Chapter 15: The Tale of the United Planet

Justin tried not to look at the faces as the earth showered over them. They had already been dead for hours, he knew, but there was a terrible finality about covering them with dirt.

The last corpse was the man Ahlund had killed with fire. With a final scoop of dirt, the half-missing face was covered, but Justin knew the image would never again be far from his thoughts. He pounded the blunt end of his shovel against the mound, and finally, his work complete, let out a long sigh.

Zechariah approached. The princess was off with the animals, bandaging the spot where Justin's steed had been cut during battle. Ahlund sat sharpening his sword by the fire, where a pot bubbled.

"Have you noticed the change in temperature?" asked Zechariah.

Justin looked up at the gray clouds. "Colder," he said. "Probably because it's going to rain."

"I believe you're right about the rain," said Zechariah, "but the reason it's colder is that we're in the cradle of the mountains. The warm west winds are blocked. The ancient Elleneans called these mountains Thucymoroi, which translates, 憈he mountains that shift.' Long ago, there was a kingdom in the Shifting Mountains, and its people had a legend about these grasslands. It is an epic poem that takes days to recite in its entirety. The story goes that the world was once controlled by two powerful empires. One ruled the east, and one ruled the west. Border skirmishes broke out between the two, leading to full-scale war. There are many heroes and heroines in the tale, many great deeds of valor on the war front. But meanwhile, the warriors' homelands were falling apart. All resources went to the war. The people became poor and hungry, and the empires crumbled.

"Legend says that the war ended here, on these grasslands. The final battle of the divided planet. The two largest armies ever assembled clashed, and, one by one, their soldiers fell. There was no surrender, no retreat, no mercy. After weeks of fighting, all were killed except one man on each side, and they faced each other in single combat. Finally, a mortal blow was struck to each, and both fell. In their dying moments, the two warriors surveyed the battlefield and saw that it had become a land of open graves, with not a victor in sight. No one left standing, no one to bury the dead, no one to mourn them. Only buzzards to tend to the carrion. Their grief for the dead united these two warriors in their final moments, and as they died, together they drove a sword into the ground as a solitary memorial to remind the world what terrors can be wrought by war and human ambition."

"The Tale of the United Planet."

Justin turned. Standing behind him was the princess, and he could now see her clearly for the first time. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. She looked only a few years older than him, with green eyes and messy, straight black hair worn tied back. The word "princess" evoked in his mind images of a tall, fair-skinned lady with striking features, probably in a flowing dress, maybe on a white pony, or wearing a funny, pointed hat, at least. But this woman was not tall-she had a small build and stood at least twelve inches shorter than Justin. Instead of a flowing dress, she wore dirty traveling clothes similar to Ahlund's. And instead of fair skin, her skin was several shades darker than Justin's. Ahlund's dried blood was still nestled in the knuckle lines on her hands and caked beneath her short nails. Her face was dirty, and her features were not striking but plain.

"I haven't heard that story since I was a little girl," she said. "Bards used to recite it during festivals."

"Why's it called the Tale of the United Planet?" said Justin.

"With their armies destroyed and all power lost," continued Zechariah, "the two great empires fell into chaos. Famine and disease ravaged their cities, barbarians destroyed their citadels, and their lands splintered into squabbling cities and states. The world entered an age of darkness that lasted for centuries. As for the two warriors, they were only united after they lost everything. In that brief minute, when they drove the sword into the ground before their deaths, the planet was united. The moral is: The only true peace is that of shared sorrow and defeat. The only way people will put everything aside is when they have already lost it."

"Well, that's uplifting," said Justin. "Is it true? The story, I mean, not the moral."

Zechariah shrugged. "There are many legends in this part of the world. Some folks pass the tale off as pure fiction. Others claim that the battle really did take place, and further, that the Sword of the United Planet still exists somewhere, powered by ancient magic and having survived through the eons." He smiled and laughed. "Probably just a wonderful story. A little rational thinking is all it takes to poke holes in it. After all, if the two men were the last of their armies, and they died together, who told their story? It does make you wonder, though, why the grass on the Gravelands grows so green."

Zechariah paused and looked at Justin. His tone became quite serious. "You should be proud of what you have done. Not all soldiers are so blessed as to rest in proper graves. The men you buried are at peace now. And in good company."

Justin looked at the mounds. He would never have admitted it, but it actually did make him feel a little better.