Closing his eyes, he offered a silent prayer. He needed not only guidance, but also strength. He was but a shell of what he used to be, a man pretending to live who’d died years past. At least, he felt that way. The best of what he was had been buried alongside his wife, and only remnants of the whole remained.
His heart ached when he thought about Wosen. That pain, that suffering were lingering vestiges of errors that he’d committed. Although he attempted to appear composed to the Bandarians, he’d grown weary.
Hosdaq smiled wistfully, envisioning his wife. He couldn’t help but wonder how much better their life would be had she lived.
“I miss you, Esme,” Hosdaq whispered. “Our children need you, and I need you most of all. I miss your arms around me and the strength of your love. I need you, my wife,” he said, taking a steadying breath, and moving toward his home.
As he opened the door, he paused, seeing Wosen in the middle of the room, thrusting with his sword. Sweat beaded his brow as he lunged, swiping out at his imaginary opponent. Hosdaq grimaced, observing his son’s clumsy movements while completing his practice routine. He wished that he could instruct him more on the proper use of his sword, but he dared not help further his hopeless pursuit. He continued to watch until Wosen noticed him in the room. He grabbed up a wineskin from the table, taking a long drink.
“I’ve been training,” Wosen said. “Soon I’ll be able to match Pentanimir’s prowess.”
After wiping down his sword and replacing it on the stand, he took another drink. “Mayhaps we can train together on the morrow. It’s been long since we’ve sparred.”
“Firstly, you must master the bow,” Hosdaq said. “Your eye is keen, and we have much need of that skill. I promise to increase our sparring soon.”
“No. That’s what you always say. I’m the best archer in the village and still you won’t train me. A real Chosen doesn’t use the bow. The lower guards are tasked with such weapons. How can I earn my Xtabyren if I’m never allowed to even touch it? That’s the weapon of a Chosen, not some damn bow.”
“The Xtabyren requires elite training and discipline for a man to be even considered worthy of it. It isn’t a weapon that’s given, it’s earned, just as all things of great value are. Mastery of the bow and sword are a necessary first step before such consideration. After you’ve proven your proficiency, then you’re honored with the Xtabyren. Even then, everyone who completes the challenges don’t earn one. If your skill doesn’t match your master, the weapon is awarded to another. It takes many years to reach this level, Wosen. Your discipline must match your prowess, or you’d still be rejected. You must be patient and earn that which you seek.”
“Earn? How can I earn anything when I’m stuck here? I’ll never be able to prove my worth if I can’t leave this place.”
“We’ve spoken about this numerous times, and you know the why of it. It’s not safe for you to leave the village. What if you’re discovered? Everyone here would be in jeopardy. Is that what you truly want?”
“What I want is to be like you, Father. You are of Nazil. Our people are there. Why should we rot here? The Nazilians are no threat to us, it was mother they wouldn’t accept.”
Hosdaq stood, desperately trying to remain composed. “Don’t you ever speak about your mother in such a way. She loved you more than herself. It was the Nazilians who wouldn’t accept her, or any of us, not together. If it were possible, we would’ve lived in the white city. They don’t allow such bonds: not then and certainly not now.”
“I’m not speaking ill of mother, I’m only telling the truth. Why do you speak of our people as though they’re in the wrong. Isn’t it fair for them to decide whom they’ll allow among them? It is their city, Father, our city. Why can’t we go to Nazil together? I want to see the Kadul, the citadel, and the temple, to see all of our home. Why won’t you permit it?”
Hosdaq took a deep breath, sitting beside him. The ictus of his heart pulsed in his ears as he met Wosen’s eyes. He wanted to share everything with him, and it pained him that he couldn’t. He’d walk proudly through the Nazilian gates with his son at his side. But that could never be, and he didn’t know how to make Wosen understand.
“If that were possible, I would’ve done so long ago. You’re my son, Wosen, my heir, and I’m prouder of you now than when first you were born. It pains me to be unable to give you what you desire, what we both desire. But hear me when I tell you: as long as Draizeyn rules Nazil, we can’t enter the city.”
