Stephen Zimmer - Crown of Vengeance

Mershad passed much of the day keeping to himself, content to be sequestered away within the solitude of his dormitory room. As it was the weekend, a good number of the other university students at the dormitory, mostly those who lived in the immediate region, had gone home for a couple of days. Even with the smattering of students that still remained, there was an unusual quietness permeating the residence building. For Mershad, the absence of most of the students was a great relief.

As usual, he had not needed the use of an alarm clock to rouse himself just before dawn broke. His internal body clock was very well attuned, after more than twenty-three years of practicing his faith. Following his morning prayers, the first of five designated periods of prayer each day, he allowed himself a little slack and dozed in his bed for a while longer.

After about an hour, the rest of the morning was spent leisurely; taking a long shower, making a small pot of coffee, and suffering through a little television.

As he had come to expect, the television was inundated with the latest updates about the ongoing war in the Middle East. The US-led coalition’s forces had completed another flurry of thunderous air and missile attacks, and the newscasters were very upbeat about the recent reports from the battlefronts.

Only one of the aircraft from the coalition forces had been lost in the fray, and that lone plane’s destruction was due to an engine failure, rather than enemy defenses. As Mershad and even the most casual of observers were well aware by now, the fighting was a one-sided affair that was degenerating quickly into a massacre. Unopposed in the skies, piloted and unmanned aircraft struck with unhindered impunity. Missiles launched from sea vessels offshore and military bases in the region raced towards their targets, guided meticulously by the latest systems, backed by the USA’s unrivaled satellite network.

It was a deeply unsettling war to Mershad for other reasons as well. He could not see where older notions of honor and respect for one’s opponent had a place in the modern ways of combat. It was not a war where adversaries clashed face to face, sword to sword, like the tales of the Crusades in the Middle Ages. Rather, it was one where one side’s technological dominance enabled widespread slaying at a great distance. Operators of remotely controlled, unmanned aircraft could sit in full safety at consoles in air-conditioned rooms, located numerous miles from where their implements unleashed their deadly rain of fire and thunder.

Mershad could only handle a few minutes of the parade of images, and the accompanying stoic commentary by the ubiquitous retired generals that were surfacing regularly on the networks. He watched the screen with trepidation as a large building was turned into a pile of rubble in an instant, from aerial surveillance footage recording a missile strike’s massive impact. With fear and sadness in his heart, he finally turned the television off.

In the early afternoon, he decided that the dorm room was too confining and that he needed a little fresh air. Chancing a foray out into the public, he procured lunch at one of the fast food outlets just across the street from his building.

Doing his best to avoid undue attention, he ordered the food to carry out, taking it back his room to eat in quiet. Once his hunger had been sated, he gathered up some books and his laptop computer.

Tucking them into a satchel and easing the shoulder strap over his right arm, he set off for a secluded spot that he preferred to visit when he needed space to think. The place was situated near the primary student center building, about a ten-minute walk from his dormitory. The center was located a little farther down on the west side of the campus’s main boundaries, just off the downtown area of Lexington.

His favored area consisted of nothing more than a lowered expanse of open grass, which sat several yards underneath the street level as it was spread over a substantial sinkhole. A number of fully matured trees were arrayed about the area, forming a dynamic filter that cast direct light and shaded pools about in a number of different combinations and arrangements as each day proceeded.

It was set away from the main pedestrian thoroughfares of the campus, and the primary access points to the student center. As such, it tended to have a quiet and subdued atmosphere. Some students, like Mershad, had found the place to be a haven for a little time of reflection, or for some uninterrupted study.

The only frequent group of visitors to the area, and by far the most boisterous, were a bevy of gray squirrels that inhabited the area. The feisty creatures were fun to observe at times, as they endlessly scampered about the soft grass and scurried about the trunks of the trees. They lunged into their network of branches and traversed them with an impressive agility and dexterity that always amazed Mershad.

Mershad’s ideal spot was a site tucked away almost directly under the street level, where he liked to sit with his back to the trunk of a maple tree.

Though he could still hear the cars going by overhead, the space afforded him a good nook where he could melt into the fabric of his personal oasis. With headphones on, he was lost in a world of his own.

Enough light cascaded down through the trees to enable him to study, and the hotter days were always disrupted by the cool, generous shade provided by the trees.

With the exception of a brief break for some dinner in the student center, Mershad consumed the rest of the day studying his notes and other course work materials. He took a couple of pauses for his appointed prayers, finding relief in the almost total vacancy of the area. During the time that he was there, only a handful of individuals strolled through the area, and none tarried upon the lawn.

The light of day finally waned, diffusing into night.

Though Mershad was tired of studying, he found that he did not yet want to leave the gentle confines. Putting his school materials away in the satchel, he stretched his legs out as he leaned back against the tree.

His eyes shutting, he took a deep breath of the evening air and settled into a serene repose.

“Mershad! Mershad!”

The voice startled him and caused him to flinch, even as he felt the light nudges of a hand upon his right shoulder. The sound of the voice, though passive and friendly in both tone and volume, snapped him wide-awake.

A few lights, whose fixtures were set within straight posts that were set in place at a few key intervals about the area, provided most of the available illumination. The rest came from moonlight, as the night was already a couple of hours old.

Looking up, he beheld the silhouette of Erika Laesig standing over him.

The sight of her brought an instant defensiveness to Mershad. Already introverted enough, his discomfort with women was compounded by some particular matters regarding the practice of his faith. Though she was a friend, he had never been quite settled in her presence.

She was perhaps the strongest female personality that he had ever encountered. He had met her about a year before, in one of his classes. The first time that he had set his eyes upon her, he could not help but notice how stunning she was. About five-foot ten, she had a sleek, athletic build, and her movements were always imbued with balance and grace.

Though she had visible muscle tone evident whenever she wore short-sleeved shirts or shorts, her muscularity did not taint her femininity in any way. She was every bit a woman, one who exuded unequivocal strength in her appearance and demeanor.

Mershad had encountered many attractive women before, but Erika’s attributes went far beyond matters of mere physical appearance. Each and every time that he had spoken at length with her, he recognized her considerable intelligence, as well as her real fervor for life.