Blood [Epic of the Mediterranean

4TH CENTURY B.C. MARGIANA, CITY IN SOGDIANA, THE PERSIAN EMPIRE She wasn’t ready to leave. Not while her world burned before her eyes.  Golden infernos which enveloped the Kinkha palace of Margiana became outrageous as they seethed through the adjoining chambers, singeing down even the Ziggurat. A formidable vision which had extended the appalling news not only through the kingdom of Bactria but the farfetched lands of various other Persian states and adjoining empires. This was also because the original family had erected a second building on the outskirts of Sogdiana in order to remain concealed from the general eye. It could be interpreted that their arrangement had failed incalculably along with the defense, charring down both castles with it. It won’t be wrong to quote that it wasn’t the incapability of the army, but the prodigious layout and carrying forward of orders from the enemy’s side. The Kinkha were very well acquainted that they didn’t possess extended periods of time before the palaces were under the clutches of the imperial states, but for it to be so sudden, little had they predicted.  The ablaze fortresses were enough to narrate the doom which the Kinkha household had met, faster than words, for the roars of people who were either slayed or burnt alive with their blood dripping down the dusty plains mixed with the explosions of gold was abundant in itself. The only thing which spread faster than fire was the fear of the Lord of Bactria himself, for, many also interpreted it as a threat to anyone who had raised suspicions on him lately for the increasing land masses under his direction. He was the ‘ruler of the east’. After Gandhara and Arachosia, this was the fourth state to become an auxiliary of his administration which had received backing from the shahanshah of Persia. Not merely because Lord Asmaka was favored by the young emperor, but because this overextended the borders of his empire even further. The emperor fully supported this m******e, for the fight was ignited against the common enemy of entire Persia. Men elevated distrust over the culminating supremacy of Asmaka but didn’t dare voice their thoughts out of sheer dread.       “Make it quick!” An-Ki tried to calm the horse which was running into frenzy, unable to combat the anxiety building out of the mayhem.  “We don’t have much time, Lady An-Ki”, a strange tranquil fell on the expressions of Ziba as she looked at her mistress, the last survivor of the clan, with strong will, “It’s just you, alright. Go east, I’ll see things here and come get you soon. Get out of Persia as of now.” The Lady’s face fell astounded. It was already a wonder, procuring a chance to live. If she returned, it wasn’t even a question that she won’t return. “If anyone, it should be I who walks back in.” Her family had been assassinated without her obtaining a gamble to fight for them. Though she was sure that they hadn’t expected anything from her, it didn’t rationalize her not doing the needed. It was but clear that she won’t be able to see their faces one last time either. Even if she did get a chance, perhaps it would be better for her not to.  “Listen to me. It is my duty to ascertain your wellbeing. I must provide a proper cremation to your people. Also, you have to be alive to avenge them.” Roars from the foe became closer. It was a matter of time before they found out about them. Ziba looked back, stopping her horse while sharply whipping the other into motion, “Trust on your God, he will help you. As on my end, I promise to not die here”, the knight said as the lady frantically tried to control the horse. She bit her lip in pain and anticipation, clenching onto an ancestral jewel on her neck as the beast rushed away with the rider through the secret passage in the outer fortress walls.    Even though the reminiscence was a fresh scar, unheeded, open and rugged by the intolerant ether, An-Ki failed to attain a moment of mourn for the tragic end of her bloodline. The actuality of the three days which she had subsisted in the process of fleeing had dawned on her every second, along with the truth that she wasn’t even familiar with the intention of the murderers she was to hide from. Ziba’s whereabouts were still unknown, and she didn’t intend on playing any blame games either. Besides, with what face was she to meet her sight, being the person who had absconded when her family was facing the wrath of death itself. What more evidence was necessary to ascertain that Ziba had dignity unlike her? One thing she had realized was how much remorse she felt, which was an element of surprise. Guilt will always stand stronger than thankfulness. At this point she was thoroughly convinced that she deserved nothing but the end, for it would at least set her free from the pain of repentance. If she wasn’t available for struggling in the name of her family’s pride, receiving death the utmost glorious way, she failed to perform her obligations. That being said, An-Ki highly doubted whether they would have actually considered her a part of them to begin with.  Days were filled with endless misery, the conditions of people far beneath hers excruciating her. The very gusts of the deadly heat were enough to knock down anyone who wasn’t adapted to them. What aggrieved her more was to hear hate and abhorrence sprouting out of numerous throats for the name she boar. Even though the burning down of Kinkha was on the tongue of every person she came across, it was highly cynical for anyone to recognize her.  