“Why not? What am I supposed to be if I’m forced to remain here? A herder. Maybe a fisherman. No, I’ll bake bread like some…some old woman. That might be what you’ve lowered to, but it’s not a life that I choose. I shouldn’t have to suffer because you’ve grown soft and don’t want to be among men.”
Hosdaq’s face darkened. His hand shot out, delivering a slap that nearly caused Wosen to topple off the stool. He careened into the table, scattering items upon the floor. Wosen’s eyes narrowed, nursing his stinging cheek.
“Father?” Malkia said, clutching her doll. “Is everything all right?”
Wosen glared over at her, all his anger boiling to the surface as he met her pale eyes, infuriated that Malkia looked fully Nazilian whereas he didn’t. That truth ate at him like a festering disease, eroding portions of his soul and hardening his heart.
“Get out of here,” he spat. “You don’t understand anything! You’re nothing but a human, just like the rest of them.”
“Wosen!” Hosdaq snapped. “Have you lost your wits? You’d better hold your tongue and temper your tone,” he said, lifting Malkia from the floor. Hosdaq forced a smile, kissing her nose. “Pay no mind to your brother, little one. He’s angry at only me, not you. You go back to bed now, and I’ll come later to tuck you in and tend the fire.”
“Father, Wosen scares me,” she whispered. “You won’t let him hurt me, will you?”
Hosdaq fought against the maelstrom of emotions assailing every part of him. He smiled again, looking into her eyes. More than ever, he noticed Esme’s features. Malkia looked Nazilian, but had her mother’s face. He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking as he spoke to her. “No one will ever hurt you while I’m here, I promise. Now, off to bed. Aren’t you supposed to help with the morning meal?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “Osmara’s gonna let me knead the dough if I wash real good.”
“Well, you need to sleep now so that you can help,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll even take you to the spring to ensure you’re extra clean.”
“The spring? Really?”
Her smile lifted some of the gloom besetting him. “Yes, my little one. Now, off to bed. I love you.”
Hosdaq didn’t turn until she’d disappeared around the corner. The smile he wore quickly faded as he looked over at Wosen. “What in seven hells is wrong with you? Malkia loves you and misses the closeness you used to share. What’s happened to you?”
Wosen ignored his father, turning and lifting the wineskin again. When he raised it to his lips, Hosdaq snatched it away.
“How dare you show your back to me,” he said, gripping Wosen’s arm. “If there’s a problem, I’m willing to listen. But you’ll not disrespect Malkia or me. Now sit down and speak your mind.”
Wosen yanked away, plopping down on the stool. He glared over at his father, crossing his arms over his chest.
“If you have words, you’d better speak them now.”
“It won’t make any difference,” Wosen said. “You’ll only make another excuse why you won’t take me to Nazil.”
“I’m telling you the truth, why don’t you understand that? Humans aren’t permitted to live in Nazil. The only ones that you’ll find are slaves that they’ve captured.”
“I’m NOT human! I’m blood of your blood! I’m Nazilian.”
“Speak softly,” Hosdaq warned, glancing down the corridor. “You’re not ignorant of your parentage, Wosen. You are a son of Nazil, but you’re also one of Hyorin. Y
our mother wasn’t Nazilian, and you resemble her. Only your eyes are like mine, and that alone could cause your capture. Do you know what they’ll do to you? They’ll—” He stopped, shaking his head.
“Wosen, I’m sorry, but Nazil won’t have you. I loathe that truth, but you need to understand that. Why do you refuse to accept it?”
“How would you know what Nazil will do? You tucked your tail and ran from there decades ago. Things change. Mayhaps you could see that if you weren’t hiding in Bandari. Pentanimir is here now and proves that their ways are different. He’s a man of honor…a true man of Nazil.”
“Is it your intent to anger me? Trust when I say: I’ve lost none of my fire. Your tongue has served you ill this night.”
“Did I lie?” Wosen said, defiantly. “Didn’t you flee Nazil to hide here?”
Hosdaq clenched his fist, struggling to stay his hand. “You’re ignorant of many things, but the fault is mine. I shielded you from too much in an effort to protect you. I wanted you to embrace your Nazilian heritage and not run from it. That was my error, and I’ll remedy that now.”
