Chapter 3
Alejandro's thoughts spiraled, replaying last night's heated exchange with his father. The memory was so vivid that his surroundings blurred into insignificance. The beauty of dawn, with its warm golden hues bathing the estate, went unnoticed, as if he were isolated from the tranquility around him by a transparent barrier of preoccupation and internal chaos.
So engrossed was he in his inner turmoil that he didn't hear the approach of soft footsteps over the dew-kissed grass. He remained oblivious to another's presence until a familiar voice, tinged with an uncharacteristic gentleness, pierced his solitary confinement.
"Son, we need to talk."
The words, simple yet heavy with unspoken emotion, startled Alejandro. He turned to find his father, Ahmad, standing there. The man who had always been an unwavering pillar of strength and authority was now before him, his usual stern expression softened by the morning's gentle embrace or perhaps by the weight of what lingered between them.
Ahmad's unexpected presence jolted Alejandro, the softness in his father's tone disarming him further. It was as if those gentle words had reached into the tumultuous sea of his thoughts, grasping his floundering form and pulling him towards the surface, Alejandro realized that they were standing amidst the serene gardens, a stark contrast to the storm that raged within him until moments ago.
Ahmad paused beside the verdant bushes speckled with vibrant red berries. They were an ordinary sight, as common as any other plant in their lush estate.
"You've always enjoyed these, haven't you?" Ahmad's voice broke through the peaceful silence again, his eyes on the small fruits swaying gently with the morning breeze.
"Yeah, the 'sunberries'," Alejandro replied with a reminiscent chuckle. "I've snacked on them since I could walk. They're perfect little bursts of sweet and sour." To him, they were nothing more than a familiar, delicious treat, scattered throughout their vast gardens.
Ahmad smiled, a profound depth in his gaze as he reached for a cluster of the berries, letting them roll between his fingers. "There's more to these sunberries than meets the eye, Karmeem. They're not just a childhood snack. These are the fruits of our legacy."
He paused, the air around them heavy with years of untold stories. "These sunberries, as you call them, are where Zumac spice comes from. In my homeland, they're revered, a treasure of our culture and an emblem of our resilience. They were your mother's and my first venture. From these modest berries, we created the spice that laid the foundation of everything you see around us."
The revelation settled around Alejandro like a cloak, the bushes in their garden suddenly pulsating with a deeper life, a profound purpose. They were no longer just the backdrop to his youthful adventures; they were the keepers of his family's strength, determination, and roots.
"These unassuming plants, my son, represent our past struggles, our identity. They're a crucial ingredient in a larger story, one of heritage and survival," Ahmad continued, his words weaving the world around Alejandro in a different hue, instilling a newfound reverence for the 'sunberries' in him.
The berries, the garden, their whole estate seemed to breathe with a different rhythm now, aligning Alejandro with the ancestral pulse of his family's journey. Ahmad's story unfolded, painting images from a past Alejandro had never fully seen before. The younger man was silent, caught in the currents of his father's memories, each word a droplet in the river that had carried his family to this present moment.
“Father…”
"You see, Kareem," Ahmad interjected, noticing his son's intention to speak but deciding to steer the conversation deeper into the realms of his past, "when I first set foot in this city, I was invisible. Nobody among the crowds knew who I was. Just a young adult of seventeen with dreams bigger than his fears."
He paused, his gaze losing focus as if he were watching the scenes of his past play out before him. "I had nothing but my mother's recipes and a determination bordering on foolishness. I started my own little grub stall, nothing more than a few planks of wood held together by hope and determination. There, amidst the cacophony of market shouts and the clattering of carts, I grilled meats using my family's recipes and offered passersby a taste of home," Ahmad reminisced, a faraway look in his eyes as he was transported back to those defining days.
Ahmad smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "My first day, I sold just three. And who bought them? Friends from the neighborhood. The passersby, the locals, they weren't interested. Why would they be? They didn't trust a stranger, especially not some inexperienced kid."
His hands, those seasoned tools that built their life, gestured with a vibrancy as he recounted his journey. "But I observed, son. I learned. A market is not just a place to sell; it's a stage for a performance. Vendors must entice, allure, convince. The bustling noise, the cries of deals and offers, it's all part of the show. And the audience? The right audience makes all the difference. I needed people on the move, those seeking sustenance for a coin or two, something quick and satisfying."
