Indira Jackson - Rayan - Son of the Desert

And to have to clean up the stables? His father was well aware that the boys from his group were planning to go out tonight on an excursion to the little pond outside of the valley. Well, it seems like he could forget about that, again! His father seemed to be an expert at picking out all the occasions he was bound to have some fun; it was just like he wanted to deliberately prevent him having enjoyment.

This thought raised his anger and all he felt was burning rage. It was so unfair. Before he realised what he was about to do, he had started yelling. He had no clear idea what he was calling at his father, but for the first time ever, he just had to let off steam.

It should have been a warning that the face of his father was getting darker with every word he said.

But he just could not stop. It was like a raging flood as soon as the dam was down. He had suffered too long already from frustration; too much was piled up all inside of him.

Then, suddenly, the smack hit him. In the middle of his right cheek and with a force that tossed him to the ground.

At first he did not know what had happened to him, but then he realised that his father had slapped him with all his might.

Warm blood ran down his cheek, his father’s ruby ring seemed to have cut into his skin, right underneath his right eye.

"You will do exactly what I tell you to do. And tomorrow morning we will talk about this behaviour of yours.”

“To talk” would mean that he was going to order his personal servant to hit Rayan with the leather belt - that much was clear to him immediately. The cold rage in his eyes promised him that this time it was going to be worse than ever.

Shortly some doubts welled up inside of Rayan – had he gone too far this time? His father had never hit him before, that is what the servants were here for.

While he was thinking his options through, he suddenly felt a hatred so strong, that he was shocked by his own emotions.

He could never do anything right, no matter how hard he tried. He was never praised, as what he did was never good enough. Everything had to be even better or faster.

For too long already he had outperformed all his friends in many of the sporting exercises; even in weaponry like archery, throwing knives and setting up of traps he was one of the best. Especially when throwing a knife, no one had a chance against him. But it was still never enough!

In spite of his extremely good results he always had to do extra laps, do additional exercises, and, on top of this, he was punished.

Pondering about that, he was already getting nervous thinking about the next morning. It was another of the treacherous punishments of his father, to always have to wait for the next day to come. This left you one long night to “prepare”. It would not be the first time that Rayan would lay in his bed without sleeping, dreading the dawn. In this moment he knew exactly what he had to do. He lifted himself up from the ground and cautiously shook his head, in order to get his vision clear.

His father had already turned away from him and gone back into the house. For him all was said and done.

Rayan did his hour of training as he was told to do, but after that he was free to go inside as well. He started to pack a few things into his backpack. He would run away from the valley tonight. And he did not intend to ever return again.

"Which one of you is the leader?“, the Tarman bellowed at the small group of rebels. He was a small, fat guy with mousey-grey hair. As he had a blood red scar from his left eye all over his cheek, spontaneously Rayan named him "Scarface“.

His comrades immediately started to gather around him protectively. They were all young: five men and one woman.

They knew that he was in danger, especially, because there was a death sentence on him.

"No one? Well, in that case all of you are going to be punished – by your own choice.“ With that he was going to turn around when Rayan gently pushed his friends aside.

Proudly he erected himself to his full height and before his friends could prevent it, he said: “It is me. I am the leader of this group.“

The Tarman eyed him up: "You? Such a half-portion? Well, no wonder we have caught you. It was about time:, you have played your foolish games long enough at our cost.“ He was the only one laughing at this joke.

With half-portion he was surely referring to Rayan’s age, as he was only 15. He still counted as a child and much to his own disappointment it was still more than half a year until he would turn 16 and, therefore, the age of a young man.

The time that he had spent in the wilderness of the mountains together with the other rebels had made his body harder and even more trained than it was before.

The daily activity in the open air and the many hours of training had cared for his body well: there was not one single gram of fat on him but instead pure muscle.

Additionally, he had grown again so that he measured a proud 1,82 m and it looked like he was not done with growing yet.

He had only spent a couple of days alone in the wilderness of the mountains after his escape away from the big valley of Zarifa and, more importantly, away from his father.

It was not a problem for him taking care of himself all alone. He had spent a lot of time outside since he had been a small child and he knew exactly what was essential to survive.

Then he had found the traces of the rebels and began searching for them. He remembered that he had heard his father talking about them: mostly they were people that His Excellency had banned from the big valley for one reason or another or who had fled voluntarily from his tyranny.

They had founded a settlement in the high mountain area of Zarifa, as far away as possible from their former master. It was located in a small valley and was difficult to reach, as it was in the wildest and most abandoned part of the mountains.

Old, young and even a few babies belonged to this group, which consisted of about 80 people.

With small robberies they provided themselves with essentials, which they needed to survive. The rest was provided by nature. Like this, they had created themselves their own little homeland.

The Sheikh was more than angry that they were getting along so well. His intention had been for them to live in exile lonely, starving and full of suffering.

No wonder he had declared them all as “enemies of the state and a danger to the tribe.“

He exclaimed loudly that he would not show them any mercy and indeed, when about two years ago his fighters had captured a small group of them, he had them all executed.

Even the two women that were in the team were decapitated together with the rest of them.

This enraged the previously peaceful rebels so much that they started to organise themselves in little troops, which began to attack the men of the ruler.

Though, of course, this was never openly, but always as an ambush and only when they met small groups of people.

They succeeded in killing some of the fighters, but their thirst for revenge was nowhere near being satisfied.

Rayan had not only become part of the team, but in the course of time his abilities had made him one of their leaders, in spite of his young age.

He knew how his father’s mind worked better than anyone; he had trained together with his warriors and, of course, had an astonishing insider knowledge that was incredibly helpful to them. This led the rebels to cheer and made his father’s men curse. In due course, however, it was unavoidable, that the word spread that it was him that made the rebels all of a sudden so successful.

During a temper tantrum his father swore that his son no longer existed and so was a dead person to him. In case his warriors would ever get hold of him they were not to show any mercy. They were instructed to hang him from the next tree with their own hands and make him pay for his treachery.