Heathen - A Tribute to Life, Love and Freedom

By Heath Whiteside

Second Edition: Revised, expanded, and professionally edited. Better reading through finer writing!

Despite being the most wanted man in the whole of a ninth-century empire, an unlikely hero arises to help bring an end to the bloodiest military coup the kingdom has ever known and finds a way of life worth dying for.

Wanting only his freedom and the woman he loves, Zelian is a man of few desires, but with a passion for them that is anything but small. A simple life would make him happy. Happiness though, for Zelian, is an elusive thing.

Murder, mayhem and the fact that he is a wanted man complicate Zelian's life. Lies and betrayal of friends, the alliance of hateful rivals, and the twists of heroes dying or imprisoned, and love both lost and found add greatly to the passion in this tale. And when Zelian gets caught up in the schemes of those who exert little control over the nature of greed, he finds his life complicated indeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heath Whiteside
• Release date: Dec 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798985066104

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Dark clouds billowed across the heavens, hiding the pallor of a full moon and stopping its pale light from descending through the gaping holes in the roof of the old palace ruins in which Zelian stood. The massive, storm-bearing clouds surged across the twinkle of stars the sky had shown only moments before, blending darkness and shadow so that all was black except for the dim flicker of light from a small fire on the cracked marble floor at Zelian’s feet. The firelight danced only upon his boots, though a small flicker of it reached up to shimmer across his face as he bent to feed the dying embers. His features were hard with the worry he felt: chiseled, yet handsome and rugged. And as he blew on the coals to coax their hunger, the firelight reflected the passion of a wild and cunning animal in his intensely green eyes.

A slow drizzle began to fall, the rain adding to the chill in the thick air and banishing his small hope that by arousing the fire he might ward away the gloom and the worry. Instead, the turbulence overhead, like the turmoil within him, added a black tide of gloom to the dread that already hung heavy in the dank, night air.

The heavy gloom seemed to bring the storm, as though it had spawned the tempest of its own foul mood.

Icy tendrils of dread slipped like frigid water down the length of Zelian’s spine, bringing another shiver that shook him harshly. He tried to ignore the feeling, the dread, to drop it and hope for something better, but the jagged, sharp claws of it scraped against his weary bones and would not let go. The hairs on his neck bristled, and with that, he was near-certain something was wrong. Or, he questioned, was this terrible foreboding simply the imaginings of a man in an eerie place on a night fit neither for man nor beast, a night promising nothing but misery and keen on keeping that promise?

Zelian rubbed his hands briskly, the friction warming them slightly. He cared little of the cold, however. As each breath fogged around his face, he thought only of Sherri’e, his emotions taut with the desire to see her. He tried again to excuse the ill-feeling of worry, to reason it away, but with a tenacious hold, it refused to loosen. He wanted only to see Sherri’e, but he began to sense that she wouldn’t be coming.

Sherri’e had sent word requesting that he meet her at the old palace ruins where long ago they had spent many quiet days together, and her summons he had answered gladly. He had come with his heart full of hopeful expectation at seeing her once again, but as he stood alone, with nothing but the small fire on the floor at his feet to keep the misery of this dreary night at bay, his only hope was that the cold, wet bite of the night’s wind would not withhold her from him.

Come to me! Come to me, my love, he cried softly. His desire to see her was strong, for never had he escaped his feelings for her though regrettably, for a time, he had tried to deny them.

The heavy, stone walls of the palace shuddered around him under the bitter blast of cold and angry winds. The old boards of the castle’s roof, rotten and worn, groaned wearily ... eerily. Lightning flashed through the holes in the sagging roof and Zelian glanced about the ruins, seeing only shadow and darkness beyond a few stoic columns that yet bore aloft the roof beams that would surely not last many years longer. And like the old palace, his resolve was crumbling. His frustration was festering into despair. He despaired in the insufferable loneliness, the whispering thoughts of deviltry and possible mishap to Sherri’e that nagged him cruelly.

Where are you, my love? he croaked from his dry throat. If only I can have you by my side ...

He shivered, though not from the cold.

Where might I find courage if not in your smile? he lamented.

These ruins were so dreadful to him now, the walls crowding in upon him, their once-grand stature now oppressive and confining. When last he stood within their crumbling walls, they had seemed inviting, even cheerful. On the morning of his last visit to these palatial ruins, many years now past, he had been with Sherri’e. And that, he felt certain, was why the place had seemed so cheerful then.

Things always seemed much better when I was with her, he thought aloud, though only in a whisper. But then, how long ago that had been. Almost a decade now.

He sighed deeply, sadly.

