Chapter 2
They had left home almost three weeks ago now, leaving the comfort of a soft bed and a full belly for the hard ground and scarce rations, and Abbas had spent every day since in misery, complaining about his clenched stomach, whining about his swollen feet or grumbling his lice-ridden hair. And his father, as always, simply nodded absentmindedly, feet on the ground but head in the sky.
Today, however, everything had changed. They'd finally reached Damascus a couple days past, tired and dirty, only to spend the entire afternoon and much of the following day stocking their wares and flaunting their produce, though they had managed to attract quite a few customers from the thronging crowds of the marketplace. That hadn't been too bad, it wasn't boring at least, there were plenty of colourful travellers and pretty women in the crowds. Best of all, however, was the cold, hard piece of metal that had been clenched in Abbas' sweaty fist for most of the day. Money, that is.
His father had taken almost all of the day's earnings away from him, as was usual, but Abbas had managed to sneak a single silver akçe past him that morning, hiding it in a piece of cloth and stashing it down his sleeves. And now, with their wares sold and the caravan back on the road, it was that cold steel that gave him comfort. It was so much money, more than the old man had ever given him, and Abbas had no clue what he would spend it on. He would try and get away from his father at their next stop, roam the local markets and and hopefully something would catch his eye... perhaps he might find something Emine might like, a necklace, or the like. That would make her happy...
Emine's face washed up again, she not only stole his sleep, but seemed to take up every waking hour now as well. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, very beautiful... she wasn't very tall, petite and dainty, rather... with long, raven-black hair that drooped down to the small of her back, two strands framing her face... her angular face, with dark eyes shadowed by a thick brow... a large bosom, busty and distracting...
...
...
BANG!
Abbas jerked out of his doze, eyes wide as he keeled over and dropped onto the wooden floor, only to yowl in pain and scramble back onto his feet, nursing his splintered hands. That must've been his father, his knocking was not unlike the blast of a cannon, Abbas knew that all too well, and the old man got particularly annoyed when his son overslept.
Still grumbling, Abbas wiped drool from his chin and tried to knuckle the sleep out of his eyes, yawning as he dropped back onto the sacks he'd been sleeping on. Then the train jolted again, as though it were a cart that had hit a large rock at an angle, and Abbas lurched to the wood once more.
BANG!
The wagon came to a complete halt then, Abbas again pushed himself back up, though this time quietly and more slowly. He could hear something... someone was screaming, and there was fighting... Abbas edged his way across the width of the wagon, around countless barrels and sacks and pouches swinging from the ceiling, and cracked the heavy door open half an inch.
Outside, there was nothing but chaos. The first thing that caught Abbas' eye was the roaring fire, just off the road, fueled by the massive trees that encroached on the stone. But as he leaned further out to try and steal a glimpse of what was happening beyond that, the growl of harsh voices reached him over the crackle of the fire. There were a couple men, heaving and coughing as they lifted something large, swinging it back and forth a couple times before tossing it into the flames. Abbas pushed the doors open just a tiny bit more, his heart hammering so hard it might just rupture then and there, and narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out what was going on...
Bodies. Bodies everywhere.
Just by the fire, closer to the thicket of shrubbery and trees than to Abbas, there was a massive pile of stinking meat, bodies piled upon bodies piled upon bodies as small streams and rivulets of bright pink blood slowly made their way downhill from them. And everyone, whether Abbas knew them by name or by face, was there... Yazid the spice merchant, Salih of the wool and milk trade, Sinan of the textiles, the pretty lady of silk, Rabiye... and underneath them all, his forehead bloody and eyes glassy, was Ali, Abbas' father.
That was when he slipped, letting out a barely-audible yelp as he tumbled from the wagon and into the dirt. He wasn't loud, and fell perfectly still once he'd realised what had happened, but it was enough, and with their ears perked and steel drawn, the bandits dropped the body they'd been carrying and rushed around the roaring fire, shouting for reinforcements.
Abbas rolled in the dust, struggling onto his knees and crawling as quickly as he could, his hands and knees bleeding. He heard a laugh just behind him, and as his blood rushed and he stumbled onto his feet, someone grabbed Abbas by the scruff of his collar and forcefully yanked him onto his feet, almost breaking his neck as he did so. They were big, the two men, with massive beards covering half their faces and hanging down to their chests, and as they leered and took in the slim boy before them, Abbas caught the rank stench of their breath.
Abbas turned around and tried to run, barely making it a single step before he was suddenly punched in the gut, knocking the breath out of his chest and throwing him back a few steps, wheezing and coughing. The other one laughed again, glancing at his elder and, presumably, superior. Not even half a minute later, another four men had arrived and surrounded Abbas, muttering to one another. They spoke in an odd dialect, perhaps from somewhere further south, but Abbas managed to catch most of what they were whispering...
"What do we do with him?"
"Kill him, toss him in with the rest."
"Why? Look at him, he's young and beardless, they like boys like that..."
"Kemal's right, he would fetch a good price in the north."
There was silence for a little while, followed by an intense and hard to catch arguing session, but it ended with: "Fine, do what you want then, but Ayla won't like it, and you know it."
Two of the other men turned on the elder, who'd spoken last, their faces harsh and brows creased. "Don't fucking tell him then, eh?"
Again, the grey man was silent, his eyes boring into the youths'. A few moments later, however, he nodded.
"Tie him up well, Bakr, rope's in the saddlebags."
W-what...what just happened?
