I stumble through a burned world, choking on the smoke and despair, and collapse at last, and as I draw a last painful breath my eyes close...
...and open, a man offering a hand, climbing to feet, a column of men, familiar faces, determined faces, the promise of vengeance and death and glory, marching through blackened fields and empty ruins, friends from long ago joining us, enemies brushed aside but not the enemies we want, a triumph in a city of wood but thoughts elsewhere, then a turn, ascent, climbing always. Cold, high, bearded strangers in thick clothes offering guidance, a friend falling from the cliff screaming, a pause, a speech, cheers masking terror, safety behind, the unknown ahead, sentinels of stone watching a silent march through snow...eyes close
...and open, the cold gone, a city of gold and blood instead, half empty with soldiers, exhausted hungry sprawled in the streets, confused fear watching from the shadows, a man striding, purposeful, calling. Men and camels answer...enemies? Or not, but friends not yet, deals struck, trust impossible and unavoidable, the empty lands beckon...eyes close
...and open, the city gone, instead sand, sun, heat, long lines of men. Sometimes water, sometimes none, too late to go back, hope is ahead, camels and men from the distance, lifegivers, love and gratitude replacing hate and fear, then a shout, trees on the horizon, a surge forward, weariness forgotten, enemies appearing out of the sands, or are they more friends? But they bar the way and are thrown aside, or are they fighting each other, or were they never more than mirages, and then they go back to the sand and greenery appears and men cry in glee and the trees weep to see us...eyes close
...and open, another city, crowded and rich and fearful, a man on the steps of a palace, calming words, soft reassurances, exotic finery beside him, he says the enemy is here but not the enemy, transmuted by some strange magic. Cheers from the crowd, fear to relief to jubilation, confusion subsumed by loyalty, a kneeling figure crowned by a man, a woman in red over one shoulder, a man in a mask over the other or were they ever there. A castle on a mountain, defiance pouring down in a torrent, ignored, no more fear, no more respect, no more concern for them, the world yet ahead...eyes close
...and open, the city gone, another march, another empty plain, more heat and thirst, more strangers beside, more strange nights under unfamiliar roofs, eventually a shock of memory, the sea. But not our sea, this plied by strange ships and stranger men, a man speaking to the new strangers, more men to fight? But instead food, water, unexpected friends at the end of the world, an army before us, wavering, uncertain, but not us, and they break and run and gates open to receive us and a man walks through into another city...eyes close
...and open, another city by the sea, strange tongues and strange temples and the cry of gulls, ships at port, very many, disgorging dark skinned men covered in gold, they follow Light they say, but not ours, and how can there be two? A man waiting for them, no gold, no gems, just dust and sweat and armor, they talk, they shout, men reach for weapons, a cry from a man halts them...and then they kneel...eyes close
...and open, and another city, this one familiar in its strangeness, but burning, ships fleeing the harbour, fat men pulled from tall homes and killed in the street by other men, old rivalries, old hatreds, no concern for us amongst their revenge, but they all look and sound the same and how can they tell one from the other? Spoils for friends, but our enemy not here, disappointment, how much further? Then resolve, what is a bit more now that we have crossed the empty lands, a man walking through the destruction, sadness, not vengeance in his eyes, a moment of guilt for the loss...eyes close
...and open, one more city in the distance, towers and gardens and high walls, an army barring the way, a glittering array, no uncertainty here, crying defiance and rage and revenge, friends besides us, camel lords and sand men and bearded lunatics – though were any of us ever really sane? - and men who praise the Light that isn't the Light, all more familiar now than brothers, none afraid. A command, a move forward, the clash of arms, killing and dying, screams from them and none from us, a line bending, pikes pushing forward, arrows falling like rain, a sharp pain in the side and a fall to the ground, death rushing forward, but then a horn and the sound of distant thunder and a man on horseback, shining with a blinding Light, a man in a mask beside him – or was it a Lady in red or a girl with tears on her face or a sorrowful boy with a stick? - and behind more horses, an endless stream, and a great cry, dismay from one side, triumph from the other, mingled. The pain gone, running after the man and the horse and the Light, the enemy parting before us, turning and running and dying and suddenly the way clear, nothing between us and the city and the man gives a cry and the gates swing slowly open. A mad rush inside, crowds parting, enemies running, the heavens opening to let us pass, storming a palace, guards at a great door throwing aside weapons, ignored, the end is close, the door forced, a throne inside...empty. A man shouting a challenge, cursing a coward, smiting the throne, and it falls into pieces and then more thunder as around us palaces and towers crumble to dust and at last eyes close...
…and I awaken to find the world remade.
-The Fever Dream of the Companion, Unknown, 6th Century RM
Sleep deprivation is the mother of inspiration.