So much time, and yet it all seemed, even now, close enough to touch, the years seemingly but a moment. And his feelings for Sherri’e, his first love, had never waned. Nor had her love for him and that left him astonished. To think of the passion she proclaimed for him was difficult to believe. But she had sent word that it was so, that she still loved him after all the years, after all the bad things he had done and the disappointment he had proven to be, a disappointment even to himself, perhaps especially to himself. But at Shivail, he had received her first letter. It had been months old by the time it finally caught up with him and he remembered the obvious hesitation and caution of her words, but it had bespoken truly of her feelings.

He had left her with a broken heart those years ago, uncertain of his feelings for her, but that he hoped to rectify this night.

The letters had been slow in coming, their delivery unreliable, with some letters obviously lost. The last letter, though, asking for a meeting where so often they had spent the carefree days of their youth, had arrived at a small inn in Skoally, where he had last hidden from those seeking the bounty on his head.

Thunder crashed and rolled across the sky like the roaring breath of an angry god, shaking the very foundations of the earth as bolts of lightning raged in the eastern sky and cast the ruins in blinding flashes of harsh light. It was as though God was ripping at the darkness so that the light of his fury might reveal what lurked in the ghastly shadows.

Again, dreadful foreboding pierced Zelian’s soul.

What could be keeping her? he asked the cold, night air, his breath fogging around his face before mingling with the wood-smoke and disappearing in the rafters and the drafts of wind overhead.

Sherri’e shan’t be coming, came a hoarse whisper from the black shadows that danced just beyond the reach of the flickering firelight.

Zelian spun to face the darkness. Who ... who's there! he demanded.

Silence and the patter of rain were his only answer.

Who's there! he cried once more....

Again, nothing.

He wondered if he had imagined it but doubted himself for only a moment. The voice had been clear enough. The sound had been harsh, mixing with the patter of the rain and the whine of the blowing wind. But the words had been clear.

No, he was no longer alone!

Zelian drew back from the light of the small fire, drawing comfort from concealment in the shadows. His mind befuddled with worry, he had been staring into the entrancing flames of the fire; and now, his eyes refused to focus in the darkness. He could easily have been killed for such carelessness, and his thoughts now chastened him for such foolishness.

Sherri’e. He had been thinking only of Sherri’e. Where was she? And who now lurked in the shadows instead of her?

Slowly, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, the small flames throwing only little flickers of light into the chamber's enfolding blackness. Zelian strained to see, his hand resting uneasily upon the ornate handle of his dagger, his heart pounding with worry for the woman he loved.

With a deafening roar, the sky thundered once more and sheets of lightning, white and blinding, shredded the heavens, shaking loose from the clouds torrents of rain that suddenly beat upon the roof like hammers. Rotted away as it was, the roof did little to stop the water's assault.

Zelian could not see the man who had spoken. He could not hear more than the great splash of pouring rain. Nonetheless, he sensed that he was still there, that the man who had spoken had not slipped away, and powerful emotions drew his muscles tight and left him struggling to control his rage, a deep rage born of fear for Sherri’e.

Menacingly, though barely audible above the loud splatter of heavy rain, Zelian demanded, Who are you and what do you know of Sherri’e?

There came no response, and concern for Sherri’e ripped the words from Zelian harshly, Tell me now or by the God of Heaven, you shall surely die!

The form of a man, cloaked in a long, wool robe, dark and wet, slipped from the concealing shadows. His powerful build and height were unmistakable despite the absence of light. And with a deft hand, the man pulled the shadowing hood of his cloak from his head to reveal his sneering face.

Zelian, having stepped back into the shadows beyond the meager firelight, gained an edge now that the other man had chosen to show himself. And he drew upon his long experience as a hunter to make no less than the situation now afforded him. Knowing nothing of the man or if he were alone, he sought every advantage, knowing only that Sherri’e’s life might be the cost at stake. And to that end, he noticed further that the stranger was left-handed, for the hilt of a sword tugged at the right side of the man's cloak when he moved. Moving toward the man’s right side, therefore, Zelian crept across the cracked and crumbling floor like a ghost, his movement hidden by the deep black of night and the pillars he crouched behind. He skirted the fire and the man who now stood before it, while the big man stood brooding for a long moment, staring into the black void beyond the firelight, unaware that Zelian had slipped from the blackness there.

At last, the stranger spoke, the words coming forth as though distasteful. The great Zelian! I've heard so much about you.

So, he knows who I am, thought Zelian.

Quietly, he eased past a battered stone pillar in the huge palace room, now empty but for the pillars, one of which had given way to the demands of gravity and lay in large pieces upon the marble floor. He stood well behind the cloaked stranger now, his mind puzzled by the man's obvious hatred for him.

