The Rise of Nazil

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “The humans ravish and abduct our women, forcing them to become slaves to their barbaric and sadistic desires. Our once maiden daughters, sisters, and nieces are forced to bear their children. Rather they be slaughtered than adulterated with the filth of a human. These children are abominations: diseased mongrels contaminating the purity of Faélondul. They must ALL be destroyed! This genocidal attempt won’t go unanswered.”

  The furious uproar from the crowd fueled his ravening ego. Men raised their swords as the denizens sang praises for their Zaxson and home.

  “Their conspiracy isn’t unknown to me,” the Zaxson continued in an orotund voice. “They are attempting to weaken us by infusing the young with their blood. They steal our women to hinder the procreation of our people, the rightful rulers of the lands. It stops this day! I, Draizeyn Deaglan Vereux, have been called by the gods themselves to dispose of this threat. I will lead our elite Chosen Guard to vanquish this evil and destroy it!”

  With that proclamation, the Nazilians began screaming his name again. Draizeyn stood tall with his Xtabyren raised to the heavens, allowing the praise of the crowd to wash over him.

  They exited the platform with their swords still raised. As they strode through the crowd, the people stretched out their hands in an effort to touch their leader. He returned to his carriage, addressing his guard. “Today, we will make these traitors understand what it means to be Nazilian!”

  The spirited chanting continued as the gates of the city closed behind them. Draizeyn scrutinized his men, exiting his carriage. The golden armor and pearl cloaks of the Chosen glinted majestically in the sun’s light. It had been long since his men stood before him so adorned.

  The archers and foot soldiers donned their silver armor and black cloaks. Thousands stood at attention with their liveries standing in contrast against the white gates of the city. Draizeyn gave an approving nod, mounting his massive destrier.

  “Put him on a rouncy, and attach the rope to my saddle,” he ordered, gesturing to Wosen.

  The men led the old worker horse forward, helping Wosen to mount. There was no saddle or reins, only a long rope that tethered him to the Zaxson.

  I’ll have to flee on foot. They’ve thought of everything to keep me from my purpose, Wosen thought, attempting to gain comfort on the horse’s bowed back.

  Two of the guard fell in on either side of him as the ranks closed in.

  “Daracus, you’re to send word to Nazil when you’ve reached Mahlum,” Draizeyn said, looking over his soldiers. “You’re all to do the same. The guards stationed at the outposts have taken their positions. In three suns, as Faélondul awakens, make these lands bleed!” he shouted, kicking his heels into his horse.

  Wosen winced, bouncing over the rocky, barren trail. They’d been traveling for two suns, and he could barely sit upright, leaning and hugging the horse’s neck to relieve the throb of his arse.

  Their pace was slow, traversing the hidden pass between the covered knolls. Stopping only to rest and water their horses, the men trekked on, following the commands of their leader. Once the wood enveloped the winding trails, tensions rose with the crescendoing howls of the jaenitu resonating around them. As the sun diminished, Wosen was shackled to a tree as slaves erected the tents and prepared the evening meal.

  Draizeyn’s cupbearer, a boy no more than five or six years old, came to Wosen, bringing bread and water. The young boy sat, staring as Wosen struggled to feed himself while heavily chained.

  “What’s your name?” Wosen asked, tearing off a piece of hard bread.

  At first, the boy didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the strange man with the pale eyes. He hadn’t ever seen anyone like Wosen. Only Nazilians had such eyes, but Wosen wasn’t one of them. The hue of his skin and his light brown curls confused the young boy. When Wosen tore off a large piece of bread and handed it to him, the boy brightened, taking it happily.

  “I’m called bastard,” he finally said, tearing into the bread.

  “Bastard? What sort of name is that for a young boy?”

  “The only one I got.” He shrugged, unaffected by the meaning that lay beneath.

  Wosen handed him the water, allowing him to drink his fill. He looked at the boy, trying to perceive any Nazilian heritage. With straight, sandy-colored hair, sun-kissed skin, and green eyes, he looked human. However, appearance alone meant little. All the children of Bandari had different features.

  “Who’s your mother?” Wosen asked.

