“Oh . . . I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I would have been a lousy father.”
“You don’t actually mean that, do you?” Arda laughed.
Balak said nothing.
Arda noticed some nettles on the ground, so she picked some and stored them in her bag. After a quick stop to feed and change the child, they continued on walking for kilometers. There was a sting in the breeze as it got later into the afternoon, so Arda was relieved as they headed into the shelter of the forest, although, it didn’t stop her from shivering.
Balak noticed her reaction. “It’s going to be a freezing night. Maybe we should set up camp,” he said.
“Is it too early?”
“I suggest we rest here. We’ve made good progress today. By the end of tomorrow, we will be halfway to the Iron Gates.”
Arda nodded in agreement.
They set down between two golden-leaf oak trees and Balak built a fire. Arda rolled the ground lamb she had bought from the market into medium-sized balls and threw them into the cooking pot with some of the herbs she got from the market, which included parsley, fenugreek, and mint. She added a cup of water and brought the mixture to a boil, simmering on a low heat. She stirred her mixture with a large stick.
Balak sat around the fire, while Arda fed and changed the child.
Once the food was ready, Arda shared. She took some flatbreads from her satchel and passed one to Balak. The bread still smelled fresh and the centre had stayed warm while wrapped in fabric.
“Get some rest. We’ll set off early,” Balak told Arda as he settled against one of the oaks. He lay in front of the stump, in between its entwined branches that hung low.
Arda fell asleep in an instant, and Balak soon followed. All three were fast asleep when Balak woke abruptly to the sound of rustling leaves on the ground. He opened his eyes gently to see if it was an animal but saw nothing. He closed his eyes before hearing another rustle, this time closer. This time he pretended to sleep, still leaning against a tree. He felt a rope getting tight around his neck.
“Arda, it’s an ambush!” he yelled as he tried to grab his axe. Tarlan stepped out and made his appearance known. He thrust his fist into Balak’s damaged rib, and pushed the axe further away from his reach.
“Umph.” Balak’s legs buckled as he took another damaging blow.
Arda woke up and rushed to her spear but before she could reach it, Tarlan grabbed her by her hair. He threw the spear away from her and started to drag her across the ground. Arda cried out as the twigs and stones tore holes in her clothes and scraped her skin raw.
“I am sorry it came to this. But I am gonna make you feel the pain I felt,” he told her. He pulled out a dagger with his right hand and jolted forward, aiming for Balak’s healing wound.
“Die you shit-eating dog!” proclaimed Tarlan as he thrust the knife into the wound. He paused, and twisted the knife, pushing it in further.
Balak groaned loudly and Arda grabbed a small burning tree branch from the fireplace. She hit Tarlan with it. The branch broke in half and set Tarlan’s clothes on fire. Tarlan turned towards Arda and began to choke her. He didn’t notice the smouldering smoke slowly rising from his clothes. His choking was interrupted by the sudden rush of pain as the flame shot up and covered his body. He shrieked and dropped Arda. She watched in horror as he ran around panicking, patting his clothes and squealing, but the breeze caused the flames to move faster, until he was completely covered. He dropped down to the ground shrieking, writhing in pain as his whole body glowed, but soon the shrieking stopped, and Tarlan’s corpse lay charred and still.
Tarlan’s men looked on in horror and they loosened their grip. Balak used this distraction to reach his axe and cut his own restraints, making the two men holding each end to fall on their bums.
Arda took a few steps backward before falling. Fortunately, Balak rushed to catch her.
“Arda are you all right? Speak to me girl.” Balak addressed Arda cautiously. But the words might not have reached Arda as the child was screaming too.
Arda’s legs gave up and she leaned to the ground, wrapping her hands around her body and weeping. The few remaining men fled, as Balak catapulted quickly to his feet.
“Arda, calm down.” He put his hand on her shoulder and she leaned towards him and clung on.
