That night, he fell asleep, still hot though the sun had gone down many hours ago. There was no cooling relief for the fever that licked at his skin, drying it out. The next day, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled along behind the rest. After stumbling for what seemed the hundredth time, he felt someone touch his elbow and flinched.
“Zarek, are you well?”
Natan’s voice was loud. Everything seemed loud: the crunch of gravel, the birds crying overhead, the clank of swords… “I’m fine.”
“You look pale, and your skin is hot. Perhaps we should stop for a while and let you rest.”
“No!” Zarek winced at the loudness of his own voice and pressed his hand to his shoulder. “We have already lost two days,” he went on quietly. “We cannot afford to lose any more time.”
The sun seemed to have grown hotter; he squinted against the sudden brightness and stumbled again.
Natan caught his arm and helped him regain his footing. “You need to rest.”
He shook his head. “I don’t! I couldn’t see the road, the sun is too bright.”
“Zarek the sun is behind us, it has nearly settled behind the hills. We can stop a few hours early. We won’t lose much time.”
“No!” His voice tightened as a sudden and intense wave of pain washed over him. The pain in his shoulder began to pulsate, and he gripped his shoulder harder. It was too bright. Hot. Everything hurt. Why was his breathing so loud? The world was spinning, tilting. He couldn’t catch his balance.
He was aware that he was falling, but he never hit the ground, or else he lost consciousness before he did. When he awoke, he was wrapped in a blanket. The strange swaying motion made him realize that he was being carried. The sun hit him full in the face and he squeezed his eyes shut. How much time had passed? He blinked, but his eyes refused to open and he faded from consciousness again.
His infected wound spiked an intense fever in attempt to burn the sickness from his body. Sweat streamed down his face and he lay almost incoherent. Sometimes he heard voices from far away, other times a blissful darkness. The heat passed like waves over his body, occasionally they receded and he would wake. A bitter liquid was forced down in his throat and he would sleep again. Little by little his strength returned and was able to once again focus the journey to Nineveh.
The Tigris River. Or so he had been told. He was settled on the sand when they made camp on the banks, and Natan lifted his head so he could sip some water. He dozed and woke when it was dark.
Zarek stared at the stars in the sky. Lying flat on his back had made him feel stiff and sore. He attempted to straighten his limbs; the pain stopped him and he bit back a small hiss of pain. Someone close by, moved. He turned his head and saw his father sitting above him. For a moment, they both stared at each other.
Old feelings of bitterness and resentment toward the man he claimed as a father choked him. He remembered his father watching him fight the guard without intervening. His mouth twisted and he could feel anger heating his gaze. “You want me to die. Why?”
When his father didn’t answer, Zarek raised himself on one elbow. He had intended to sit up, but the pain was so intense he fell backward coughing. Once it subsided he swallowed, but his throat still felt dry and raspy. “If I die, I promise to come back from the spirit world and haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“I am already haunted.” His father’s jaw tightened. “Haunted by the ghosts of the past... And when I see you, I see them.”
Zarek lifted his head. “You are haunted by your own mistakes and failures.” Ghosts? He discerned that his father was referring to his mother and he seethed inwardly in anger. “You could have saved her, but you didn’t.”
“I saved us both. She had offended the gods, it was right what I did.”
“Don’t pretend that you did this for me. You saved yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “You saved yourself the shame of having a wife who didn’t worship the gods of wood and stone like everyone else did.” Dark eyes narrowed on him but Zarek didn’t care. “You know what you did was wrong. And every time you see me, you can’t help but remember her. That is why you feel guilty after all these years. You want me to die so you can forget.” He smiled without feeling warmth. “You never will forget.”
Arrod stood to his feet and glared down at him, a hand lifted as if to strike him and Zarek clenched his knife. The hand lowered, and his father fixed him with one final glare before leaving him, alone. Zarek watched him go. His father was torn between wanting to forget and wanting his son to become a warrior and honor their family. He closed his eyes.
Morning found that the river was too swollen to try crossing. Recent storms had contributed to the raging tides. Zarek was weak as he tried working through the stiffness in his muscles. He approached Natan. “How many days?”
“Five.”
“It should have only taken us three to reach the river.” Zarek grounded his teeth in irritation. “We should have moved faster.”
“You were sick, we had to stop.”
“You should have gone on without me. We might be stuck here for days until the river goes down. We should have arrived at Nineveh last night.”
Natan rubbed his amulet nervously, “Do you think this will be a problem?”
