(Part I) - Zarek ben Nadin Chronicles - Chapter #1

      Zarek trudged along the chalky path.  Dust clung to his sweaty skin and his ash, blonde hair.  He smelled of salt, fish, and blood.  Usually, the smell of fish and blood made him gag, but there was something comforting in the thick, salt air.  At times, as the boat rolled gently under him, he would close his eyes and imagine that he was walking along the beach again with his mother.  Then he would open his eyes, reality would set in, and his heart would harden in bitterness.

    He would never walk along the beach again with his mother, because his mother was dead, murdered by the priests, condoned by his father.  Zarek clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.  His teeth grounded together.  Her death had been seven years ago, but the memory of it still affected him.

     Once again, his eyes lifted to Apsu’s Dais, the ridge where his mother had lost her life.  Most people revered Apsu Dais because they believed Apsu would bless them.  It had become sacred to him, but for an altogether different reason.  His mother’s blood had been spilt there, and now her spirit remained as guardian, the gateway to the sea.  He would not dishonor her memory by walking the ridge again.

     “Zarek!  Zarek!”

     He turned with a snarl of agitation in the direction of the voice.  “What is it you want, Natan?”

     Natan ran to catch up with him, he too smelled of fish and saltwater.  He smiled at Zarek before his eyes took in the blood which had soaked into Zarek’s garments.  His face paled and his eyes widened in concern, “Is that your blood Zarek?”

    “What?”  For a moment Zarek was confused, and then he looked down and remembered the incident that had occurred earlier that day.  “No.  A small shark was caught up in our nets and we brought it aboard and clubbed it.  It is the shark’s blood you see, not mine.”

    Natan let out a soft breath, “That is amazing Zarek!  I wish that I could have been there.  You have the gods smiling on you for sure.”

     Zarek scoffed, “I can only imagine the calamities that would befall me if they decided to frown.”  He bent and picked up a piece of shale, before hurling it at a boulder with all his strength.  It shattered and fell into tiny, broken pieces in the dust.

     “You were only eight when your father took you to sea with him.  Now you are sixteen and have the ability to steer the largest of our ships even in the worst of weather.”

    “Going to sea was no choice of my own.  My mother was no longer there to watch over me 

and so father had little choice but to take me with him.”  Zarek didn’t tell his friend that his father was planning for him to become a soldier in the military, not a fisherman.  His current situation was only temporary.

    Natan lifted a hand to his friend’s shoulder.  “It was the will of the gods Zarek,” he stated gently.

    Zarek whirled around and slapped Natan’s hand away.  “She was my mother.  She shouldn’t have had to die!”  He glared at his friend.  “I lost everything that mattered to me.”  Zarek stormed off in anger and after several minutes he became aware that someone was following him.  He stopped, his lips curled in spite.  “What do you want?”

     Natan sighed.  “Zarek you’re my friend.  I want to help you.”

     “You shouldn’t.”

    “Shouldn’t what?”

    “You shouldn’t want to help me; it is weakness to offer help and even more weak to accept it.”

     Natan didn’t appear affected by his harsh words and replied without malice, “It would be a sorry world if friends couldn’t help each other.  Lonely too.  Besides, who else would watch your back?”

     Zarek glared at him, “I can watch out for myself, I don’t need anyone.”

    “Maybe so.  Unfortunately, I don’t possess that ability and strength, so… you are going to have to watch my back.”

    Zarek anger melted away, as did his bad mood.  He shook his head and the smallest smile crossed his lips.  “You are a good and loyal friend Natan.”

    Natan shrugged his shoulders.  “I know.”  He fell into step beside Zarek.  “So where do you go now?”

    “To wash and purify myself.  The slaying of a shark is sacred and I must go to the temple priests.”

    Natan nodded.  They walked several moments in companionable silence before Zarek reached his father’s hut.  “I’ll see you tomorrow Natan.  Rise early and I’ll meet you at the docks.  Perhaps we can fish together tomorrow.”

    Natan’s lips cracked into a smile and he nodded before going on his way.  Zarek watched him.  Natan was like a brother to him.  Though they had been separated for a time when Zarek went to sea with his father and Natan was forced to stay behind until he turned the required age, their friendship hadn’t weakened. 

