A War Fought In Vain

“Welcome! Today will be a day that goes down in history forever for my people, and for yours, as well,” Ignacio exclaimed as he reached out his hand.

“I look forward to putting an end to this terrible war once and for all,” bellowed Rodriguez, shaking the outstretched hand as firmly has he could.

“Worry not,” remarked Ignacio, “there is nothing that could come in the way of our peace treaty.” The two men proceeded to sit down on the floor of the makeshift tent. Each man held incredible honor, being the leader of his own people. Ignacio was the chief of the clan known as the Nitendi, while Rodriguez was the supreme head of the Chepoko. Several months ago, the two massive clans had started a large scale war over who would gain each other’s land. With both groups trapped in a gruesome stalemate and an end nowhere in the sight, both exhausted leaders agreed to meet in a private area to discuss a treaty. The location was ultimately settled: a remote spot in the middle of the Hanium forest, surrounded by towering redwoods. Each had ridden their own valiant steed under the cover of night to ensure their safety from bloodthirsty rivals and the savage wildlife.

“The amount of good men losing their lives is far too great for the goal we are trying to achieve, you must surely agree”, stated Rodriguez, lowering his head in gloom.

Ignacio nodded. He was glad that the fighting had temporarily ceased as the people from both clans awaited further word from their respective leaders. “It is best if we proceed to sign the papers as soon as possible. I am not certain that this brief ceasefire will maintain itself for long”, he stated.

“ Of course. We must return and spread word of this new era of unity among our brethren,” responded Rodriguez, fumbling as he spread out two agreement papers. The two men carefully examined the papers and eventually raised their quills to inscribe their signatures. Upon exchanging documents, the two men stood up and exited the shoddy tent. They both understood how much blood had already been spilled, and that their personal interests had been the main cause. They tell their people that the noble sacrifices made by those courageous men were for the greater good of the clan. In the end, however, those men were just mindless puppets, playthings for the spirits of war. No treaty would ever make up for those innumerable lives, and the two great men understood that.

“Glory to the Nitendi,” spoke Rodriguez as he mounted his horse, eager to return home.

“May the future of the Chepoko be prosperous and peaceful,” replied Ignacio, waving goodbye. Off the men went, racing through the seemingly endless array of redwood trees that towered above them, appearing as if they were touching the stars above. Each rider held his own peace treaty in his hands along with the reigns of his horse, excited to end the war that had plagued their people for months on end. Ignacio’s eyes were shining with confidence, lighting up not only his path back home, but also the future of the Nitendi. He felt the wispy, cool, night air rush all around him, encasing his body in an otherworldly aura that relaxed him. He closed his eyes for a couple seconds, envisioning the celebrations that would be held once he returned to those awaiting him. In his daydreaming however, he failed to notice a large rock in the center of the path he was riding through. In a split second, his horse tripped over the stone, sending Ignacio flying through the enchanting midnight air. He landed violently, face-first on the trunk of a fallen redwood tree, skewering his heart on a broken branch. Clasped in his now lifeless hand was the treaty he never delivered.

Rodriguez was a rather aggressive rider and would, at times, overwork his horse. He forced his steed to duck, weave, and dash between numerous spaces between the redwoods as he rode speedily back home. His horse eventually grew tired and slowed down to rest at a small stream, not too far from the Chepoko clan village. As his horse drank from the stream, Rodriguez decided to sit down near the edge of the stream and wash his face. He tucked his peace treaty under his pant waist and went on to clean his sore hands. The snap of a twig caught his attention as he turned around to face the bloodshot eyes of a Mexican wolf. Before he could scream to kingdom come, the feral beast lept and dug its razor sharp teeth into Rodriguez’s neck. Life seeped away from Rodriguez as his body eventually became limp, joining the spirit of Mother Earth herself. The treaty slipped away from underneath his pants and fell into the stream, bleeding out the words until they were no longer legible.

Back at the homes of both clans, tension rose as the populations awaited the return of their leaders. When they had waited long enough, the Nitendi clan believed that the Chepoko had murdered their chief behind their back and vice versa. In a fit of rage and to avenge the fallen commanders, both clans relentlessly attacked each other in horrendous and barbaric ways. The fighting would continue for months to come until the clans could not continue anymore. Their homes nothing but piles of ash on the floor and a shade of crimson blanketing the battleground, survivors from both clans scavenged what they could and set off. On their journey to start a new life, they would come across the rotting corpses of two men far from the zones of battle. As they continued moving forward, those very souls never came to realize that they had crossed paths with their very own leaders. Lying with them in eternal death was the peace that never came to be.