I sat at the table as my mother hurriedly wrapped my arm with a piece of cloth she had cut from one of her dresses. Using a piece of bark she had torn from the tree outside, she created a splint that would have to make due for the night. Tears still rolled down my face as the reality of the pain settled in with each passing moment. The adrenaline rush of having my arm crushed like a twig had passed, and by now I was left to deal with the pain on my own. Father stormed in, visibly distraught and concerned for my well-being.
"My son... Hussein, who did this to you?" Compassion flowed through his lips, but I could tell he had vengeance on his mind.
"The Castilla family, father. They surrounded me and stoned me as I ran." The name Castilla erased any feeling of compassion, sympathy, or worry from my father. His face visibly changed colors, from a faint tan to a shade of red. Biting down on his jaw and clenching his fists, he paced to the window and glared out.
"What did they say to you, my son?" His stern expression carrying over into his query.
"As I ran, they shouted that they would see us tonight while we were praying. Father, why..."
"These animals have no boundaries!" Father cut me off. "Hussein, get your brothers ready for prayer. Please, go now."
I left the room, but not without listening to what my parents were saying. Immediately upon leaving the house to summon my brothers, Mother and Father began to speak with urgency. I crept back up to the window, crawling through the overgrown grass until I sat half-prone beneath the window. My brothers still sat naively at the bottom of the hill, unable to hear a thing that went on near the house.
"We must leave tonight. You remember my grandfather?! You remember the stories he told you about the Castillas back in the Empire! My father himself witnessed what they did to him. He warned me to run whenever they did something like this. If what Hussein says is true, they will surely massacre us tonight."
My mother protested. "Massacre? Do you not think you are being generous with the word? Surely, our families do not get along. But will they kill us? Before they found out our name, our sons got along!"
"Word has traveled fast. Muslims are being killed all across Arreba. We've been persecuted for years now, but the violence has boiled over. I haven't seen Hammad in days, and I can only imagine that's because of people like the Castillas! I will not have you protest my judgement. Get whatever you can carry. We are leaving before dusk."
I heard mother walking to the door to call us. Running as quickly down the hill as I could, I gathered my breath as I herded my brothers toward me. As my mother called us in, I could tell she was distraught. My brothers could as well, but they were too naive to care why. Our eyes locked as she hurried us into our room, and I could sense her distress. Somehow, she could sense mine as well. A single tear flowed from her eye as she darted out of the door. Mother and Father scurried about the house, grabbing whatever was necessary. Within the hour, we were sneaking our way down the hill toward the docks.
About an hour passed as we sat at the docks, waiting for father to return to tell us he had found a boat. Not many Muslims had owned any boats in Castillo. Most fishermen bore the seal of Christ, a large cross that displayed itself prominently at the fore of the boat. As the fishermen docked, the rumbling among them became increasingly audible. It was not common for a Muslim to loiter near the docks, let alone an entire family and an unaccompanied mother. We looked down as their gaze focused on us, until Father finally returned. The fisherman looked at him with disbelief, as did I, as he returned with blood soaked into his clothes and dripping from his hands. For a moment, he stood there, still in blatant disbelief at what he had just done. By now, the last glimpse of light was fading from the sky.
The sailors began to congregate just down the pier as the sun finally retreated below the horizon; these men knew what we were. My heart began to race as the mob moved toward us. Coming to his senses as the men grew closer, Father rushed us in the direction of the boat. Fear took over my body as a thunderous explosion rocked the harbor. We all gazed up the hill toward the center of the city, where La Mezquita - my Mezquita - erupted into flames. The burning building illuminated the city as fires continued to erupt. Urgently, Father pushed us forward to the boat. I turned back to see where the mob had gone, and suddenly noticed two blood-soaked bodies floating in the water; I immediately realized what Father had done. The crowd once again converged on us, with a single man pushing his way to the front. Sporting a weapon that I had not seen before in his right hand, he unleashed a deafening noise as fire breathed from its barrel. As we sailed away, Father looked back to face the man and whispered a single word as silence fell upon us.
"Castillas." "Castillas."
Last edited by Minnysota on Tue May 12, 2015 12:36 am, edited 14 times in total.
We arrived in Adradas when the moon reached its peak in the sky. When we crossed, the waters were calm and the moon's reflection illuminated part of the channel. With the absence of light illuminating from Castillo, the stars shined brilliantly in the sky. The small town we arrived in was squeezed between the sea and the mountain, space being a luxury that we could not afford. As Father searched desperately for a place to stay for the night, Mother took my brothers and me down to the docks. We were shocked to discover that the moon no longer reflected peacefully off of the calm surface; rather, it was distorted as choppy waves danced as far as we could see. Boats appeared out of nowhere, filled with families with an equal amount of hope and tragedy baked into their countenance. I lost count of how many boats there were; some came in with fishermen that I could recognize from the dock, and some I could see met the same fate as ours - a fleet of red and white sails bore closer to the town with each passing moment.
