A band of men marched along the road. They were dusty, and their sandals were well-worn from travel. It was evident that they had been traveling for quite some time: lips were chapped by the wind and skin was burnt to a dull shade of red from the blistering sun. Swirls of dust drifted from underfoot and clung to the hem of their garments, and sweat dripped down from many a wearied countenance. Grumbles of discontentment settled oppressively on the travelers.
Any curse or complaint was solely directed on the man who was guiding them along the road, and did nothing to ease the tension filled air. The men were angry, and they showed it… except one, a young man who appeared to be twenty years of age. He was characterized by broad shoulders and a straight back. Deep scars ran from his cheek and down his neck, and piercing green eyes seemed distant. Only his ash blonde hair offset his sharp, brown features.
Unlike the others, he seemed distracted, as if his mind was working on a problem that might take many years to solve. His lips were pressed thinly together, but his face remained void of all expression giving him the appearance of being deep in thought. Despite this, he was alert. His eyes constantly scanned his surroundings for danger.
But his thoughts, whether pleasant or otherwise, was undiscernible.
Zarek mentally calculated the distance they were from Carchemish, and realized with relief that they would soon be at the Euphrates River. This knowledge was soothing, since he had not much faith in their guide. Though Arrod was his father, he knew the man couldn’t be trusted. It had eased his mind to know that the road appeared to be well marked, and he was content that even a fool could follow it without losing their way.
His thoughts drifted from their route of travel and turned to last evening. It had been difficult to fall asleep and he had still been awake when Arrod came back from sentry duty to sit by the fire. He had watched the man, who had starring glumly at the withering flames. Something was in his hand, something smooth and white. Parchment paper?
Zarek had stirred with curiosity to get a better look, but his movement had not gone unnoticed by his father. Arrod slipped whatever he had held between his fingers back into the pouch.
It puzzled Zarek, and made him uneasy. This wasn’t the first time his father had tried to hide something from him and he was immediately suspicious. Every instinct rebelled against the man, his deep distrust had been nurtured to a dark hatred ever since that terrible night, when Zarek’s mother had lost her life because of his father’s foolish superstitions.
Remembering his mother caused a seed of sorrow to flower into bitterness. Sahdina had been the most beautiful of all the village women, Zarek had thought. His mother’s starry green eyes and bright smile had been loved by all. But on that night… her eyes had been filled with terror and her smile had vanished.
It was the night his father had accused her of offending the gods. Zarek had been forced to attend his mother’s death, a nightmare that haunted him still. He would never forgive him!
The years following his mother’s death were dark ones. Fear and abuse plagued him so that he sometimes wished he had joined his mother in death. Arrod drank and became more violent. Sometimes he thought to die from the beatings his father gave him.
Death was always seemed to be there, nudging him but never quite claiming him. Even the rogue lion that he had encountered while herding the cattle from his village, had not given him death, though it had left its mark forever upon him: the deep scars on his body that was visible to all.
Each time he had escaped death. Now, he was on his way to Nineveh, summoned by the King. They were needed to fill the quota for replacement troops. The thought of becoming a soldier pleased him. It had been difficult being a chief, a position appointed to him after the death of their chief in battle. He wanted to be molded into a capable and mighty warrior, and this was his opportunity.
Zarek’s thoughts were interrupted at the shout of the men that surrounded him. He lifted his head and tried to see the cause for their cries. The very air seemed to crackle and pulsate with energy.
“It is the river!” his friend Natan called in excitement to him.
Zarek clambered down the riverbank with the others, though his walk was more purposeful and dignified than those around him. He surveyed the situation. The river was much too wide to ford, which meant they would need to find someone to ferry them across.
This part of the river was popular for crossing and he found a raft almost immediately. The man agreed to take them across, but Zarek found it difficult to come up with money enough for the crossing. Theirs was a fishing village and they traded for supplies or services using this resource. Silver coins had been few and far between.
The raft man was persistent however, he demanded to be paid only in coins. Zarek was half tempted to take the raft by force, but though he had managed small fishing crafts, he did not have the experience it took to pole them across a rapidly moving river. At last the transaction was made.
It had taken several hours for all of them to cross to the other side. After that, they had been forced to camp on the bank of the river because the sun was setting, and it would be too dark to travel. Zarek was even less appreciative of the hard cold that settled upon the camp than the blazing sun that had blistered their skin hours before.
Fires were lit and camp set up. Zarek pulled a blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill of the night and blinked as smoke stung his eyes. He glanced at Natan who come to sit with him, before letting his eyes drift back to fire. For a moment they sat in companionable silence.
“How much longer till we reach Nineveh do you think?”
Natan’s question had been his as well. The only one who knew perhaps was his father, since he had traveled this way several times before. However, Zarek had not communicated with his father unless forced too, such exchanges were awkward at best and rarely yielded any useful information.