Abbas' eyes widened and he began crying, he tried to stumble backwards whilst begging the approaching bandit to show some mercy, but the savage just grabbed him by the ear and dragged him forwards. "Come on, it's time to-"
He never got to finish, an arrow sprouting from his throat to cut him off mid-sentence. The young man collapsed, frothing at the mouth and jerking violently as Abbas threw himself to the side, screaming hysterically as panic overcame him. He fell onto the road, skidding his arms as he rolled across the jagged rock and came back on his knees, and Abbas pushed himself up and starting running as fast as his feet could carry him.
Then someone barged into him from nowhere, knocking him to the ground for what felt like the hundredth time. Unable to stem the tide of his tears, Abbas blindly swung his fist into the air and felt it meet soft flesh. He lifted his clenched fists again, rolling on top of the man and bringing them crashing down, and a loud
crack! confirmed that the bandit's nose broke upon contact. Blood squirted upwards and splattered him in the face, Abbas emitting a surprisingly high-pitched scream as pain flared up in his eyes. His throat hoarse and breathing heavily, Abbas didn't spare the bandit another glance, simply turning and and running, unable to see a single thing as he fled, but hoping against hope that he would somehow get away.
Nope. He tripped on his own feet and fell on top of something warm, sticky and stinking. Abbas slowly raised himself off the dead, cleaning the blood from his eyes with a dirty sleeve, and gradually got back onto his feet. He turned around, resigned to whatever fate God had for him, only to find three of the bandits locked in combat with a single man, two of them already laying on the rock with their blood pooling around them.
Now's my chance, I need to run, I can get away if I start moving now... Now!
But his feet didn't move an inch, locked in their place as Abbas' eyes darted across the scene before him, trying to follow the rapid and deadly dance of death. The man fighting them was good, very good. Abbas didn't know the first thing about hand-to-hand combat, of course, but it definitely looked good. The stranger wove between the bandits, quick and precise, oddly graceful as he jabbed and thrust with his thin blade. The steel glimmered in the early morning sunlight, beautiful for a half a second before it plunged into one of the bandit's chests, and he too dropped to the mud like a sack of shit.
Abbas let his heavy breathing ease, taking in the cold air before letting it out again. This man, whomever he was, had just saved his life... somehow. Even now, as Abbas took a few steps forwards, he easily knocked a broadsword from a bandit's hands and sent him to his death, before turning around and dispatching of the last of them. And through it all, by some miracle, the man hadn't even broken a sweat, he simply cleaned his steel on one of the men before sheathing it again, thrusting it under his cloak.
Abbas reached a stand-still, unsure as to whether he should thank the stranger or run away as fast as he could. He even looked odd, he had to be been a noble, with such fine clothes and intricate weaponry... but of course, he couldn't be, why would a noble be sullying himself by fighting common road bandits? So... who was he?
After staring at one another for a few seconds, the stranger took a step towards Abbas and held out a hand, saying something as he did so. Abbas didn't understand the tongue he was speaking in, the language was harsh and ugly to his ears. Nevertheless, the man had just saved Abbas' life, little though it may be worth, so the youngster shook his saviour's hand, firmly and thankfully, if only for a second.
That was when the bubble surrounding the two of them suddenly burst, and Abbas stumbled backwards, his breath catching in his throat as the full realisation of what had just happened hit him. Tears gathered at his eyes yet again as he rushed towards the huge pile of bodies, crying his eyes out by the time he reached it, shouting his father's name as he tried to pull the heavy bodies out of the way, heaving and pushing. After a few frustrating moments, he turned around to where the stranger was drinking from a small vial, screaming at him and pointing at his father.
After the bottle was empty and vanished under his heavy cloak, the man sighed and walked over to Abbas, and together they pulled the countless bodies of the caravaners, merchants, traders and entertainers until they reached his father. A lump in his throat, Abbas slowly knelt down onto the ground, stifling his tears as he latched onto his father's chest, trying to voice a last prayer for him without choking up.
Hours later, after the sun had risen to its peak and descended again, Abbas was dead-eyed and quiet, the stranger's cloak around his back and a hot mug in his hands. The stranger, who was seated beside him, licked his lips before nudging Abbas. The boy didn't notice the first time, but after the man tapped him a couple more times and forced him out of his reverie, Abbas looked up.
He really was an odd-looking man. His eyes were a dazzling green, though his hair was lusterless and lank on top of an oval head, a badly-shaven beard stretching across his cheeks and chin. He began speaking again, waving his hands about like a madman, the pitch of his voice rising and falling on a whim.
Abbas shook his head, turning back to the fire and his thoughts as he muttered, "I told you, I don't understand a word..."
But the man's strong fingers closed around his wrist and yanked Abbas back to him, knocking the spiced drink out of his hands and into the dirt. He began to protest, but when the stranger grabbed his face and held it in place, forcing them to stare into each others' eyes, Abbas let his voice shrivel and die. The man didn't speak this time, he simply pointed at Abbas, then at himself, then at his mouth. He did it again, pointing at Abbas, then at himself, then at his mouth.
The youth swallowed, uncomfortable. "What? What are you trying to say?"
Again, pointing at Abbas, then at himself, then at his mouth.
Abbas' eyebrows jutted together. He slowly and unsurely said, "You... you want me to help you... speak?"
He just pointed at Abbas, then at himself, then at his mouth. He then began speaking again, the words rolling off as though he had a swollen tongue and an infected throat. But he got the message through, at least.
Abbas took in a deep breath, his eyelids heavy as he turned away from the man, staring into the dancing flames once more. His life had been flipped over half a dozen times over the course of a single night, and now it was more complicated than he ever imagined or desired. He had no clue as to what was going to happen, he didn't even know the route home, he might never see his mother or sisters again, or even worse, Emine... and now he was attached to a man with a strange sword and a strange tongue... what was he going to do?
Again, he tapped Abbas on the shoulder.
"Alright, alright... I'll teach you my language."
