Good morning Xangaland,
Today I finished writting out my dream. It has really been heavy on my heart lately and I have been having it again.. I know this is really long please forgive me. I wanted to have it in one place whole for me to go back and see. I also wanted those of you who wanted to, to be able to read it from beginning to end without interuption. If you just want to read the last part they are all seperated by a line of ~~~~
This dream is the most detailed and vivid dream I have ever had. I feel as if I have been in this place before.
Chapter 15: A Dream, A Calling
I awoke at dawn, cold and stiff from a night on the ground. Dew was beginning to soak into my clothes and blanket from the damp grass. As I stood and began gathering up my things I could see the others stirring all around me, an air of anticipation and nervousness among us all. It had been an arduous journey and today would be the day.
We had camped in a small meadow just a mile short of the pass that would take us there. The place we grew up, the camp of our parents, the place that had been lost in the last battle. What would we find there? What awaited us? Would it be death or the chance for a new life?
Thoughts of this battleground lost to the enemy, of the high places in the pass and on the surrounding cliffs, the camp, and the training grounds were with us all. As were thoughts of the end, the last day, the last war cry, then the flight in the dark. The years spent wandering, never finding a home, never losing the love of this place and the need to one day return. These thought plagued us as we strapped on our gear and took up the few weapons we had among us. Ready for what lay ahead.
I slung my battered bag over my shoulder, strapped the sword of my Grandfathers’ around my waist, and looked to my Captain. Time to go.
We walked the last mile to the pass in silence and contemplation. Each eager and fearful, each needing to know. As the walls of the pass the only entrance to this place of our hearts, stretched toward the thin strip of blue sky high above, we loosed our weapons and prepared to enter.
Nothing, no breeze, no sound, no ambush, no attempt to keep us from entering. The enemy had long ago become complacent with their hold on this place.
We came out the end of the pass and went still as a breeze blew across us. All around me I heard gasps and mummers as the swords, bows, axes, and spears dropped to the sides of my companions. As we beheld for the first time, this place, our place.
The camp was before us, the stark white canvas of the tents a dingy gray and the red edging long ago faded. The long outdoor banquet tables so intricately and loving carved then, cracked and dry. The feast that had been cut short that night so many years ago still laid out upon the tables. The plates and platters filled with food and the pitchers with water. But the water was stagnant and the food was stale, a thin layer of dust coating everything.
Scattered about the camp were dropped weapons. They lay on the ground forgotten and unused for so many years, dropped by us as children in the long ago flight. We moved slowly through the camp, each seeking out and finding the place that had been our home.
Moving past the training grounds where our parents had practiced and begun training us I found my tent and looked out. The fields where we had played as children while the battles raged and the war cries sounded, safe because of the watchtowers above in the high places, they were the same. The well in the center of camp where we had gathered to play sat waiting.
The air in this canyon felt as a breath being held. A place waiting for life to continue.
I turned and found in the doorway my sword. The one forged for me when I was young. I bent and rescued it from the dust and knew the feel of it instantly. I began to cry. Many around me stood holding the things they had lost tears streaming down their faces in raw emotion. Joy at finding that which had been forgotten and sorrow for the burden which had been forced back upon us, wonder at being here again in this place.
The Captain called out, it was time to move forward.
I looked over and saw a man I had known as a boy standing in the dooryard of the tent that had been his. A place we had played as children. He looked at me with tears running down his tanned cheeks and a smile began to spread across his face as he whispered,
“Are you ready?”
I readied my two swords, one in each hand, the sword of my Grandfathers’ and the sword of my youth.
I smiled back and started forward.
We gathered around our Captain at the beginning of the path leading down and took our first look at the valley. The fields that had been the battle ground in our far off childhood stood barren and wasted. Upon the fields were the bones of our forefather’s lost in the last battle, dry and brittle with age. I felt my heart breaking at the sight. So many lost, so much damage. How I wished to see them again to hear their mighty cry in battle one last time.
Looking up I saw a sight my eyes could scarcely believe. Surrounding the valley covering foothills far up into the mountains was the camp of the enemy. Hoards of the black warriors covered the once green hills. Shock and horror overtook my heart and the hearts of those around me as we, a handful of battered and unpracticed warriors, beheld this vast army.
One of the warriors close by my side turned and spoke to the Captain.
“There are so many, what should we do?”
“Fight!” He replied. “This is your place, your calling, you must retake the high grounds.”
“But we are so young and untrained.” Replied the warrior.
He smiled with steel in His eyes, “You must trust me, you have been trained, this is your time!”
We slowly descended the path into the valley of our parents’ last battle, where our first battle would be fought. As we stood in ranks, unsure of what to do, the enemy ignored us as if we were not there. They, that had so feared our parents in their youth, did not even take notice of the arrival of us, their children.
Unsettled and unsure, yet needing to move forward we looked to our captain.
He called, “Cry out in battle.”
I opened my mouth and cried out as those around me did the same, a mighty war cry arose. The sound of our parents going to war. I was amazed, it was a sound so familiar to my ears, and to those of our enemy. They turned in fear and disbelief, afraid at what they may see.
We were all that they beheld and they began to laugh and sneer.
A rage rose within me, a need to see this place cleared of these monsters! To take back my home, to raise my children in this valley of my heart. I was afraid but it no longer mattered this place would be ours again!
A cry arose from the enemy camp, “We may as well take care of these children now!”
They began their advance. We readied ourselves and steadied our minds and hearts for a battle that seemed so impossible to win. Yet we must fight, this place was ours and this was our time.
I withdrew my swords and saw others around me do the same. How many would I see again? How many would survive? My heart cried out in pain at what rushed towards us even as it burst with pride in this small army, that would die to secure a future for our children as our parents had done for us.
They came swiftly. A cry of war rushed from our mouths again as we rushed to meet them.
Our swords met in battle, a loud clash that rang in the ears of all who heard it. We fought for all we were worth, no holding back this time.
I fought hard and fast amazed that this skill, this gift so long ago laid down and forgotten had stayed with me over time. Amazed at the feeling of coming home and of finally fulfilling part of my call in life that rushed through me.
The enemy fell at my feet and the feet of the army around me.
Our parents were the Captain’s mighty men, and they had raised us, at His instruction, to be mighty. Now we battled for the chance to raise our children here in this place. To raise them to fulfill the destiny our Captain wanted for them, to be mightier still, than us all.
All this and more rushed through my mind as I battled this seemingly endless sea of the enemy. I began to tire and my strength began to abandon me. I was sustaining injury and my blood flowed out upon the battle ground. Many around me were the same. We did not know how much longer we could go on fighting.
Suddenly the Captain’s voice rose above the fray.
As I continued to fight the enemy that surrounded me, the dry bones around my feet and the feet of my companions rattled and shook and slowly came together. Then, as in the Bible story of old, the flesh came back onto them.
These were the warriors of old laying on the field. They began to look about in mistrust and confusion, yet there was no true life in them.
The Captain once again cried out to us.
“Once more CRY OUT!”
We opened our mouths and cried out the war cry of our hearts.
Suddenly a wind rushed through the valley as each warrior of old was filled with life. Awe and excitement ran over their faces as they rushed forward with weapons raised to aid their children and their Captain.
The enemy trembled as they joined the battle. For we had proven to be more than they had expected us to be and we were now joined by the warriors they had so feared, alive once more.
As we fought side by side, old warrior and new, crying out in battle with joy the enemy began to flee.
We beat them back over the pass and took back the fortresses in the high places.
The valley was once again ours, this battle won, though many more would come. We had rejoined the war and our children would have the chance to become mighty, playing as we once did within earshot of the war cry of their parents. Our cry.