“They also serve who only stand and wait”
~John Milton
June 26th. Still fighting.
June 29th. We routed the last of their forces from the forest. We can see every limb beneath the trees. There are things exposed to the light that haven’t been for months. I’m tired.
June 30th. I told Jake not to go out by himself – the idiot is addicted to new places. He wanted to explore the forest one last time before we left. Thank God we were nearby. If half our unit hadn’t been out on our morning run, he would never have made it. He’ll have to stay in the vicinity for three months to heal, now. I guess he’ll get as much of the forest as he wants to.
I’d hoped for a day without a fight.
July 1st. A new month. My hand keeps breaking the pen. It’s been holding weapons too long, I don’t remember how to use small things anymore. I wonder what Sarah would say. She’d probably smile and take my hand and say something silly, like she’ll just have to help me remember then.
I remember her. I remember her laugh and her head craned back to look at me. I wish she was here, resting against my arm. But she’s back where war is far away.
July 3rd. Jake isn’t staying here; he’s going home to heal. He said he’d take a letter for me. Sarah will be pleased.
July 5th. We said goodbye. I hate these goodbyes; sometimes I think they might be the last I say to those who leave.
July 6th. Moving out.
July 7th. Our unit lost five men today. The priest says they’re home now, a home they’ll never leave. I look at bars filled with light on his shoulder and I want to believe. Sometimes I do. But when the dark comes closer and the darker forms within it jeer at us with the names of our dead brothers, it gets harder. Henry told me my own light flickers sometimes. I wonder what it would be like to have it go out.
No. Sarah. I have a reason to keep burning. The counter blazoned on my shoulder for all to see is back to normal now; half full, six bars lit, six dark. It’s been enough.
Sometimes, when I’m with the priest, I see the dark the way he does, and that’s all the reason I need to keep fighting. It’s destable.
But sometimes I’m with Liam and Harold and it doesn’t seem that bad.
July 23rd. We lost. Every battle. I can’t get the smell of rotting earth and trees and houses out of my clothes. I don’t think Sarah will get the bloodstains out either.
And I can’t stop hearing the screams of the ones we didn’t save when the dark closed in.
July 23rd, Part II. Rumour says the northern army is coming, in a few weeks. They’ll regain the ground we lost. Eventually. But what will be left, of a land ruled by something which rots it?
July 24th. Harold’s bars went out. I can’t stop seeing it. Something in the dark grabbed his shoulder, concrete darkness bending to his ear while ripping open his shoulder. He dropped every weapon; his face looked worse than Jake’s when we found him. The priest is sending him back, away from the dark. Liam is grumbling, saying that if we keep losing ground it won’t matter where we send him. But he’s going back where Sarah is. I have to believe that’s still safe.
July 25th. I’m assigned sentry duty tonight, walking around and around our camp. Arthur came to give me a break; I came to the closest torch and started writing. The dark makes it hard to breathe. The priest is probably the busiest out of all of us; the dark recedes when he comes near, and he visits each of us in turn. Gives us a chance to breathe. Some of the others do that, too. Arthur for one. The higher the bars of light, the more the dark retreats. They make good comrades here, even when we’re losing ground. I think I’ll drag Liam around them more.
July 26th. Another battle. Luke got cut off. We’re organizing search forays.
I don’t know if I could stand to be the one to find him. The dark has him.
Later: I went with the priest. When he heard about Luke his entire body lit on fire; the flame spread to all the others. Most of our bars filled, all 12 of them, as he spoke. The dark never had a chance; it retreated further with every step he took. It fled when we started to follow him; I walked right behind him as he found Luke. The light revealed every stab and cut where the dark had been dicing him to pieces. The priest felt him over, bound up his wounds, and Luke opened his eyes. Even in that wounded state, Luke’s own bars lit as the priest cared for him. The doctors said there would be no infection; the priest’s light banished it. Luke has a chance.
July 27th. The priest pulled me off sentry duty and into the hospital. There aren’t enough people to take care of the wounded. It’s worse that I know the patients. I can’t write more.
July 28th. I want to hear news from the battle.
July 29th. I should stop wishing for things. We lost; they’re moving the hospital closer to the city. We’re still fighting for every inch of ground. I can’t help wishing Sarah was here. Maybe she could quiet the memories enough for me to sleep.
July 30th. Out of the hospital. We’re patrolling two by two.
July 31st. Jake’s back. He’s completely healed, and the bars on his shoulder are filled to a ten more often than not. We patrol together now; but I know he wishes it was Arthur. The two became like brothers while I was hearing screams. I saw them last night when Liam and I were sharing rations, resting against the side of the quartermaster’s tent, saying nothing.
It looked like a bit of peace in the middle of this war.
