Divided Lands
The sword.
Jord looked at the sword in his hand, then back to the sword that stuck up out of his midsection, pinning him to the ground, then to the armored figure laying across his legs. The helmeted head separated from the body, lay on the ground a few feet away.
Jord tried not to move; pain arced out across his body from tiptoes to fingernails whenever he did. He knew at some point he would have to deal with the deadman’s sword that caused him grief, but for now, he thought, “I’ll just lay here.”
“Boy, wake up,” the voice of a man said.
Jord felt a hand on his shoulder. It startled him. As he tried to withdraw from the hand, memories of where he was and what had happened flooded his mindscape. Seconds later, the tendrils of pain touched the entirety of his body, and he moaned.
Eyes opened wide now, he looked up at a friendly face in clerics garb.
“Sorry about that, be still, and I will help you.” The man said.
Jord moaned his approval.
“Are you Ilteran or Obrathin?” The cleric asked.
“Ilteran,” Jord groaned.
“Goddess Celesta, hear me, bring healing, aid my hands, bless your humble follower with healing.”
As the cleric said these words, he did three things: poured a liquid on Jord where the blade penetrated his leather armor, ignited the liquid with a finger snap, and placed a hand on Jord, holding him down; he withdrew the blade. Jord moaned at the searing pain that touched every inch of his flesh and then passed out. Moments later, he woke; the nurturing touch of a moist cold cloth wiped his brow, cheeks, and lips. Jord felt better.
“Thank you, Sir. How can I repay you?”
“Stop fighting in this stupid war. Go home and farm your land. Find a lass to love. Have children.”
“But the Obrathin scum blaspheme the Goddess. How can we not fight?”
“Boy, Listen. Celesta, the Ilteran Goddess of life, light, and water. Crainell, the Obrathin Goddess of the sun, the oceans, and the harvest, are the same Goddess.”
“What? Why would you speak such insult,” Jord said.
“I’m telling you the truth, boy. Your languages differ, so the tales lose or gain in translation, but they are the same. You all fight over words that have essentially the same meaning. The deity you fight for would rather you till the land and raise a family.”
Jord looked across the divided land. On one side of the dead Ilteran, on the other Obrathin.
“It's not true,” Jord said.
The cleric gave him another drink of the elixir; it had a wonderful taste and was frigid cold. He felt even better after that.
“Go home, boy; there is nothing to fight for here.”
Jord shook his head but walked. Before him, on the road home, others walked, heads bowed.
“No,” Jord said quietly and walked on.
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© 2022, T. Mark Mangum
I am T. Mark Mangum. From an early age, I was hooked and addicted to the imagined, unfathomable worlds of Star Wars, Star Trek, Conan, the Lord of the Rings, and many others. I love writing fiction tales. I love writing in multiple genres. However, my favorites are Sci-fi and Fantasy fiction. I am a father of six; we have two cats and two dogs. Tabletop gaming is a passion.