Perhaps he's kin of the young constable I shot with my bow, bringing this bounty upon my head. But how does he know of Sherri’e? And where is she? Why did he not kill me when he had the chance? Quite the advantage he had over me.... I mustn’t kill this man without first learning his secrets, he decided.

Zelian stepped from the shadows, not overly exposed to the weak light of the dying fire, just easing out of the deepest darkness to the edge of the fire’s dim reach, his senses keen. The rain dripped from his face in tiny rivulets as his dark hair lay plastered to his shoulders, wet and shining like black strands of gemstones.

In a low, confident voice, Zelian asked again, Who are you and what do you know of Sherri’e?

Startled, the big man stumbled as he spun to face the man he had thought to be in front of him, catching himself somewhat gracefully from falling. Their eyes locked, piercing, each assessing the other's strengths, the other’s weaknesses, and attempting to determine the other's intent. But the men were veiled by the flicker of firelight and the dance of shadows the light cast ominously across their faces, an eerie effect on both.

Do you seek the bounty on my head? Zelian asked, obviously thinking the man incapable of collecting it.

Bounty? Bah! I care nothing of bounties. I am Delphius, son of Noam and Keeper of the Phelesian Scrolls, retorted the stranger.

Delphius? I’ve never heard the name, Zelian lied.

I've heard plenty of you, Delphius spat.

It matters not. Tell me, why said ye that Sherri’e shan’t be coming? asked Zelian, unable to suppress his strongest concern.

Delphius stared at him, his eyes but narrow slits, trying to decide what to tell this man with whom he shared such an obvious dislike. The flickering fire from the growing flames ate at the fresh wood Zelian had added, casting an ominous glow through his wet hair and burying his face in harsh shadow.

I should have killed you when you knew not that I was here, he said at last.

Indifferent to the man, Zelian replied, Too late for that now. Tell me of Sherri’e.

CHAPTER 2

Delphius relented slowly , proudly prattling, As you now know, I am Delphius, the son of Noam. I am Keeper of the Phelesian Scrolls, the fourth generation to keep the sacred scrolls and I am a personal friend of Sherri’e. She sends word to you. I deliver it to you now out of respect for her. I have none for you.

Tell me her message. Is she well? Zelian insisted, caring nothing of the man’s pretentious importance. He wanted only to know of Sherri’e. He needed to know of Sherri’e’s safety.

Delphius felt the sting of Zelian’s slight, for he was a man who actively sought recognition. He needed the affirmation of others so that he might feel good about himself. For he was somewhat unremarkable; being bigger than most was his only real distinction. Taking only a moment to sneer back at Zelian, he continued nonetheless.

Reluctantly, Delphius told of why Sherri’e could not meet him. She had been questioned concerning her letters to Zelian. The lost letters, the letters Zelian had never received, had instead been given to the king’s regional governor, who had a personal interest in finding Zelian. The governor’s nephew was the constable in the region. It was this man that Zelian had skewered with an arrow, grievously wounding the young constable, though not fatally so.

Sherri’e had not known or thought to conceal her connection to you, Delphius continued. And now, she is being watched by guardsmen, because of you, in an attempt to capture you. Now that she knows, she will do nothing that might put you at risk. She won’t come see you now.

Zelian feared that the governor, that unscrupulous, black-hearted louse, would not wait long before losing patience with Sherri’e. In her innocence, Sherri’e probably didn’t even realize the danger to herself. She was often naïve concerning the evil intent of others, for her heart was pure. She was simply a good woman with a kind and loving heart. For her, though, that was now dangerous, unaware that her trusting nature could betray her.

Zelian began to pace past the low embers of his dying fire. He gave no heed to its warmth now. He could think only of Sherri’e, his hands flexing with worry as his mind reeled with dreadful thoughts.

Intruding upon his thoughts, Delphius interjected accusingly, As you can see, it is dangerous for you to meet with her now. She said for you to worry none about her, to not put yourself in any danger. So, I’m sure you will now run away again, no doubt.

Zelian ignored him.

She’s better off without the likes of you anyway.

Maybe so, thought Zelian as he feigned to ignore the big man who was beginning to grate upon his nerves. Yeah, maybe so, he thought. Running away is not an option though. Never again will that be an option!

He remembered again, with deep remorse, the day he had left Sherri’e all those years ago. What a fool he had been! Never had he regretted anything more. He’d been only fifteen at the time. She was a year older, almost two. They had been together for a year and both had fallen deeply in love.

Their love had been young and sweet. Their days, filled with tender moments that had left them breathless, now seemed like a dream, a precious dream that neither had wanted ever to end. But when he had learned Sherri’e was carrying his child, the idea of fatherhood had terrified him. As a young and resourceless boy, he had panicked.

