(Part I) - Zarek ben Nadin Chronicles - Chapter #9

     Zarek blinked in the gray light of the early morning.  Something was different, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He was wearing a robe that was heavier than his usual garment.  It was odd waking without the familiar coldness seeping through, chilling him.  He blinked again and his eyes fell on a small fire.  Apparently, his warmer robe wasn’t the only reason the cold was kept at bay.

    He was in old lean-to shelter that he had constructed.  Last night, he had been too weary to go to the hut he shared with his father, and had spent the night in his usual shelter, as he did when his was father was around.  A sudden movement caught his attention and his eyes flitted to the figure sitting on the rock, not far from the fire.

    At first he thought it was Natan, but then he saw the figure was too broad shouldered.  It was Sargon.  He sat up and something shifted and fell around his shoulders.  Looking down, he saw that an extra mantle had been draped over his shoulders.  It was Sargon’s cloak.

    Standing to his feet, he gathered up the garment and crossed over to Sargon.  “There is no need to stand guard over me.  I am used to being alone.  The cold air will not hurt me, I’ve spent many a night in it.”

    Sargon kept his voice respectful when he answered, “Yes my chief, I know this.  I have often seen your fire burning from where I stood guard over the chief’s lodge.  However, your new position means that there will be some changes.  You are entitled to certain things.”

    Zarek opened his mouth to protest, but was aware of someone approaching them.  He turned and saw Old Mala walking toward them.  He was leaning on his cane today, he was so old that he had seen several chiefs take their place in the village.  Zarek looked at the old man whose skin resembled little more than folds of brittle parchment paper.  Old Mala’s eyes were almost white and he was missing some of his teeth.

    Stepping forward, Zarek and extended a greeting.  The elder nodded before expressing the reason of his coming.  “The former chief’s lodge is yours now, my chief.  There is no need to return to the hut of your father.”

    “Thank you.”  Zarek said these words, though he still didn’t feel comfortable with the thought of dwelling in the giant lodge.

    Mala observed him before nodding.  “My chief, I’ve come on a matter concerning that of 

rebuilding some of the village huts that have been burned during the attack.”

    “I’ll appoint a dozen men to construct huts in place of the ones that were destroyed.” 

     When the old man continued to linger, Zarek asked, “Is there something else?”

     Mala hesitated, “Something will need to be done about the seventy-nine prisoners we captured.  Right now they are in a holding pen and we have men guarding them. but there needs to be a more permanent measure taken.”

    “What would you suggest?”

     Before Old Mala could answer, the head body guard, Sargon shifted and Zarek turned to see Arrod, his father, climbing the hillside. 

    Arrod strode to the fire, his head high and defiant.  “As your father, I wish to speak with you.”

     Zarek’s stomach clenched, he felt Old Mala’s gaze on his face, and forced his expression to remain neutral.  “Very well.”

    His father glanced at Mala and snorted disdainfully.  “You are here to advise the chief?”

    Old Mala bent his head.  “We are discussing the prisoners.”

    Zarek tensed when his father drew himself up to his full height, his lips pressed thinly when Arrod spoke, “It is a matter I prefer to address with Zarek myself.”

    Zarek nodded his head in dismissal when Mala’s eyes sought his.  The old man bowed to Zarek before he hobbled back down the hillside, glaring darkly at Arrod as he went.  Zarek turned to his father, “What is it you wish to say?”

    His father smiled coldly, “We must make an example of the prisoners.”

    Zarek suppressed a shudder against the cruelness he heard in his father’s voice.  “And what do you suggest?”

    “Something that will grip each heart with fear when they hear tell of it...  You must prove yourself to our people; prove to them that you are worthy to become their leader.  The prisoners must suffer for the death of our chief.”  His father paused for his words to sink in.  When Zarek didn’t speak his eyes narrowed and his face became scornful.  “Unless, you are too much of a coward for the sight of blood and cries of men...”

    “I’m no coward,” Zarek snarled, his teeth gnashed together as he spat the bitter words.  Could his father still think that?  Old wounds opened again. 

    His father smirked and crossed his arm, “Then prove it.”