“I am sorry . . .” she stuttered as she kept looking at the burning corpse of Tarlan. Balak turned around to look where Arda was looking. He grabbed her face and told her, “Don’t look at it. Look at me. Listen to my voice.” Arda looked into Balak’s eyes.
“Good, it’s me, Balak. Breathe with me.”
Balak took a deep and slow breath in and waited for Arda to do the same. She repeated Balak’s action. He smiled and sat her down, turning her away from the corpse.
“Good, now keep repeating. Deep breaths in and out.”
He quickly got up and covered the body before the smell could attract the wildlife, and returned to Arda. He sat behind her, gently wrapping his large hands around her and calming her down.
“Shhh . . . Shhh, girl. You did the right thing.”
* * *
Over the next few days, Arda was quiet and withdrawn. She slept a lot, and barely ate. Their journey was long, but they make barely any progress constantly camping, as the fall gets closer to winter. At night, Balak pretended to sleep, but instead, he listened to Arda.
At first, Balak thought that it was the baby, until he realised it was Arda’s body that was shaking, while the infant lay calm in its basket. They headed across to the Amida border, but the uneven path was difficult. Arda was weak and stumbled with the child. Arda broke down, and they stopped again. The unharmed child peeked through her blankets and smiled at Balak.
Balak set up camp early and Arda stared at the flickering yellow flame.
“You should probably lie down and get some rest,” he told her. Without saying anything or arguing, she complied. Balak patrolled the borders of their small camp, but on his return, Arda’s palm slowly crept towards the fire. He pulled her hand away, but she’d already burned the center of her palm. Luckily, there was no permanent damage. Balak wrapped it in a clutch of sheet to prevent infection.
“Arda, what were you thinking?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“I can still see his face,” she told Balak. “Does it ever go away?”
“It gets easier,” Balak lied to Arda. “Here.” Balak offered Arda his drink. Arda accepted and gulped down almost half of the flask before spitting most of it out.
“What is it?” Arda asked with a shaking voice.
“Medicine,” Balak said.
“Is that what you’ve been drinking all this time?”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
Arda smiled as she tried to take another sip.
“Get some rest, I’ll keep watch”
Arda lay by the fire and quickly fell asleep. Balak sat, leaning against a tree, sipping on the drink from his flask. He heard the baby crying.
“Arda, the child,” he told her, but she was too deep in her dreams, and the child kept screaming.
“Fine,” he whispered to himself as he got up and headed towards the basket with the child.
The child looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Your sister is asleep,” he told her. “It’s just the two of us.” He lifted the child from the basket.
“Now, what do you need?” he muttered. She continued to cry. “Be quiet,” he told her, but she screamed harder. “No. Shush!” he said sternly through gritted teeth. The child started to fuss and moan. “How do you communicate with someone who doesn’t know how?” he huffed. The child stretched out and grabbed his finger.
Balak relaxed a bit and looked down. She pulled his finger towards her mouth but he slipped it away and she started sucking on her own hand. Balak’s facial features softened as he felt the child calm down a little.
“So, you’re hungry,” he smirked.
; He lit a fire, and warmed some milk, just like Arda had done so many times before. The child fidgeted and moaned. Balak began to feed her and she kicked her legs excitedly in response.
“Drink, and one day you will be as strong and smart as your sister. The things we do to keep our family safe . . .”
After the child finished drinking, Balak lifted the child and started rocking her gently until the girl vomited on Balak.
“By the Maker!” Balak groaned.
The child gurgled and grinned as Balak’s laugh turned to a groan.
“A little warning next time?”
The child was sleeping soundly when Balak put her back in the basket.
“I didn’t know you two grew closer,” Arda said gently, pleasantly surprised.
“I didn’t want to wake you up. Me and . . . what’s her name anyway?”
“Name? Oh, I . . . I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Hasn’t your parents named her?”
“This wasn’t on their minds. There was too much chaos in the days leading up to the King’s death. She can be Lilit? Maybe Mariam?”
