Zarek heard his friend’s soft words and glanced around. No one else was listening but it still made him uneasy. He turned to his friend. “Why?” he asked, though he guessed he knew.
Natan blew air softly from his mouth. His face twisted with discomfort. “Your father has been a poor guide. Yesterday’s event of losing half a day of travel due to his drunkenness, and this morning when we had to retrace three hours of travel for taking the wrong turn off point… Well, there is talk of doing away with him.”
Zarek groaned, “Don’t think I am not tempted to let them do exactly that.” He turned to his friend, “How could the gods curse me with such a father Natan? As if my life isn’t already difficult enough. I have had to witness the death of my own mother by his hand! Could life be much worse?”
“Don’t tempt the gods Zarek; you are probably giving them ideas even as you speak.” Natan reached up and rubbed the amulet which hung around his neck, a charm to protect him from evil spirits. “How do you want to handle the situation with your father?”
“Whatever happens; happens. If some misfortune befalls him, what concern of it is mine? As long as he doesn’t leave us stranded in the desert.” He squinted against the brightness of the sun.
Natan appeared shocked, “Zarek, he is your father! Surely you don’t wish him dead.”
“I have wished him dead a hundred times over,” Zarek snapped. “Yet here he is, alive and well, if not still drunk.”
“If you hate him as much as you say, why have you not killed him yourself?”
It was an honest question and one Zarek had asked himself on more than one occasion, it wasn’t as if hadn’t had the opportunity. Hundreds of times as his fathers had laid across the floor in a drunken stupor, he had wiped the blood from his nose or lip and clenched his small fishing knife.
He stirred himself to speak now with the reason that had made him refrain. “Because unlike my father, I still have some honor. I will not slay my family, though I wish his death with all my heart. May his death be as cruel and violent as my mother’s was. And I pray to the gods that he is betrayed by someone he trusts, and then he will have a small taste as to what my mother felt.” His words flavored his mouth with bitterness.
He glanced at his friend, daring him to speak against him but Natan was wisely, silent. No more was said and the matter was dropped about the men’s discontentment. Zarek watched his father carefully. The man stumbled but righted himself, he had a wide smile and overly bright eyes as he wobbled along the road looking pleased with himself for some mischievous reason. Zarek shook his head.
During the course of several days, they passed only a few travelers on the road. They exchanged greetings and information on the road ahead. Zarek took the opportunity to question them about familiar landmarks and watering holes, knowing the information would be useful if his father was unable to guide them.
It was getting close to late afternoon one day, when they encountered a merchant on the road, accompanied by two guards. Since both parties were making camp for the night, they felt it safe to spend the night in each other’s company knowing that a larger group would make robbers and bandits more reluctant to attack.
The merchant introduced himself as Comaya, a traveling rug merchant who dealt with many fine cities, including Nineveh. Zarek perceived him to be a shrewd businessman who liked making a profit at the slightest opportunity. The men liked him well enough, for he wove fanciful tales of the places he traveled. For many of the men who had never left their small fishing village, it was indeed wondrous.
Zarek listened with the rest of the men, watching the firelight cast its glow on the speaker’s face. The fire shot sparks upward and the men laughed heartily as Comaya ended yet another of his tales with a flourishing gesture. The merchant’s gleaming eyes smiled back at his audience, peering from behind curls of his oiled hair. Large gold rings and chains about his neck added to the bright sound of laughter.
Comaya straightened. “And now, to reward the most attentive audience I have ever had, I would like to share with you a cask of wine, brought especially from the kingdom of Babylon and quite the finest thing you will ever taste!”
At this, the men cheered loudly and the merchant produced the cask and poured himself a large goblet before extending it to Zarek. At the proffered cask, Zarek shook his head and smiled. He never had cared for wine, and was sure the wine of Babylon could not be much more different than their own homebrewed one.
“But sire!” The merchant exclaimed. “I understand that you are these men’s chief! I hadn’t known I was honored by such a person of power, please.”
“Wine does not agree with me. And really, I can boast of no such power. Our village is only a small one and we catch and sell fish for a living.”
The merchant gave a friendly smile, “I have many a fine friend who makes their living in that manner. There is nothing to be ashamed of my friend. And now, will you drink with me? Take only a sip if you will, but I wish you to experience this delightful gift. I apologize that it is all I have to offer.”
Zarek accepted the cask then and took a sip. To his surprise, the wine was sweet. The perfumed liquid glided easily down his throat and warmed him. He glanced up at the merchant, “You speak the truth, this is indeed the sweetest wine I have tasted.” Zarek passed the cask to his friend Natan, who also took a tentative sip and pronounced it delicious.
