The Fall of Carthage
He held a scarlet-lit lamp in his hand as faint shadows past him by. The street was long, much longer than he had thought at first, and hauntingly hollow. He began to think he should turn back around, to abandon his uncertain task, but some external force kept him going. Or was it external? Maybe it was his own will that refused to quit the quest that he had examined for so long in his head. Months it took him to ultimately reach a decision, and it wasn’t easy. Big decisions never were. And now every step he took down this pitch-black and abandoned street was an opportunity for doubt. But he wouldn’t stop, or perhaps he couldn’t. His limbs were either void of his own will or a slave to it. Bursting with doubts and uncertainties, he was only certain that doubt would not defeat him again, not this time. The gains were too great and he had nothing to lose, save his life.
The moon was hidden by the silhouetted canopy of crumbling towers to his left, and he could see the sky, dimly lit above them, but to his right side was only a wall of darkness. He knew that there were buildings there; he could see their bases, far-off and softly emanating a subtle crimson reflection of the lantern in his hand, but only barely. The light faded swiftly as it climbed the towers, revealing nothing of their shape or stature. The canopy touched the ebon sky in such a way that the line dividing the sky and the towers was indiscernible. Not a star was to be seen, thick clouds shrouded the entire firmament. All was cloaked in night.
As the young man maintained his stalwart vanguard, a chill went down his spine. He realized how bitterly cold it had become, and how quickly. It had been a warm spring day when he left the safety of his home that afternoon, resolute and undaunted. The sun and the sweet breeze had given him much-needed confidence, but since then the sun had deserted him and the gentle, nourishing breeze had transformed into a wicked, wailing adversary. She whistled frightful tunes as she flew back-and-forth through the otherwise silent street. She was now the only occupant of this metropolis, having taken not only residence but total sovereignty over every house, market, alley and tower; and she was a dreadful despot. As she whistled her deadly tune, the man could not help but sense that she was irritated by his presence there. Like Rome with Carthage, he was locked in a battle with this foreign threat; his only avenue was to overcome her presence. She wanted him to rout, and so she would not cease to howl.
He was so close, or he thought he was. It felt like he had been walking for hours, but he couldn’t know for sure. The sky to his left was growing brighter as the moon was slowly rising, but still her face could not be seen to comfort him with silver light. He was shaking now, not so much out of fear (although surely he was afraid) than out of anxiety. He knew his goal was steadily approaching with every forward step. He knew that which he sought at the end of the dark road might not even exist. He knew there was the possibility that his entire mission was for naught, and yet he continued on.
A sour, distasteful savor filled his mouth. His saliva had become unbearably bitter as he mulled over the prospects that lie at the end of the road. Indeed he thought he could see it now, the end of the road rising to greet him. Raising his scarlet light, he strained his eyes, searching for any sign of an end to his unease. When he saw the fire flicker far away, he was confused by his own reaction.
He thought he should have felt ecstasy or happiness or relief at the least, instead he knew only dread. This was the final step of his journey, the motive for his quest. This was the point of it all, he had finally reached the end of the road. Yet he had never felt such an urge to retreat and return home as he did now, having finally come in sight of his goal. This moment was the pinnacle of his doubt, and had he not realized it then he surely would have fled. But he kept on, lifting his limbs with the force necessary to move whole ranges of mountains. Faith in the outcome of his final charge gave him a burdensome hope. He trusted in the possibility of true felicity. Should Carthage be destroyed with this last struggle for dominance, the limits on his strength would ultimately be demolished.
He drew closer. He forgot the sour taste in his mouth; he forgot the possibility of failure; he forgot the wind that raged in even greater fury, terrible and malevolent but no longer powerful over him. His face portrayed a dour, stern yet hopeful look, as a gladiator pitted in the arena and ordered to kill for his life. He saw the end of the rows of towers that once appeared endless, and as the fire grew more prominent he saw her shadow. His heart was pounding against his chest. As the fire grew more quickly he realized that he was running now, flying even. He thought of looking back to see if he had relinquished his legs in exchange for a pair of wings, but could not turn his gaze from the woman standing by the fire. He was close enough now to tell that she was robed in light blue garments, standing stiff against the ceaseless waves of the darkling night. Her light shone brighter than the fire’s. She was glorious.
Finally, he stopped. He was so close now, so close. She stared at him with an inquisitive look on her face. He couldn’t turn back now, but the next part was the hardest. If he gave it to her, the world would doubtless change. She held the key to Rome’s defeat, or Carthage’s. It was no longer up to him. The prospect was frightening. It was black or white; dark or light; death or life. But he gave it to her anyway, and waited for a response. She gave him one.
Epilogue
Gone was the dreary path as he was left in the open. The buildings crumbled beneath the very earth, and a wide open field came into view. The clouds were parted; starlight and moonlight lit the flowers of the field in silver radiance, and he could see fawns flitting across the far-flung hills. The wailing wind, having nowhere to reside, in sheer dejection fled. Rome was the victor, her only obstacle destroyed. There was no road anymore, only endless earth and endless possibilities. But as the young man ambled aimlessly through the open plain, teeming now with life and light, he felt strange. Truly he had to have done it. He had torn down the limits of his ability; in one fell swoop Carthage had been felled and the entire Mediterranean was his to conquer. But why, then, did he feel no relief?
He stared pensively at his lantern. The red light was so faint; it almost seemed non-existent next to the stronger flames that enlightened everything around him. That coupled with the gentle yet all-pervasive moonlight overpowered his crimson guide, leaving but a tiny speck of light within it. He considered that maybe he preferred that scarlet light; indeed it had grown on him. He hated it at first. He had thought it ugly and did not wish to carry it. But then it had grown on him.
The open air perturbed him; the tender light overwhelmed him. Although he had feared the oppressive street he had taken, at least it was straightforward. Now he had no path, only rolling hills and starry skies. As he wandered pointlessly through the fields, he had only one thought on his troubled mind:
“What now?”
