2310 BCE

Telal lay as still as he could.

The cold air caused the silk curtains leading into his room to float and sway, barely concealing the long dark hallway outside. He had changed the moment he had climbed through the open window. The guards were casting lots near the front door—the blood had hardened and dried around his fingers. The stuff was coated underneath his nails. He resisted the urge to bite them, lest the iron taste linger on his tongue and lips.

His stained clothes were stuffed below his mattress, tucked far enough so that the house slave would not notice as they changed his sheets. Tomorrow, he would take one of the shovels from the shed and bury it in a deep hole. Or perhaps he could throw them in the river, where it would sink deep to the bottom.

Although his room was covered in every colorful shade, littered with couches and rugs, he had crawled underneath his bed. His shaky breaths filled the silence of his room. The marble floor was hard against his back, but he curled up into a ball, making himself as tiny as he possibly could. He hugged his knees, his bare feet curling and flexing. All he could see were the legs of the fine velvet couch Mother had purchased for him, close to the bed. His lyre and leather ball sat on top.

He tried to make his hands stop shaking, but he couldn’t. His throat was dry, heart still thudding due to running so fast. He was covered in a layer of sweat, and whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was the blood. It spilled down the walls, the floor.

* * * * * *

”My lord?”

The female voice sounded echoey—further away at first, before growing closer. There was a few shuffling footsteps, before the shadow grew closer. A strange tapping noise. Then an elderly woman’s face—Amata. Hers was lined with wrinkles, but her dress was clean, although she faintly smelled of vinegar. Strands of gray hair fell upon her forehead; but relief was apparent in her dark eyes.

Telal avoided her gaze.

The old slave sighed. “My lord, why are you here? I was worried beyond my wits.” She extended a wrinkled hand. “Come, dear.”

Shaking his head, Telal scooted away. His cheeks were slightly stained with salt water, and he sniffed as he adjusted his legs. “No.”

”But my lord, breakfast is waiting for you. Your mother left for the city early this morning,” Amata continued. “She has instructed me to take good care of you until she returns this evening. That I intend to do, so there is no reason to remain so difficult. And you know that your father wishes for you to continue your studies today. It is time to rise, lest you be late.” She raised a gray eyebrow. “You do not want to disappoint him, no? He is expecting you.”

“I’m not hungry,” the child quietly said.

Amata sighed, before lowering her hand. “Very well. I shall bring it up to your room, to see if you wish to eat later.” She straightened up. The veins were visible on her ankles below the hemline of her faded skirts. “But when I come back, I expect you to be dressed.” With that, she turned and hobbled out of the room, mumbling to herself.

After a few moments, slowly, Telal slipped from below the bed, the fine sheets brushing against his back. He caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror; the one where he had made an oath to the gods. His pale hair stuck out like a porcupine’s, and dark circles were under his eyes. No matter how much he tried to rub at them with his palms, he couldn’t seem to make them disappear.

By instinct, he raised his tainted finger to his mouth, but looked at it in shock. The scent of fresh roasted duck, figs, and bread met his nose, but it made him nauseated. Once he finished washing his himself as well as he could and digging out the grime beneath his nails, he was making his way back down the hallway, staring at his bare feet, when the heavy sound of steps made him look up.

Bou met his eye and smiled, revealing a row of yellow, crooked teeth. He knelt down and bowed his head. “Good morning, my lord.”

Telal tried to nod in response, although he could barely move. Concern spread across the overseer’s face as he tilted his head.

”Are you unwell, my lord?”

”No,” the boy whispered.

“Hmm,” Bou murmured. He scratched his black beard as he stood. The man was massive—towering over many Telal had seen in the field. “Your father has sent me over here to fetch you. There is a teacher from Akkad—one that your father highly approves of. One who has been through many battles. He wishes for you to learn the art of the sword. Like your brothers before you, he wishes for you to become knowledgeable in this skill. If it pleases you, my lord, he would like for this be a part of your curriculum.”

Goosebumps settled on Telal’s skin.

Bou’s gaze softened. “Do not burden yourself, my young master. For your father believes that this is the right time to begin.” He held out a large hand. “Come, my lord. We must not keep them both waiting in the courtyard.”

”Bou?”

”Yes, my lord?”

Telal hesitated. “He is not hurt, is he?”

“Who?” After a moment, recognition appeared on Bou’s face. “You mean the Canaanite wrench that dared to attack you?”