August. No idea what day. Solar powered clocks ran down three days after permanent darkness fell. Our circle of defense shrunk enough that the dark could surround us; then it covered the sky. The sun’s gone. The stars, the moon, everything. There’s no words to tell of a world where the sun’s gone.
It grates on us. Liam runs, sometimes, charging the dark, his teeth gnashing. It takes all I can do to hold him back. They’d kill him if he went alone. I didn’t understand it – till I stopped patrolling with Jake. If there’s not enough light to share, the darkness whispers, calling at first – reminding me of things I did with Liam and Harold. Things we thought were foolish, afterwards, but didn’t I enjoy them at the time?
That quickly lost it’s appeal as I heard the moans of those laid low by this darkness, back at the hospital tent. So it whispered other things instead.
What it’d do to Sarah. What it’d done to Luke. It showed me the screams of those I knew who’re buried in the ground. In the dark.
So I charged. It seemed the only thing left to do, to say NO.
Liam stopped me.
August. I think. Liam and I join Jake and Arthur now, sitting on the edge of the tent. Yesterday Jake taught us a song he learned back in the city.
Next sleep. Apparently they heard the song around the camp. I taught it to Henry, Dave, and Charlie. I think the others taught it more, ‘cause we were all singing it at the dinner tent. For once, there was light enough to share.
Next. The priest asked us at dinner to sing at the hospital. The others said yes, of course. Those who hadn’t worked there yet. I don’t want to go back.
Next. We sang. The priest was there; the light that flowed from him during our song healed those he touched. Even those he didn’t touch stopped moaning.
There’s peace. There, in the hospital – there’s peace.
For the first time in a while, I remembered Sarah.
After. A few days after, if patrols are things to go by. I think we’re adjusting now. That’s what the priest said. He sat down with the four of us, and Arthur asked him how things were going. Liam asked if he expected us to adjust; the priest said all men of the light learned that light exists in all circumstances, and it’s something to be thankful for. Sitting there, the light in the five of us radiating, I could see what he meant. My own light is higher, now – staying on an eight, most of the time. Sarah would be proud. I just hope it’s enough to last in the battles.
After. I’ve written Sarah a letter. I hope she’s well. I wonder if she’ll understand, when I get home, why life might be hard.
I wonder what it would be like to go home. The camp seems like where I’ve existed for life. Except for the memories. And Sarah.
The skirmishes are growing more frequent, but so are the prayers.
And sometimes I can see the answers. Sometimes a bit of peace in the middle of the war is all the miracle I need to believe in the light.
September 29th. Yes, I have a date. We fought back the dark; we were winning. The darkness overhead broke, for three blissful days. Even the day it rained, we still had light from the heavens.
And the darkness hated it. It attacked, full force, all out, and drove us back to the gates of the city. We’re moving inside to shut the gates under the cover of night; we wouldn’t last through another attack like that. We’re required to stay right by the gates, in case it breaks through.
At least I have the light of the moon to write.
I do still have the light.
But how much longer will we have a city? A home?
September 30th. The war is almost over. But not for the reasons I thought.
Almost. I roll the word on my tongue, tasting it. It tastes like hope. Like I see home in the distance.
The dark threw itself on the city.
And the city blazed with fire. Those who were waiting – waiting on us – had learned their own lessons. I hadn’t realised the heavens were teaching them too. They were set afire by the God who was light. That light multiplied while they prayed in their homes. And the darkness could not touch them or the city they were in; it died on the blinding walls. Full force, it could not stop itself from rushing forward to its death. There’s nothing left of that whispering, deadly encampment.
October 5th. We’re going out in groups of five during the day, fighting the few forms that cower in the forest shadows. They’re growing less and less. New growth is appearing on the half-dead trees. There’s color again in the sunlight, green and brown. At night, we stay in the city, as everything looks dark. The priest spends it on the city wall, looking at the lights in heaven. Probably praying. Those who fought with him started to join him; those who set the city afire did too.
The light of those meetings could make every night safe. A part of me wants to patrol during those times, with those who stand on the city walls, serving while they wait.
October 6th. The northern army arrived, drawn by the light of the people they came to rescue. They were given light and hope by those waiting for them, praying for them. Both armies go out next week, to kill every remnant left in our country. Then home. Freedom. Peace.
Sarah.
October 7th. We leave in six days. They’ve given them to me as free days, to go where I will.
Sarah is two days away. Liam and Arthur are going with me.
October 13th. Home was a taste of heaven.
We leave to fight the last battles of this war. Then home – and peace. May the light never fade, even when the dark is gone.
I believe the promise that it won’t.
At the end of the war, the belongings of those who had given their lives were gathered, and those that could be identified were sent back to family members. Among them was a brown diary given to a soldier’s widow. Her name was Sarah.