Vary of her steps, the woman had decided on heading to the temple of Enlil on the outskirts of the state for the time being. Not only was it safe for her as a Sumerian to stay in the abode of her family deity, but also because it was none other than the Kinkhas who had built it. And it wasn’t the only one either. They had erected Ziggurats in the name of their God around and beyond the lands of Bactria and through the kingdom of eastern Scythia. This was because the Mesopotamian faith was unwavering in the household, for only God can save you and culture illuminates you with supernatural strengths. None such constructions were to be found in the boundaries of the Persian Empire anymore except for a few, and for the ones which once existed, they were ripped apart, such was the loath. Sumerians were scarcely left in Persia to begin with; hence no one had tried to rebuild them further.    Just as the reins were jerked back, the horse neighed while hovering the front half of its trunk into the air before coming to a halt. The veil didn’t possess much meaning from further here. Untying it allowed the forbidding squalls of heat and dust hold her skin captive to its brutal treatment. Sun was still as proud and unforgiving as ever with its rays scorching down upon the life way feeble than itself. Surely, she knew that she won’t be able to bear it for any longer. Even though her hair and body were still ornamented, exchanging them for food had never seemed to be a good idea. Naya staggered, biting her lips in distress. Her sword, Amarezen, the only cherished ally, wasn’t present to support her in this disgraceful state. What had she brought with herself? Nothing. Everything was already lost; even if she was to die here, her flouted carcass would go unheeded and nameless. She pushed forward with a loud grunt, only for her legs to give up near the brick stairs as she dug her fingernails into the dust in order to push herself up somehow. Futile efforts.  For the odds to be in her favor, the priest was still present in the chapel, cleaning after the morning prayers and offerings. It mustn’t be receiving many funds for maintenance. Unsightly, how everything which was even faintly affixed to her people had been humiliated and destroyed till this extent. If she got caught alive, even thinking about all that they may do to her was spine chilling. Surely, the Babylonian era had come to an end along with its empire, and nothing could preserve its existence any longer. Soon, following the tragedy of its name and rule, all the history and knowledge which once was its epitome pride would be wiped out completely for it to only exist in fables.     The priest was taken by surprise at the sight of her motionless figure near the steps. The dark overhead cloak dismembered, revealing that she wasn’t in fact a vagrant. “Oh lord, what is this”, he bellowed, attaining to her aid. Inaudible prayers in Assyrian under his breath, he shook gently, bearing no effect. Without thinking twice, he offered her support, her partially hollow body being not too heavy to pull up. Persian bandits could be life threatening to him, lest she turns out to be from the empire. A priest is a follower of truth and would help anyone who requires it till the extent he can. Any questions now would be unethical from his side.  Laying the unconscious body firmly on the mattress meant for holy rites, he took off the cloak before bringing a basin of water. Her sweltering skin was provided with a drenched cloth in order to offer some relief from the heat stroke. Leaving it over her neck, his eyes strolled over something peculiar from the corner. He was taught, even though not too thoroughly, about the treatment of the unethical and the most rigorous litanies.   For a clearer interpretation, he picked up the maiden’s hand. The carving of the seven chakras was prominent enough on the forearm, an early engraving, with two snakes enveloping it. A complete Kundalini. It possessed much meaning, and he knew about it. He knew about who she was, many people would. Unsuspected but not much startling. Raising up and lumbering through the offering table, he returned with a beige liquid which was given to her. An herbal rejuvenation from the further east.  The antidote seemed to work just fine on her. Unnoticeable disturbances in the lids preceded weary blinking of her round, green orbs as minutes passed. The place had a calming presence which was very much needed indeed, to put her mind at ease. At least there wasn’t any awaiting harm for now. Her eyes shifted from the priest to the statue of Enlil as she closed them briefly for offering a silent prayer of gratitude. The priest approached her again, offering water, “It’s alright. Have whatever you may need.” “Many thanks”, An-Ki stood up, bowing lightly as a token of appreciation, “But I fear that it would have been better if you would have left me to perish in the embrace of the lord. I seek death, and his mercy might have redeemed my sins.” The young woman looked with eyes full of ache and grief at the stone statue which was more pious than any gilded monument for the ones who believed. “And what would make you think so? Don’t say such depressing things disciple of Lazar.” She blinked at the words, of course he knew. Who wouldn’t? “If he wanted so, no power would have been able to save you. Perhaps you are supposed to live. Have hope and the clouds of darkness will be swept away, even if it divulges a path full of bristles.”  