The Endless War

Two armies led by kings stared at each other from across the open field of battle. Their ranks were uniform—neat and orderly. That would not be so soon enough. Soon they would see chaos and disorder—war. They were used to it.

The two sides were locked in a seemingly endless struggle. An eternal conflict without end. Day after day, they would line up in formations to do battle in a vast array. Blood would be shed. Men and women would fall on both sides, dying by the sword and spear. And still, they fought. No quarter was asked for, and no quarter was given.

The only end to the bloodshed was the downfall of one of the kings. Cut the head off the snake, so to speak, and the rest of the body shall die.

Think of this like two serpents locked in an epic and desperate struggle. It mattered not how much of the serpents’ bodies were bloodied and hacked away. It mattered not how many soldiers fell. As long as the head was there, the snake lived on. Even if it was just down to the two kings—and they alone stood on the blood-soaked field, strewn with bodies of the fallen—the day would not end until one of them had fallen.

As one king would fall, the sun would finally set. The world would grow dark and turn to night. The night would turn to day, and the endless cycle would start all over again. There the two armies would stand facing each other on opposite sides of the open field of battle. Mortal wounds healed, arms and armor repaired and gleamed anew.

Whether it had been days, months, years, centuries—or even millennia—they knew not how long they had remained trapped in this awful existence. All they knew was that when the sun rose, if they had fallen the previous day, they’d breathe anew, rising to fight upon the field of battle until they or the sun fell once again. It was kill or be killed. That was all there was to it. Day in and day out.

Why? Was this their punishment? To be locked in an endless war—a cycle of bloodshed and death that would never cease? If so, what was their crime? What had they done to deserve such a cruel fate?

Many had long since given up wondering why. It seemed a futile endeavor. A waste of time and effort. Maybe there was no reason for it at all. Maybe there was nothing for them but to do and die, as the old poet once put it. That was how it had always been—as far back as any of them could remember. Many of them had resigned themselves to the belief that that was the way it would always be.

But there were still those who questioned. Those who wondered, How can this end? There had to have been a time when they weren’t locked in an endless cycle of bloodshed and death… right? There had to be a way to break the cycle—a way for there to be peace.

But as time went on, more and more began to lose that hope. It was slipping away like sand through loose fingers. Day in and day out, everything seemed to blur together.

But this day—today—would be different. It had to be.

Eva just knew it. She was one of those few who still questioned, who still wondered, who still searched for peace—that long-forgotten reality that had somehow become a foolish fantasy. Eva had struggled and fought—she lived and died and lived again—and throughout all of it, she held onto that hope with a white-knuckled grip.

The hope that one day, as the blood-red sun rose over that open field of battle, there would be peace. And the cycle would finally be broken. Eva was determined that this was that day. She had a plan. A plan that—if it worked—would end that pattern of bloodshed and death forever.

Anticipation and anxiety built up in Eva as she stood alongside her fellow comrades-in-arms. Her palms were cold and sweaty; her heart pounded in her chest as they waited for the signal—the ram’s horn—to charge that would begin the day’s bloodshed. Eva would lead that charge—the point of the spear. She always did. She was the one who time and time again struck first. It was her privilege and right as the leader of the army’s vanguard.

She turned and looked at the soldiers next to her. She had fought alongside them for days without number. Even before they became trapped in this infernal situation. She remembered that much at least. She knew each of them by name. She trained under some and had even trained others herself. She knew them almost better than she knew herself.

Those in the vanguard with her—they knew the plan. They followed her lead, and by her inspiration, they also held onto the hope of peace. They were with her. And if it didn’t work? Well, today was as good a day to die as any. They’d live to die again tomorrow.

Taking in a deep breath, Eva closed her eyes and waited. The ram’s horn sounded from behind their ranks—there was the signal. “Remember the plan,” Eva told the others shortly.

Another horn sounded on the other side of the open field—a response and a challenge. The air shifted and thickened with tension. The last calm before the storm.