Zarek shifted. “We must reach Harran first, and then we cross the Tigris River. Nineveh is on the other side.”
“What do you think it will be like?”
Zarek lifted his shoulders in a shrug. He hadn’t been to Nineveh before and had only heard the merchants talk of it. He knew the city as the capital of the Assyrian Empire, and that it was much bigger than their own village. But to what extent or what wonders that lay wait for them, Zarek could only imagine.
“It will probably be very different from our village,” Natan said softly, answering his own question when Zarek refused to speculate. “The walls, I have heard, are taller than a man. I can hardly imagine such a wonder. Our huts at home are so small that we stoop to enter.”
“I wouldn’t worry Natan. I am sure that we’ll become accustomed to it quickly.” Zarek stood and shook his blanket. “It is time for us to sleep. There will be much more sand to cross before we arrive, and we need rest.” He left the fire to one of the men that had been chosen for sentry that night and moved to the blanket roll on the ground.
The earth was not uncomfortable. The thick, salty smell of sea could still be breathed on the wind. Zarek’s eyes prickled with exhaustion and he blinked hard. The cold was creeping under his blanket. He wriggled a little closer to the fire. When the chill left his bones, he closed his eyes and slept.
He woke when Natan shook his shoulder. Fearing he had overslept he threw back the blanket and leapt to his feet, only to find that it was still dark. “Natan!” Zarek started to hiss. He was silenced when Natan put a finger to his lips. “What is it?” he whispered.
“It’s your father, he left the camp.”
“Do you know where he has gone?” Zarek started to feel uneasy. He looked around, “How long ago did he leave?”
“He’s been gone an hour or more. Haken saw him leave.”
A hundred thoughts raced through his mind. Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind now. Zarek started toward the fire and caught sight of the sentry, “Haken, which direction did he go?”
The man pointed. “Toward the river.”
Zarek turned in that direction and walked briskly. In a second, he was aware of Natan’s presence. His friend was following him. Zarek’s back stiffened. “Go back Natan, I’ll find him.”
Natan waited. “Are you sure? What if you need help?”
Anger bubbled up in Zarek’s chest until it hurt, but the torrent of angry words remained bottled up. He bit back a sharp response to clipped one. “No. He’s my father.”
He watched Natan nod and thought he saw understanding in his friend’s eyes. Natan left him, and Zarek turned to the task of finding his father. The rushing river drowned out all other sounds and the unfamiliar terrain tripped him up. He grew more anxious as the time passed by. As it began to get lighter, he was able to get some sense of his surroundings.
Almost accidentally, he stumbled upon his father. Arrod was sitting next to the river. As he approached, he saw that his father’s eyes were glazed over and that he was slack jawed. His father shifted, and Zarek’s eyes fell to the empty pouch wine skin. How had he obtained the liquor? Probably from the man that had taken them across the river.
Now that Zarek had found his father, he was at a loss of what to do next. Looking at the sky he knew it would only be a few more hours before the men would be awake and wondering about their absence. Not nearly enough time for his father to become sober.
He was now close enough to snatch up the wine pouch and he hurled it and the remaining content in the river. His father looked at him incoherently and a ragged sound of anger tore from Zarek’s mouth. The embarrassing prospect of his father humiliating him again was almost more than he could bear. He could almost envision the looks of scorn that would be present on the men’s faces as they returned to camp.
Hatred blurred his vision, the battle to control his anger was lost and a torrent of angry words burst from him, “Why can’t you stay sober for once?! You are supposed to be our guide but you are so drunk you wouldn’t know the road from the river!”
Arrod swayed to his feet and took a step forward, but then his feet stumbled over the rocky ground and he fell down face first. Zarek’s face twisted in disgust, he had half a mind to leave his father there and go to Nineveh on his own. However, they still had several more days of travel and Zarek wasn’t sure he could find water for the men. He forced himself to keep his temper in check, and his jaw hurt from clenching it so hard.
He pulled his father up who was even less coherent than before and tried walking back to camp with him. He hoped that the cold air carried a sharpness that would revive his father who slouched against him, seemingly incapable of walking or even standing on his own. Several times, his father tried to pull away from him and Zarek had to tighten his grip.
It was hours later when they stumbled into camp. Some of the men were awake by then and Zarek tried not to cringe at the blatant stares or whispers. Natan stood watching, looking genuinely apologetic. Cheeks flaming in humiliation, Zarek deposited his unwilling burden on a blanket.
With an unconscious guide, the men had to wait several more hours before they were finally underway again. Zarek’s decision to wait went unquestioned, but that didn’t stop the other men’s derisive comments directed toward the intoxicated, unconscious man. He fervently hoped that they would be able to arrive in Nineveh without any other time wasting occurrences.
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