A chuckle escaped him, softening the lines of his weathered face. "So, I turned to the city guards. Men and women who patrolled our streets, keeping us safe while hardly having a moment for a decent meal. I handed out free servings, 'For your service,' I'd tell them, offering a refreshing drink to wash it down. They returned, night after night, each time with a fellow guard or two in tow."
"But free food wasn't my endgame," he continued, his voice a low hum of recollection. "It was a connection, an investment. And it paid off when she came into my life… Your mother."
Ahmad's face softened, the edges of his soul bared open with the raw tenderness that only love etched deep within can evoke. "She was different. She loved the food, yes, but she hungered for more than just the meal. She sought the story, the hands behind the dish. And she pleaded, oh, how she pleaded to learn. 'Join me,' I offered, half in jest, yet wholly earnest. 'Learn on the job.' And that, my son, is how our journey began. Side by side, in a world that was just starting to taste the flavors we had to offer."
As Ahmad's voice trailed off, the impact of his tale settled around them. Alejandro felt the ground shift beneath him as the revelations poured from his father, each word uprooting his long-held perceptions. He was seeing, for the first time, not the unwavering patriarch, but a vulnerable, ambitious young boy hidden within the man. Empathy swelled within him, softening the hardened edges of resentment he had unknowingly nurtured. These seeds of understanding began to take root, blossoming into a profound connection that tugged at his heartstrings, urging him to reevaluate the narrative of their relationship.
"I've withheld things, important matters," Ahmad confessed, his eyes meeting Alejandro's. "But tonight, I will hide nothing. We will have no more secrets."
Ahmad's promise, earnest and unguarded, was like a spark in the dim room of Alejandro's apprehensions. Hope, tentative and fragile, began to warm his insides, knitting together the frayed edges of betrayal and disappointment that had once defined their relationship. Alejandro's heart trembled, daring to envision a future where father and son could stand on the common ground of transparency and mutual understanding.
Break
Leaving the peaceful gardens behind, Alejandro found himself next in the familiar yet starkly different ambiance of the training grounds. Here, the clanging of steel and the shouts of sparring replaced the tranquil morning's serenity. As Alejandro stepped into the familiar sands, the heat of the sun a mere echo against the fire of anticipation warming his blood. There, amidst the cacophony of practice bouts, stood Yusuf. Despite the loss of his arm, he held a wooden training sword with an authority that demanded respect, his stance balanced and sure.
Yusuf’s one-eyed smile was a challenge in itself. “Warm-up is over, Kareem. Show me your resolve!”
Without another word, Alejandro lunged forward, wooden sword gripped tightly. The clash of wood on wood resounded through the training grounds, each strike echoing the growing tension in the air. Yusuf’s single eye was a blazing beacon of intensity, the smile gone, replaced by a stern line of determination. “Enough playing, Kareem! Show me you can be more than just your father’s negotiator!”
Alejandro’s next lunge met air as Yusuf sidestepped with a fluidity that defied his years and lack of limb, his counter-strike catching Alejandro off guard. The thud against his side was a clear message; today was different. Today, Yusuf wasn’t just a mentor — he was a wall, unyielding and unforgiving.
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“You rely too much on charm and wit!” Yusuf barked, each word punctuated by a barrage of blows that drove Alejandro back, forcing him to defend rather than attack. “A smooth tongue can’t parry a strike. Your deals and trades won’t shield you from a pointed blade!”
Gasping, Alejandro barely deflected a downward swing aimed at his shoulder, the force of it sending jolts up his arm. He had no reprieve, no moment to consider a careful, quipped reply. Yusuf was upon him again, relentless, a storm Alejandro could neither predict nor contain.
“Your father’s world, the one he plans for you, it’s not just silk, silver and steel, boy. It’s life and death veiled in niceties!” Yusuf thrusted his wooden sword forward like a viper, and Alejandro twisted away just in time, feeling the wind of it against his cheek. “It’s secrets wielded like knives in the dark, alliances more fragile than glass. If you can’t stand against an old man, how will you fare against that?”
Stumbling on the uneven ground, Alejandro struggled to find his footing, the usual rhythm and flow of their spars shattered under Yusuf’s onslaught. He was being cornered, physically and mentally, forced to confront his own inadequacies.
“I — I understand,” Alejandro managed between labored breaths, but Yusuf snorted, unimpressed.