No words were needed. Eva raised her shield and drew her sword free from its scabbard. She trotted forward, breaking the uniform front rank. The rest of the vanguard jogged behind her but kept pace. Their armor clanged as they ran; their breathing was steady. Their feet hit the ground with a steady beat. Slowly the tempo picked up to match the beating of their hearts.

Eva could see soldiers from the enemy’s ranks running forward to meet them in the middle of the field. They were about fifty paces away from them.

“This is it!” she shouted and struck her shield with her sword hilt twice. In a well-practiced maneuver, the vanguard stopped in their tracks and threw up their shields in an overlapping pattern. A shield wall bristling with spears faced the approaching enemy.

And Eva stood in front of it. Alone.

Wary at the sudden shift in their tactics, the soldiers from the enemy’s ranks pulled up short. One of them barked an order in their foreign tongue and formed a shield wall. None of them stood out in the open as Eva did, though. The tension in the air between the two shield walls was palpable.

Eva’s heart hammered in her chest. She glanced anxiously at the rest of the army behind her. She could see the ranks stirring uneasily, wondering what was going on. This was an unexpected turn of events. If Eva was going to try her plan, she needed to do so now. Before the rest of the army broke ranks and charged into the fray.

Eva slowly and deliberately raised her sword for the enemy soldiers behind their shield wall to see. They tensed, drawing closer together, thinking it was her signal to attack.

Then, Eva flipped her sword upside-down and rammed it into the cracked, earthen ground in front of her. She unbuckled the shield straps from her right forearm. It fell to the ground with a clatter. Dust swelled. Her helmet and breastplate followed, along with the rest of her armor.

Eva stood in the plain clothes she wore underneath her armor, palms held outward at her sides. She held nothing in them. “Peace,” she said loudly. “Peace.” She took a deep breath and began walking toward the enemy shield wall. Would a spear thrust end her life—or would her suffering be prolonged? She didn’t know.

There was movement among the enemy ranks. Their shields rippled like the face of the deep, and one of their soldiers stepped forward to meet her. Eva recognized him. They had fought often enough. He was the one who barked the orders to the rest of them—the leader of his vanguard, just like her.

His face was unreadable. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. Dark eyes searched hers; she met his gaze evenly, hands still at her sides. He said something in his language to her that she did not understand. One word—questioningly. Hesitantly.

Eva held out her hand to him. He stared at it, unblinking. Then, her sworn enemy reached out and took her hand in his. They shook.

They did not share a common language, but that gesture transcended words. It shattered that barrier. The wall came crashing down.

Behind both of them, shields lowered slowly. Weapons clattered to the ground, and armor was discarded. Soldiers took hesitant steps forward across the distance between them, meeting each other in the middle. Sworn enemies shook hands hesitantly, almost surprised. They were war-weary soldiers experiencing something they had not felt in ages upon ages.

Peace.

From both sides of the open field, soldiers from the main armies began to trickle forward. First in confusion, then in wonder. Finally, the two kings met each other. They stood across from each other, eye to eye. Eva and the other soldiers tensed. What relative peace they started to feel now seemed moments away from unraveling and disappearing.

The two kings studied each other. The heads of two rival nations were locked in mortal combat for eons. And yet—looking at each other—not so different after all. Then, they shook hands as equals and embraced as brothers.

Cheers went up from across the field of battle that was a field of battle no more. Tears glistened in eyes, and songs broke out among the gathered men and women.

Eva smiled and watched and waited. She knew in her heart of hearts that her plan had worked. The war was over. It was finished. It was done.

That was apparent as the victory celebration went the whole day and carried on well into the night. The sun set. And they were all still living.

When morning’s first rays of light began to break on the distant horizon, the sun rose on an empty field. No opposing armies stood on either side, ready to fight in a war without end. There was nobody there. They were all gone. Finally set free, finally at peace.

How can an endless war truly be won? When the fighting ends before it even starts. Even if the violence and bloodshed and death have been going on for millennia. Then, and only then, will the cycle be broken, and the endless war will finally be won.

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