  “She was a slave at the cit’del, but I don’t ‘member her,” he said, staring down at Wosen’s bread. He tore off another piece, handing it to the slight boy.

  “Don’t they feed you in the Zaxson’s tent?” Wosen smiled, close-mouthed.

  “Sometimes I get leavins’ after evenin’ meal. Been a sun tho’.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to share my meal with you at anytime.”

  The boy looked at Wosen, inching closer. Reaching a small hand up, he stroked Wosen’s cheek. After finding no difference in the feel of his skin compared to his own, his brow furrowed. “What’s a savage?” he asked, searching for anything different that would give Wosen the name.

  “That’s what I’m called. However, my parents named me Wosen. Only in Nazil is the name ‘savage’ used.”

  The boy’s lips moved, testing the pronunciation of the name. “Can I call ya Wosen, too?”

  “Only when we take our meal together. The secret will be ours alone. And I’ll call you…hmm…what would be a pleasing name for such a handsome boy?” Wosen said, tucking one hand beneath his chin. “I know: Fáelán. It’s a much better name than bastard. But it can only be between us, okay, Fáelán?”

  The boy stood, wiping the crumbs from his mouth. “I like how it sounds. Thanks for the bread. I gots to get back.”

  Just as quickly as he’d arrived, the boy was gone. Wosen appreciated the company, no matter how brief. Since leaving Nazil, no one would speak to him. It was just as well, it would only be an insult or abuse. He missed his old mum and Jahno.

  “Bastard,” Wosen said, quietly. The thought of the young boy saddened him. He, too, was a captive in Nazil. For him, it had always been, and that truth distressed Wosen all the more. “You’ll be Fáelán to me,” he said aloud.

  He listened to the laughter from the camp, longing to be back in his village. Yet, he was leading the Nazilians to destroy all that he’d ever known. Those who birthed and nurtured him would be put to the sword, just as his father had warned, only much worse. The torture he’d endured at the hands of those he’d idolized was devastating.

  “I’m sorry, Father. The Guardians must’ve been merging, just like old mum said. I’d never wish you from me, any of you,” he said, still quietly speaking to himself.

  With a deep yawn, he looked up at the sky, marveling at the stars’ splendor. Such beauty above me, with such dolor encompassing my soul.

  The smell of meat roasting on the spit caused his stomach to ache. Wosen missed his home, and knew he’d never look upon it again. He yawned then, pulling his cloak tighter, shivering against the mountain winds. Draizeyn wouldn’t allow harm to befall him while he was of use, but he wouldn’t treat him as well as the slaves either. He wouldn’t be permitted the warmth of the fire, yet he didn’t mind. Drawing the cowl over his head, Wosen closed his eyes, drifting off into a fitful sleep.

  Wosen groaned, a hard kick in his side wrenching him awake.

  “Get up, savage!” the guard called out, kicking him again. “Ya done slept long enough. Get up and get ready to meet with the Zaxson.”

  Wosen looked around disoriented, feeling some relief as the guard removed one of his shackles.

  “If ya need’n to piss, best do it now,” he said, snatching him up to his feet.

  Wosen turned, clumsily emptying his full bladder. He’d been tethered so long, releasing his water was almost pleasurable. He barely had time to finish before the guard yanked him again, binding his wrist, and shoving him toward the camp
.

  Though the lands were growing warmer, it was still cold in the mountains. A light snow had fallen, blanketing the grass and trees. He admired the quiet beauty of it, almost smiling. These were his woods, and he knew them like none other. The Guardians will provide the opportunity. You must take advantage of it. Hushar’s words repeated in his head. I will, old mum, Wosen thought. Not only for me, but for you and Jahno as well.

  The men were loading the carts as Wosen approached. The scent of the dawning meal still hung heavy in the air, causing his empty stomach to churn. Draizeyn sat cross-legged, enjoying a large cup of steaming tea, while speaking with some of his guards. Wosen noticed Fáelán at his side and offered a caring wink at the boy, causing him to smile.

  The Zaxson’s armor shone majestically in the rising sun as his silvery-white hair blew about in the wind. Wosen scrutinized the men, his eyes resting on the Xtabyrens hanging from their belts. How he’d admired his father’s armor and the honor of the Chosen of Nazil. Now he understood that it wasn’t the adornment that evinces honor: the honor belonged to the man alone.

