Warrior

            "The history of a soldier's wound beguiles the pain of it"

--Laurence Sterne

               The magnificent citadel was cloaked in dust from the storms that flew across the Vale of Lacedaemonia*. It was housed in the midst of sprawling weeds and crumbled leaves.The wind blew across them, filling the structure with the scent of daffodils and leaving a trail of dampness, as a gift for the molds. The early morning sun rays have sneaked into the citadel, elegantly passing through the crevices and recess, to find the wounded warrior, Athanas. The pain never seemed to stultify the glory of the young warrior, who was bleeding from the grotesque wound on his shoulder. 

                       Athanas stooped forward eyeing his hoplon* engraved with his family symbol, the lambda. He knows how it feels to have this in his armory. The hoplon chooses the real men, who unceremoniously fight for glory and welcome death. Now it was dotted in crimson shades and stained with the dried blood of enemies. The ethical liturgy was overwhelming, when the glossy scabbard* shone in sunlight. He remembered the words spoken by his lady love, Elysia, before he stepped in to the jaws of death. 

                         Her words reverberated in his mighty heart, sending a sense of revulsion towards battlefield. The strand of hair that conceals her thick brows and the divine smile that blooms in her face besotted him upon her. Just like a lightening, Elysia struck him and joined his soul, after her subjugation with Greek Gods. Finally, the day had arrived for him to join the legion and seek glory; the moment that tore his fabric of solace. Athanas rested himself in her bosom to listen her soul's whisper, which said,

                       "the battlefield needs men like you, who fight to break the shackles of slavery. Some kill for gold and some do it to taste power, but when you do it, fame will embrace you. Come back with this shield unscathed, I shall be waiting for you with white Horner's flower.."

                       The shrill sound echoed the Gothic structure like a daemon, signaling the warriors for the ambush. The legion arose with mighty spears and a maroon cloth adorning their broad shoulder. The belligerent warrior sprang up, with his spear pointing forward to quench its blood thirst. He lurched forward and joined the legion, like an ant swarm. The bloodshot eyes made rapid movements imbibed with anxiety and fatigue.

                     The blanketing silence was overthrown by the enemy's arrow, which went searching in between their shields. The next moment was marred with cries and agony; the warriors marched forward succumbing themselves to a holocaust. The ground below them trembled with fear; flowery petals lost its chrome to this unprecedented hatred. Amid the shower of arrows, Athanas pounced forward thrusting the spear into the enemy's throat and came down battling for breath.

                         The wind carried Athanas' final breath across ravines and jungles to reach Elysia' castle. the wind rattled its way, before coercing her sleep and bolting her upright. Beads of perspiration hemmed in her forehead with uneasiness creeping in. She moved in elegance carrying her grace with mixed emotions engaged in a quibble. The sight of silvery moon losing its sheen nad the cry of the owls pushed a lump in her throat. Elysia's arms slowly caressed her belly feeling the seed of life in her and mumbled,

                      " sshhh.. Don't be afraid of the bad omen, son. Far across the horizon, your father stands tall against the prowess of evil, to seek light. You will rise against the burgeoning turmoil and  the beasts, along with your father. You will be my son and a warrior.. "

*Lacedaemonia- it refers to the ancient city in Greece.

*hoplon- it refers to the shield employed by the Greeks, to protect against enemy's attack, usually made of bronze or wood.

*scabbard- sheath for holding the sword or knife, made of leather or brass.