Zarek raked a hand through his hair and looked behind him; the other men were talking quietly. “I don’t know. They might think that we are rebelling. They might send an army…”
“But surely they would understand-----”
“Kings want things when they want them. They don’t consider outside circumstances. Any hesitation on our part may be considered willful disobedience to his commandment.”
Natan looked around uneasily, “Do you think we should tell the others?”
“No. Telling them will not change our situation. It is better to keep it quiet and pray to the gods that the river will go down and we can cross.”
“Why don’t you pray to the gods then Zarek? It is as good as time as any.”
“You are the one who prays Natan, besides I don’t believe in them.”
After two more days of waiting, they were finally able to cross. Zarek felt relief when he saw the looming walls of Nineveh, the capital of Assyria. Approaching the open gates he saw two guards fully clothed in armor, light flashed from their spear tips. As they neared, one of the guards stepped forward and demanded to know what business brought them. Zarek wordlessly, handed him the scroll signed by the Chief General, Saliba Abudemio. The guard’s eyes skimmed the paper before lifting them to the waiting men. “You are late.”
Zarek didn’t think that it was the guard’s place to receive an explanation. Still, he allowed a short one, “The river was running high.” The guard nodded and returned the scroll to him, motioning them to go by.
Once they entered the city of Nineveh, Zarek was at a loss of what to do or where to go next. He was intimidated by throngs of pressing and shouting crowds, and his senses were assaulted with venders shouting, blends colors, motion, and the looming walls. The houses were stacked on top of one another, straight and smooth.
Looking back at his men, he saw that they were as awestruck as he was. He became even more aware of how much the simple animal skins they wore contrasted with the bright and shiny cloth that the city’s inhabitants displayed, and how their worn sandals differed from the gold embroidered leather footwear. The men stared with unbridled curiosity and Zarek resolved to push it from his for now.
Making an effort to straighten his shoulders and appear more confident than he felt, he stopped a more official looking soldier. “We are new conscripts, just arrived from the village of Issus.”
The officer looked down his long, hooked nose. “You’re late.”
Zarek gritted his teeth and tried to squelch the rising irritation, “Where are we to report?”
The officer smirked, but gave him directions. Zarek led his men who had regained some dignity and were once again focused on their objective. They arrived at the military training base and were soon ushered into a giant hall. After several minutes of waiting, a man dressed in even more decorated armor made an appearance.
Zarek knew that this man must be powerful, though he had no idea how powerful. He bent his knees, “We are from the village of Issus, to be trained in military service.”
“Ah yes, you are late.”
Zarek lifted his head and was aware that his men were also on their knees. “Yes sir.”
“Explain.”
“We encountered some men who stole our supplies. I was injured during the recovery of those supplies and so our travel was hindered, when we came to the Tigris River we found that it was swollen from the recent rains.”
The officer continued to observe them. “Why are your numbers increased?”
“We brought a guide.”
At this, Zarek saw his father stand and smile. “Captain Basiem, it is good to see you again.”
The hair on Zarek’s neck stood on end and his stomach twisted. He turned to look at the Captain. The man appeared to be first surprised and then pleased. “Arrod. How is it that you are not among the conscripts and merely a guide?”
“Alas, I was not chosen by our chief to go.”
Recollection came to the Captain’s features. “Ah yes, and which of these men is your chief?”
All the men turned to look at Zarek expectantly. Zarek stepped forward, “I am.” He didn’t miss the startled look that crossed the Captain’s face. It was obvious that the man had not expected someone so young.
The Captain recovered himself quickly. “It will take a day or two, for all of you to be registered. In the meantime, you and your men can get settled in the barracks.” The Captain turned back to Arrod, “It has been a long time my friend since you have gone away and come again. I would be honored to have you dine at my house tonight.”
Arrod bowed, “It is I who is honored. Perhaps I can bring my son as well.”
The Captain’s brows arched. “You brought your son with you?”
Arrod smiled, and gestured to Zarek, “Yes, this is my son.”
“Your son? My friend, I am amazed. Surprised even, I had not expected such a young man to be chief. But now that I know he is your son, it is less surprising. You always did have great potential to rise to power. Very unfortunate, the incidents that occurred…”
“Yes,” Arrod interrupted. “I am glad to see my son following in my steps. If the gods will, he shall become a successful warrior.”
Zarek tried not to cringe when the Captain looked at him expectantly. He rebelled against the idea of being anything like his father. He was ill at ease with the fact that his father seemed to be such good friends with the Captain, something that would bare looking into. Zarek wanted no unpleasant surprised on his part.
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