Some old writings are half-way decent...and surprising in what they were inspired by.....this one at least I did note where the idea came from!! The words don't flow as nicely as I'm sure I thought they did at the time...but You try to write a full scene while listening to a piece of music just once or twice...it's hard to keep up with the picture that builds in your mind..even harder to backtrack when trying to listen to it again and keep the idea going!
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And as the cavern opened into view, there came into sight below, thousands upon thousands of individuals, all marching in time, the beat of their steps as a deafening war-drum to the tune they all changed. More and more poured into the space, each saluting in time as they entered, and again as they entered the ranks forming. Entire ranks would split in step, separating into two precisely as new, fully formed ranks marched forward to join them. Every face turned upwards in their direction as they marched. Not a single person needed to look where they were moving, everyone stepping and stopping exactly in place, as if coming up against a wall.
The sound was deafening, each beat of these thousands of steps, each word so precise that the silence between them was as audible as the sounds themselves. They looked in awe at the force gathering in front of them; men, women, children--each was armored, armed, and changing. They could see the exact same look on each and every one of the faces, one f pride, extraordinary pride, and all of it aimed at the unassuming woman who stood upon the ledge above them. Looking again at this woman , she had changed in that moment, from a non-threatening survivor into something else. Her posture now was one of someone of power; someone of complete and utter confidence. Despite the fact that nothing else about her had changed, he now saw her as she was, a warrior and leader, a pillar of strength, not to be reckoned with. He could swear that the only thing missing from her appearance was that of a halo of fire and black glistening wings of an angel of vengeance. Just a day ago he had been on the run, merely trying to survive in a world overrun and crumbling around those who had survived; and now he saw the beginning of a war to end all wars. The changing below him, he could finally place--it had been so long since he had heard music of any type, and much longer since he had been to any religious gathering, but he could now make out the Latin endings to the words and gave memories of Latin-based masses he had attended as a small child came to mind. Those which had merely been musical words to his small ears were now those a war chant to his adult ears--words that seemed to carry the full weight of human history from the very beginning of every battle and war ever fought...and of a promise of vindication. The term 'human spirit' now made sense. This small woman before him , to whom all these tens of thousands of warriors--for they were far more than mere soldiers--were paying tribute--she in the power of her presence, to the loving smile on her face and tears forming at the corners of her eyes--she was human spirit. They in that minute, for the first time since the invasion, he saw humans turning towards, instead of away from the enemy which had been wiping them out of existence, both so casually and so ferociously, since its arrival...and he felt pride, pride in these people below him. Pride in the species he was a member of, and an unexplainable pride in the woman standing before him and he finally knew her name. The face he was seeing before him was new, and even though it brought to mind each and every face he had seen in pain, fear, and dying since the invasion, they now all had one name, her name--a name older than he, older than civilization, older than the Earth and older than everything around him and beneath his feet. Looking at her as she gazed upon her columns of never-ending warriors he realized that it was hardly about God, or war, not even about power, life, or death--it was all about her and what she was--as old as time itself and finally marching into battle.
"Hope." he whispered, and she turned as the columns of chanting warriors saluted once more and began to march proudly, holding that last salute, towards battle. That proud, of so proud smile fell upon him and the child clinging to him.
"And now you see." And with those words, she was gone and he turned to watch humanity's last best hope below him. His daughter hugging his leg in awe. He could almost feel her unspoken whisper. "Daddy, I'm gonna be like HER."
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