“Do you? Your heritage is a double-edged sword, lad. It’s time you grasped that handle firmly and started to swing with intent. No more dalliances in the market square, no more hiding behind crates of spice and silk. The real world awaits, and it won’t coddle you.”
With a final, resounding impact, Yusuf disarmed Alejandro, the wooden sword skittering away in the sand. Breathing heavily, Yusuf fixed Alejandro with a piercing stare, his point made clear without another word. Today marked a change, a shift from gentle guidance to stark, hard truth.
Alejandro, chest heaving and sweat mixing with the dust on his brow, met Yusuf’s gaze with a nod of grim understanding. The lesson was not in swordplay — it had never been. It was in survival, in the harsh, unforgiving reality of the world he was poised to inherit.
With a final mutual nod, acknowledging the end of their spar, Yusuf's demeanor softened, and he gestured Alejandro to follow. "Drink with me when I am back. We have much to contemplate. The game is much like this spar, my boy, but in that world, every piece moves in deadly silence."
"Where are you off to, Uncle?" Alejandro asked, detecting an unusual solemnity in Yusuf's demeanor that day.
Yusuf paused, his one-eyed gaze holding more gravity than Alejandro was accustomed to, before he responded, "I'm stepping out for a few days. Have a drink with me when I return?"
Alejandro caught the weight underlying the casual invitation, a seriousness cloaked in the familiar. This 'drink' wasn't a mere social call; it was a prelude to something far more substantial. Understanding dawned on him, and with a respectful nod, he agreed, "Of course, Uncle. I'll be there."
Break
In the wake of the late morning’s brutal training, Alejandro found himself amidst the familiar chaos of the docks, a world seemingly untouched by Yusuf’s harsh admonitions. Yet, even there, the atmosphere was tainted, thick with an unease that whispered through the crowd, an undercurrent of tension that the young merchant couldn’t afford to ignore — though he tried.
The docks, usually a place of escape and clarity for Alejandro, now felt like a stage set for a play he hadn't rehearsed. The vibrant cacophony of traders and porters carried a different tune, one of caution. Their spirited shouts seemed strained, the laughter a beat too late. It was as if the world moved around him, heavy with a secret Alejandro wasn’t privy to, a story unfolding just beyond his sight.
But Alejandro was preoccupied, his mind a tempest of anticipation and anxiety, echoes of Yusuf's words still ringing in his ears amidst visions of future discussions with his father and mentor. He moved from one task to another — inspecting, negotiating, reassuring — the mask of the composed merchant prince firmly in place, even as his heart raced with uncertainties.
Uncle Markesh’s familiar figure was a beacon of normalcy in the charged environment. As they delved into discussions over the exotic spices that had just arrived, Alejandro clung to the routine, using the talk of potential deals and trade alliances to anchor himself. He shared, with a voice that carried false confidence, his eagerness for the evening, where decisions shaping their future awaited. Markesh, with his keen eyes that missed little, gave him a measured nod, perhaps understanding that Alejandro stood on the precipice, the ground beneath him more fragile than he realized.
As the docks heaved with life, a living tapestry of humans and their wares, there was an undercurrent, a murmur that seemed to sift through the crowd. Amidst the cacophony, Alejandro caught snippets of hushed conversations — "Del Castillos," "last night," "bazaar," "guards" — words that fluttered past him like leaves in a breeze. They tickled his consciousness, but he brushed them aside, attributing them to the everyday gossip that often permeated marketplaces.
He even chuckled to himself, amused at the constant appetite for drama these tales seemed to feed, his focus steadfast on the commerce that flowed around him. That was, until a sudden, piercing shortcut through the noise, a lone word that clamped around his heart with icy fingers.
"ALEJANDRO!"
As a shrill, desperate voice cut through the crowd, Alejandro's heart leapt to his throat. A boy, small and breathless, weaved through the masses towards him. Alejandro's stomach knotted with dread, sensing that something was terribly amiss. Alejandro’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized one of the messenger boys from his family’s estate.
The boy arrived, panting, his small chest heaving and face flushed from exertion. His eyes were wide, bright with fear and weighted with seriousness that children his age should not know. Gasping for breath, he could barely squeeze the words out, but what he managed turned Alejandro’s blood cold.
"Uncle Ahmad... Del Castillo... guards... fountain..." the boy gasped out, the urgency in his broken phrases shredding through Alejandro's momentary respite by the fountain.
