“Did you hear?”
“Did you hear?”
Everyone greeted everyone else with the same question, “Did
you hear?”
“He has been defeated!
Laid low! The champion of the
enemy has fallen!”
For as long as I could remember, our enemy had oppressed
us. We had been driven from our rightful
homes, exiled and outcast. Our own king
had treated with the usurper king before, always to return disappointed. Princes we may have been, but princes cast
out of our kingdom wielding only that authority that came with strength.
The usurper king had been hounding us, attacking us since
time immemorial. Now, his champion had
fallen at last. Our other victories had
been fleeting; this victory would not be.
Our king had struck down his champion at last – the grave claimed the
one who was supposed to be our destroyer.
“Did you hear?”
“Did you hear?”
Now, not only was the champion laid low, but the usurper
king’s plans fallen apart. While the
champion was preparing – while he looked like he would win – he had gathered
followers. The followers were given
power beyond their station. They were
even ceded some of the usurper’s authority to wield against us.
Now, with the champion defeated, his followers were
scattered. They fled from us, and from
those who served us. While the champion
had been with them, they were brave lions.
Now, they were curs, cowering from the hand which would strike them.
As we had feared for generation upon generation, we let them
fear. They fled, and we laughed. For once it was we who had the power and the
authority! They could suffer in shameful
indignity as we had suffered.
“Did you hear?”
“Did you hear?”
The question had a different tone, now. Something had gone wrong – terribly wrong.
“What did you say?
Empty? How can a grave be empty?”
“Surely this is some joke.”
“It must be a misunderstanding.”
Slowly the news percolated through us all. The champion’s grave was empty. Where had he gone? What had happened? Our servants had sworn he would be watched!
“NO! IT CANNOT BE!” the voice of our king cried across the
barren wastes which had been our prison for so long. “I DEFEATED HIM! I STRUCK HIM DOWN! NO!”
What is this? What is
this blinding light? It burns! The agony!
WHAT IS THIS!?
No! It can’t be the
champion! He is dead! We saw the act!
The light! Oh, Great Lucifer! The light burns! Bring back the darkness!
What is this sound?
Like bells and trumpets; it assaults my ears. Bring back the violent cacophony!
“Very well,” the words are almost a whisper, but they pierce
my ears like a knife, “If that is what you wish, your will be done.”
The light is gone.
The screeching and wailing return.
Darkness rules over our home; our refuge.
“Did you hear?”
“Did you hear?”
“The king is chained.
He does not even reign here. He
has been imprisoned!”
A trick! A
trick! It was all a trick. The champion’s death was supposed to be our
crowning moment! It should have been our
greatest day!
Somehow he has broken the chains of death with which he
should have been bound, and used them to bind our king. His grave – empty. Our king – defeated. Our crowning moment – our ultimate defeat.
Did you hear?