“How about Malika?”
“Malika? I will have to think about it.”
“Sleep on it. We should get back to bed.”
As he pandiculated, Arda noticed a damp patch on his ribs.
“Balak, you are bleeding. Remove your clothing,” she demanded. She started to rummage in her satchel.
Arda pulled out a bowl and some bandages. She ground together some leaves and water, then heated it up on ashes of the fire.
Balak began to remove his top, but it was stuck to the wound.
“Ooh ya!” he groaned as he peeled his top away.
“It’s easier if you lay down,” Arda told him.
Without protesting, Balak obeyed. The mud was cold on his back, and its grit scrubbed against his skin.
Arda spread the mixture over the wound and saw that the stitches had started to pull apart. She grabbed her needle and thread.
“Mm-STOP!”
“Stay still. It’s going to get worse, before it gets better.”
“Fine,” he barked through gritted teeth.
Arda examined Balak’s wound. It was purple in color, and at the top, where the wound was splitting the stitches, it was inflamed and red.
Arda put a couple of stitches in his wound and Balak jumped with the first insertion of the needle. Yellow seeped from the wound, and Arda cleaned it with water before she wrapped it back up, in a bandage.
“We’ll have to keep an eye on it,” she told him.
“It feels better.”
“That’s because the infection has come out. Hopefully that’s all of it. What are those?”
Arda traced the scars over the markings on Balak’s right breast.
“Just a bad scar.”
“Who did it to you?”
“No one.”
“You did it to yourself?
Balak didn’t reply.
“You tried to cover the markings, didn’t you? I have seen those before.”
Balak ran his fingers over the scars covering the markings.
“These tattoos are marks of servitude. You were a slave.”
“I was taken as a child. I recall my father protecting us to his very last breath.”
“I am sorry to hear that. What about your mother?”
“She helped me escape. I ran as fast and as long as my feet could carry me. I could hear the dogs and men chasing me. I only stopped when I couldn’t keep myself standing. That night was the last time I saw her. She died as a slave.”
“I am very sorry to hear that, Balak.”
“You got nothing to be sorry about. Can we rest now?” Balak said as he turned to the side and covered himself with blanket.”
“Sure, Balak.”
— CHAPTER TWELVE —
From Ashes
A strange howl in the distance disturbed Balak’s rest. He sat up and listened for a while, but all was silent. He cast his eyes from side to side, but it was early, and first light had not yet broken. Four auburn leaves spun by his bare feet that poked out the bottom of his furs.
A twittering and scuffling in the brush beside him startled him and he almost jumped to his feet, but he paused and felt for his wound. As his fingers pushed over his ribs, he felt no pain. The wound was dry.
He pulled up his tunic and examined the wound, but it was arduous to see in such dim light. He could barely see where the wound actually was. Balak yawned and stretched his arms and moved his head side to side. His shoulder made a loud cracking sound, but it felt good.
Another light gust gently rattled his fur, but with it came a chill that creeped down his spine. An orange glow in the centre of the camp caught his eye. With haste, he crawled quietly towards the fire and poked it with a stick before blowing and chucking on a handful of crisp leaves that had formed a small pile on the ground beside him.
The fire rapidly burned through the leaves and formed small flames, so he fed it with some small sticks and wood. He wrapped his furs around his shoulders and huddled closer to the fire.
The child stirred and Balak threw another blanket over her. She didn’t wake, so Balak sat in silence, watching and tending the fire. As the light pushed through the cloudy sky, he occasionally examined his ribs.
“If you keep poking and pulling at them, they’ll get infected again,” Arda warned.
“They’ve healed entirely. You can barely even notice they were there. Just two little pink scars, look.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“On the contrary,” Balak whispered, “I feel . . . I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.”
“Maybe you just needed a good night’s rest,” Arda answered as she turned away.
He looked at his wound, but it was like it was never there. The scars were gone, yet the memory remained.
