Glory Under Pressure

Glory Under Pressure

By: Nathaniel Stiles

“We have all the time in the world.”

“What was that sir?” The youth’s face was marred with scars and cuts, some freshly bleeding.

“We have all the time in the world,” Dersite repeated slowly, staring out over the carnage beneath him. Funny, how, when a person lives their life to the fulfillment of greatness, one overstep topples their reign like an ax to a sapling.

To his eyes, the land itself bled from a gaping wound. To his ears, the land broke apart. To his body, the world stilled, holding its breath. The youth stared at him, confused.

“But sir! The Narthian army is besieging our position! The line won’t hold for much longer!”

Dersite nodded absently, fingering a gold chain around his neck. 

“Soldier, have you ever thought about how that spear was made?” He pointed to the spear in the youth’s gauntleted hands.

“What?” the boy said, gazing down at the weapon, perplexed. “No, sir, I have not.” Dersite rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“That spear, like any other of its kind, was forged of tough ore and supple wood, shaped by the tireless hands of a forger. Created for perfection. Made to serve a holy purpose.” The young man glanced back at the front lines nervously, lifting his spear parallel to his head, point towards the enemy. 

“Is this metaphor leading somewhere?”

“Yes, actually. You chose that spear out of many others of its kind. Why?”

The youth did not look at him, but responded.

“They said it was the best.”

Dersite nodded, despite the fact that the kid could not see him.

Just as I thought.

“Well, despite how good the forgers say it is, it will shatter like all the rest when put under just a bit too much pressure.”

“I suppose,” the youth conceded, not seeing the point.

“There is only a small chance that it survives, a chance for it to fight again.”

The lad, seeing a break in the line, stepped smoothly forward to plug the gap. Still standing on the small hill, surrounded by enemies, Dersite rambled on, coming closer to his final decision with each word and metaphor. “I am that spear, chosen out of the ranks for my dreams and ambitions. I am that spear, created for a holy purpose.”

The young soldier, retreating from the front as a replacement jogged in, turned to him, listening half-heartedly. “Now, under just a bit too much pressure, I am breaking apart.” The boy nodded. No argument there.

“Sir, I suggest drawing your sword and slaying as many Narthians as you can.”

“No,” Dersite whispered, clutching the metal chain. “There is a harder choice to make.”

“What was that, sir?” The soldier looked at him uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

I have to know. Dersite gazed at the kid. He was strong, with straight black hair and a dark brown face.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Fredrick Osley of the sixtieth battalion.”

“Very good.”

The two were silent as Dersite gathered his thoughts. He needed help to make this decision. The roar of battle was a strained choir to accompany the tempo of his thoughts. He kept the song at bay, however. There were more important decisions to make.

“I need to ask you a question, soldier. Your answer may decide whether you die or live today.”

“That’s a lot of pressure sir!” Fredrick’s face was one of a calm and collected youth, but Dersite could sense tension behind his gray-blue gaze. Frederick understood that his superior would not share these words lightly.

Dersite took a deep breath, and asked the question that had been bothering him.

“Soldier, do you want to go home?” It was a simple question, nothing extravagant.

Frederick looked at him, confusion evident in his gaze and posture.

“Of course I do!”

“At any cost?”

“Sir, what does this have anything to do with having “all the time in the world”? As far as I see, we are running out of time pretty quickly!” 

“You will see, you will see. Now please answer the question.”

The youth sighed, turning his head ever so slightly to check on the progress of the battle. Dersite did the same, plagued by the decision he might have to make.

The Narthians were moving in an arrowhead formation, slamming repeatedly into the withering defenses of Dersite’s army. His soldiers looked worn, many with grave wounds forced to keep fighting for the lives of others. It was a bloody struggle of will and sword that Dersite could end in an instant.

The victory would come at great loss, however. Dersite needed the young man’s answer more than ever. Suddenly, Frederick turned back to him.

“Yes. I want to go home more than anything in the world,” the reply came in a half whisper, and Dersite saw tears brimming in the young man’s eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” Dersite soothed, walking over and gently rubbing the boy on the back comfortingly, “I will give us time to change this. You will go home!”

He was decided. Frederick looked up into his eyes, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

The image of the boy in tears, hoping against hope that he would live brought Dersite back to the first day he was chosen. He had been a young forger with great potential. Dersite crafted swords of splendor, armor that could hold its own against an anvil dropped from fifty feet, and all sorts of other intriguing gear. His brother, Galvirin, was a master of the blade, defeating even the best of the best.

One day, a royal carriage pulled up, inviting them to carry out two sacred duties. The first, which only one of them could take, was protecting the gem of Time. The other was to become the next king. When pressed by the two brothers on the matter, they stated that the king was ailing, his son too young to take command. They wanted a hero.

Dersite didn’t want to be king. All he coveted was the gem. Any one who held the gem was named high commander of the army. The problem was, Galvirin was the soldier, not Dersite, though Dersite had secretly wished he could switch places with his brother.

He hated his brother for his skill. Deeply. 

They were taken to the palace to undergo trials for who would get which blessing. Galvirin won the time gem. Dersite was to be king. This infuriated Dersite, drove him to murder his brother. His brother’s expression haunted him, one of tears and hope as he died. Standing over the bloody body, he realized what he had done, but there was no turning back.

They handed him the gem, none the wiser, and appointed a new king. The new king treasured the gem more than anything. He would not be happy with how this played out.

Dersite grew stronger, more proficient as the leader of the army, and drove them to many successful conquests. Now he was here, confronted with a new view on mortality.

It was time to give up his sacred duty to save his men.

He pulled the gem from where it hung from his neck, and Fredrick’s eyes widened, staring at the round sphere of dully glowing blue. He seemed to realize what Dersite was about to do.

“No! Don’t-”

Dersite crushed the gem in his hands and everything dropped into a spiral of kaleidoscopic time, sending him and everyone in the world back in time.

                                          …………………………

He stood in front of his commanders, preparing to fight the Narthians.

I told you we have all the time in the world. He probably would never meet the boy again.

Now it's time to right some wrongs.

The End