The boy awoke as he always did on cloudless, dry mornings in the Desert of Destruction: licking his lips and wondering how far away the first life-giving drops of water were. The chickens were clucking outside his paneless window where his mother called out his name again. He lifted off the quilt that kept him warm in the cold desert night and rose to the window. He sheilded his eyes in order to block the first rays of moning from burning his retinas.
"Good day, mama," said the dark-skinned boy.
"Honey, I'm sorry, we're out of water. I need you to go to the cavern so I can make us breakfast," said his mother, a tall rigid woman, with stern blue eyes and rough blond hair, though she had a glint of love for the child in every word that she spoke. She fed the chickens with great care, and eyed the fattest one of them with which to make the day's meals. As fast as lightening, her brown, well-worked hands grabbed a grey rooster by the legs and took it over to the chopping block.
The boy took this as his cue to get his sandals and his grey, wool, moth-eaten hat so he could walk the mile to the cavern well and back without burning to a crisp. He heaved the bucket pole onto his shoulders, and with a determined stare, brushed the wirey dark hair out if his face, and headed for the well to fetch the water for the day.
"Be careful, dear," cried his mother as he took his first steps into the blazing sun.
He had hoped his father might have gotten assigned the job before he did, but it was no matter. He loved the mile towards the cavern. He said good morning to the mountians, and saw the clouds rising from the oceans that would pass over, and just might give a little rain. The pillars of eroded salt here and there all had names according to his mind, and he greeted the desert animals with a glance of understanding. He loved the air, crisp clean air that was still cool from the night. He hated the air that he smelled in the towns of Elmekia, where he and his father would travel to sell the gold they'd collect in the streams near the cavern. The air there smelled like rotting flesh and strangers, people that didn't want him or his father around. But here, he was free. Nothing to stop him but his father's lesson-period, or his mother's swift hand if he misbehaved. Other than that, he didn't want to live any other way.
He arrived at the cavern, ducked under it's roof, and sat by the fall that came out of the rift in the wall. He splashed his face and took the first sweet sips of water. He sat there for a moment to listen to the sound of the water trickling down the wall. He filled the buckets and heaved them back onto his shoulders to take them back to the house. He could see smoke rising from the house and knew it would be only a little while til the scents of a sumptuous breakfast would enter his nostrils. But to the left of the building, he spotted something he never expected: three horses and three men walking towards the house. Noone ever came to their house. The only time he ever saw any other people was when he and his father went to the town. He stopped in his tracks, not knowing what to do.
"Zangulus! Come here quickly, before they see you!" He heard his father's voice, and looked behind the salt pillar he called 'Kane'. He saw his father in his travelling outfit, the orange cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and the pointed travelling hat, brown and so well worn its point bent to the right.
"Father, who are those men?" asked the boy.
"Men who know who I am, and to them I... WE.... are a danger."
"What do you mean?" asked the puzzled boy, brushing his hair out of his face.
"I fear we do not have the day I have always wanted to tell you how I and your mother came to call this wilderness home. All I can tell you is that..." Father paused, breathing carefully to regain mental balance, and looked towards the house to see how much time he had. "My mother," he continued, "had a hunger that could not be satiated for power. Power over others, especially those who served her. She could not be said no to, nor could she be held responcible for her actions. She and your grandfather broke HER father the King's law in their land, and your grandfather was banished for it. Later in his life, he was killed for it, and I had to run, for I'd gone with him. So I ran to the Desert of Destruction." He pulled the cloak to the side, and reached inside his shirt, pulling out a medallion on a string which he ripped from his neck and gave to his son. The medallion bore the sign of an eagle, with its tongue sticking out of its beak and grasping a serpent in its talons.
"This is the key, to me, to you, and to your destiny. Your grandfather never talked about it much, but we belong to a house of royalty. He never told me which one, for he feared I would seek revenge, and a throne that would only lead to destruction."
Young Zangulus took in the meaning of what his father had said, and stared at his father in amazement.
"I have taught you, Zangulus, all my father taught me. I want you to remember it when I'm gone. How to weild a sword, how to keep yourself strong, how to survive. I fear you may need it all before the sun rises to its zenith today." Zangulus's father squeezed his son's work-hardened shoulder as he finished those words. Then a smile grew from his lips as he realized the coming battle was not as hopeless as he thought. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, the hat blocking his face from Zangulus's eyes. "When I am gone," he said, raising his face into view. "I ask of you one thing: Remember me, remember your mother, and..... survive."
Zangulus's eyes filled with shock. He had never thought of his mother as mortal. In no way did he think that her sweet voice, star-like eyes, and golden hair could fall under the fate that awaits all mortals. Nor his father either. Zangulus straightened his shoulders and looked into his father's eyes and said "I will."
"Go now," relied his father. "They won't expect your abilities, so use that to your advantage. Deception can be your greatest sheild."
Zangulus nodded, staring into his father's eyes for what might be the last time, and put the yoke back on his shoulders. He turned around and headed for the house.
As he got closer, he could see his mother and a swordsman in green in front of the house. His mother's bird-like voice could be heard, and by the look on his face, the swordsman liked what he heard. Out of nowhere, another swordsman in a red shirt and black vest stepped in front of Zangulus, trying to knock him off balance.
"Where's your father, boy?"
Zangulus tried to think quickly to save himself and his father. The silence from his mouth made the red swordsman inpatient. "Dumb of tongue, are you? What can you expect of mis-bred desert filth! Give me a drink, boy!"
The boy lowered the yoke and realized that his silence was the key to his next task. He clumsily got the yoke off his shoulders, and spilled some of the water as he did. The red swordsman just glared at him impatently. Zangulus nervously offered him the ladle with which to scoop water out of the pots. The swordsman yanked it from his hands and growled at Zangulus, who acted frightened and ran towards the house. The swordsman laughed.
"Go on, run, boy! Just like your father does!" Zangulus staggered into the house, but smiled at the fact that now he had the chance to complete his task: to retrieve his sword. But as he burst through the door, he met a surprise. Seated at the kitchen table was a sorcerer. He had silver eyes and a bony face topped by straight red hair that cascaded onto his shoulders and mingled with the pale blue and red of his cloak. One hand was on a staff, and the other rested on the table. He mesmerised the boy with a stare.
"Hello. Has your father come back from town yet?" The sorcerer lifted his hand off the table and rested it on the hilt of a swords at his side. Zangulus saw that it was a strange hilt, dark blue-green, with two jewels and two spikes sticking out at weird angles. The boy once again chose to remain silent. The sorcerer waited a moment, then broke off the stare, which was Zangulus's cue to dash down the hall towards his room, making a lot of noise along the way, as if he'd tripped.
He entered the doorway to his room and was met with a strange sound, like someone eating rudely with their mouth open. He had no idea what it was, but crept to his bed and pulled out his sword. It was not beautiful, but is was strong, and weighted perfectly for the young Zangulus. It was unspectacular except for the tree etched on the butt of the hilt. But it was his, and this was the sword he had invested all of his abilities in, this was the sword that would bring him to his destiny.
The strange noise once again call his attention. He crept over to the window and peered out, and saw a shock to his very soul. The back of the green-garbed swordsman with his mother's hands caressing it.
On to Page Two
Back to Semper Slayers