(Part I) - Zarek ben Nadin Chronicles - Chapter #6

     The fishing season resumed along the coasts, and most of the men were employed in the dozen or so fishing vessels that remained.  As usual, the men were anxious to resume their source of livelihood, and joined in throngs upon the beach; however, their party included one less among them.

    Zarek watched them go.  He was still unable to exert his healing body for long periods of time, and would only be in the way.  His shoulder hadn’t healed enough to climb the rigging, or pull up nets heavy with fish, and he wasn’t unable to wield the fishing club or spears.

    Yet, every morning he found himself climbing the rocky outcropping that lined the shore, to watch the men drag their smaller boats into the frothy waves.  If he woke especially early, he would walk along the shoreline and let the frigid water wash over his feet, and the spray from the ocean fleck his face and hair.

    Every morning, he watched Natan climb into the boat and wave to him before rowing out to the open sea.  Zarek would lift his hand briefly in farewell, before his arm once again dropped to his side, heavy and aching.  He would then trudge back up the path and return to the hillsides to look after the village animals.

     He was no less diligent in guarding the animals, but his heart wasn’t quite in it.  Now that his best friend was often gone, and only accompanied him rarely to the pastures, he would sit alone on the rocks, watching the peaceful animals graze.  A heaviness would fall over him as he watched the other boys laugh and joke with each other.  He could never bring himself to join their light hearted merriment.  Natan understood that.

    When the grass became too short, Zarek had the herds moved to more distant pastures.  Sometimes, they wouldn’t return to the village for several weeks at a time.  He enjoyed the solitude and as his shoulder became stronger, he began hunting for smaller animals to add to their supply of bread and dried fruits.   He proved to be a good hunter, and the boys accepted his leadership readily and without question.

    The season changed again.  The days were often hot, and chalky dirt seemed to settle on everything.  Zarek’s skin and hair were coated heavily with it, and the dust clogged his mouth often choking him.  He found himself, once again longing for the spray of the sea and the cool breeze that the wind brought.

     Though it was hot and dry on land, Zarek knew the ocean was cool and thick with fish at this time of year.  There was little doubt in his mind that the abundance of fish would soon draw shark, and with the coming of the sharks, the rituals would soon begin.  His stomach tightened at the thought.

    The rituals in themselves, were looked on by the young boys with a mixture of trepidation and eagerness; as it would mark their rite of passage into manhood.

     The boys who herded the cattle, talked about the ritual with hushed tones.  Zarek sensed their fear.  He knew the ritual was conducted by the priests in a sacred inlet, thickly fringed by foliage and rocky outcroppings.  Those who passed the ritual, returned victorious and those who failed were never seen again.

     Zarek would not be participating in it.  He had already proved himself in slaying the lion; this had been the more ancient ritual of their village.  Lions rarely came close to the seaside, which made his accomplishment all the more remarkable.

     His friend Natan was happy for him, but Zarek sensed the gloom hanging over his friend’s usual cheerfulness.  It was one of the first times he had seen his friend so anxious.    Knowing this, he tried not to be annoyed when Natan would clutch his sacred amulet and beseech the gods for their aide in the upcoming trial of manhood.  Though he hid his irritation, he felt that his friend’s faith was misplaced.

     Still, he understood why Natan was so desperate.  His friend wasn’t particularly agile or strong.  In fact, Natan preferred studying the one ancient scroll that village elder possessed, memorizing the lines and reciting them to Zarek. 

     Most of the villagers couldn’t read, and beside their village elder, only Natan had taken an interest in learning the complicated characters.  Zarek was patient as he listened to his friend’s recitations, but he didn’t possess the patience or desire to learn the scrolls.  If Natan found something useful or interesting, he would always share it with him.

    At last, the time came for the rituals to begin.  Natan was selected to be the first one to enter the sacred inlet.  The priests would receive him there.  Natan was more anxious than ever before and sometimes seemed to border on hysteria.  Zarek set his own personal opinions to the side, and offered to burn sacrifice at the temple for him.

