(Part I) - Zarek ben Nadin Chronicles - Chapter #10

     Blood. Screams.  Black ravens circling in the sky.

     Zarek gasped and sat up, his heart was beating so fast it made his chest hurt.  Sweat drenched his tunic, making the cotton material stick to his skin.  He was shaking so hard, he couldn’t stop.  The awful events he had set in motion still plagued him; and would probably haunt him until the day he died.

    He sank back down on the pile of furs he had slept in.  His eyes stared into the darkness, and he tried to push out the mental images that came to mind.  Immediately, he was ashamed.  It was one thing to do such wickedness, but quite another to refuse to face the consequences of his actions.  “Coward,” he whispered to himself. 

    You can’t run from what you’ve become.

  He could again hear the sound of agonized screams ringing from the hillside.  Zarek squeezed his eyes shut and his hands pressed to his ears as he rocked back and forth.  Tears dripped from his eyes.  Coward, Coward, Coward. 

   He didn’t want to listen to the voice, whether it was real or imaginary, yet, he couldn’t deny the truth in the statement.  An image flashed before his eyes: rows of prisoners, stripped of their clothing and tied to the stakes along the road that led to their village.  They had been whipped, bloodied, and tortured… so disfigured that they wouldn’t have even been recognized as men anymore. 

    The jackals and wolves came afterward, tearing the limbs of the dying men and Zarek had ordered the hearts of their enemies to be cut out and burnt on an alter to Ashur, god of war.  The bodies remained tied to the pillars for several days until the scavengers had picked the bones clean.  Then the skulls had been piled in a heap beside the entrance of the village and the remaining bones had been crushed and thrown into the sea.

     For days afterward, the cries of the dead men echoed in the still air, sending chills down the spines of those who heard it.  A hush had fallen over the village.  The whole thing had been too ugly and too horrible to speak of.  Nothing like this had ever taken place in their village, though they had heard of such things occurring on distant battlefields.

    Zarek felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it.  Why did his actions, though justified, haunt him?  Weren’t his actions justified?  The nomadic warriors would have done the same to his village.  The huts would have been burned, the women taken as slaves, and the men brutally slaughtered. 

     Suddenly, he felt like he was suffocating.  The four walls that surrounded him, pressed against him from all sides.  He needed air.  Grabbing his seal skin cape and draping it around his shoulders, Zarek stepped outside into the cold night air.  His body guard, Sargon was sitting next to a fire.

    Hoping that his presence had not yet been noticed, Zarek moved in the opposite direction.  He cringed when Sargon stood.  “My chief?”

    It seemed no matter where he went, someone was always following him.  “I will return.  You may remain here.”  He continued walking and gritted his teeth in annoyance when he heard the light footfall of Sargon behind him.

    Zarek’s steps took him along the path to the beach.  The moonlight deepened the shadows of the waters and accented the surface.  To Zarek’s relief, Sargon took up sentry on a high, rocky ledge, allowing him to walk the shoreline alone.  He paced up and down the sandy beach.  The waves rushed against his ankles and back out to sea as the wind tugged at his hair.  He paced for several minutes, before he came to a standstill and turned to watch the sea.

    “You have nightmares.”

    Zarek whirled around and saw his father stepping out onto the sand from the shadows he had hidden in.  He turned and saw Sargon watching from the ledge; doubtless he had allowed Arrod to pass him.  Zarek felt annoyed, and because of his nightmare, angry.  “No.”  It was a bold lie.

    His father chuckled, “The walls have ears.  They say you cry out.”

   “Who says?!” Zarek snarled.

    “You are losing your people’s respect.  They think your actions have made you coward.”  His father walked closer.  “Are you a coward that you let them speak of you thus?”

    “No.”  Zarek hated that his voice was only a mere whisper.

    His father, seeing his advantage, pressed him further, “You avoid me like a plague.  I’ve seen a change in you.”

    “You don’t know,” Zarek said through clenched teeth.

    His father spoke again, his voice quiet and sagely. “You hate yourself; you hate what you have become.”

    Zarek stared at him.  How could his father know that?  His stomach twisted and he clenched his hands at his side as his father’s voice became smooth and persuading, “You want to forget don’t you?  You want everything to be how it was before your mother died.”

    “You betrayed her, you let her die.” Zarek glared at his father, his eyes burning with hatred.

    Arrod ignored his outburst, and his own voice became soft and wistful.  “Things can never be the same…  But you can forget.”

    Zarek felt a moment of hope, but the distrust for his father kept him from fully believing him.  “How?” he demanded, his voice hoarse.

    His father offered him something, and it took Zarek a moment to realize what it was.  A wineskin.  Involuntarily, he took a step back, recoiling at the idea.  His mind rebelled and once again he saw the decaying bodies and the stench of rotting flesh.  Without quite meaning to, his hand reached out and accepted it.  He tilted it to his lips.

    The liquid was vile tasting and burned down his throat, setting his senses on fire.  In an anguished sob he threw it away.  “No!”  He fell to his knees and tears streamed down his face from what he had almost done, “No, I don’t want to be like you!  Go away!  Leave me alone.”  He buried his head in his hands and wept softly.

    Hours later, his emotions were spent and Zarek looked up.  His father was gone and so was Sargon.  He was alone.  The knowledge surprised and confused him.  He crawled to the water that washed ashore and scrubbed his face.

    “I hate what I’ve become.”  The words spoken aloud, though barely above a whisper, almost made him break again.  He held back the tears and looked in bitter sorrow at the gulls that screamed across the sky.

    “But even though I hate what I’ve become… I cannot change what I’ve done.  The only direction I can go is forward.  I am a chief; I must serve my people so that they do not doubt me.  I will prove to them that I am strong, and that I am worthy to be called their chief.  I will drive our enemies far from us and strike fear into their hearts.”

     He thought quietly to himself, before he resumed his one-sided speech. “Perhaps I can never justify my actions to myself.  But Ashur, god of war, will honor me… because I will show no mercy to his enemies.  I will serve Ashur and he will give me peace.  I can only hope in him.”  Saying these words brought no comfort, and could not wash away his doubts.  He wasn’t convinced, just trying to make himself believe.

    Zarek turned from the sea and began to walk back to the village.  He was startled when he found Sargon waiting on the path for him.  “I thought you had left.”

    The man looked passed him, “I knew you weren’t going anywhere, you would return to the village when you were ready.”

    Zarek wanted to ask him if he had seen what had transpired on the beach, hours before.  He wanted to know if Sargon was witness to his weakness, but the words refused to come forth.  He swallowed and studied his guard’s face, but there was nothing to hint of what the answer might be to his question.

    Zarek strode passed him, knowing Sargon would follow.  He pressed his lips firmly together.  The people would not see weakness from him again.  He had been elected as their chief, though he was by far the youngest candidate they had ever had.  He would fulfill his duty to them.

     With this new resolve, Zarek’s mind went to work on what would be his next course of action.  His mind turned from his problems and latched onto what his present course of action would be.  The object of his thought, was a man he had hated nearly every day of his life.  Now was the time to take care of the matter that had pressed upon him for so many years.  Now, the chief priest would answer for his wickedness, and Zarek would show no mercy.