    Though Natan was forced to fish in the canoes in the shallow coves, because of his inexperience, they both still found ways to spend time in each other’s company.   Natan’s admiration for Zarek was sincere and he often expressed longing to join him as he fished from the mighty fishing vessels they had both admired so much.

    Zarek turned and shoved aside the animal skin that hung over the doorway.  He found a clean garment and ducked back outside.  His long strides carried him to a shallow pool where he removed the garments stained with filth, and bathed away the grime that covered his body.  The iron smell of blood was rinsed from his hair and hands.

     The water was cool since the shallow pool was located in the shadows of the big rocks.  He finished washing and dressed himself in clean garments.  Fastening the laces of his sandals and bundling up his unclean garments, he shoved them under a rocky ledge.  He would come back for them after his visit to the temple.

     The sun was beginning to set as Zarek entered the courtyard of the shrine.  Torches had been lit and now flickered along the darkening pathways.  He climbed the steps and entered the outer chamber.  A priest, wearing a bright yellow cloak and carrying a heavy oak staff approached.  “Why is it that you have come?”

     “I have come to bless Enki, god of the waters.  He has given me protection this day, as I slayed a shark caught in our nets.”

    The priest lifted his hand and began a chant, blessing him, for it was customary to bless the worshiper.  Zarek’s face remained sullen and stony as he accepted the incense the priest offered him in exchange for a silver coin.  He made his way to a giant stone wall where an image of Enki had been carved.  The beard of Enki appeared to be rivers flowing down his chest, and he was clothed in the skin of a giant fish.  A river was carved behind him with several fish swimming the length there of.

    Zarek began the chant the priest had taught him and lit the incense.  He chanted until his arms hurt from lifting the incense over and over again.  At last, the incense had all been burned and only the smoke and faint scent of perfume remained in the room.  Zarek didn’t know how much time had passed but he knew it was now dark outside, the room had become darker.  He left the empty bowl of ashes on a table next to the giant column.

     Only the light from several torches illuminated the room Zarek stood in.  He continued to study the carving.  Firelight danced across it.  Zarek could hear the faint sounds of chants in a distant part of the temple.  He stared at the carving until his eyes stung.  His lips curled into a snarl.  “You are only stone,” he growled under his breath.  “You are only stone and yet, I am forced to worship you.”  His lips curled in derision.

     The carving stared back at him with indifferent eyes.  A low, hallow laugh, permeated with bitterness, broke the silence as Zarek glared at the wall.  “What foolish beings we are.  Worshiping a god that we ourselves created.  If anything, you should be worshiping us.”

     Zarek turned his back and a small laugh escaped him, this time in amusement.  He looked back at the carving.  “The god Zarek.”  He laughed again.  “Now that would be something to fear.”

    He took several steps before he turned again and this time his voice was hard, “I am a god stronger than yourself because I am not encased in a wall of stone.  I am a man, I walk, and I go where I please.”  He turned and strode out of the temple angrily muttering to himself under his breath, “I don’t even know why I bother talking to him, he can’t even hear me.”

    It was true that he didn’t believe in all the gods, but he had to worship something.  This pressed against him, until he had chosen Ashur, the god that was considered most powerful among their people; as his object of worship.  He wasn’t entirely satisfied by the idea, but as long as Ashur gave him honor, Zarek would, in return, honor him.

     Zarek wasn’t far from his father’s hut when he remembered that he hadn’t retrieved his clothes from under the rocky ledge.  He grumbled in irritation, but turned around and went to the pool of water.  A full moon guided his steps.  Arriving at the place, he grabbed his bundle of clothes before turning to leave, then he paused.  Instead, he climbed up on one of the rocks and sat down.

     From this spot he could see the whole village; it stretched out below him like a blanket of tiny campfires.  He knew which family lived where, and which hut belonged to who.  Zarek had been raised here his entire life.  He knew everyone and everyone knew him.  He glared bitterly at the spread below, so content and peaceful, while he was wrought with turmoil.

     “One day, I will be a god.  People will die because of a single word I utter.  All will fear me and those who killed my mother will be cast away and forgotten.  I will avenge her.  Ashur, god of war, will give me strength to do this.  It is through him I will attain all these things.”  He turned and scowled in the direction of the temple, “You will remember my name, and speak it in whispers because even the wind will hear you and tell me what you speak secretly.  And I… will punish you.” 