The words facilitated the conflicting thoughts inside her mind which had never settled since she made the escape, tormenting her endlessly. She could have turned back on her trace to her burnt down home but returning into the mouth of doom took valor. Secondly, she felt obliged to accept the pleas of Ziba, or was it just an excuse? While the dead silence fell between the two, the footsteps of another visitor reclaimed her guard. Fairly before her fingers could reach for the cape, someone tugged her on the shoulder. Without a single second of wait she pulled out her blade right before the person’s throat. Stealing quick glances all around her, she frowned. There wasn’t anyone except for a single man, it couldn’t be them.  “It really is you.” A familiar face yet no recollections. Taking a step back she skimmed thoroughly. He wore profligately, another presidential noble. A man in his early thirties with a face which seemed more anxious than intimidating.  He hissed, as if trying to maintain the confidentiality of this meeting, before pulling off his own cloak, “Don’t be afraid, I am a friend.” Naya bit her lip in surprise and anticipation, never withdrawing the edge of the knife from his skin. Stranded in such crisis, anyone would look forward to an ally, even though believing them so quickly could only be considered as foolish. She waited for him to continue, but the acquaintance was short lived. The garish neighing of horses and the roar of numerous hooves caught them both off guards.  The man flinched as he drew away hastily. “I just had to make sure whether it was you or not. Don’t speak of me to anyone young lady of Kinkha. We will reach you soon.” Concealing his identity remained his principal concern as he hurried off as hastily as he had come. The interrogations concerning him had left her mind identically, which was instead pounded over by the utter dread of what was to be done. Surfs of dust filled the air around her, which made her eyes squint. Nonetheless, it became cleaner and clearer as the sand settled down back again. But it was in no way for the better as now the frame was instead occupied by men thoroughly equipped with arms. Her face squirmed. What deceit, a dozen charging against one.  “An-Ki Kinkha, the last surviving descendant. Hm, nothing more than a disgraceful traitor if you ask me”, the leader spoke in distaste while gesturing his subordinates to get hold of her. “As for you”, he addressed the priest with his eyebrows taking a dangerous arch, “Have you not heard about the death warrant? It is the grace of his highness the emperor that this place is still standing. It won’t be anymore, I’ll make sure of it.”   An-Ki clenched her fist, how persistent. A tongue this sharp is deemed to be sliced off. The young militaries progressed swiftly towards her with the target of her shoulder, the intention being a quick surrender to her knees so as to tie her up. They didn’t seem to carry the intention of killing her. Surely, the General won’t come after her himself. Even though it hadn’t lasted for long, she had received teachings of combat from the grand sage and hereditary teacher of the Sumerian sovereigns. Grasping the wrist shuffles away, she drew it above his head before meandering it behind him. Their eyes crackled at the faint sight of the lapis lazuli saber, a self-efficient beauty possessing the hardiness of a thousand diamonds. The grip on the captivating blue blade was linear which induced her to use less wrist crusade and delivered brute cuff force instead to form deep cuts through the flesh. The sleekness was such that it could be drawn out just as swiftly, the remarkable aspect being the fact that the blood never tainted the oceanic dragger for longer than a few seconds. She held on her breath. Death won’t come to her right here, she had to make sure of it.  Skin splashed with crimson; An-Ki raised a brow. No more advances towards her, the ground dashed with unconscious bodies. Perhaps she could get out of this alive, at least for this one time. Striding back on her toes, she stumbled upon something, bringing attention to the gore underneath her feet. Why now, her eyes squirmed. She had done it again. It wasn’t the first time that s*******r had exhumed distress of post trauma. That was also the reason why she tried distancing herself from warfare as much as possible. Only, it was getting worse for the past few years. “What are you appalled by? Isn’t this an ancestral trait”, calm jutted in the General’s remark, the intended sarcasm unravelling quite as he might have liked. He walked with symmetrical and graceful steps until he was right in front of her, unsheathing his sword. An-Ki scowled as she sneaked an attack at him. “How shameful, you are not living up to your family’s eminence”, he dodged it rather easily while turning himself to her side, landing a fine crash on her head with the gold rimmed pommel instead of the blade. Blacking her out in an instant.  