AKKADIAN EMPIRE
2130 BCE
Hirom could still taste the fire.
It swallowed up the sky, the trees, the birds, the people around him, engulfing everything into a murky orange, reddish hue. His three older brothers had disappeared into the smoke. He heard his younger sister crying, and although he wanted to go to her, he could not, for the smoke blocked his nose and mouth. She was still in their house, which had also been lit up in flames, set off by the torches of the towering soldiers that had spilled into their tiny village like ants.
It was nighttime.
He had woken up in a daze—half asleep but his heart was also fluttering, like he had been running for a very, very long time. He felt his mother’s smooth hands quickly guide him outside of the burning house. She had knelt in front of him, as he coughed and coughed and coughed before disappearing into the orange yellow flames spilling out from the doorway of their home. He wanted to ask where his father was, but she fiercely told him,
Qavah.
Hirom screamed for her to come back, but the only reply he received was the sound of crackling wood and the raging flames as it continued to hungrily devour the wood and clay—bits that made up their small but humble hovel. He screamed at her to come again, yet his voice was swallowed up by the pounding hooves of the horses around him and the shrieks and wails of his people.
A towering man wearing thick armor stood over him. His eyes blazed like coal, visible behind the large helmet on his head. His purple clock blew in the wind. Surely, he was a god himself. Hirom, dazed by the brightness of the flames, attempted to flee, but the soldier’s towering grasp lifted him off the ground. His tiny legs dangled beneath him, and he could almost hear the man chuckle, speaking a strange tongue that he knew nothing about. In a fit of desperation, he sank his teeth deep into the man’s forearm. There was a shout from the man, a sudden pounding in his head, before the world became swallowed up in complete darkness.
* * * * * * *
Hirom’s eyes fluttered open.
His small wrists were bound in chains that dangled down to his muddy bare feet, which were also shackled. He kept shivering, looking about at the wooden structure enclosed around him and hundreds of other bodies squeezed in the humid space around him. Like fish, they struggled to breathe through a crack present in the rotting boards of the ship, their shackles and teeth gleaming. Their fingers clawed and dug into their flesh, leaving behind dark red marks on their skin.
To Hirom, they were rūḥās—for he could neither see their faces—their bodies were empty black shapes that contorted, their eyes white spheres that dimmed away over time. The stench of urine and feces was overpowering to the point that a heavy dizziness settled over the young boy. He did not know this place, or where he was going. He longed to search for his mother, or sister, or any of his brothers—he begged her to come back and bring him home, that he would never fight with either of them again. He cried each night, curled up in a ball, over washed by the moans and cries of those locked in this small place with him.
The constant swaying of the hull made his stomach hurt. Each day was a battle. His lips were dried and cracked; although the strange men on the ship brought water a few times a day, he found himself unable to keep it down. Let alone anything, for that matter. His tunic was drenched in vomit, and his bowels had given up, leaving a sticky mess below him.
His throat burned from the bile pooling up behind his throat, and most of the time he was far too weak to even keep his eyes open. He recalled being next to a young woman, shackled next to him, her clothing in tatters. She tried passing him small bits of bread and meat that she had been saving over time when the guards weren’t looking, to get him to sip water. He struggled to make sense of her words, as she spoke to him in Greek. Mostly, she communicated with her hands.
By the end of the third night, she had fallen asleep. Hirom had tried to shake her awake, but she did not respond. Her body had begun to show strange colors, her eyes staring at the feces covered ground for an eternity. Flies had collected around her mouth, and her skin was bubbling at the edges. Two guards dragged her out and tossed her into the ocean, where it landed with a heavy splash, swallowed up by the thick white foam.
* * * * * * *
“What is the meaning of this?”
Hirom immediately shrank back behind the boxes in the overcrowded wagon, placing his thumb into his mouth. A large, burly man with thick, curly blonde hair stared back at him, wearing a long, velvet robe and jeweled sandals. His face was red, cheeks sunken in, cold blue eyes staring into the depths of his soul. They were the very ones that Hirom wanted to get away from—reminding him of the soldier’s the night his village was ablaze.
”Utua. Explain yourself.”
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There was a pause, then a shadow. The sound of sandals crunching against gravel. Even from behind the golden haired man, the quiet presence of the other figure made Hirom breathe a little easier. Utua gave the boy a fierce look of disapproval, before bowing politely. The sound of birds chirping filled the crisp air as the warm sunlight spiked over him. Although Hirom couldn’t see quite well over the boxes, he realized that the wagon was in a vast, green field. With multiple fields, full of ripe crops. On the left side was the largest home he had ever seen—made out of marble, clay, and precious stones. It glowed in the early morning light.