“Protect me? I don’t need your protection. I’m a man grown. I can protect myself.”
“As you say. You’ll have the truth of it. Firstly, I’ve always been proud to be Nazilian. We are, some of us, a great people. Being a Chosen was an honor that I’ll carry with me always. However, there are many things in our history that aren’t honorable. I never told you the details of Hyorin’s attack because I didn’t want you to loathe an entire race for the evils of a few. I didn’t want you to be ashamed of who you are or where you came from.”
“What do you mean? What evils?”
“Wosen, there are many things, terrible things that remain a part of Nazil. The attack on Hyorin was but one. They killed thousands of humans with no cause: slaughtering women and children asleep in their beds. We were ordered to attack the city and kill anyone in our path.” Hosdaq paused, the images of that night fresh in his mind.
“I refused to take part in it. There’s no honor in killing children. I warned your mother and helped get as many people to the escape tunnel as I could. But it was too late, and I was only able to save a few. Emet and Nzuri were among them. When we reached the foot of the mountains, I was going to return to the city, but it was too late. That’s where Huname and Vot discovered us. They’d lost two children when the Nazilians collapsed the escape tunnel. Their grief plagues me still to this day.”
Wosen scowled, leaning forward. “Are you to say that you’re a traitor as well as a deserter?”
“Guard your tongue, boy! You know nothing! For years, I remained silent as the soldiers would raid human villages and ships. They’d rape the young girls, torture and kill the men, and take many as slaves. They used both the young girls and boys for ill. Some abuses are far too vile to mention, but those images and screams will never leave me. Yes, I refused to be a participant in such depravity. I’m no murderer or rapist. This isn’t who I am, and it’s not who you are, Wosen. You are my son, and I love you. But your desire to live in Nazil is folly. They won’t have you. Bandari is your place. We have a good life and I promise to start training you more. We need well-trained guards here as well. Isn’t this enough for you?”
Wosen leered at him from toe to head, the disappointment aptly on his face. “Why should I believe that our people are such monsters? Mayhaps you’ve concocted this story to keep me here amongst the farmers and that human wretch that’s sniffing behind you. I don’t fear the Nazilians. This might be what you’ve become, but I’m willing to do what you wouldn’t for our people.”
Hosdaq slammed a hand on the table. “Our people? What about the people here? Aren’t they our people, too? They nurtured and cared for you when your mother was lost. What of them, Wosen? Have you no love for them, for me, for your sister?”
“It’s not a matter of love. It’s a matter of honor. There’s no honor in defying those you’ve sworn an oath to serve. It’s your duty to follow the Zaxson’s commands, whether you agree or no. This is honor, Father. Not what you’d have me become.”
“What about truth? Is there no honor in truth? This is what I’m offering you. I can’t believe you’d commit such atrocities. You’re my son, and incapable of these acts.”
“Aye, I’m your son, and a son of Nazil. We are of House Neufmarche. You speak of honor and truths, but Pentanimir upholds that honor and remains in Nazil. Why couldn’t you have done the same? What’s the truth of that?”
“Again, you speak about Pentanimir. Mayhaps if he told you the truth about Nazil, then you’d believe. Even with such honor, he struggled with the possibility of remaining in Bandari with us. I alone convinced him otherwise.”
“You convinced him?” Wosen sniggered. “Why would the First Chosen of Nazil heed your words? Pentanimir is yet true to his home and his heritage. Not like you.”
“Pentanimir honors my position as Elder, and that of a former Third Chosen. He offers respect as one should, unlike you. Yes, I spoke with Pentanimir and Brahanu. In the end, they did what was best for our home and his.”
“Brahanu? What does she have to do with any of this? I thought that he was only serving as her guide. Did you lie about that, too?”
Hosdaq wished that he’d framed his words differently. “You know all that you should. Brahanu returned to Cazaal and Pentanimir to Nazil. I merely reminded him of the importance of his position and pledge. We understood that he promised to deliver Brahanu safely, so we offered to lift that burden so he could return home.”
“Why would he care so much for some human? His position is of more importance than some wondering doxy. He loves and respects the white city.”