    The night before the ritual, Zarek sat by his fire near the rocky outcroppings.  The wind whipped at the flames, and he added another stick to the fire.  He was enjoying the solitude, when he heard a faint sound.  Turning, he saw Natan walking toward him.  His took a seat close to the fire, and silence stretched out before them after the initial greeting.  Zarek waited, allowing Natan to gather his thoughts.  It wasn’t long.

    “I will fail the test tomorrow,” his friend whispered, staring into the fire.  His fists were clenched and pale in darkening night.  At last he turned and dragged his agony filled eyes to meet Zarek’s.  “I am so scared Zarek.  How I wish I could be brave like you!”

    Zarek shifted.  “You are brave Natan.  Do not fear, you will pass the ritual tomorrow.”

    Natan bit his lip and rubbed his hands together.  “I have prayed to every god I’ve ever known in hopes that it will be so.”  He was trying hard not to tremble.  “I don’t want to go alone.”

     “You won’t have to.”  Zarek allowed a small smile when his friend visibly looked startled.  Astonished eyes locked with his.

    What do you mean?”

    Zarek shoved a long stick into the coals and stirred them up.  “I will be accompanying you tomorrow.”

    “How is that to be?”  His friend’s eyes brightened in hope, though his voice was tinged with disbelief.

    “I spoke with the priests this morning.  They believe I should accompany the first candidate, and that my presence will bless the rites of passage.  It seems that they also believe the gods have been reincarnated in me.” Zarek offered a wry smile.

    Natan’s eyes were shining brightly.  “Zarek!”

    Before his friend could speak further, Zarek held up a hand, “You would have been fine without me.  However, I am curious and since I will not be participating myself, you’ll have to allow me to accompany you.”

    Natan looked relieved, then shifted suddenly as if thinking of something, “We must offer a sacrifice!  So the gods can watch over you as well.”

    “Natan!” Zarek growled in disgust, “I do not need the protection of the gods.  I will do well enough on my own.”  When his friend appeared doubtful, Zarek spoke harsher.  “Really Natan, it is ridiculous to put your trust in gods of stone and wood.  I think you would be much better off putting faith in your own abilities.”

    Natan laughed softly, “That is precisely the reason I have to trust the gods, Zarek.  In case you haven’t noticed, my own abilities are limited to interpreting the writing of ancient manuscripts.  Not passing tests of physical endurance and skill.”

    Zarek shook his finger at him, “You would excel if you put your effort and time into it.”

    “But my build is different from yours,” Natan protested.  He smiled good-naturedly.  “Like it or not Zarek, I’ll never be as broad shouldered or as strong as you are.  But I am perfectly at ease with that, so long as we are friends.”

      “Always,” promised Zarek, his face solemn.  He roused himself from where he sat at the fire, “It is late now, and we’ll need our rest for tomorrow.  Before the sun rises, we must be standing on the shores of the inlet.”  Natan nodded.  They clasped hands and Zarek watched him go.

    When morning dawned, Zarek and Natan found themselves approaching the sacred inlet.  The priests had lit torches along the shorelines and were waited for them.  The two boys stripped themselves of most of their garments so that they were shirtless.  The cold air made Natan shiver, and Zarek glanced at his friend, nodding his head in reassurance.

    Zarek kneeled on the sand, and Natan beside him.  The priests began to paint symbols on their chests, arms, and faces.  During the preparation, Zarek was aware of his friend’s gaze upon him. 

    When the priests moved away, Natan leaned forward and softly whispered, “You look like a warrior, Zarek.  And a fierce one at that.”  His friend looked down at his own pale, skinny arm, probably comparing it to his brown, toned one.

    Zarek reached his hand up and traced the jagged scar on the side of his face which had been made by the lion’s claw.  It was an unconscious habit ever since he had seen his scarred and mutilated body.  He pressed his lips together grimly.  The scar was still there, the same length and thickness.  His hand dropped to his side once again.

    The priests began to chant, offering sacrifice and incense in the giant fire that had burned continually since their arrival. 

     The sun appeared and began its ascent into the sky.  Zarek and Natan were unmoving, as they continued to kneel on the sand.  At last the head priest, Rarrok, appeared and glided over the sand to them, his cape of shiny fish scales skimming across the ground.

