Indira Jackson - Rayan - Son of the Desert

Carina did not know how to react or what to say. She eyed up the man in more detail. He had also been at the scene. It was the guy that had greeted the Sheikh and embraced him right before the bullets were fired. She accepted the necklace, forced herself to thank him and was then just standing there uncertainly. "What is going to happen to the man, who … well, the assassin?“, she eventually asked more from discomfort than real interest.

"The police will take him to the prison of this city.“ His tone while saying this was so strange that she had the feeling it said nothing, but then again everything.

"And is he going to be trialled in court here as well?“ After all she was an author that was about to write a book about the target person of this criminal so she surely could not afford to miss the opportunity to follow up the process in detail.

"Naturally – what do you think?“, was the short reply. But the impression of rage and hatred in the face of the man raised her doubts. Unexpectedly the man added, more to himself than to Carina: "You have to understand, he was not just any bodyguard – he was also a friend.“ At this instant, Carina stopped short, then she realised that he was talking about the man that had been killed.

After that Mazin brought himself to continue: "Well thanks again for everything.”

And with another deep bow he disappeared into the crowd. Full of awe she regarded the necklace more closely which she was still holding in her hand. It was a fine, but obviously solid golden chain, on which an amulet was fixed. The latter was of pure gold, about four centimetres in diameter and showed a blue waterfall with a reddish sun, a silver moon and three stars carved above it. Absolutely wonderful!

She could not estimate the material value, as she did not know which kind of material the coloured image on top of the gold was, yet she sensed that the real value was priceless.

She was certain the Sheikh did not offer this kind of jewellery every day.

She put the amulet around her neck and suddenly felt hope sprout inside of her. Maybe her long journey was not in vain after all. She entered a cab that took her to her hotel.

Rayan was agitated and most of all he was full of rage.

Ibrahim had grown up with him and had saved him from all kinds of trouble in the past.

Back then, after he had run away from home, it was Ibrahim who was there for him. He was also the one who had succeeded in saving Rayan’s life when he had narrowly gotten away from his father’s bloodhounds.

On top of that it had been an honour for him, over all the years, to protect the life of his friend and Sheikh.

Rayan knew that Ibrahim was very religious. As it became clear that his friend was going to die, the Sheikh whispered to him that he had saved his life and, therefore, he was a hero who would be rewarded in paradise.

Rayan resolved that he would personally take care, that everyone in Zarifa would speak Ibrahim’s name with great respect and veneration.

In response Ibrahim had smiled and then died in his arms. What else could he have told him?

And why had that incompetent Colonel Abboud no control over his troops? Where had the assassin come from? He was bound to have had support from someone from the ground crew. There was no other explanation.

It was visible that the Colonel was afraid when he asked him these questions inside the airport. "He has every reason to be!“, Rayan thought without any compassion.

The Colonel had hoped for a festive welcome and to make a good impression of his team: now it was a disaster. He promised to put his best men on the investigation. As if that would lead to anything! Rayan calmed himself down a bit: they still had the assassin – this guy was going to tell them every tiny bit of detail, one way or the other. Sooner or later. If he wanted to or not. But it would by no means be the staff of the Colonel that would interrogate him, oh no! This was a matter of his own tribe, his own loyal men. Rayan had already seen to it that everything necessary was being arranged.

The sun stood almost vertical in the blue sky and was burning down on them with brutal force. Everyone was happy therefore, as soon as they could find a place in the shade.

Breathing heavily, Rayan looked back on the running track he had just covered. He was content with himself: he had succeeded to finish the course faster than any of the other kids.

This was his personal best time. Surely his father, the Sheikh Sedat Suekran, would be proud this time.

The running track was about five kilometres and was originally built for training the fighters of His Excellency.

It consisted of several obstacles that had to be surmounted: there was a steep face, then a rope to be climbed up, in order to swing over to a tree and a wooden frame which you had to crawl under by using your elbows and things like that.

But most of all your time was critical, so you had to cover the distance by running. This was made more challenging by several obstacles that had to be jumped over.

There was also, and not to be forgotten, the four break points, at which a variety of weapons had to be used for training purposes: throwing knives, archery, handguns and rifles.

It started some time ago with only two exercises, but it had grown over time and had resulted in the now existing running track.

Within two years the Sheikh introduced the rule that all boys together, once a month, got a day off from lessons at school in order to prove their ability on the running track.

Officially it was something you could choose to do voluntarily.

Yet all the boys felt compelled to participate so that they would not be the target of mockery from the others afterwards.

Rayan looked forward to it every month; he just loved the track as he was able to run fast and he was agile.

It was not as if he would have a choice anyway. As the son of the Sheikh he had to participate, no matter what. Additionally to these monthly competitions, his father insisted that he trained daily.

Rayan was 13 and for his age he was relatively tall at almost 1,70 m and the training had already provided him with some muscles .

With his dark hair, which was almost black and only shone dark brown in direct sunlight, and his dark blue eyes he was a fairly attractive guy. At this point you could figure out already that when grown up he would be able to twist lots of women around his little finger effortlessly.

His Excellency himself was also slim and tall. The colour of Rayan’s hair had clearly been inherited from him, but his father had deep black eyes, which had already taught many people to fear him. He might have been 50 or even a little bit older: it was difficult to estimate his age because the skin on his face had a leathery consistency due to being tanned by many hours in the sun. Still sweating heavily and with a bright red face from exhaustion, Rayan ran over to his father, who waited near the entrance of the running track, together with all the other men, for the arrival of the boys.

The moment he saw the expression on his father’s face he grew nervous. He did not have to wait long, as instead of the proud greetings Rayan had expected, the words of the Sheikh caught him like a hammer:

"What exactly was that supposed to be? You have just hit two out of 14 targets. Why do you never take any single task seriously which is assigned to you? You are not a child that can afford to fool around anymore! You will go right now and train for one hour at the shooting range. And tonight you will muck out the stables. No dinner for you.”

Rayan stood there thunderstruck. Instead of being praised like he had expected, he was told off – again – this time in front of all his friends and – worse – in front of all the men.