     He stood abruptly, his vow still lingering in the still night.  The air crackled with the power he had spoken in, stirring a strange chill over his aching heart.  He turned onto the path leading to the village, and walked.  His pace unhurried.

     At last, he found himself standing outside his father’s hut.  He paused and noted that the fire still burned within.  His father was awake and probably waiting for him.  Taut with the tension that seeped from the hut, he considered spending the night on the rocks.  He stiffened instantly, as he knew the villagers might then consider him to be fearful.  Zarek could not allow that.  With great reluctance, he entered the hut.

    Arrod was sitting at the fire, his back to Zarek.  His hand paused only a split second from sharpening his harpoon.  “You have returned at last.  Have you been all this time at the temple?”

    Zarek swallowed, his mouth felt dry.  “I stopped at the pool to retrieve my clothes.”

    There was a snort of disbelief.  “The sun had left the sky hours ago.”

     Zarek pressed his lips together, tightly, not wanting to say anything.  Not wanting his father to know of the deep bitterness and anger he kept hidden, even from the light of his own thoughts.  Yes, he knew it was there, but he didn’t meditate on it.  It would come forth in the time Ashur ordained, and Zarek would use it to claim his vengeance.

    Arrod leaped to his feet, unaware of his son’s thoughts.  He pointed an accusing finger at him.  “You never want to come home.”

    Zarek whirled around and before he could stop himself, he spat, “This is not my home!”  They had had this argument before, so many times Zarek had lost count.  Still the darkness he felt was not made completely manifest.

    His father approached so quickly, that Zarek couldn’t evade the blow that snapped his head to the side.  His lip was split and bleeding.  Arrod slapped him again, and blood poured from both sides of his nose.  His father was so close, Zarek could feel his hot breath on his face.  Arrod’s voice was filled with rage, “You will not speak to me that way.  Not ever again.”  There was a sourness of wine on his father’s breath.  Drunk, his father was almost always drunk.

    Zarek stared at the ground, before lifting his head to look at his father.  Arrod’s fists shook in rage and his eyes had narrowed to slits, as he continued to stare down at his son.  But this time it was different.  Zarek didn’t turn away or drop his gaze.  Instead, he held it.  Allowing his hatred for the man to flicker in his eyes.  “This hasn’t been my home since you allowed the woman that was my mother to be killed.  You condoned her murder, and I will never forgive you.”

    Arrod stared at his son and his mouth dropped open before he let out a howl of laughter.  “You will never forgive me, eh?  Good.”  Then his father’s face hardened, pleased to see the cruelness of Zarek’s glare.  He leered and swayed forward, grabbing Zarek’s shoulder.  “Never show mercy, never forgive.  You are learning things from me that you never would have, had your mother still been alive.  But you will be the stronger for it.”

    Zarek would have pulled away, but his father had already released him; he gave one last wheezing laugh and caught up a bottle of wine in his hand.  Tilting the bottle deeply into his mouth and swallowed a large mouthful, he extended it to his son.  Zarek shook his head, his jaw clenched too tightly for him to squeeze a word out.  His father laughed again and took another mouthful.

     “Some things may take you a little longer to learn.”  Arrod sat down and stared into the fire before looking across at Zarek.  His eyes were glazing over, he rasped, “Escape your memories, the ghosts who haunt you…”  His father’s voice became too slurred to understand.

    Zarek wiped the blood from his nose and lip, before he turned away, disgusted by his father’s cowardice.  He walked over to the place where he slept, throwing aside the furs, before he laid himself down.  In the morning, the bottle would be empty and his father wouldn’t even remember their argument or the words that they had spoken to one another.  Zarek didn’t care.  He was tired but sleep refused to come.  He lay awake, listening, until his father collapsed on the ground in a drunken stupor.

    Zarek got up and cast a skin over him.  It wasn’t out of love he did this.  His eyes glittered angrily in the darkness.  “You won’t die because of the cold.  In time enough, when you are yourself and you can remember… when you can feel the betrayal… then you will die.”  He returned to his pile of skins, staring at the dark, lump on the floor, hate burning his throat.  In a voice so soft and low that not even he could hear, he said, “I will make you suffer as she did.”