There were no excuses, Zelian knew. Delphius was right. He had run. He had been a coward and run from his responsibilities. He had run, despite the love that gripped his heart, the love that still haunted him and would not turn loose its tenacious hold upon him.

Life had never been good again after leaving Sherri’e. There had always been the nagging of his conscience and the emptiness in his heart. He had wondered often of Sherri’e and the son she had, his son. He had been certain she hated him, justifiably so and as it had been told to him by some who had seen her and had spoken with him from time to time as well. They had lied to serve their own interests, he now knew, the thought of their deception bringing more pain to him than anger. Anger and guilt he reserved mostly for himself, for the actions that he had taken.

To stifle the pain, the heartache, and the guilt that nagged his conscience, Zelian had tried to deny his feelings for Sherri’e. He had tried to forget his loss and the great and shameful mistake he had made by denying that it mattered to him. He tried hard to overcome the emptiness and pain in his heart. In the end, with deep regret, he had to face the actions he had taken and the heartache he had caused, the heartache that he and his beloved Sherri’e still suffered.

His every attempt at new relationships had been torn apart by his inability to let go of his love for Sherri’e, and his shame for having turned his back on the one true love of his life. His spirit had grown restless and troubled, and in his wake he left a string of broken hearts. Unable to develop any lasting feelings because of the torment wrought in his soul, Zelian grew careless with the feelings of others, which only added to his sorrows as it did to those who, unfortunately, had dared to love him.

Eventually, however, Zelian started courting a pretty, young lass who eased his inner conflict and caused him to smile within his heart once more. He had been nineteen and Mary a year younger, and he loved her as much as he was able to love anyone with all the walls he had built around his cowardly heart. She had quietly opened doors through that maze of walls in her gentle but spirited way. But Zelian remembered, tragically and all too well, the day his hope of fully loving Mary had come to a brutal end. It had been the day of the great feast, a day of celebration in the late season, in the days when the leaves turn festive and begin to drift from the trees. It was the last celebration before the coming of winter turns the landscape stark and dreary.

Celebration! Some celebration, he thought bitterly. Stark and dreary!

His green eyes watered, the firelight shimmering there as his jaw quivered. He swallowed hard and held back the tears. No one had ever figure out what happened that day, how her cart had broken apart and left her broken body on the ground.

Zelian couldn’t bear the thought of what had happened to Mary. He shuddered fighting the memory, trying hard to hold back the tears that stung his eyes. A difficult thing to accept or get used to at any age, she had been his first loss to death. The horses had spooked, somehow, and fate had robbed all that was lovely from him, her spirited and lively ways taking with them even his will to live.

She had asked him to go with her that fateful day, to visit with her grandparents in the outlying country. She had wanted to see them, for she knew it would bring them happiness and add a special significance to the festival. Like Sherri’e, she was always quick to consider the feelings of others. And like Sherri’e, Mary was gone now.

Mary was gone forever.

If only I had gone with her, she might still be alive. If only ... no, it’s too late to wonder what might have been. There’s no way of changing things now, he thought sadly, having already berated himself endlessly with such ideas.

He knew he would feel different had he known on that day what was going to happen. He found it hard, though, to accept the blame for what he could not have predicted. Nonetheless, he had been nothing but a drunk after Mary’s death, coping with the pain by numbing the feelings of loss and despair. His life became a total ruin, more worthless than the old relic of a palace in which he now stood.

Zelian stopped pacing to stand beside the fiery embers, the only area in the chamber where the roof kept the floor mostly dry. He eased himself down beside the dying flames, his hand absently feeding small sticks to the coals, stirring the ash from them that they might glow once again in the darkening room while his mind continued to glow, too, with vivid memories of his painful past.

He remembered again all those times he had tried to drown his sorrows. Sherri’e and Mary both would have surely been disappointed in him had they known. But few knew of his reckless behavior, his crazed, sorrowful bent toward self-destruction. He had internalized his feelings, as was his nature to do, holding in and hiding the pain, all the depression and despair. He was a private man and few people, if anyone, truly knew of his inner conflicts, his inner battle with forces he considered to be his personal tormentors ... his personal demons.

Zelian had become very adept at masking the terrible conflict that warred within him. He was adept at disguising the conflict, at pretending the demons tormenting him were of little effect, though he was sorely losing the battle. But so skilled was he at holding it all in that when he had tried to kill himself, no one believed it had not been an accident.

What a fiasco that turned out to be, he murmured.

What are you muttering about? asked Delphius coarsely. Regretting the trouble you’ve caused? You should, you and that other fellow. Who was that anyway?

