Christoph awoke, gradually and reluctantly, to the cooled air of a summer’s morning. Sunlight had barely begun to poke through the distant horizon of faintly distinguishable mountains. Stretching against the ground, bound in his single blanket for travel, he prepared himself for the day.

He’d taken a watch in the middle of the night with his brother. Passing by, eventless, the boys had time to quietly talk about the days ahead. The more Christoph listened to his brother, the more he found himself believing in the positives. Malin was a spirited boy. Christoph appreciated that. He even got a little caught up in the dreams.

Malin the Mighty and Christoph the Courageous! I do knight thee, Gildenson brothers, by name of the Emperor! Christoph giggled quietly to himself as he got himself a bit of water from the stream. His brother had thought up the names, but he’d hoped for a title a little more heroic. Lots of people were courageous. Some were mighty. Only a few could be heroes, epic adventurers, or righteous icons.

Rotund Rat. Rainbow Hulk. The Beast of the Salts! So many fantastic names! He thought through the ten Destined Blades with glee.

Two boys were finishing their watch on the edge of the road. The retreated tree line across the path had a large split that ran zigzag through the flats of the local lands. Through that opened, natural trail were a few beams of light that poured over those distant, barely visible mountains. The two lads were drowsy but managed to keep themselves from falling off the stones they found themselves perched on.

Christoph drank his fill and turned toward the open path ahead. A shadow loomed over the distance. A spiraled construct rose like a blade from the ground. The stories had fascinated the young man, but he was weary of traveling near it. He clutched that small bulge beneath his shirt.

Prayers with empty words are never answered. Prayers of the faithful can be often ignored. Prayers of the soul usually open the answer for someone to find. And then, you have the prayers that are answered. At times, they seem catastrophic to the beneficiary of such blessings—but, such is the gamble when imploring a god.

As his thoughts travelled off to a distant being he’d never truly believed in (nor knew its name), his eyes traced the marvelous landscapes around their camp. The woods just beyond the road were darkened by thick foliage and scattered brush. He strained his eyes in the early light trying to see rodent rustling or a deer running through. When that didn’t happen, he turned back to the stream that coursed slowly through the etched lands; deep enough that fish were moving about in these calmer waters before they met with a grander river.

Surrounding their camp, the only creatures seen were insects. Christoph was pleased to see bees buzzing about. Knowing their presence meant sweets along the way, he watched them meander through the air… though, he’d found them peculiar. Most carried on as bees do: pollinating, resting, bothering the boys until they awoke. Some; however, seemed to buzz just out of reach with an inquisitive glare. Christoph whispered to these bees, “I won’t steal your honey.” And off they buzzed.

The trees of the area were well nourished. Trucks thicker than he could reach his arms around spanned the lands. To the north were more hills, and to the west was woods. It would have meant a great deal of work for a community to clear out these lands for a settlement.

Christoph knelt down to touch the dirt on the side of the path closest to the water. It felt a bit grainy between his fingers. A short inspection told him that these wondrous lands might not have been the best for farming—at least as they were now. More work to be done, but the payoff might have been well worth the time.

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As Christoph contemplated this fictional life choice which would never come to pass, he’d ignored the two watchmen walk over and rouse the soldier from his slumber. The man took little time to ready himself. Slipping on and strapping his armor was a daily ritual he’d engrained in his subconscious.

Once completed, the soldier gave the orders. “Up. Up! Time to move out. If we hurry, we could make it there around dark. If not, we will make camp for tonight and arrive tomorrow morning. Move! Move!” He shouted out his orders through the opening in his helmet. His almost scripted commands rolled on through a droll tone. “Move!”

Malin woke and began packing immediately. Christoph was right beside him, but his eyes were still on the woods hoping to find some life in the shadowed foliage. The woods felt more like home than the long march to the unknown.

“The quicker we get there, the quicker we begin training!” The soldier remarked with a bit of joy. Training! We’ll make these boys into men! An obviously diligent man taking pleasure in the work he did. This soldier proudly led the boys onward.

So, they trained along the way. As best they could without swords, armor, or shields, these boys took turns pushing the cart, jogging ahead on scouting details as directed by their commander, and trailed back slightly in attempt to perceive flanking or pincer attacks.

This solider spoke loudly, after he’d lifted his helmet mask, to all the boys. “Listen closely!” He’d shout and walk on. “Two ahead. Keep about one hundred feet ahead. One to the left and one to the right. When you hear my signal, you will head west one hundred feet, face our direction, and continue forward!” He sent two boys forward and to our left. One pair was sent forward and to our right. Then two were sent back behind the cart while two boys pulled the cart along. The lightened barrels made the task far easier.

The soldier would shout, and the boys would rotate. They kept their ears open, their eyes peeled, and their feet firmly planted with each step. Preparing them for war began with preparing them for scouting and fleeing. Sharpen their senses before handing them a blade, and you might just save a few lives. The soldier was glad to see them following orders without gripe or difficulty. It eased the distant concern he had with leading the youth to battle.

“Change places!” His shouts kept the boys moving. Sprinting to here or there. Pulling the cart. Moving through tougher terrains. It was all meant to strengthen the weak.

This, the second day away from home, was more therapeutic for Christoph. He was between the regions of warfare and homestead—a land just beyond a sickness to return home and the madness to flee from ranks. It was a winding journey where they hunted for food when possible, they drank from unknown rivers, and they moved along as a single unit. He was content with this heroic tale.

The Adventures of Christoph Gildenson! Imaginative as the epic’s title was, Christoph shook it from his head. This felt more like a pleasant retreat for him and his brother than some nefarious plot. But, I must warn you, that is exactly what it was.

Beauty all about him, the simple youth took in the sights and considered the best crops for the lands all the while his own Captain meant to send him to the barbarian lines. Though glory would most certainly be found for our hero, it wouldn’t be standing over a pierced barbarian or burning their encampment to the ground that would immortalize his name.

For something had heard his thoughts and answered them. God, fate, nature… who knows who or what truly heard him first, but his thoughts were heard none-the-less.

  And they were to be answered.