Zenak

by George S. Pappas

  “My tent is over here,” the woman said. She pointed to a tent fashioned after the tents of the grass people to the north. The tent was very low to the ground but inside there was plenty of room to stand. This was because a ditch about five feet deep was dug and the tent was placed above it. It gave an average person about three feet of headroom. Zenak almost touched the ceiling of the tent.

  Zenak thought for a moment and then acquiesced. The woman then happily led Zenak back to her home. When Zenak entered he was impressed by the tent’s sumptuous furnishings. It had a thick carpet on the ground and pillows all over for lounging. A wisp of incense was burning that made the sensuously lit room more appealing. The woman led Zenak to some pillows at one end of the room and softly pushed him down onto the pillows and then brought him a flagon of wine. Zenak took a refreshing swig of the wine and lay back on the pillows.

  “I shall dance for you,” the woman said to Zenak shyly. Zenak shook his head in approval. She walked to the middle of the tent and began her dance. At first her dance started slowly. She just moved her hands and her arms in a flowing manner. As the dance progressed her whole body pulsated in rich, sul­try movements. Her hips leapt at Zenak with desire and her innocent look was replaced with the look of a temp­ting seductress. Every part of her body bespoke of a woman who knew the arts of love as Zenak knew the arts of swordsman­ship. She fell to her back, her hips still vibrating, her nip­ples ready to break, and her lips as soft as the moon’s rays.

  “Take me, take me, and do as you please, for I am yours,” she pleaded. Zenak crawled to her side and caressed her body as he lay close to her.

  “You are beautiful,” he said. He looked unto her eyes, so he could communicate in the deepest possible way. But in­stead of seeing soft blue eyes he saw a demon so grotesque that Zenak stiffened at the sight of it. Reacting like a trapped ani­mal Zenak swiftly drew his sword and like lightning striking down a tree, separated the woman’s beautiful head from her seductive body. The head bounced a few feet from the body and the body moved for a split of time, in its seductive ways. Even Zenak drew back in revulsion.

  Zenak waited, for he knew that once a demon had been killed that the body would revert from its beautiful form back to its original form. He knew this for he had encountered a city of radiant and comely people when he was younger and they had turned out to be demons from Varsoula. Every time he struck one down, it would revert to its ugly self. But this was not hap­pening now; she was not turning into a demon. All Zenak saw in the woman’s eyes now was shock and misunderstanding. There was no demon in her eyes. What had he done? He was stunned. He fell to his knees next to the stiffening body and began to cry. His tears were so heavy that they rolled in streams onto the blood­stained pillows.

  “What has become of me?” Zenak asked himself. “Did I not see a demon in her eyes? But where is it now? She was like a nymph of the woods, a child whose only function was to love and to serve. I have degenerated into the worst kind of being. I have forgotten the meaning of life and the meaning of innocence. How am I any worthier than Vokar?” Zenak could not help seeing Mara’s face as he stared at the head of the woman.

  Zenak sat in the tent well into the night staring at the dead body. He was trying to reconcile himself with the fact that he had let himself become so obsessed with capturing Vokar that he had let all else that was important fall to the wayside. However, he could not reconcile himself. He had made the mistake of being lured into the tent by the woman and he had made the mis­take of letting a subconscious fear rise to the surface. There was no resolving his guilt and he decided the only way to forget it would be to fulfill his task. But in the process of fulfil­ling it, he was not going to let it take him from reality.

  He got up, looked at the young woman one more time, and then quickly left the tent, his conscience weighing heavily on him as he trudged to Mea. As soon as Zenak left the tent the beautiful body and head of the young woman metamorphosed into the decapitated body of a grotesque demon from the deepest pits of Varsoula. A pockmarked, pus-ridden, bulge-eyed demon with a squat, muscular, misshaped body. Vokar’s trance had not only covered Soci superficial­ly, it had been subtle. He had created doubt in his adversary’s mind, and doubt was more difficult to cope with than any wild animal, army, or demon.