"Mother, why is the sky orange over there?" One of my brothers inquired. Mother was far too dumbfounded at the scene in front of her. Not wanting to look away from the boats, I reluctantly gazed westward. I fell to my knees almost instantly. The city that I had known my entire life was burning; the mosque that I had attended my entire life was burning; the life I had known in Arreba was burning. The fire burnt so bright that I could see it from across the channel. How did I not notice this? Was I really so convinced that we were safe that I refused to remember what we had escaped? Some of the people coming up in boats were people that I recognized, some drenched in blood, some with burns covering their bodies, and others with knifes still entrenched into their skin. One man in particular that I recognized from La Mezquita lay in despair as his boat crept closer, a hole punched through his body that could not be mended - a hole too perfect to be punctured by a sword.
Father rushed down to us and grabbed Mother as she began to weep. I covered my brothers' eyes but I already felt their tears creeping through my fingers. They were crying... still too young to even know what was going on, they somehow recognized the horrors of what we were seeing. Father guided us up the hill as we dodged waves of concerned Adradasians. As we approached the center of the town, I noticed a prominent statue overlooking the harbor. Father gathered us around it as he explained what we were going to do. He had found a house that would take us in for the night, after which we would leave and move further inland. Even as he spoke, I looked at the statue. It was too dark for me to read to whom the statue was dedicated, but lit enough to reveal an astute, hopeful expression. He wielded a sword that was extended toward the sea, and carried a shield close to his chest in his other hand. I had no idea who this man was, or why he had a statue, but I suddenly felt safe. For the first time in years, I felt safe.
Father guided us further up the hill. By now, the streets were mostly empty as people had rushed down to the shore to save the other survivors from Castillo. As we approached the house we would stay in, I took one last look at the sea before entering the home. The fire from across the channel had only grown stronger. Finally accepting what was happening to us, I turned and walked into the house, the screams of hundreds of men and women echoing their way behind me.
Last edited by Minnysota on Mon May 11, 2015 11:28 pm, edited 4 times in total.
I awoke the next morning in a nervous sweat, hurling myself off my bed as the bellows of my dream began to fade. I walked to the window and glanced out onto the channel. I saw boats drifting with the previous night's fire apparently subdued. The inferno had been replaced by thick columns of smoke that rose higher than any man had gone before. While the piercing screams of dying men and the incessant shrieks of a widow mourning her groom had faded, I could not erase them from my mind. I turned around to face my family as Mother and Father awoke. Though the room was silent, I could not purge the cacophony from my mind. Father whispered something to my mother, to which she quickly obliged. Waking my brothers and escorting them out of the room, my father and I remained silent and motionless. Finally, he spoke.
"Hussein, I'm sure you sa..."
"Do not patronize me, Father." I interrupted him as I turned to face the sea once again. Immediately, he turned to face him and struck me.
"Forget your place again, boy, and I will punish you in a way not even the Castillas would imagine." His jaw clenched and nostrils flared, he continued. "You and your brothers and Mother have not seen anything yet. You think last night was bad? You are lucky you did not live in Castriz. You are lucky you did not see what those bastards did to your grandfather! The Castillas made me watch as they murdered him like a dog. I was not a man until I saw that. Do you think you are a man because you saw people in despair in the water?"
"No." I whimpered.
"What these monsters will do to us is something that not even God can stand to watch. Your mother retained her faith, but just the story of what they did to Grandfather is too much for me. God has cast a blind eye on his people in Arreba. He does not care what happens to us. Our family - our people - are forsaken in this land. If you are to become a man, you must see what I see. We are lucky to have gotten out alive." His tone calming down, he moved me aside and peered out the window himself. "I killed those fishermen to get our boat. I would have killed every Christian in that town if it meant saving you all. I learned years ago that God is not going to save us, so someone has to. That someone must be me." Turning toward me once again, he stared at me in the eyes. "I worry that sooner than you expect, that someone will have to be you."
Unable to handle the emotions rushing through me, I cowered. Tears slowly flowed down my face as I let myself fall to the ground. Father did nothing to comfort me, instead turning to face the window once again. "What happened to Grandfather?" I asked.
"You will find that out soon enough." He replied. A brief moment of silence fell upon us, only to be broken by a more soothing, comforting tone. "That statue that you kept looking at last night." He recalled. "Do you know who it is?"
"No. It was too dark to see."
"That is San Pedro Patrono. He is a Christian saint who saved a mission in Adradas from barbarians at the cost of his life and his men's life." He turned to face me yet again. "Your Grandfather built that statue. He built a lot of things for The Empire. Some of them great, some of them spectacular. At this point, they've likely been destroyed. I would imagine that statue is his last masterpiece left standing."
"Why would Grandfather build a statue of a Christian saint?"
"He never answered that question for me. Perhaps, it was because he was willing to look past the differences between us and do a favor for his common man. Whatever money he earned from that, our family did not get. He was a great man, who faced a terrible end. As long as that statue stands, I want you to believe in what your Grandfather believed in. Even in his death, he would not wish such harm upon the Christians, let alone the Castillas." Father brought me to the window to look out to the statue. "For centuries, our family has been persecuted at the hands of the Castillas. But, your Grandfather always said, God favors the oppressed."
Last edited by Minnysota on Mon May 11, 2015 11:48 pm, edited 4 times in total.
by Minnysota » Sun May 10, 2015 10:48 pm