A Story of the Age of Empires

The Dark Ages

I cannot say now how the village was created. Whether it began with a cosmic spark, or whether it simply appeared because I willed the earth to open. I only remember that I did not feel hurried.

Not yet.

A Town Center, my Town Center, door opened and two villagers stepped out at once. They blinked in the light and then stood. Waiting their orders. Then the door shut, then opened again. Another body. Then another.

Each time it opened, a worker emerged. I never asked where she wanted to work. I appointed her. That was the arrangement. They would appear. I would decide. And they stood still until they were told what to do.

I remember that first morning clearly.

My clan was not talkative. They communicated mostly through movement. Maybe an occasional nod or a possible grunt. The short, irritated sound a man makes when handed an axe instead of a basket. Words were rare, and unnecessary.

They came one at a time. Always one at a time.

The first six went to the sheep tied near the well. Their knives moved without hesitation. The animals fell quickly and without ceremony. The next sheep followed, then the next. The baskets filled with meat and wool. Steam rose faintly in the morning air.

The boar in the distance lifted its head.

It watched.

The villagers kept their rhythm. If they felt the animal’s attention, they gave no sign. Their pace quickened slightly, but I didn’t know why. I still felt no urgency. But the villagers did. I sensed it in them. Food first. Questions later.

Two others wandered toward the trees and began hacking at trunks. Chips of wood flew. Trees fell. None of them were Paul. But they chopped like Bunyon. A small pile formed at their feet. It did not look like much. But it was the beginning of something, but I didn’t know what.

A pair drifted toward a thin patch of berry bushes and began pulling fruit into baskets. They worked quietly. One of them hummed something low and tuneless.

Inside the Town Center, the voice came again.

“We need another at the lumber camp.”

“Another.”

The door opened.

Another stepped out.

The deer came before the boar.

One of the younger villagers spotted movement near the edge of the clearing. He raised a hand. Three of them approached cautiously and brought down a small deer. Then another. They were not heroic about it. They did what needed to be done and dragged the bodies back toward the Mill.

The mill was too far to walk. We needed one near the deer. We had the lumber, so we set the builders to it. They raised a small mill by the clearing. The deer were unloaded there, saving time and energy and workers.

The village was still small. Everything felt contained. Manageable.

Then came the sound.

It was not loud at first. Just a crack of underbrush and a short, strangled shout.

I turned toward it immediately.

A wandering villager—eager, foolish, ambitious—had decided to take the boar alone. He must have thought speed would be enough. Or bravery. Or that the others would notice quickly enough to save him.

The boar did not hesitate.

It charged low and fast, tusks forward. The villager stumbled backward, spear half-raised. The others froze for a fraction of a second, then scattered toward the Town Center.

The man fell hard. The boar stood over him, gnashing its teeth, furious and alive in a way the sheep had not been.

For a moment, the clearing emptied.

Then the bell rang.

The Town Center door burst open.

They came out together this time. With urgency. More than even before.

We were down one and I fought shy of boar ever since.

Bows drawn. Axes still in hand. A few still clutching half-filled baskets............