“Have you no firebones?” An arrogant smile matched the tone in which Itamar asked, soaring pride for such a visitor.
“I have one, it is not for sale though.” The merchants voice came from behind a rack of pottery. He emerged to reveal himself. A big man, tall and well fed, a bit of muscle barely came through the layered rolls of fat that formed his heavy shape. The merchants voice was raspy and deep, a man likely well accustomed to tobacco; He smelled of it.
“I have four for sale.” Itamar’s whole face grew into the self-praise his voice pushed across the hut.
The merchant withdrew in thought, then matched the young hunter’s tone, “Sorry kid, they are worthless here.”
“I know that to be a lie.” The great hunter was back on the ground. His voice conceding to a fairer bargain.
“I can give you the price of what two are worth, but I want all four.” The trader kept his dominant front, extending a take it or leave it rhetoric for Itamar to dwell on.
“The price of three!” Itamar pulled them from his satchel.
Silence gapped the space between them.
The big tall merchant turned from the young leviathan hunter and began to walk back to where he had emerged, with his back to the guest, he spoke impatient, “No.”
Itamar stood watching him disappear behind the pottery. He shook his head in frustration, “Okay four for the price of two, but also let me fill my quiver with your finest arrows.”
Itamar left with a small fortune. Two firebones were worth at least thirty gold coins. Enough to stay at the finest inn, and eat the best foods, for six months. But he would only be staying in the village one night, he needed to get back into the forest, and kill.
Itamar thought he might like to come back and kill the merchant for being a stickler. He put that in the back of his mind, to remember the merchant. A bitter deposit into his rapidly blackening soul.
Heading toward the east side of Samak, Itamar noticed two men watching him. He smiled, maybe he would be killing before he got back to the forest.
As Itamar walked through the marketplace, he could see these two men were now following him. It would be a long night. These men knew what he had, and were likely hired to retrieve as much of the gold as they could. Somehow they learned of his small fortune, possibly the from the trade merchant himself. Another reason to kill him.
Itamar purchased two baskets full of groceries. In a slow pace he walked along the seashore side of the market, he turned to a beggar and gave him one of the baskets he was carrying and one gold coin. The beggar stood from his seated hunch and rejoiced with a ritualistic dance and praise to the god of prosperity. Itamar smiled at the man, and was able to get a good glance over to the men who were following him without it being obvious.
Another three hundred feet of walking through venders and wharfs, he came to his destination. He checked into an inn known for being reliably safe. A small castle, with large stone walls surrounded the structure. Guards were posted at all entrances. Only the wealthy could afford to stay here.
Itamar requested a meeting with the commanding guard, he paid him after a short conversation.
Sunset was not very far off, and he was certain the two men would continue their pursuit of him after the light of day was gone.
The wickedness of man grew with each trip he took into these little villages. He wanted to be in the forest, sleeping high above in the trees, in the caves, or in the hills, alone.
There was a draw to be here though, with his wealth he could build himself a small keep, own enough slaves to man a farm... have a family. This temptation was not convincing enough for him though. He did not want children.
A shadow crested over the walls outside of his window, the day was being sent across the sea, night was encroaching upon the little village of Salak, darkness was soon to be widespread.
...at night they run away...
The rhythm bounced through him, it meant so much to him, the whole song, every word he had ingested and made it a part of his whole being. He hated God and blamed Him for losing his family; for his parents murders.
Chapter Thirteen
As the last gleam of the sun sank below the ocean’s vast horizon, Itamar watched the beach closely. Waves rocked fishing boats as often as they past beneath them, a frequency that could lull one to sleep if stared at long enough. Silhouettes of fisherman throwing nets overboard was evidence that the seaport village never slept. Distant voices calling to each other in the darkness, communicating across the waters, loud enough to break the calm of the tide touching the sand. Two silhouettes walked the beach, unaware and disinterested in the laborious fishing duties that surrounded them, these were the figures Itamar was waiting for, two men that had followed him since his exit from the trade post.
