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2014 - Dubai – Hot rage
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.
1987 - Zarifa – Break-up
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.
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.
1989 - Zarifa – The beginning of the end
"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.
Scarface grabbed Rayan by the shirt and brought him back to reality. He drew him near so they were face-to-face. "Well my friend. Now is the time when you tell me where this nest of the rebels is located.“
Full of disdain Rayan spat at him in the face.
"Well, I guess that means that you are not going to tell me voluntarily, right? – I like that even better“ – and with an evil grin on his face he wiped off the saliva. Rayan’s hair suddenly stood up and he had an awful feeling that something dreadful was waiting for him. On Scarface’s signal, a second man came along and the two dragged him over to a wooden frame and bound him tightly.
Just as the sun rose over the horizon Rayan found himself with his arms tied above him to a wooden beam that was fixed between two tall trees.
Additionally they had bound both of his legs to the two trees. In this position he could still stand but he could not move. He just had to wait, with his legs spread apart, for the punishments to come that they had planned for him.
The moment they ripped his shirt from his upper body, he knew what was about to come: at exactly that moment the first lash hit him with full force.
One of the men standing behind him struck the whip mercilessly while Scarface was just standing in front of him, his arms folded on his chest, grinning broadly. The whip was made out of raw leather, so it not only created striae, but additionally breached the skin.
During the whipping Rayan had to bite his lip in order to not cry out loudly. He would not give them the satisfaction of hearing him whimpering. His pride would never allow that and he was well trained, as his father had never tolerated it either.
After a short while he felt blood begin to run down his spine. Yet he somehow still succeeded in making sure that no sound at all came over his lips.
After ten strikes the other man stopped, while his scarred tormentor, who had not lost his foul grin, came closer. This time he had a bucket of water in his hand: “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? Well I have succeeded in making others relent before.“
Instead of giving him a break and some refreshment, they spilled salt water all over his back.
It burned like hell on Rayan’s wounds and he was becoming sick with pain. Despite this, he still did not allow himself a single groan.
His pride, which he had inherited in such a great amount from his father, did not allow him to give his opponents the triumph of seeing his pain. He felt burning hatred inside of him, and if he was free, he would not hesitate for one second to kill the men. However, the bonds stayed tight and held him in his place so all he could do was gaze at Scarface full of fury.
Meanwhile the sun was over the horizon and spread her golden glamour over the ugly scene, as if she too wanted to mock Rayan.
"Now my friend, I will give you two hours to think about the location of the hiding place of the rebels, and after that we will continue.“
1989 - Zarifa – A merciless day
Scarface kept to his threat and had come back. The whole procedure was repeated: ten more lashes and after that the shower with salt water. Rayan was determined to hang on, until … until what? He wasn’t quite so sure anymore.
However, his natural pride kept him on his feet. He would not be defeated that easily! Furthermore, the hard lessons that his father had taught him in the past had their worth, so he was not easy to knock over.
Meanwhile he was additionally suffering due to the heat and knowing that Scarface would come back, that much was sure.
His mind worked frantically to think of something to do. Though this time, his usually quick intellect full of ideas did not present any glorious solutions on how to get himself out of this dreadful situation.
The searing pain in his arms and wrists and especially his wounded back were not helping him to think clearly.
At some time around noon he heard two of Scarface’s men whispering to each other; after a short while one of them came closer and grabbed his shirt – or rather what was left of it – at the front side and had a look at his chest.
He let out a low whistle. “Well, have a look at what it is we have here. If it isn’t a very special kind of treasure that we have found.”
"Damn it, luck really is not on my side today“, Rayan thought dejectedly – because the man had found his tattoo. As first son of the Sheikh he had received a tattoo on his chest shortly after his birth. It depicted a blue waterfall over which a reddish sun could be seen, a silver moon and three stars – the symbol of Zarifa.
The men literally ran to Scarface and only moments later they prepared their horses and rode away in a hurry. Rayan could figure out easily where they would go: for sure they wanted to get for themselves the bounty that his father had put on his head and also it was likely that they wanted to double check if he really would approve of them executing him.
Maybe this would cause enough of a distraction to give him a break? Surely they would leave him alone now until the riders came back?
However, when Scarface came back to him, one glimpse at his sadistic smile was enough to shatter his hopes into pieces.
1989 - Zarifa - A brief reunion
The sun had wandered over the sky like on any normal day and more slowly than ever the evening dawned. Rayan meanwhile was in a state in between live and death. Six times they had performed their cruel ritual; or perhaps it was even more, he was no longer able to count.
His pride had changed to silent desperation and in the meantime he was no longer able to register his whereabouts or anything else around him.
He just dangled from his bonds. Even if he wanted to tell them the location of the rebel settlement now, he would no longer have been able to cling to a single thought or to say a phrase that made any sense. It was like he was swimming in a deep sea of pain.
His friends, who were condemned to just helplessly observe his torture, were sure that the purpose of this punishment had been changed from “making him talk” to “making a statement”. Whatever that was. They had discussed desperately between each other if they should reveal the location instead of Rayan. They even considered if they should start some kind of red herring by telling them a fake place, just to make the men stop torturing their leader.
However, they came to the conclusion that all would be in vain. It would not help him anymore.
Suddenly there was movement amongst Scarface’s men.
The two messengers were about to return and they were accompanied by a noble visitor: His Excellency Sheikh Sedat Suekran al Medina y Nayran had arrived.
Scarface informed him proudly about the intensive punishment and led his master to Rayan, who was stuck unconsciously in his bonds. The ugly Tarman grabbed the chin of the defenceless Rayan and pulled him up, so his leader could look into his face to acknowledge his identity.
It was not possible to reckon what Sedat was thinking or feeling. He just confirmed with a nod that it indeed was the most wanted leader of the rebels, his former son. Then he demanded to hear more about the imprisonment.
It was hard to say if he acted consciously or not but the moment Rayan heard the voice of his father his final spirits were awoken. With effort he opened his eyes and tried to make eye-contact with his father.
Barely audible and more groaning than really articulating, he spluttered: “Father? Father help me – I am dying …”
Scarface slapped him in the face with his free hand, the one that was not holding his victim up. What boldness to address the noble Sheikh in such an informal way!
Rayan collapsed completely and plunged into a merciful unconsciousness.
There was a flash in Sedat’s eyes, which was barely visible, while his face remained motionless. Instead His Excellency said: “I am going to tell you now, how we will proceed with this scum: we will hang them tomorrow at dawn. One after the other. We will start with him”, he signaled towards Rayan.
“Then we will see if the others will continue to keep silent. Release him and take him back to his friends. Also, provide them with water, we do not want him to die before we can hang him tomorrow, do we?”
Scarface laughed bleatingly: this idea was very much to his liking.