  Zenak quickened his pace for Mea. He wanted to forget his just passed violent act and the only way to do that was to pit himself against another problem. The evil forest would sure­ly hold that problem for him. Zenak had killed many times and he had even killed women, but he had always killed with a purpose or reason. He had never killed anyone in cold blood, and now he had. He thought that the woman he killed was the most innocent of all people and this caused him to hate himself even more. He felt that a newborn mark had more evil in it than she had. Sadly, he was never to know any different.

  It took little time to reach the evil forest. It was a terrible looking place. The trees were old, twisted, and dying, and the mosses that choked the trees hung thick and stank of mold from their never-ending dampness. The ground was black and only large ferns grew from it. Apparently, sunlight never touch­ed the floor.

  Zenak entered the forest with a quickened heart. He had never known fear, but this forest produced in Zenak an unaccustomed wariness. Zenak decided that the best way through this forest was to trot through. He figured the quicker through it the less chance he had at death. He did not sacrifice alertness for speed, however, and his body was ready at any instant for any sort of at­tack. He did not have to wait long for the surprise he was await­ing. He was stopped abruptly by a hand clutching his leg. The hand was sticking out of the ground. Zenak pulled his sword out and sliced the hand off. As he sheathed his sword the ground began shaking and all around him partially de­composed bodies began rising out of it. Zenak was appa­lled. Never had he seen a sight such as this, so as quick as the night tiger he began running through the rising bodies hacking at them as he ran. But any amount of dismembering of the upper part of the bodies that Zenak caused did not stop the bodies from rising out of the ground. Zenak strained his eyes to see how many bodies were coming and as far as his eyes could see dead bodies were rising from the ground and walking toward him. He was forced to stop running because the bodies were so thick around him. He was surrounded by the rotting beings. They were hideous, the black dirt clung to their greenish bodies, and their eye sock­ets stared at Zenak causing him to cringe. But they did nothing. They just stood there staring at Zenak.

  “Well, my friends, I think I’ve worn out my welcome,” Zenak said lightly. Then he started walking among the bodies toward Mea. It was no problem for him to walk among them. He pushed them aside as he walked. They did nothing and gave way to him without the slightest resistance. Zenak hoped that they didn’t even realize that he was escaping. However, the lack of resistance from the bodies did not last long. One of the bodies let out a piercing scream that reverberated throughout the forest and when the echo had stopped the bodies attacked Zenak. Their strength was a surprise to Zenak. At first he could not see how their frail rotting corpses could hurt him until he felt their hands close around his arms. They were like iron vices closing on a piece of wood. Zenak then realized his true plight and started swinging his sword. In no time at least twenty bodies had been de­capitated but they kept coming, even without their heads.

  “Blast!” yelled Zenak. Then he changed his tactics and started slicing at their arms and legs. At least without their arms they couldn’t fight and without their legs they couldn’t move. But even that was futile for ten more would follow for every one Zenak struck useless. As he fought, Zenak was forced back. He was on the defensive for the first time in his life. Finally, his back was against a tree and he was slicing for his life. Unknown to Zenak as he fought the corpses on the ground, more climbed up the back of the great oak. Zenak finally saw them hanging from the tree and swung at them also, but when he did that two or three corpses would jump him forcing Zenak to save himself from the ground attack
. The tree was be­coming over loaded with bodies and then, as from an unknown sign, they dropped from the tree onto Zenak. The weight was too much and Zenak fell to the ground. He kept swinging his broadsword, but it was to no avail. The corpses pinned him to the ground. His broadsword was wrenched from his grasp and then Zenak was kick­ed in the head. Everything around Zenak swirled and then went black.

