. Dusk had fallen and the enemy had retreated for the day to renew the battle the next morning. The man was now standing amid hundreds of corpses covered in the throes of death, piled up waiting for their release. Had he done this? He looked around and could not believe what had happened offering no answer to the men as they slowly moved towards him with respect and wonder. Soon he grinned and they began slapping each other on the backs while walking toward their encampment looking for food, beer and a chance to clean up. This was the first of many days of battle that would create a man out this boy and propel him onto a path questioning the very fabric of belief and conviction. It was here the distinction of man and animal was to start. It was at this time that he began to ask the gods for purpose and direction but it would seem no answer was to be provided, only more questions lurking in the dark recesses his mind.