“My name is Aezir,” the man continued.
“I am Balak. Aezir? Isn’t that a Parthian name?”
“Indeed, it is.”
“What does a Parthian do so far away from home?”
“Well, I am home. This is my home. My mother is from Amida but my father was Parthian. My dad used to tell me: home is where your heart is. That is why we call Partha a heartland.”
“Mmm,” Balak nodded. “Were you born here?”
“No. My wife and I made the journey. “Now the matter of you leaving. You’ve suffered severe injuries. I stitched up some of your wounds. Rest is the best thing.”
“You don’t understand. I must find Arda. She could be in danger.”
“And what good will you do your friend if you can’t stand on your own two feet? Get well first, then we can talk about the future.”
Balak shuffled but he ached everywhere. He knew Aezir was right. Arda was smart and she’d caused the avalanche. She must’ve had an escape plan. He could get well first, then he could track her.
“Deal, but as soon as I’m on my feet, I’m gone.”
“It’s not as if I could really stop you,” professed Aezir.
Balak allowed Aezir to care for him for another few days. Aezir was a good man. He often was taking care of two people at once despite his old age. Aegir told Balak that his wife had very little time left to live, and he didn’t think he could go on for much longer if he lost her. He told Balak that he was thankful to tell his story one last time.
Balak watched and listened as Aezir took care of his wife well, and Balak admired him for that. His thoughts returned to Arda. He’d promised to get her and the child safe to their destination.
It was late and he knew he had to go. Balak forced himself out of bed. He wrapped a bandage around his ribs. They battered when he twisted to pull around the bandage. He pulled on his chains and his clothes and started to grab all his things together.
“Leaving us already?” Aezir asked as Balak crept through the front door.
Balak was startled. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.”
“Would you go to bed if you didn’t know if you would wake up the next day?”
Balak replied with silence.
Aezir chuckled to himself.
“Didn’t think so. I can’t stop you from leaving but perhaps you could have a smoke with me first.” Aezir sat at the fireplace, lit up the pipe, and extended it to Balak.
“I can do that much.” Balak accepted the pipe.
“You’ve built this place?”
“I sure did. Built it for me and my wife.”
“And the kids?”
“No kids. We met too late in life to entertain the idea. We only have each other now.”
“For now, but what will you do when she is gone?”
“I often ask myself the exact same question.”
“And . . .”
Aezir took a long pause.
“Are you religious, Balak?”
“Not exactly.”
“You don’t worship the flame or the Maker?”
“No.
“Is that so? I would think a man of your age must believe in something.”
Balak sat silent.
“None of us are religious until we face death,” Aezir said.
“Death comes to us all, why fear it?”
“It’s not my death that scares me. When I go to bed, I fear waking when my wife has passed. I fear missing her last breath. I want her to know that she won’t be alone when the day comes.”
Balak lowered his head but Aezir continued. “I wish, I could have spent more time with her. I’d been too busy chasing ghosts and may have never found what I was looking for. I suggest you avoid my mistake.”
The last sentence captured Balak’s attention. “What makes you say that?”
“I know the look. I wore the same look on my own face. I once sought the person who wronged me. For years. I thought it was fueling me up. Giving me the strength to keep going. But I was wrong . . . It was eating me out on the inside. Chipping away my earthly time. And I was just too stubborn to see it.
“How did you do it? How did you stop yourself after giving so much of yourself?” Balak asked with curiosity.
“It wasn’t easy. I often thought of myself as a failure. I blamed myself for letting down the people I sought to avenge. And you might even think I did. But I grew to look at it differently. Those same people probably wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the rest of my life searching for someone just to kill them. I think they would have preferred me to live the life they could no longer have. And I never forgot them. I honour their memory by living the best life I can. And then I’ve met this woman, the light of my life. Being with her has been best part of it.”
Balak thanked Aezir.
“I would have offered you coin, if I could,” Balak said as if apologizing.
“I must’ve lost what remained of mine in the avalanche.”
“Even better; I wouldn’t have use for a coin.”
Aezir walked him towards the foot of the mountains and pointed him in the right direction.
“Do me a favour and think about what I’ve said.”
“I value your advice but it’s a little too late for me, old man.”
Aezir chuckled.
“I remember thinking the exact same thing about myself,” said Aezir to Balak before leaving him on his own.
There were pools of water on the ground that had hardened into ice. Balak slid along although it was difficult to see. He found some small tracks that had hardened in the snow. He followed them through a field and into a wooded area. He walked for several hours. The sun was now high in the sky, but it was cool. The mud become thick and wet but the heavy downpour on the eve before had left swampy pools of mud and Arda’s footprints, if there had been any, had been washed away in the rain.
His feet sunk into the mud with each step. Balak looked around for more tracks but there was no sign of Arda. He tried calling out, but there was no response.
He heard a loud crunching sound and three narts revealed themselves through the trees. Balak drew his axe and poised himself, ready to battle.
The narts were quiet but as he drew his axe, they started speaking amongst themselves. Their demeanor changed. They looked fierce.