”My dear lord Matthias, I plead for your forgiveness,” Utua quietly said. “Nearly all of the best slaves had been sold off at auction at Ur. This was the only one—”
”You dare give me a weakling?” Matthias shouted. “You stupid old man. You ought to be hung from the gallows for refusing to obey my orders.” With a swift motion, he pulled Hirom roughly from the boxes, causing the boy to release a high pitched scream. “Don’t you see how filthy he is? If he spreads a disease to me, my wife, or any of children, we shall all perish. All over a dirty slave.”
Utua kept his head low. “Forgive me.”
Matthias narrowed his eyes. “As punishment, you are to work an additional night in the fields for the upcoming weeks.” When he released the child, he landed upon the ground with a thud. “Get this creature out of my sight. If he crosses paths with me again, your workload with be doubled.” After giving Hirom a dark look, he strode towards the house, where a woman wearing a bright blue dress appeared at the doorway. She started to ask him a question, but he roughly pushed past her.
Utua released a heavy sigh and bent down to scoop the boy into his arms. But before he could, Hirom took off running through the fields. He could hear the man’s voice echo through the plants that swayed in the wind.
“No! Stop!”
* * * * * * * *
Hirom could taste the flames.
The smell of burning flesh seeped into his nose and throat. He could hear the sound of the horse’s hooves thudding against the ground, even harder then his own bare feet against the dirt soil. He slammed into a woman balancing apples over her head just turning around the corner. There were smaller houses, much more like his village, the smell of smoke rising from the small campfires pitted into the ground. His chains bounced and swung into him, bruising his flesh.
Qavah.
He longed to hear his mother’s voice. But it was Utua’s that rang out again as he scrambled up a hill, past the many men and women bent down in the fields, barely lifting up their brown faces from the towering plants to meet his tear stained one. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was in a courtyard—the ground elegantly paved with patterns of different stones. The sound of trickling water met his ears, next to the marble statue of a man with his arm pointed towards the sky.
Nearby this statue was a large tree, its branches stretched out towards the sky. Golden leaves blew in the warm wind. Underneath its shaded path sat a young boy, his back slumped up against its large trunk. His hair matched the color of the leaves—and he was exceedingly pale, his large blue eyes focusing on Hirom who had stumbled in front of him, nearly toppling over in the fountain. Immediately, he stood up, his pale face full of great surprise. The ball that he had been callously kicking around before in the wide, empty courtyard now rolled into the bushes, whatever game that he had conjured up in his mind forgotten at the moment.
Both children stared at each other.
It was only for a brief moment, but the other boy continue to gaze at Hirom in awe. Never had he seen someone so close in age as he. As the son of a great master and the youngest out of seven, he was forbidden to go to the slave quarters, let alone even dare converse with any. What small number of children were there amongst the slaves, was minimal, as his father made sure to keep it that way discourage him from going to the quarters, as he had claimed it was a dangerous place. He had disobeyed once.
It had stirred up his wrath, placed fear into his son, who had seen but only five moons. But before he could say a word, Utua appeared from over the hill and snatched up Hiram from behind, who, had been distracted as well in that moment, let out an earth shattering scream, kicking and flailing his bare arms and legs. The soles of his bare feet were black.
“Master Telal,” Utua shouted over the noise, before attempting to give a bow. “Forgive us.”
In Utua’s presence, young boy lowered his head and looked away, kicking at a pebble with his jeweled sandal. He tried not to act interested; however, his heart was thudding with anticipation—hope that such lonely days were coming to an end. A possible playmate.
“I ask your lordship to forgive us for our sudden intrusion,” Utua continued, dodging Hiram’s blows. “I do not wish to disturb you.” Gritting his teeth, he carried the screaming child down the hill in his arms, cursing the gods in his mind with each and every step.
Telal waited until they had gone a great distance, before edging towards the right edge of the courtyard. But before he could get a better look at the strange boy, he heard his mother’s voice at the side door of the house.
”Telal! Get away from there. You could fall.”
The child sighed.
He felt his mother knelt down in front of him, her cool hands turn him around to face him as she began to wipe the sweat and dirt from his sunburned face. She made a noise with her throat as she felt his forehead with the back of her hand, which he roughly pushed away.
“Are you feverish?”
”No,” Telal said. “I am not.”
His mother didn’t look convinced. “We best go inside. It is time for the noon day meal.”
“Can I stay out here for a bit longer?”
”You know that that your teacher is waiting. Come, let us get ready.” She extended out her hand. “And you need to get cleaned up.”
Reluctantly, Telal accepted her palm. When he was sure that she wasn’t looking, he cast one last glance at the vast fields behind him, where Utua and Hirom were only mere dots, before slipping into the dimly lit house.