The cask was passed from one man to another until everyone had tasted of the wine. The men heartily exclaimed the wine to be of the finest quality they had ever had. Zarek was pleased that the heaviness of the men’s spirits had left and that they were more cheerful. The merchant welcomed the praise and shouts of thanks; in return he spun another story. Zarek shook his head, refusing a second sip allowing his men the pleasure of savoring such a rare and splendid treat. Tomorrow, the men’s spirits would be high.
At last the fire died low and the men took to their blankets to sleep. The merchant assured them that his two guards would keep the night watch and so everyone fell into a comfortable sleep accept for one guard that Zarek insisted would also keep watch with the merchant’s.
Zarek was lulled quickly to sleep, his eyes had become quite heavy and yet a feeling of contentment warmed him. He awoke perhaps an hour or so later. Heat rolled over him and he shook his head trying to make sense of it. The result was a pain so intense that it felt as if his head had been split in two with a sharp fishing club. Waves of nausea swept over him and he fell to one side, wrenching violently. The smell of his dinner, stomach acids, and a metallic tinge of blood made him vomit again.
Another wave of heat passed over him, before a freezing cold seized his limbs. His jaws locked up and sweat sprang to his clammy skin. For how long he laid in the sand, limp and beyond reason he didn’t know. Vaguely, he became aware of other sounds around him, sounds of wrenching and vomiting.
Summoning enough strength to rise up on one elbow, he glanced about him. All his men lay writhing on the ground in pain. Poisoned, he was sure. But how? Then he became aware of something else, the merchant and his cart of rugs was no longer among them.
The sun was blazing in the sky when the poison had finally worn off. His men were furious, though their anger was a small thing compare to Zarek’s own. Not only had they been poisoned, but all that they had of value, including their food and water had been stolen. But though the men were angry, they were unsure what their next course of action should be.
Zarek was at no such loss for words and a plan began to rapidly form in his mind. “Such deceit will not go unpunished,” he hissed. “We shall track him down; burdened with his stolen loot and his cart of rugs he should not have gotten far.”
One of the men spoke up. “But how should we track him? The road is hard packed, any mark by the wagon will be hard to find. And what if he turns off?”
“With a wagon he cannot afford to leave the road. If it branches off, we have enough men to split up and cover both parts of the road.”
Zarek quickly divided his men and began their pursuit. The merchant had been foolish for he had not thought to take their weapons, or had not thought that he would be pursued.
They had only gone a mile or so when the road branched off in three other directions. They branched out but were reduced to less than seventeen in their group. Zarek cursed under his breath when hours later, the path he had chosen, branched off again. He was forced to split his remaining forces again and now he had only eight in his group, including Arrod his father.
His frustrations heighten as the men began to complain of thirst. Another hour later and the men refused to go on without resting first. Zarek had heard their whispers and knew that they spoke of returning to the main route, or else elect another leader. He allowed them to rest in the shade of the rocky hillside while he climbed higher to get a better look at his surroundings.
The wind was hot as it pushed against him and Zarek feared he had been too hasty in his decision to pursue the merchant. The men had been without water since early morning and were bitter for lack of it
“It is disappointing to see a leader of men fail to inspire his people.”
The low, mocking words of his father caused his muscles to tense. “Am I not right in wanting to recover what was stolen from us?”
“If you had been more guarded instead of trusting the merchant like a fool, there would be no need to re-claim stolen goods. You were careless; you thought a man you had never met before was a friend.” Arrod gnashed his teeth together and his eyes darken in disapproval. “The gods have cursed me with a fool for a son.”
The words hit Zarek with their intended ferocity and he felt his cheeks turn hot with anger. He had been too trusting; he had been foolish allowing the friendly merchant to remain with them.
Arrod continued his rebuke. “The men didn’t know they elected a child for a chief. You created such a reputation based on two single feats of supposed courage, which were in truth, acts of desperation. The desperation of a coward.”
“I am not a coward!” Zarek snarled. His chest filled with anger as he stared at his father. After all this time, his father’s words still cut him deep and penetrated much further than he would have liked.
“Then prove it! Prove it by showing no mercy.” His father reached out and pointed in the distance. It was then Zarek saw it, as he squinted in the brightness of the afternoon sun, a dark brown speck in the distance. The merchant’s wagon. He turned back to his father, feeling a darkness steal over him.
“The merchant will regret the day he ever saw my face.” His words were cloaked in such a coldness that he felt as if his heart had frozen over. He clenched the knife more firmly at his side and leaped down from the rocks he had climbed, to the men waiting below. The men looked startled.
“Ready yourselves,” Zarek commanded.
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