The two men seemed to be certain they could not be seen, just by the reasoning that the sun had set. The hunter peered down as they pointed at the walls that led to his structure. A small bailey was between the wall and the stone towers that made up the rooms. This divided them from the exposed beach. Guards above the walls and in the bailey walked slowly past each other, leaving little blind spots for intruders to sneak past.
Itamar would be patient, his room was dark, his bow was drawn, and he had one question to ask just one of them. He counted on them making it past the guards, gold has that effect on underpaid sentries. He watched as the hired men abandoned their post. His third floor room would be a challenge to reach, but greed was a good motivator for thieves to accomplish such goals.
Within minutes a first shadow thumped over the bailey, followed by a second, landing on the first, Itamar shook his head at the clumsy duo. They proceeded to climb the wall of his structure. Ducking his head as the two men approached his window, Itamar laughed at how loud they were climbing up the stronghold. I could have slept and waited for them to wake me.
As the two men reached into Itamar’s window, an arrow found the arm of one. As he grunted in pain, the other let go, falling back, hard enough down for Itamar to hear the thud and final breath of that unfortunate thief, he smiled. Arm pinned to the sill, the man begged for his life as he hung three stories above a stone slab.
“Who sent you?” The one question he wanted an answer to.
“Please, let me live!” The man was grabbing at the arrow in his arm, starring at another arrow set in the bow, “No, please.”
“Who sent you?” A calm about him worried the thief, as Itamar pulled back the arrow tighter.
“It was the trader, please don’t...” The arrow in Itamar’s bow did not let him finish his plea.
Itamar grabbed his belongings and left the room. The man with the two arrows in him, still dangled from the window. Itamar would need to make one more stop before leaving the little village, but first he needed to give the remaining payment to the guards, a transaction well worth the price.
A new enemy was evident in Itamar’s mind, mankind. Evil and brutality against each other, had it always been this way? He spent too much time in the forests to know the answer, yet too much killing of animals desensitized him to the killing of humans, he was part of the depravity. He concerned himself with these thoughts as he paced a path back to the trade post he had been at only a few hours ago. God made these people, God must be at fault, always back to God. Why did God create such ignorance in man, yet make some of us so strong? He had the answer to the one question he wanted, these other questions would have to wait, he stood at the door to the trader’s little shop.
Chapter Fourteen
Fire rose from the center of their small village. An offering night. The darkness that Halim had walked in the past two hours was suddenly broken by the bright glow illuminating the sky above. Praise to Enorstide.
The heavy elephant meat he had carried for so many hours, would soon be the feast that the whole tribe would enjoy, and he would enjoy the company of his wife and son.
“Ah the fire of Ernorstide, welcomes us back.” Burhan walked past Halim, ready to join
the worship ceremony, ready to unload a heavy piece of elephant meat.
“I will be glad to just see my family.” Thinking only of his pregnant wife and his son, Halim dismissed the opportunity of paying his respects to their god.
“Should you not first praise your god?”
“My praise would fall on deaf ears.” Halim tired from the long and strenuous hike, vocalized his bitterness. Only after speaking did he realize how foolish that might have been.
“It is not good for you to decline worship. Our god does not render good to those who ignore him.” Burhan sternly reminding Halim of the consequences.
“Have I not given him everything?” His voice pleading of innocents.
“He demands more, tonight, we will give him more.” Evil circled the words he spoke, a mischievous haunt, cunning. Burhan’s tone worried Halim.
They stopped and stood at the top of a rocky hill, quietly looking down into the little valley that was home to their tribe; rocky hills surrounded the village. They gazed at the great fire; perhaps collecting thoughts for the next round of debate. They both knew, in another ten minutes they would be overwhelmed with welcomers. What needed to be said, needed to be said, now.
“I fear for you Halim, for your family.” Burhan’s concerned words did not correlate with his demeanor.