  When Wosen drew nearer to the Zaxson, the guard forced him hard on his knees. It wasn’t necessary, but they couldn’t forgo an opportunity to be cruel. You flee at first chance, young one. You hear me? Flee.

  “So, savage, where do you lead this day?” Draizeyn asked in an almost pleasant tone.

  “We make for the red trees, Sir.”

  Draizeyn peered up, noting the slightest hint of red in the distance. “And the village lies beyond?”

  “It does, Zaxson, just past the red trees.”

  Draizeyn rose then, edging his Xtabyren against Wosen’s neck, its keen edge drawing a line of blood. Wosen sucked in his breath, clenching his eyes shut. Though consumed by fear, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing it. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared down at the golden buttons lining the Zaxson’s boots. Even with such finery and position, Draizeyn meant less to Wosen now than the mud staining his soles.

  “If our path is known, what further need have we of you?” The Zaxson asked, cruelly.

  “My lord, we haven’t entered the densest part of the wood. Once there, the trees will swallow the sun, and only faint light will break through the darkness. There are platforms high within the trees and traps to avoid. The thick roots and vines could ensnare the guard and your horses. The jaenitu are prevalent as well, and we need to stay far from their dens. I’ll lead you through safely, Sir.”

  Draizeyn sheathed his sword, turning. “Prepare to take leave. We make for the village.”

  Wosen felt a hard tug on his shoulder as they yanked him to his feet. The guard shoved him toward his mount, leaving him to struggle. He dreaded riding the poor beast, contemplating which of them suffered the most. His arse had grown painfully sore, riding the bare horse and sitting on the cold, hard ground. Hushar would have me well tended with her ointments and herbs, Wosen thought, struggling to mount the horse. His lips creased with the slightest smile as he thought about Hushar. That remembrance steeled his resolve, realizing the importance of his survival. Some way, some how, he’d see her again.

  The usual guard fell in beside him as Draizeyn gave the call to leave. Steadily, they moved through the hidden pass, traversing the dense wood. As they passed beneath tall trees, Wosen would point up after ensuring no one occupied the guard platforms.

  Glancing around, he looked for any signs of the villagers. By the trail’s appearance, no one had visited the wood in some time. Even the usual woodland creatures were silent. Never was this so, especially with the large packs of jaenitu spread throughout. Wosen found this peculiar and comforting at the same time.

  Every seventh sun, Nurul led the young men on the hunts. But there was no evidence they’d come recently, or any sign of guards mounting the platforms.

  When the arching trees masked the sun’s light, Wosen halted his mount. His vision was barely impaired, but it wouldn’t be the same for his captors. The thick roots and ground coverings could cause a horse to stumble. Sliding down from his mount, Wosen turned, bending a knee toward Draizeyn.

  “The path is more easily traveled by foot, Zaxson.”

  Draizeyn scrutinized the dimly lit wood. Everything appeared the same with only a few reddish leaves in the distance giving an indication to their destination. He nodded, gesturing over at a guard.

  “Light some torches and keep him close.”

  As the men followed their commands, Wosen reacquainted himself with the wood. He needed to find the best path for his escape. He continued leading his old horse toward the edge of the wood, nearest to the mountains, anticipating his opportunity.

  Peering from the corner of his eyes, Wosen noticed that the guard’s attention was more on the greatness of the wood, rather than the one who led them through it. Their hands were on their swords and the archers weren’t far behind. I must find a way to avoid their arrows, he thought as they drew nearer to the village’s entrance.

  Biding time, Wosen knelt, pretending to examine some protruding roots. The guards observed him closely, moving his hands over the thick foliage. When he stood again, Wosen took a deep and steadying breath. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his trepidation from overwhelming him. As he pivoted, he stopped, his eyes widening. He noticed something in the air, or, more accurately, something missing from it. He breathed in again, closing his eyes. There’s no smoke in the air. The eternal fire doesn’t burn.

  “What’re you doing?” the guard nearest him demanded.

