A short story about war and the man who stands in its way. Originally posted on reddit (u/radclyffewrites)

The lines of battle are drawn. On one side, an army of hundreds, stretching back until the people merge with tents and the tents with buildings. On the other, a wooden shack.

I stand at the front with my arms crossed. My lieutenant is trying to persuade me to turn back.

“Please, sir. Violence isn’t the answer.”

I sigh. And this the boy who begged me to take him to the war, got on his knees and pleaded to see the Empire expanding before his very eyes. One wooden shack later and he is a pacifist.

“Stay here,” I say.

Sometimes violence is the answer, but inside that shack is an old and frail man and something inside me rebels at the idea of just having the troops mow him down. One last chance. He has sent back four of my envoys with new beliefs, now he will meet their master and realise the error of his ways.

The door opens before I reach it. The stranger is even older than I thought, skin a jarring combination of being both stretched too tight from hunger and wearing loose from age.

I clear my throat. “Sir, I have come to -”

“Manners, lad. Come in and close the door, you’re letting all the warmth out.”

I blink. I am the greatest general in the Empire. Entire civilisations have knelt before me. I’m about to tell him as much when I realise I’m already in the room, door shut behind me.

The stranger has sat down in a simple wooden chair. Other than a second chair and a fire, the shack is empty. But the second chair is cushioned and velvet, a chair of kings and nobles. When I sit in it, I feel myself sinking into the comfort.

“Here.” The stranger holds out a cup and saucer that I swear wasn’t there when I walked in a second ago.

“Tea?” I hear myself say.

The stranger makes a snorting noise low in his throat. “Coffee.” I stare at the cup, confused by the strange word. “Try it, lad. It’ll change your life.”

I take a sip. The liquid is warm and bitter, but not unpleasant. I take another, and sink further into the chair.

“You’re here for a reason then?” I frown at the question. A reason. Yes. “You must move, or we will move you?”

It comes out as a question and I have no idea why.

The stranger smiles. I realise he has no teeth. “So you can march onwards and claim this land for your empire?”

I’m back on solid ground. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The ground is ripped away. “Why? Well… because the Empire must grow.”

“Why? Do you not have enough mouths to feed, enough land to fill?”

“The Empire must grow,” I repeat firmly.

The stranger shakes his head. There’s a touch of frustration in his tone when he asks once again: “Why?”

I frown into my drink. “Because it’s what empires do.”

“Ah, I see.” The stranger leans back in his chair, apparently satisfied. I catch a glimpse of his eyes: they’re bright and lively and somehow far too alive. “And so the soldier will fight, and the war will wage, and the innocent will die, all so that the empire can grow. The same story every century, the only reliable truth in an unreliable world.”

I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words. “There are many truths in this world,” I say at last.

He looks at me, and smiles, and I’m certain he didn’t have teeth a minute ago. “And what might those be, lad?”

“Justice. Beauty. Honour. Truth itself.” I pause. There is a coldness to the air, and even though the man beside me is a stranger his presence seems familiar. I take a breath. “And death,” I say.

“You’ve got me there. Death is certainly a reliable truth. Especially if you go seeking him.”

We sit in silence. The fire is dying out now, and the stranger stares into the embers, lost in thought.

I clear my throat. “Are you… a god?”

He laughs. “No, lad. Simply a reliable truth, trying to make sense of an unreliable world.”

He stands. The spell breaks. The shack is a shack, the chair I’m sitting on a simple wooden chair like any other. The stranger opens the door. He thanks me for coming. He bids me visit him again, and adds, “But not before your time.”

I return to my troops. I feel like I have been gone a lifetime, but minutes have passed.

“So?” My lieutenant asks. “What will we do?”

I don’t look back at the shack. I’m not sure if I can. “We return home. I have faced death enough times; the next time I do, it will be the last. I have no desire for that to be today.”

My lieutenant sighs. He seems relieved. As we rally the men and prepare to journey back through the tents and to the buildings beyond, he asks, “What will you tell the Emperor?”

I think for a moment. “I will tell him if he wishes for more land he must speak to the stranger himself.”

“He was no stranger.”

I nod, looking back at where a shack had stood. Now there is just dust. A defenceless land, easily conquered. Until we meet the natives. Until the fight begins. Until more blood is shed.

“Perhaps he was no stranger to us,” I say, thinking of all the times I have ducked with a split second to spare, or been knocked down at just the right time, or seen a soldier one step to my side trampled in the battle. “The Emperor would not recognise him.”

“Men of his stature rarely know him as we do, sir.”

“True.” I smile. “But perhaps if he plans on sending more men to battle, it is about time they met.”

Apologies for any formatting issues or general lack of sense – done on my mobile before going to sleep!