Points of Light

The old storytellers speak of ancient times when the whole of the world sang in united joy in a great alliance of peace. Kingdoms and states joined in purpose to keep the darkness away, the roads safe, the people fed. What we would give that such stories could be true. The priests would have us have faith in the gods. But what has any god done for us? We live cowering in our small village, tending our meager flocks, planting in our wasted fields, hoping that the marauders won’t come again this year to take from us. Some of us pray. Most of us despair.

We are alone, surrounded by the wilderness; the dark forest, the treacherous mountains. The overgrown roads rarely see use. Once a generation a traveler may come to us, gibbering in fear of the things he encountered in his journey. Most often, this traveler started off in a great company of armed men and women, but he arrives alone. We know that the rest met horrible ends along the way. And then he inevitably leaves again, never to be heard from again. The last such traveler was 21 years ago. Long enough for our children to grow ignorant of what used to lie beyond the darkness. We tell them there is nothing there now. Are we right? Is there nothing else? We are like a dying man, lying wasting in his bed. We are already dead, and yet we continue to hold on day after day waiting for the final moment to come.