Without another moment's hesitation, Alejandro was in motion. The color drained from his face, replaced by a resolve forged in sudden terror. He sprinted, his breath ragged, as a new kind of chaos took hold of his world. The docks, the people, the whispered warnings he had so carelessly ignored — all faded into a blur as he ran, the implications of the boy's urgent message fueling his speed.
"No, not the fountain," he thought, heart pounding in his chest, the echo of history and a foreboding sense of repetition propelling his feet faster.
As Alejandro dashed closer to the central fountain, the crowd thickened, a sea of bodies gathered in a mix of confusion and curiosity. The air was a cacophony of hushed whispers, panicked questions, and the shuffling of feet as more and more people congregated. Each step he took seemed to amplify the tension in the atmosphere, an invisible thread pulling him toward the epicenter of the commotion.
The world narrowed to a chaotic tunnel as Alejandro forced his way through the thickening crowd, the words he overheard twisting in his stomach like a knife. "ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT BY THE HEAD OF THE DARWAI FAMILY," someone shouted above the cacophony, the accusation an absurd impossibility that fueled his desperation. It couldn't be. Not his family, not his father...
"No..." he gasped, the denial a useless defense against the reality unfolding before his eyes.
His heart pounding, Alejandro pushed through the crowd, the cacophony around him growing distant as dread tightened its grip. The fountain, usually a symbol of peace, now seemed to mock the chaos as he saw his father, bound and forced to his knees.
"ANY LAST WORDS?" barked an official Alejandro didn't recognize, his voice cruel in its neutrality.
Time slowed, the world hushing as if leaning in to catch Ahmad Darwai's final breath. His father, proud and unyielding even in the face of death, lifted his head. His eyes, dark mirrors of the resolve that had built an empire, found Alejandro's across the distance. The connection, a silent bridge, carried with it a lifetime of unspoken understanding, of lessons taught and yet to be learned.
"Let the sunberries guide you, my boy..." Ahmad's voice was a low rumble, only just carrying over the crowd's murmur, his message a private beacon for the son who needed him still.
Before Alejandro could process the words, before he could scream out or step forward, the end came with brutal swiftness. Two spears pierced his father's body as a third cruel blade swung, severing his head in a grotesque arc. The act, so barbaric, so utterly final, sent a shockwave through the crowd. There were gasps, a swell of disbelieving whispers, cries of horror... but Alejandro heard none of it.
He stood there, frozen, as the world crumbled around him. The bustling market, the fountain of whispered betrayals, his future, his past... everything drowned in the echoing void left by his father's final words. The sunberries' meaning, once a mystery, now became a haunting enigma that had claimed its keeper. The reality of his father's death, the cruelty of it, was a jagged shard in his soul, an anchor dragging him into an abyss of despair and uncharted vengeance.
Rage consumed Alejandro, a searing, blinding inferno that turned his vision to a hue of blood-red. His father's body was barely cold, the reality a nightmare he refused to accept. Without thought, without caution, he lunged at the guards with a primal roar, his world narrowed to the singular focus of avenging the man who had given him everything.
The guards, taken aback by his fury, were slow to react. One even had the audacity to share a disbelieving chuckle with his comrade, entirely dismissing the bereaved son's wrath. It was a fatal mistake. Like a fierce tempest, Alejandro threw himself into a flying kick, fueled by every ounce of despair and fury within him. His feet connected, and the surprised guards tumbled to the ground in a clatter of armor and shock.
But Alejandro's target wasn't the flimsy barricade of guards; it was the official, the orchestrator of his world's demise. He surged forward, every stride a battle against the shackles of his own humanity. He reached the official, his hands just brushing the fabric of the man's attire, a tangible contact that promised retribution.
It was then that something glinted at the edge of his blurred vision—a fleeting warning before strong arms seized him, pulling him back with force that betrayed panic beneath the armor. Alejandro struggled, a caged beast driven mad by grief, but the guards were regaining their composure, their training kicking in as they wrestled to restrain the embodiment of sheer agony and rage.
And then it came—a heavy, armored backhand that collided with Alejandro's face with the force of finality, a brutal punctuation that sent a shockwave of pain through his skull, rattling his senses. As he staggered, the world around him—lit by the fires of vengeance and sorrow—started to dim, the shadows crawling in as consciousness slipped unceremoniously away, and Alejandro's world plunged into darkness.