  When Zenak came to, he found himself bound and placed on top of a platform. There was a fire beneath him and the bodies were slowly, mechanically bringing more firewood for the fire. In a short time the platform and Zenak would be engulfed in flames and the inferno would reduce Zenak to ashes that would spread on the wind. But Zenak stayed calm and examined his situation. He was bound tightly and the more he pulled on the hemp rope the tighter it became. Breaking the rope was useless for it was too strong, even for Zenak. He then surveyed the sit­uation for another escape route, but as he did he felt the fire lick through the rather large openings in the platform and burn him. Without a thought more, Zenak realized his way to escape. He stuck his hands through one of the openings into the flames. The dry hemp caught fire quickly and Zenak pulled his burned hands out of the fire. The pain was excruciating. The hemp burned quick­ly and Zenak’s hands were free. He undid his feet quickly and look­ed around. He was at the edge of a cliff that sat above a deep river. He then looked for his sword and noticed a body near the now burning platform holding it. Zenak had no more time to spare, the bodies hadn’t noticed he had been free yet and the platform was on fire. He was also in terrible pain from being burned all over. He jumped from the platform onto the body, grabbed the sword, and with only two strides was over the side of the cliff. The drop was a long one but the water was a cold, wel­come relief to Zenak’s burned body. The corpses were slow in re­acting, but when they realized what had happened a piercing scream was let out from all of them. Almost immediately the banks of the river started moving and thousands of bodies arose from them. Zenak couldn’t believe it. But to his relief they didn’t come in. A couple of bodies tried to pursue Zenak in the water but upon entering the fast-moving river their bodies would fall apart like a mud castle against the ocean tides. Zenak was safe as long as he stayed in the water. It wasn’t necessary for him to stay in long for the sun began its daily march and as soon as the first rays struck the forest, the corpses melted back into the ground. When they all disappeared Zenak came out of the water. He still held onto this sword even with his blistered hands. But he knew that he couldn’t use the sword until his hands healed. That could take days and he didn’t have time. He sat on the bank, the pain in his hands and body compounded only by the pain in his heart. It would be futile to go on if he couldn’t fight, and if he stayed he would have to sleep during the day and stay in the river at night to keep away from the corpses. And he wasn’t sure what could get him during the day while he slept. He was tired, so he got up and gathered some of the strange purple moss that seem­ed indigenous to the area to make a soft bed to try and at least relax. The moss felt cool on his hands and Zenak rubbed them with the cooling moss. Then miraculously his hands began healing, and within minutes they were the same battle-scarred hands as before. Zenak stared at them in astonishment; then he looked at the purple moss. What was this healing agent? He picked up a handful and rubbed as much of his body as he could reach, then he lay down in the moss and rubbed his back against it. In moments his whole body was healed. Zenak felt a renewed strength, grabbed up his sword, and rushed back up the hill out of the river valley so he could resume his trek to Mea. He was confident now that he could beat anything. In minutes Zenak was back on the forest path that led to Mea. The ex-king ran through the forest and before morning was over Zenak was out of the musty forest. He look­ed out across the rolling hills dotted with lush clumps of palm trees. Mea was visible in the distance. Its great walls glis­tened in the noon sun. Zenak knew the size of Mea and he knew his journey was not over because Mea was still at least two days’ hike. The path was visible, even though it was not very well worn, and it went straight through a small village that lay in the midst of the green hills. The village was one of the smaller villages of Soci. It consisted of only one street flanked by brick huts and stores with thatched roofs. At the far end of the street stood the wizard’s pyramid. That, however, was not an unusual sight in Soci for every city, town, or village had a wizard’s pyramid. And it was always the tallest building in the community. The pyramid was not the flat-sided type of faraway Lopus. Instead, it was stepped and the small area on the top was where a wizard would go everyday and pray to the gods. The top of the pyramid was large enough for only one person. [The description of this pyramid brings to mind the Aztec pyramids. Maybe the Chariots of the Gods should now be reevaluated. Maybe the supposed space travelers of Erich von Däniken are really some Soci wizards who survived the age of the Island and consti­tuted the beginning of the Aztec civilization.]

  The village was a welcome sight to Zenak. He was ravaged by hunger and his throat ached for a large stein of ale. He hoped the tavern had rare hir meat and black ale. The hir was an animal raised in the mountains, and its meat, when cooked well, was tender and juicy. Zenak, though, didn’t relish the thought of mingling with the Socians. They made him uncomfortable. It’s not that they were rude to strangers, it’s just that they didn’t welcome them. A stranger usually left the company of a Socian quickly for it was a mental burden to put up with their unfriendliness. But unfriendliness never stopped Zenak. He sauntered into the village keeping an eye out for the town tavern. The first person he encountered was a young boy probably not much older than five. The boy was very frail and his sandy-colored hair and pale blue eyes made him look even frailer. The boy had been sitting on a wall that paralleled the road, but when he saw Zenak coming up the trail, he jumped off the wall and stood in the middle of the road. Zenak was happy to see the boy for he could tell Zenak exactly where the tavern was.