”He didn’t…” Telal attempted. “Is he here?”

Bou yawned. “You must not concern yourself with the matters of slaves. That is your father’s business. Now, we must hurry.”

”Did you hurt him?” Telal asked. “It..it wasn’t his fault.” Chills ran down his spine. “You did not hurt him, did you?”

Bou exhaled. “You ask too many questions.”

After gazing up at him for a moment, Telal finally accepted his hand. His palm was hard with callouses, but gentle as they continue to walk down the long hallway together. With slave that passed by, the child could barely look them in the face. He tried to keep up with the overseer best he could and ignore the thought of his bloody clothes in his mattress.

When they stepped outside, the sun blinded Telal’s eyes, causing him to shield his face.

“Ah, finally!” Papa exclaimed. He rose from his chair and set down his cup of wine. Next to him stood a tall, slender man, dressed in strange dark robes. They had both been deep into conversation before turning around. Bou let go of Telal’s hand and urged him forward.

The warm morning sun was just peeking over the trees—with the sky cast in an orange and pinkish hue. Birds sang in the air, and the water in the fountain was sparkling, glittering like fine gems. Telal walked slower, the elaborate patterned floor of the courtyard smooth and cold against the soles of his bare feet. It had likely been scrubbed earlier that morning—but by who? Despite the fact that there were slaves working away in the distance, he couldn’t really make out—

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“Telal.” His father’s sharp voice was an echo.

The boy jumped.

Bou slightly chuckled, causing Papa to glare at him. “Why are you still here? Leave us.”

As the overseer bowed, he gave Telal a slight wink and stepped out into the fields upon exiting the courtyard. Papa waited for his shadow to disappear amongst the tall plants, before moving forward and placing his hand on Telal’s left shoulder. The man in the dark robes was still, with only the wind catching in the fabric. His gray eyes remained fixated on the boy, who kept staring at the ground.

“Telal,” Papa calmly said. “I want you to meet Kuri. He shall be your instructor, and you will be training directly under him.” He gave the his son a stern look. “You shall do exactly as he says. I will not tolerate any disobedience.”

Telal did not answer.

His father released an exasperated sigh and gave the man a sheepish grin. “Forgive us. He is very dull, a bit slow in the head. You may have to exercise additional patience.”

Kuri chuckled and raised a hand. “He is but a child, Matthias. A mountain cannot be climbed in a day.”

”May I go inside?” Telal quickly asked, fidgeting with his hands. “Amata—”

”No,” Papa thundered. He picked up his wine glass and started to walk off, before turning and pointing at the boy. “The lesson is not over until I come out and say it is. And you shall be here, at this time, every morning from now on. Is that clear to you?”

Telal lowered his head. “Yes, Papa.”

With a satisfied grunt, his father stormed off, grumbling as he pushed past a slave carrying in a jug of water from the well. When Kuri’s shadow fell upon him, the boy didn’t move.

“Here.”

Telal slowly looked up, squinting in the morning light. “Why not a sword?”

Kuri frowned. “Do you wish to cut yourself up into pieces so soon? What a foolish question. You are indeed impatient. But do not worry, my lord. With time, good things come.” He gestured with his hand. “Now. Take this.”

After a moment of brief hesitation, Telal’s fingers slowly wrapped around the stick. It was long and straight, slightly heavy. He planned to use both arms, but Kuri abruptly shook his head and moved his left one away.

“No. Only one.” He paused. “Hold it out.”

”But—” the child timidly began.

“No. You need to build up strength in each one.” Kuri knelt down to Telal’s level, straightening out his elbow. “Like this. You never want to have your arm crooked. Ever.” He began to walk around the boy in a circle, with both hands clasped behind his back.

Telal’s arm slightly shook. He could make out the stick was slightly curved at the end. The burning sensation was building up in his shoulder. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck and back. His breaths grew heavier.

Shaped like the edge of a blade.

Shaped like the knot of a rope.

”There are two sides to the sword. The offense and the defense. You must learn to how utilize both to successfully overpower your enemy.” Kuri narrowed his eyes. He suddenly stopped. “Your sword is weightless.” He lightly pressed down on the boy’s arm. “I should not be able to bend this. It should remain firm and still. A rock. Sturdy as a rock.”