Balak remembered something that Arda had said to him about narts being peaceful, and also smart. There was no way he could fight three with his ribs right now. He slowly lowered his axe as the three charged him. Balak squinted his eyes ready to be struck, whispering to himself, “I hope you were right, Arda.”
The earth shake stopped as the three narts stood surrounding Balak. They looked at him and slowly backed away.
“Hey! You! I’m looking for my friend,” Balak exclaimed. He mimed out the actions as best he could. “A girl. And a baby. Have you seen them?”
The narts looked at each other but then turned away from him and continued walking away.
Balak was growing anxious. He tried again.
“Hey! Come back, you fucking narts. I am looking for my friend. If you . . .”
The tallest one interrupted Balak with “Bunəc” and pointed Balak south.
The nart tried to speak quietly, but even its whisper was extremely loud to a human ear. His voice sounded like thunder.
“South?” Balak questioned. It didn’t make sense to Balak. Why would Arda head south? Perhaps the narts confused Arda for another girl or maybe Arda was in much greater danger.
Balak followed south for a long time, not finding any footprints. He began to question if he was getting anywhere closer to Arda. He frequently stopped and looked back, debating if he should head back and go west instead. He didn’t trust narts but at the back of his mind he knew this was his only clue. At last, Balak saw a fresh trail.
“Arda . . .” he mumbled.
He accelerated his pace and began jogging. He gained more and more speed until he stopped.
There was an
other trail now . . . of a man with heavy and huge footprints. The darkness was setting in and Balak picked up pace and started following the trail. The light was fading and felt like he was running out of time. When it was pitch black, Balak had still not found her. He knew he would have to stop soon and rest.
In the distance, he saw an orange glow of fire. He could see a small hooded figure sitting on a log, alongside the fire.
“Arda?” he asked.
As he drew closer, the person turned their head into the light, revealing a bloody eye socket. She’d bandaged it up, but the bandages sunk inwards over the eye. A brown scab ran from her eyebrow, and down over her cheek.
Balak hurried towards her and sat down. He looked around but Arda was alone.
“What happened? Where’s the child?”
— CHAPTER TWENTY —
Arda Alone
Arda shivered. She clung to the crying child. She had tried to run from the avalanche but when the snow caught her, she muttered a spell and, using her staff, the snow deflected and formed around her.
It was dark and the snow was compacted together. She used her staff to poke at the mounds of ice but they were solid.
Using her staff, Arda managed to dig herself out of the icy prison. They were alone, and Arda strapped the child close to her. She could feel the child shivering.
“Balak!” She trekked through the snow, looking for any sign of Balak. But there was no reply . . . only the whistle of the cold wind. Every sound made her jump and she constantly looked over her shoulder. She tried using her magic to find him, but the shivering cold made it nearly impossible to cast a spell properly and the child was getting cold.
“I am sorry, Balak,” she whispered. She filled her cooking pot with snow and headed into the forest.
Light was fading. She checked the ground for traps and tracks. She found some mushrooms on the floor beside one of the trees. She recognised them and collected as many as she could. She filled a cloth full of berries from a bush and her thoughts turned to Balak.
She squeezed into a tiny gap between some trees and hid in the shrubbery. She was close to the edge of a steep drop and there she set up camp using all the furs and blankets she had to stay warm.
“It’s all right,” she told the child as she unstrapped her and lay her in her basket. Arda wrapped her up tightly in the thick furs and then popped just outside to gather some sticks and branches for the fire.
Arda found a long stick with a pointed edge. She tucked it under her arm. The child was crying and Arda couldn’t console her. She was freezing, starving and soaked from the snow. Arda built the fire and used some old leaves and grass as kindling. She struggled at first, as she couldn’t spark a flame.
She took a deep breath to calm herself and tried again. First there was smoke and eventually a flame. Arda cradled it and fed it the firewood carefully. It took patience. It wasn’t easy to build a fire in such frosty, damp conditions.
The snow in the cooking pot had now melted into water, so she poured it into her flask. She warmed a little milk in the pot while she changed the child. Once the milk was ready, the child was content. Next, Arda squashed and heated some of the berries, and fed them to her. Arda wrapped the child back up once she’d eaten and she was soon asleep.
Arda sharpened the stick with a dagger. She was crippled with pains in her stomach from hunger. Her arms and legs felt weak and exhausted, but she pulled herself up and left her camp.
Just a short distance away, she spotted a dead bird carcass on the ground, with just pickings of meat left on it. There were minuscule yellow maggots attacking the flesh, but Arda tied a ribbon to it and sat quietly beside the tree.
It was dark now, and there was a lot of scurrying from the night creatures. She waited. A slow pitter-patter of steps caught her attention. A rodent slowly approached the bird. Arda moved it, gently and this startled the rat but eventually, it grew brave once more and approached the bird.
Arda repeated the process patiently, until the animal was close enough for her to strike. She used all the strength she had to drive the pointed stick and her dagger through the rat.
“Arrrggh!” Arda screamed.