Balak continued to examine his wound. He even tried to pull it apart, but the skin had already knitted back together.
“This all feels a little odd,” he said, looking towards Arda, but she did not stir.
Balak pulled some small yellow flowers from a nearby bush and threw them in the cooking pot. He covered them with water and placed the pot on the fire.
He pulled on his vest and belt.
“Arda, we must start to make ground on our journey now,” he said, shaking her gently.
“I’m awake,” she replied with her eyes still firmly closed. One by one, she pried them open and stared at the fire.
Balak used a stick to remove the pot from the flame and poured Arda a drink. She accepted and they sat in silence while Arda dressed and changed the child.
Balak stamped out the fire and Arda took charge once more of the child, strapping her across her chest. The child was quiet and not yet her keen self, but Balak noticed a pink coloring across the apples of her cheeks.
Towering trees provided a canopy from the bright rays of the sun. It looked as though some of the forest’s trees had been chopped down, and yet, the ones that remained overwhelmed the area and sheltered them. They moved through the brown, powdery earth at pace. Plumes of dust rose with every stride, especially under the pressure of Balak’s enormous, heavy feet.
Much of the area was flat so they did not tire easily, but every once in a while, the child coughed and spluttered.
“It’s pretty dry here,” Balak told Arda. “Does she want a drink?”
Balak offered some water to Arda.
“Thank you,” Arda said. She curved one side of her lip as she loosened the strap to offer a drink to the child. She slurped a few sips before closing her eyes and snuggling into Arda.
They walked further and the dust started to settle as the earth dampened. Balak crouched and touched the ground.
“I think we’re headed towards water.”
They walked a little further, but when Balak saw animals heading in the opposite direction, he stopped suddenly.
“Somet
hing isn’t right,” he whispered to Arda.
“What do you mean?”
“Quiet. Listen.”
Arda shook her head. The two stood in silence and listened. The vibrations turned into a shake and the dust from the floor rose again, forming little clouds.
A noise caught their attention and a man appeared through the trees in front of them and started running towards them, with his sword drawn. He was making a kind of roaring sound as he sprinted closer.
“One, two . . . Five. No, ten. Maybe twenty,” Balak counted. “Stay behind me. Get your spear ready. We might have to stand our ground.”
Balak pulled out his axe and widened his stance, bending his knees. He swung his axe over his shoulder as the gang of men ran towards him. Arda watched as the men ran by Balak without engaging. His eyes narrowed as he looked side to side and relaxed his grip.
“What could have sent them in such frenzy?” Arda asked.
The ground was shaking harder and there was a thunderous sound pounding towards them. The trees bounced vigorously and bent forward as something large bounded through them. Balak looked into the distance.
“We are about to find out,” replied Balak.
Arda gasped as a nart burst into sight. Its shadow overpowered the surrounding area of the forest, turning it black. She shuddered and pulled the child closer.
It skidded as it came to a stop. A brown cloud circled into the air, like a whirlwind. Everything was silent. Balak and Arda stared at the beast. The plumes of dust settled around them and the child let out a gentle cough.
The beast leaned forward. Gray, weathered skin covered its face and the prominent bones in its cheeks and chin poked through in a sharp point. It’s two legs were thick and long. At every joint, bones formed sharp points that stuck out, almost piercing the skin. The creature looked like its bones kept growing and over-stretching the skin to its breaking point. Its mouth resembled a hollow hole and as it roared, the trees shook back and forth. Its thin, wiry hair stood on end as it started forward.
“Hide!” Balak yelled to Arda. He bolted forward towards the nart.
“Balak. Wait!” Arda yelled, but it was too late. He charged straight for the large, wild monster and headed into battle, striking the first blow across the nart’s sturdy legs. His axe chinked and ricocheted off the heavy gray armour that protected the back of its legs. The sheer force threw Balak to the ground.
Of Blood and Steel Page 12