The men acted quickly before the orders, coming forward to pick up the passed-out body. As it seemed, their royal jurist, General Dara already had that covered. “Death hasn’t been ordered to be dawned onto you, as of yet”, he revealed, emphasizing how he possessed no other obligation to spare her life. His true nature was a complete opposite of what he displayed. Loathe could make elegance dissolve into its own existence, birthing all the contrasting negatives. “But then again, death would have been a better alternative”, he murmured more to himself than anyone else, knowing his master the best. It wasn’t the skin she wore, her body or her identity which had landed her in these crises, but the very blood which ran in her veins. And for every last person who shared that blood, the master won’t allow a death as easy as she would have received right now. *** Yakuba pushed back his brown mane as he reached to the doors of his work cabin in contempt at whosoever had dared to disturb the prestigious shaman at the break of dawn as such. He never accepted trades so early in the morning, not when he was meditating he did not. He was already the center of doubt for he didn’t seem like a person graced by their God. He wasn’t from their land, let alone be acquainted with their ‘God’! Truth to be told, he was working on mastering the art of ointments, what he was more concerned about being he himself. Persia was famed for its knowledge in healing among others, and there were reasons to it. He was proceeding over sixty and to still maintain the ripen youth of early twenties was a challenging task in itself, he had to work for it. The year too was to be planned through grave astrological calculations, something which he wasn’t an expert in. Also, the length of the gap wavered from ten to over fifteen years, a precious time to accrue what you want. That is when most people conducted special rituals and fasts. Of course, he couldn’t afford to waste it.  He also wanted to attain the title of an alchemist, but then again it was just as impossible as him becoming respectable. A shaman who didn’t possess the power of healing and medicine, of course people queried him. He had already got himself entangled into serious havoc much time back. Yet, he somehow managed to get out of it. His actual intentions were to attain some extra fortune through deceit. Well, what is in past should be left there.  His silver earpieces dangled forward as he bent headfirst for the guest. Before he could manage a word of hostility, his tongue twisted into a knot. If anyone, he hadn’t expected this man to show up in front of his porch the first thing at sunrise. The corners of his mouth slowly curved up, “Now, now, what brings the lord of Bactria here? What a shame, you could have simply summoned me.” Asmaka’s dark, inexplicably curved eyebrows arched up while his expression remained as unimpressed as ever, “You won’t invite us in?” Yakuba sneaked a look beside him. Of course, there were a few other men with sacks underneath their grips, waiting for their master’s orders to unload them.  He frowned. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t some random offering to him. Until and unless there was some job, he won’t get to see Asmaka’s face to begin with. The dark and heavy air hovering all over the place helped him guess for the worst. The news was true, another battle. Not a good omen. “Why of course. Make yourself home in this humble dwelling of mine, Lord”, Yakuba paved the way into the dorm which was only big enough for a person to practice his art comfortably. Antique carpentry mixed along with a tasteless yet colorful mess of numerous prized artifacts, the uses of which were impossible to tell. An enormous cabinet full of small glass bottles which seemed to be holding all the different shades of the sky in liquid magic. Not a single reply from the royal master as he came to stand inside with his arms crossed over his marble chest. He might have given orders to the servants for now they had deflated the entire bags onto the floor. But for one thing, Yakuba made no remarks. The dorm sparkled with such priceless jewels that the ground was nowhere to be seen. “What did I do to make you so impressed? For, if it is just out of your benevolence, I am ready to accept it nonetheless.” “This is everything that my men were able to procure from the Kinkha fortresses”, the Lord stated in a calm voice which was deep but smooth with sharpness just where it was needed. “I want you to find the treasure of Anoshiruram for me”, he said as if it were the most common of things. Yakuba’s eyes curved at the question with humor, “Yes?” “You heard me. Just do what I say, now would you?” Treasures of Anoshiruram were a series of precious stones from a common treasury which were spread unaccounted around empires. But they had a special meaning to themselves, a power to influence the fortune and faith of the holder, the exceptional factor being that the chances of gaining and losing were equal. Each had its own meaning, an independent purpose, like any other precious stone. A common phenomenon like that of the dragons, with a different legend everywhere. God for some while a monster for others. Only, no one really knew about their whereabouts until they came into the possession of someone who intended on flaunting them. It was a firm belief that the stone was involved in many wars, only to bring doom upon the ones who actually possessed it. Either way, they weren’t