    Zarek’s hands tightened, but his face remained void of all expression as the head priest stood before them.  Rarrok spoke with a loud voice as he lifted his arms, “The test will soon begin.  You will enter the waters; there you will prove your courage.”

    Two priests stood by with a spear in either hand.  The tips were of iron and the whole lengths of the staffs were longer than Zarek was tall.  Rarrok pulled a black dagger from its sheath and chanted over it, before turning to them again.  “You will cut your body with this so that the sharks are attracted to your blood.”

    Natan paled as he was first offered the knife.  He took it and made a small scratch on his arm; blood came slowly to the surface and trickled to his wrist.

     Zarek saw the priest’s face darken in disdain and disgust.  His jaw clenched, and he grit his teeth tightly together in determination.  The cowardly priest would not dare turn his nose up at him.  When Natan offered him the knife, he gripped it firmly and before the priest could say a word, Zarek had slashed a deep and jagged wound across his left arm.  Not so deep so that he was in danger of bleeding to death, but deep enough so that blood poured down his arm and hand, dripping on the sand.

     He heard Natan gasp, and he handed the black dagger back to the priest.  With satisfaction he saw a brief shadow of surprise in the priest’s eyes as his jaw went lax.  Zarek ignored him and stared straight ahead. 

     The two priests holding the spears came forward and presented one to each of the boys.  Natan took one and Zarek the other.  Then they stood, and entered the waters.  It came only to their knees, but the salt spray stung Zarek’s open wound. 

    He and Natan stood, several feet apart from each other as they waited for the shark to appear.  Blood continued to drip from Zarek’s arm, turning the water around him a pale red.  An hour passed and still the boys continued to wait.  The sun had become hot and beat down upon their shoulders, burning their skin.  The blood clotted on Zarek’s arm, but the wound continued to throb.

    He glanced at Natan and saw that his friend’s chin was set in determination.  He smiled in satisfaction and turned his eyes back to the open sea.  Moments later, he saw a black dorsal fin rise to the surface and swim toward them.  He readied his spear, knowing that a shark had at last been attracted to the scent of blood.

    He waded further from Natan, his movement stirring up the water and causing the shark to veer toward him.  Zarek watched its approach.  When it was still several feet away, he tensed and launched his spear into the water.  The spear grazed the shark deeply causing the sleek, gray body to thrash and turn toward Natan, just as he had intended.  It was a mortal wound, and the damage on one of its pectoral fins hindered its speed.

     The water rippled around Zarek’s legs, lapping at them in the sudden disturbance of the current below.  The shark swam so close to him that he could see the rows of jagged teeth and the red, heaving gills.  The gray form cut its way through the waters leaving a dark trail of blood in its wake.  Zarek lifted his eyes to where Natan stood with spear extended.

     His friend waited until the shark was only a short distance away before he too, launched his spear.  Zarek held back a shout when he saw that Natan’s aim had been true.  The shark turned away and began to speed out to the open ocean before it suddenly sank.  Zarek and Natan waded to the body which had begun to float out with the tide.

     Zarek pulled a knife from his belt, intending to stab again if the shark was still living.  It wasn’t, and so they caught hold of the rough, gray fins and dragged it back to shore with them.

     The priests surrounded them, chanting and swaying.  Some of them set upon the carcass with knives.  At last, the head priest, Rarrok, turned to them, “Go, and purify yourselves in the waters beyond the inlet.  When you return, we will offer a sacrifice and complete the ceremony.”

    Natan’s body trembled with adrenaline as they walked to the waters and washed the blood from their bodies.  Zarek held back a hiss when the salt water stung his wounds sharply.  His friend begin to sing a song of praise to the gods, thanking them for their success.

    In Zarek’s opinion, the gods hadn’t had the slightest effect on the outcome of the test, but he refrained from speaking his thoughts aloud, not wanting to take away Natan’s immense joy.  His friend deserved this, and Zarek pushed away any ill feelings.  He was determined not to cast a cloud over his friend’s happiness.  This was Natan’s day.