  “Hey, boy,” Zenak called as he approached, “where is the tavern? My stomach aches for food and my mouth waters for some Socian ale.” The boy stood, saying nothing. “Shy?” asked Zenak. He stood in front of the boy. “Here is a tolen, enough to buy you candy for a year. Now tell me, where is the tavern?”

  The boy did not take the tolen. Zenak stared at the boy and smiled. The boy did not acknowledge the smile. Then the boy drew a small dagger and attacked Zenak. Zenak jumped back laughing, picked up the screaming boy, and held him at arm’s length. Zenak had the boy’s arms pinned so he could not knife him.

  “For a Socian, and a frail one at that, you are some war­rior,” Zenak said. He was proud of the youth’s spunk and found it very amusing to watch the boy’s useless shaking to get himself free. Then Zenak, for a moment, was lost in thought. He thought of his son and how he would be the greatest warrior on the Island. Zenak swelled with pride at the thought of his son, but he felt a deep depression at the thought of his son being held by Vokar. His thoughts then returned to the pre­sent and he laughed again at the struggling boy. His laughter, however, was stopped abruptly when he looked into the boy’s eyes. The eyes were not those of mischievous five-year-old, but instead were vacant and cold. They resembled the eyes of the people of Gaston when they attacked Zenak and Tak.

  “Damn, another of Vokar’s villages,” Zenak expressed out loud. Not wanting to be part of a duel with a town again, Zenak turned back to skirt the town. He put the boy behind a high wall so the child could not follow, and then he trotted back toward the forest. To his dismay, as he rounded the corner of the road, he found that his exit was blocked.

  Barring his way stood the people of the village with their three wizards. The people were all small and frail. Zenak resembled a giant next to these people. Also very few of them carried any kind of weapon other than clubs or rakes. Zenak was disgusted.

  “Out of my way!” Zenak yelled. The people did not move. “Be reasonable,” Zenak pleaded,” you will die from the weight of my sword if you attack me.” Zenak then pleaded to the wizard
s, “Don’t you know that another mind is doing this to you? A mind so vile, so heinous that he will destroy the Island before giving up his power.” It was useless; the wizards’ eyes were as vacant as their townsfolk. “Damn you stupid people, break the spell, you can do it,” Zenak yelled. The people stared at him with blank eyes.

  Now Zenak was deeply irritated and he drew his sword and stood like a mighty mountain in front of the people. He had pleaded enough. His muscles twitched in anticipation of the slaughter.

  “Ah, Gaston revisited, how vile,” Zenak said to himself. Then he spoke out loud. “C’mon, attack, you weakly fools, let me sever your heads so I can go on!”

  The people did not move. It seemed like hours to Zenak that the wizards and the people stood and stared at him. But Zenak stood his ground and stared back at them. Then the three wizards lost their blank look and began probing Zenak’s body with their eyes. Zenak felt as if each fiber of his body was being analyzed.

  “Well, what are you going to do, study my body or attack me? Do something you mindless bastards! Am I to wait forever to slaughter you? I mean if I am to kill you let’s be quick about it, I have more important errands,” Zenak yelled in total exasperation. The people did nothing but the three wizards turned away from Zenak and faced the crowd.

  “Oh, great, now four of us will stare at these weak-kneed people,” Zenak said as he dropped the point of his sword to the ground.

  The wizards began chanting in the ancient language of the Socians [the chant was included but even Solok could not trans­late it, so we decided to leave it out.] As the wizards chanted the sky turned black with thick clouds and savage winds be­gan to blow. The people did not move and neither did Zenak. A flash of lightning struck one of the wizards, reducing him to a charred mass of bones.