Hosdaq sighed. “If only you held your father in as high regard as you do Pentanimir. When he returns, ask him yourself. There’s nothing for you in Nazil, Wosen, no matter how much I wish it otherwise. Your life is here, and I’ll speak with Saifu soon about your promise. You and Hibret have awaited your bond, and it’ll come to pass. Once you’ve wed and we find a new home, I pray that you’ll be satisfied.”
Wosen stood, turning away from him. “My satisfaction will come when I enter the gates of Nazil. You might be afraid of returning to our home, but I’m not,” he said, stepping to the door.
“The stories you tell of the Nazilians are ones of strength. When Hyorin was destroyed, it was for Nazil’s greatness. You don’t wait for your enemies to come to you, not like we do here. You’ve told me about why captives are taken during war. Their ransoms increase Nazil’s purse. They take them not to abuse, but for the gold. Yet you’re speaking of them as monsters now, and not great warriors. What has become of your heart, Father? You, too, were once a great warrior, just like your father. ‘Honor above all,’ is it not?”
Those words stung, and the grief encompassing Hosdaq couldn’t be contained. When he reached out to Wosen, he recoiled, stepping away from him.
“Wosen, please, listen to me. I hate what some Nazilians are, but it’s the truth. My heart isn’t in question, but what remains of yours is. If I could give you what you ask, it would already be done. We can’t ever do this, Wosen, don’t you understand? I’d be proud to present you to the Zaxson if I could. But if you go to Nazil, great suffering will follow. If you’re permitted to live, it’ll be as a slave. They’ll own all of you. Do you understand what that means? Your body will be theirs to use as they see fit. Men will take you by force, you’ll be beaten, tortured, and raped repeatedly. I won’t allow that to happen to you. Please hear me, and heed my words. You’re my son, and I love you. Forget this thing you wish. Find another way to satiate your desire. Don’t go to Nazil. It’ll only lead to ruin.”
Wosen opened the door, looking over his shoulder. “You see, you have grown weak. Living among these humans has changed your heart. Honor has been replaced with fear. How do you look at yourself without regret?”
His words pierced his heart as affectively as a honed Xtabyren. Hosdaq’s words caught in his thro
at as if something tangible was lodged there. Before him stood a stranger, someone he didn’t know, and continued to devour the son he raised and loved. He was losing his son just as he’d lost his mother. Neither of them could he save.
“I won’t betray my blood,” Wosen said. “The Nazilians only rejected your wife, but I’m blood of their blood, and they’ll have me. Then, I’ll have honor.”
Ghosts of the Past
Pentanimir pressed himself against the ground, attempting to be invisible below the overhanging porch of the outer temple.
It was late in the afternoon, and he hoped that the shadow cast by the marble structure would provide enough cover to keep him hidden. His heart thumped in his chest, causing his breaths to come in short, stinging bursts as he watched the Chosen Guard surround the savage.
At least, Pentanimir thought that it had to be a savage. This man was shorter than most of the Nazilian men that he knew, although at his young age, nearly all mature men appeared very tall. The savage had a deeper complexion, but his eyes were surprisingly pale and familiar. He could scarcely see his face through the long mop of black hair covering it. He was the very picture of what every Nazilian child was taught to fear. He was too young to understand where the savage came from, but old enough to recognize this one’s strange appearance as tales and warnings from his earliest childhood crowded his memory.
Even though the savage was surrounded by the closing circle of the Chosen Guard, he still moved with a liquid grace that fascinated Pentanimir. In contrast, the Chosen moved in the stiff, rigidly choreographed pattern that their training and elite position required. In fact, to Pentanimir, the savage was the opposite, the negative, of the formal, stylized beauty of the Nazilian culture that his young mind had already learned to value. The man’s crude leathers seemed almost obscene against the pearl and gold lacquered breastplates and helms that were part of the Zaxson’s livery.
Pentanimir became aware that the man’s hands were open and empty, while each of the Chosen was brandishing their Xtabyren: the long, curved swords that could only be carried by the Chosen of Nazil.
The Rise of Nazil Page 21