  “There—there are many wild animals who call this wood home, and—and I thought I saw wolf tracks, but they were only that of a jaenitu,” Wosen lied.

  “Well, get moving!” the guard said, angrily nudging him forward.

  They had nearly reached their destination when a familiar howl caught his attention. The guards around him drew their swords, but Wosen only listened. His eyes closed in recollection, knowing the jaenitu were near. As he turned toward the sound, he espied a small drop-off, not understanding how he’d forgotten about it. Not long ago he’d slid down the embankment, chasing his prey. Aizen and Ahni laughed when Nurul had to help him from the pit. This might be the opportunity the Guardians have provided, he thought. I only need to distance myself from the guard. If I can make it through the brush and down the hill, their arrows won’t reach me.

  Wosen offered a silent prayer to both the One god and the Guardians to keep him safe.

  “Zaxson,” he said, kneeling. “The village lies beyond. There’re ropes attached to the center trees that’ll create the passage.”

  A profound look of pleasure washed over Draizeyn’s face. Pulling on his gloves, he pointed to the nearest two guards, gesturing toward the trees. Time seemed to stand still, with only the guard’s footfalls and the sound of the torches flames, whipping in the air. Wosen peered up, watching the guard’s golden liveries subsuming into the darkness.

  Releasing a steadying breath, Wosen eyed the drop-off again, nervously rubbing his fingertips against one another. He counted the guards at his sides, noticing them move closer to the Zaxson’s position. He didn’t move, studying his captors’ demeanor and focusing his mind. One chance, he thought, licking the sudden dryness from his lips.

  Wosen didn’t flinch when the guards pulled the ropes, bathing the area with light. He waited, listening to the constant shifting around him. Taking another deep breath, he expelled it slowly, readying himself for what was to come.

  “He speaks true, Zaxson,” one of the guards reported. “There’s a village just beyond.”

  Wosen tapped his fingers on the ground as if keeping time. His right foot raised, leaving only the ball of it touching the ground. Though his head remained down, his eyes stayed fixed on Draizeyn. Wosen saw the wicked smirk on his face, and slightly ground his foot into the dirt, testing the strength of his wrapped ankle.

  When the Zaxson raised his hand, Wosen pivoted, pushing hard off the ball of his foot, propelling himself through the brush in
a forward roll. He used his momentum, not stopping until he’d cleared the embankment, landing in a crouch.

  “After that savage!” Draizeyn shouted. Moments later, a barrage of whizzing arrows streaked above his head.

  Wosen sprang to his feet, ducking low. Running toward the towering peaks, he prayed his legs wouldn’t give way. The stampede of approaching guards took all else from his mind. Wosen pressed the shackles against his chest, leaning forward in a dash of desperation.

  Visions of the dark chamber cascaded through his mind, echoes of his screams fading as the jaenitu’s howls resonated again. He turned, following the prints left in the fresh snow, knowing that if the Nazilians caught him, his suffering would be unending.

  Draizeyn’s boney face burned with rage. “Find that savage!” he yelled at the trackers. “The torture he endured will be infinitesimal compared to what awaits!”

  While the trackers moved off, Draizeyn led his men through the large reds. His approach was measured, gazing over the steadings and fields. Sliding down from his mount, he drew his Xtabyren, staring over Bandari. He was both awestruck and infuriated that this village existed without Nazil’s knowledge.

  “Why are you just standing there?” Draizeyn yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “Search them, search them all! Bring the filth to me!”

  The guards roared, brandishing their weapons while rushing toward the steadings. Splinters flew in all directions as they smashed their way through the village.

  Caressing the hilt of his Xtabyren, Draizeyn stepped forward, relishing the guards’ ferocity. He peered out over the Raphar, not able to see past the thick line of trees. He nodded, casting his gaze westward, and then north to the towering peaks of Dessalonia. When he noticed the temple, he smiled, grabbing a torch from a slave. He strode toward the sacred building with the music of breaking wood and glass sounding sweetly in his ears. With an awesome thrust, Draizeyn kicked open the door, slamming it against the inner wall. For a moment, he was still, his eyes adjusting to the darkened room. The faint scent of sage perfumed the air as he stepped down the narrow aisle, inspecting each section.