something on which a person would go on to invest all his life for there were better things to achieve, knowledge to be learnt and potentials to be unleashed. How was Asmaka stating it to be present among the assets of a Babylonian family? The empire had lost its independence to the Persian’s eons ago, even if there was anything precious in that country it would have been robbed off. Kinkhas, if talked about separately, had lost the battle with the Persian household and fled to Sogdiana. Much of the things would have been destroyed in that itself. “And how are you so sure that it is present among these?” Asmaka sneered, “I don’t feel obliged to tell you.” He was already in no mood to have a conversation, yet it would make him look irrational. Explaining would make more sense, after all, this man would buy anything he makes up. “Anyway, the bandits of Kinkha were able to overthrow all the many presidential states, and even landed their contemptible hands over the imperial throne, only to end up losing next to everything and living a secluded life in order to protect themselves in the end. I refuse to believe that this insane raising and falling of a dynasty was a mere play of time. Now that I have a chance, why won’t I try to dig it up for myself?” Yakuba narrowed his eyes as he went on to sit on the chair which he had fixed for the man who refused all attempts of hospitality. “What if I say that was all because Cyrus allied his troops with them? They also had support from the Sumerians in the empire based on which Eshaya had formed a whole commotion ready to overthrow the shahanshah, what do you expect? It was all a very clever play of minds. And as for how the first prince ascended for the first time”, Yakuba paused, for a lot many changes had occurred since then and recollecting all the past from when he first migrated here, everything seemed surreal, “We all know it was because Jwala took all the foreign and internal affairs of the collapsed dynasty in her own hands.” But with the current situation going on in the capital of Ecbatana, Yakuba highly doubted whether it was all right for him to talk about her now. Especially when the Lord too was so closely a part of that. If anything, Yakuba would instead find it more rational to assume that there was a Descendant of God involved in all that. “Believe me, Yakuba”, Asmaka sighed in frustration, “You have only heard about the stories, I have witnessed it. There was no way that the army of the Kinkhas were running on mere human force. I was involved in the two consecutive fights, there was something which made them weaker.”  Yakuba was at a loss for words. Without a doubt, the current master of Bactria had played a major role in the wars, while he himself migrated to the Persian Empire from his homeland in Arabia approximately after two years of its conclusion. He had to take the Lord by the word, not only for he would be more accurate about the matter, but it would be indeed dangerous to play reasoning with him any longer. He won’t take any chances. Also, he was the only shaman in the Persian state of Bactria who specialized in precious stones, even though they were mostly basic. Knowing Asmaka for a while now, he was pretty sure that he won’t restrain from letting him have all these riches.  “Very well”, he stood up again and swayed towards Asmaka. Such fine Greek genes the Lord inherited, his Corinth mother had all the role to play. Even the marble statues of the Gods seemed more realistic in comparison to him, with just the right balance of masculine and feminine. Yakuba leaned closer to his face, “Your orders would be carried out within the stretches of my abilities.” His cold eyes discouraged him from joshing around any further as he exhaled, “But I can’t ensure that you’ll get what you are looking for.” He ran his fingers over the heap of gems as if inspecting them. He was sure that it was, as a matter of fact, everything from the Kinkha palaces, for no one would take their chances to make a glitch in carrying out of Asmaka’s orders. This was the same reason which was making Yakuba anxious. Lord never took failures as an answer to the commands he gave. This was but his leadership, and his men appreciated it. Even General Dara, who could be considered his closest confidante, was told not to show his face again if he failed to grasp the Kinkha mistress who had survived the annihilation. It was a fact travelling by the word. The man looked with tension creased over his face as he questioned himself whether he had been rather too bold in placing his ideas forward. “That is something you don’t need to be concerned about”, Asmaka turned on his heels as he approached the exit, “I’ll return in some time. Don’t tell anyone about it is all.” The guards were already on their horses when their master mounted himself over the one which awaited him after covering his face with the simple dorukha which went with the pheran. The Lord was famed for wearing exceptionally vibrant clothes along with jewelry all over his body. Modest garb would prevent anyone from recognizing him.  Yakuba bowed his farewell as the wind moved brown strands across his face. Smile fading from his lips as a sigh replaced it while he shut the doors again.  “Lord, if there actually was a treasure of Anoshiruram, I would have recognized its presence even before the sacks were unloaded.”