“You speak to me as if you are withholding something.” Halim was done with the cloaking, metaphors, and analogies, he wanted answers.
“And you speak as if you do not believe in our god.”
“Is it so bad that I do not?” Foolish honesty again.
“Yes!” A pause engulfed the night, as they both stood, looking down at the glowing fire. Another thought collecting moment and they were back at it, Burhan first, “Yes you fool! I tried to stop them, for your sake, but you bring this upon yourself!”
“Tried to stop what?” Halim had only the greatest concern in his voice.
“Come down to the village Halim, you will see.” Burhan’s evil was there again in his words, but it was also regretful; a terrible sound to Halim.
Halim was beginning to put it all together, fear, anger and the hideous stench of bitterness roused him. It churned his stomach. This was what they wanted from him, hate.
Screams from their little village below echoed up to them. Halim looked over at his elder, Halim knew that scream was his wife.
He threw the meat he had been carrying at Burhan, landing on the rocky terrain at his feet. He began to run down the hill, the descent was rugged and dangerous for anyone to sprint, but he was managing. His wife and children as his destination.
He heard the shouts of his elder behind him, calling to stop, to reason with him; But there would be no more listening to Burhan, or to any elder, he needed to get to his wife and son.
Burhan knew the danger Halim was in, but he was glad for it. He watched as the young giant ran down the valley, to his demise, hopefully. Anyone who did not believe in their god was deserving of death, their whole family was deserving of death. Halim’s wife, with her inability to birth a giant for an offspring had been such a burden on the tribe. They had allowed them to live this long, but it was only separating them from the others. Even after they gave their firstborn as a sacrifice to Enorstide, it only grieved them more of the differences. The doubt Halim professed was irreversible, it was time to put everything to an end. Burhan smiled bigger, he liked the power of being an elder, making decisions involving wether people would live or die.
The fire rose high into the night sky, Burhan was almost to the village when he heard Halim’s voice shouting through the village. Burhan burst into an eery laughter, raising his voice as high as the flame in the darkness, his laugh filling the ears of the village. He stepped through the village gate.
“Burhan!” Halim appeared with four men following fast behind him.
“Where is your wife Halim?” Sarcasm
“Why?” Sorrow, confusion, and anger circled his speech.
“You were warned along time ago.” Burhan matched the anger, dropped the sarcasm and handed the meat to another elder who had come from the ceremony to see the exchange.
“You killed my whole family for a god who does not even exist?” Halim drew his sword and rushed at Burhan.
Burhan matched his sword with his, revealing it in time to block the first attack from Halim. A heavy swing that sent Burhan back a few steps, then he pushed back at Halim and Halim withdrew a step.
They both stood sword drawn, ready to fight.
The darkness was only interrupted by flickers from torches as the villagers began to form a circle around the two fighters. Shouts from the crowd made it obvious, no one was rooting for Halim. He would be fortunate if they even let him fight, that, so far was going his way.
“You could have let us leave the village!” Halim yelled over the crowd at his mentor.
“Enorstide demands blood my son.” A calm voice reaffirming the deep beliefs of these hostile giants.
“May Enorstide have the same fate as my children!” Halim lifted his sword as he screamed aimlessly at the gathered crowd.
He took a leap toward Burhan, a spear went through his left arm, just missing his chest. Not letting him fight.
“Let him be, can I not avenge our god alone?” Burhan shouted at the villagers, they demanded blood too.
Burhan let Halim break the spear off, then regain himself, smiling at him, beckoning him to come near. Blood slowly leaked from his arm,just below his shoulder. He stood again, more angry. Sorrow would wait, confused no more, intent on what was left.
“If all I accomplish tonight is your death, then I will be satisfied that their is no god in this village!” Halim looked around at the crowd, his people, his family, they stared back with hate and shouts of mockery. He was now an outcast, a rebellious young giant who defied their god, who would die tonight for his defiance in the god of their people, Enorstide.