She held up its fresh carcass and lowered her head. It was a quick death, but she was still sad. She stumbled back to the camp. Her fire was almost out, so she spent some time rebuilding it. She added the mushrooms to the clean pot. She used her dagger to skin the rodent. She pulled its fur from its flesh and cut off rough cuts of meat. She chucked them into the pot and collapsed onto the furs while her meat cooked.
After she’d eaten, Arda felt a little stronger, but she lay down and slept until morning broke.
There was still no sign of Balak, so Arda decided to head for the Crimson Point. She needed to get out of the forest and to higher ground as she had no idea where she was.
She trekked through the forest cautiously. In the distance, she could see smoke from a fire.
“Balak?” she whispered. Arda’s heart raced. She had to check it out.
Arda moved slowly and spied through the trees. Three narts sat around the campfire, talking to each other. Arda smiled.
Arda approached the narts and they looked at her curiously.
“Brəq rıdadarah?” she said to them.
The Narts pointed east but did not say anything. Arda looked to the east but decided to go south, covering her tracks, a trick she learned from the bandits before they had tied her eyes, in hopes to slow down any followers. She grabbed a branch with leaves off the ground and began using it as a broom to wipe away her footprints. She dropped her guard a little as she moved deeper into the forest.
Arda stopped to rest. She laid the baby in her basket and sat on a log, taking a sip of her water next to a fire. She noticed another berry bush. Its juicy berries looked delicious, so she headed over and collected some.
She turned to head back to the log, and a dark figure stood by the child. Arda dropped the berries.
“What do you want?” she asked with a stern voice.
“Calm down,” he said as he got comfortable warming himself up next to the fire.
“I am not here to hurt you, girl.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“We have not been properly introduced,” said the assassin. “I am Karnak. Where is your friend?”
Arda screwed up her face. “My friend?”
“Yes, your friend, your companion, your guide or whatever you call him now.”
“He is dead.”
“I think we both know that’s not true.”
“You make a lot of assumptions for a man who doesn’t know me.”
“But I do. I followed you long enough to know a thing or two about you . . . Arda. About the powers you possess. And most importantly, the child.”
“That’s enough! You should leave . . . Or I will make you leave.”
“You’re beginning to sound just like him.”
“Thank you!”
“That was not a compliment.”
Arda pointed her spear and ran towards Karnak. He charged towards her. She spun and jabbed her staff into his ribs, but he was strong and struck a blow across her cheek with the back of his hand.
Arda uttered a spell and fired a blue and orange flash in his direction, but Karnak jumped over it and rushed towards her, slicing her arm with his sword.
Arda cried out in pain and Karnak kicked her knee, forcing her to fall to the ground on one knee. He tried to strike down with his sword, but she caught the blow with her staff.
The child began to cry and Arda ran towards her.
“Save the child and tell me, where is Balak?”
“He is dead!” Arda shrieked, angrily.
Arda climbed to her feet. But Karnak struck her with his foot, sending her backwards. He stepped on her throat and pressed slightly.
“This is your last chance, now tell me, where is he?”
“I don’t know. I looked for him. He would be here if he were alive.”<
br />
Karnak’s eyes widened. He was livid. He pressed harder on Arda’s throat.
“Liar! He is out there somewhere, looking for you.”
Arda grabbed the dagger from her boot and stabbed Karnak in his leg.
He lifted his sword above the child and Arda ran towards him. She dove over the child and struck his sword away with her spear. Karnak was not disarmed, and his anger turned on Arda. He sliced down over her face and Arda screamed in pain.
Karnak stood on her chest and admired the deep slit he’d put in her face, from her eyebrow, in a diagonal shape to her nostrils. Blood poured from inside her eye.
“It’s a shame to ruin such beautiful face,” he told her.
Karnak got to his feet and Arda writhed on the floor, holding her eye.
“If you want to see the child again, tell Balak I’ll be waiting for him on the hill by the Crimson Point.”
“I don’t know where Balak is!” she cried. “She is mine! Give her back! Come back!”
Karnak scooped up the child in her basket and disappeared without saying another word or looking back.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE —
Old Wounds, New Beginnings
Balak and Arda sat by a campfire. Arda had started it and Balak had built it up while listening to her story. She wailed for the child and she seemed unconcerned with her own injuries.
“How does he know your name? Who is Karnak and why is he determined to kill you?” Arda asked
“After I escaped slavery, I made a promise to my mother to one day return and free her and kill the man who wronged us. I found a sword that promised to lead me to him. I took it and with it the name “The Terror of Tartaurus.” When I arrived at his home, I found his grown son and his family. After he fed me, he promised to take me to his father. Only the man was already dead. All that remained was his father’s grave. He explained that my mother was burned with the rest of the slaves. I was so . . . distraught, and I . . . And I . . . lost . . . control.”
“Balak . . . what did you do?” Arda asked in fear of hearing the answer she already knew.
The images of that night flashed in Balak’s head. The voices of the family echoed in his head, the warmth of the blood against his skin, and the smell of the burned flesh filled his senses. Balak could no longer resist the tears from his eyes. He didn’t want Arda to notice and kept his head low. That’s when he felt a warm hug on his left. He hugged Arda back and cried like a child in an embrace of his mother.
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