In the corner of his right eye, Telal could feel his father’s gaze from the balcony on the second floor of the villa, observing down below and refilling another glass of wine. His tiny fingers tightened around the splintered surface of the stick, although there was a fiery knot settling deep within his shoulder blade.

The following night, he snuck out to the shed again, carrying another basket full of food.

It was empty.

* * * * * * *

Telal stood in the middle of his dark room, gasping for air. There was smoke coming in. The air was so cold, but hot at the same time. There was no door. No windows. Nothing.

One side was on fire, being engulfed in bright orange flames. The other was splattered with a deep, hungry red. It spilled from his bed, leaking out from his sheds and climbing on the furniture, the rugs, the curtains. The red was all over his fingers. He scrubbed and scrubbed but it would not come out.

He frantically scrubbed again.

It could not.

You must be as sturdy like a rock.

In the dark, two figures smiled at him.

* * * * * * *

The boy rested his chin in his hand, pushing around the meat and vegetables on his plate. Strands of pale hair fell over his face. He tried to shut out Mother’s voice. His legs dangled from the seat. He tapped his sandal against the floor, before smearing the contents with his finger. She sat across from him, taking another sip of wine from her glass.

”Stop playing with your food.”

Telal lowered his hands. His fingernails were still faintly outlined with red. He slipped them under the table so he could not look at them.

It has been twelve days since he left the villa. Since he’s been at the quarters. He’d counted them. His arms were so sore it hurt to raise them over his head. He wasn’t sure he could survive another day here.

He also wasn’t sure he could look at Mother. She smelled like fine perfume, and her earrings and necklace clashed with the light of the oil lamps in the dining room. It was a cloudy outdoors—looked like a storm was fast approaching. The slaves had made sure to secure the curtains, so they would not blow violently all over the place.

You must be sturdy like a rock.

“I’m not hungry,” Telal whispered.

”You said that last night.”

”I had a big lunch.”

Mother frowned, got up from her seat and knelt next to him. When she placed her hand under his chin, she exhaled. “You need to eat, child.” She shook her head. “I shall have—”

”May I go to the courtyard and play with my ball?” the boy asked. “Only for a while.”

Mother glanced out the window. “Looks like the storm is coming. You best stay here.”

”I won’t be long. Just for some air.”

She sighed. “Alright. Amata can—”

”She doesn’t have to come,” Telal quickly said. He pushed his plate aside. “I will be by the fountain. You can see me from here. When it rains, I can come in. Please?”

A bewildered expression came upon Mother’s face. “Alright. But only for a while, before your father notices. You come straight back and finish your meal. I don’t want you getting ill.”

The boy nodded, leaping from his chair and rushing down the hallway. Sorana rubbed her forehead, before taking a deep breath. After pouring herself a glass of wine from the clay pitcher, she took a few more sips.

* * * * * * *

The sky was a dark gray.

Leaves blew in the air, swirling and falling below. Telal quietly emerged from the door, holding his leather ball. He shivered as another gust of wind nearly swept him off his feet. Tucked beneath his cloak was the bloodied clothing he yanked from his mattress. After glancing at the villa behind him to ensure that no one was at the windows, he placed the ball at the edge of the fountain, before heading down the fields.

Flies buzzed around his arms, which he slapped away. Mud clung to his bare feet, but he kept moving forward as he pushed back one stalk after the other. He tripped, being coated completely in mud, but got to his feet.

Did I ever tell you this about Angus?

No, what?

She will eat anything. Even shoes.

Telal’s eyes burned. When he entered the woods, a light drizzle had begun. He stepped carefully over the rocks and sticks protruding from the chocolate earth; the sound of rushing water only drew him closer. His stomach twisted and flopped.

Lightning flashed in the sky, and the river was rising slowly. Telal drew his cloak closer to himself as he picked up two large rocks, wrapping the blood stained tunic around them. His fingers shook as he finally secured a clumsy knot. A fly landed on his face.

Carefully, he lowered the bundle into the water.

Bubbles rose from the murky surface, until finally, it began to sink further below. Water sloshed around the boy’s ankles as he made his way towards the shoreline and sat on the muddy riverbank. The lush, bright green trees bent toward the powerful winds. He watched the current gradually rise over the rocks. Hot, salty tears slowly dripped from his chin, landing on the ground below. He shook with quiet sobs before burying his face in his lap, hugging his knees tighter.

You must be sturdy like a rock.

It began to pour. He was soaked to the bone.