Halim again, as before, started at the elder, a leap that took Burhan by surprise, as he was getting ready to go into a speech on the truths of Enorstide. Burhan’s sword was raised only in time to partially block the drop of Halim’s sword, led by his left hand, it slid down the elder’s sword and took a good portion of his elbow off, the elder grunted in pain.
Halim did not wait for him to set himself, the young giant planted his left foot steady, turned his back to Burhan while raising his left elbow, he ducked enough to swing his sword just over his head and across the neck of Burhan. The crowd went silent with only gasps.
Burhan’s head rolled slowly off his shoulders, finding the ground... there would be no more talk of god.
Halim slouched, finished. He knew what was next, but he truly felt the peace that no god existed that demanded such treatment of others.
The villagers surrounded Halim, it was his turn to die.
“Wait!” A voice from behind the angry crowd shouted.
Two of the elders emerged, the villagers moved away from them as they passed through the circle. They paused ten feet from Halim, silent other than their initial request to wait, only staring at what was left of the young giant. Halim was tired, he looked back at them, breathing heavy, wordless too, ready to die and be with his family.
An elder spoke, “Mourn for your wife, for your children, for Burhan.” He stopped, looked at the villagers, then came back to the worn out giant. “We are enemies now, go from here, far from us, you are a curse to our people.” The elder held up his hands, then lowered them towards the villagers, motioning for them to let down their weapons.
Halim gazed across the people, they slowly lowered their swords and spears. An opening was made for him to pass, he took a cautious step, then another, as he cleared the last row of villagers, he broke into a sprint. The young giant stopped to look back only after he reached the top of a small plateau. The fire was still burning, praises rising to a god of death, no, a god of murder and torment. He saw that no one was pursuing him, a sigh of relief, but short lived as the thought of his wif
e and children overtook him. The brave fighting young giant began to weep, uncontrollable tears, enough to put out the blasphemous alter below.
The night would be painful, dark, and sleepless, he needed to get as far from the village as possible. He was feeling a pain in his left arm. Halim had forgotten about the spear. But now such a great infliction was felt, blood was escaping his shoulder in small pulsating clumps.
Tearing a small piece of cloth off his sleeve, he wrapped the wound and applied some pressure, he would walk through the night, he had to.
He was at the desert’s edge now, an hour had already passed, and he was feeling dizzy.
Suddenly he looked up at the stars, they were shouting at him, yelling from the heavens to give up his soul, to die and be with his family; and then his world went black.
He fell face down in the sand.
Chapter Fifteen
The boulders and cliffs above the royal trails served perfectly for Shamal and Omar to set up a place to sleep. Night had fallen upon them before they made it out of the reach of Altair’s kingdom, after an intense rock climb, they were safely burrowed in a small natural cave, just sizable to fit the two men with some breathing room between them.
Shamal was asleep within minutes of re-dressing his wound. Pain did not keep him from resting his weary body. Omar laughed as he listened to the peaceful rhythm Shamal’s breathing produced as he slept without a care.
The idol spoke to Omar as he felt for it among his satchel. His hand found it, grabbed it, no it grabbed him as it spoke. Omar worship me, call to me as I call to you.
“You are my...” He was not committed.
Call to me!
“You are my g...” Could he say it?
Call to me!
“You are my goddess!” He felt the tug in his heart sink him to a sickening feeling, it pulled him shamefully low. He regretted saying it. It is just an idol, it is only a statue.
He laid just feet from his teacher, yet his heart was so far away. Torn by what he wanted to be, and what was now holding him hostage. He wanted to bow and worship the idol, just to feel its power, it was commanding him too. But he also just wanted to sell it, take the price of its value in gold. Yet throwing it from the cliffs would be a wiser choice. He would keep it for now, even if it was souring his stomach with the shame that came with bowing before an inanimate object.