Zelian looked up from his rebuilding of the fire, irritated by the interruption, but he offered no reply. He was deeply distracted by his concern for Sherri’e. But as Delphius fidgeted about, Zelian’s instincts refocused the need to keep a watchful eye on this stranger. His thoughts, however, turned again to Sherri’e. Only her love could save him from the wretch he had become, and now, that very love had placed her in grave danger.

It’s all so unfair! Nothing makes sense. How did things get so messed up? If only I weren’t a wanted man, if only I hadn’t had to shoot the constable, the governor’s nephew no less! If I weren’t wanted, this could all be so simple, so easily everything could be made good again. Why does everything always have to get complicated? he lamented.

There had been no other choice for him to make that night, not at that moment. He knew within his heart he had done the right thing, the only thing he could have done to save his brother, Terrell, from certain death. There had been no doubt of the constable’s intent to kill Terrell.

If one could predict the future, undoubtedly many changes would be made. He certainly regretted getting into the situation in the first place. However, he could not bring himself to regret the action he had taken to protect his brother that night, for thereby he had saved him. And not just from the constable’s irons, but from death. He had not even thought about what he did at the time. There had been no time for thought, no time to weigh actions and consequences, to consider the cost. The ordeal had been an instant and instinctive reaction to a very real and obvious threat. Instinctively, he had known the threat was far too costly to ignore, the consequences be what they may.

He and Terrell should not have been out in the dark on a night like that, but neither had done anything deserving of death. When the constable tried to thrust Terrell through with a spear, Zelian had simply reacted with the only means available to him, his bow. He would allow no one to harm, much less kill, anyone he cared about, and this was family! He had protected his blood kin out of instinct, and for that, he could not be sorry.

That night, at the sound of the constable’s screams, the whole city had erupted with chaos. The regional guardsmen had been seemingly everywhere. Like ants defending their mound, they swarmed from the city walls, anxious and enraged. And to make matters worse, Terrell had frozen with fear.

Zelian had begun to run for the outlying country immediately upon the sound of the constable’s agonizing screams. When he had looked back, however, there had stood Terrell, transfixed by the fear that had gripped him. Zelian had run back for him, of course, grabbing his arm and dragging him back to his senses as well as toward the forested hills.

That night, running for their lives, Terrell had been badly hurt. The arrows of the soldiers had rained down around them like a hailstorm of metal points and wooden shafts from the city walls, and two of them had pierced Terrill’s leg. Despite the terrible pain, Terrell had managed to keep going. Then, twice, they had run upon sentries before seeing them, the sharp lances of the guardsmen swinging crazily in the blackness as they had tried fearfully to shred anyone who got too close.

It had been a wild night, for sure. Zelian was still amazed they had managed to escape. But, because the constable had recognized him, he now carried a hefty bounty upon his head. At least, his brother was safe and not dead. He was alive, and his leg had healed.

Delphius cleared his throat loudly, as if seeking acknowledgment. Zelian glanced up at the annoyance, his thoughts interrupted, but he said nothing.

The winds of the dark and dreary sky pushed slowly now, dragging along the clouds to the distant horizon, the rumbling sounds of thunder, and the flashes of lightning fading away. The rain, with the receding clouds, eventually stopped, though the sounds of dripping water persisted around the men as gravity’s unrelenting pull drew the water ever downward.

You gonna sit around here all night? Delphius muttered.

What would you suggest?

I thought maybe you would be in a hurry to get out o’ here, you know, to run, he replied, snidely.

I’m not running anywhere.

Punctuating each word, Delphius said, Seems like a habit with you, I thought.

Along with the sting of his words, Zelian sensed there was something he should know, something Delphius was not telling him. And the big man fidgeted nervously as Zelian stared at him, straight-faced and unwavering.

Just what’s your problem with me? Zelian demanded gruffly.

Humph, Delphius snorted. You really don’t know?

Can’t say that I do, Zelian said, perturbed by the man’s self-righteous attitude and his exaggerated sense of worth. Zelian knew well the type of man who looked down upon another so that he might feel better about himself. It was a complex much too common.

Delphius shook his head in aggravated disbelief. I am Delphius, Son of Noam, and Keeper of the Phelesian Scrolls. I am-

And I told you, I’ve never heard of you, Zelian interrupted, feigning ignorance of the scrolls and the man’s important standing as their overseer; for surely, in truth, everyone had heard of the Scrolls of Phelesia, even if not of this man who cared for them. But Zelian laid little importance upon such matters. His was a practical mind, not easily beset by trivialities of status and self-indulgence. Your name and your scrolls mean nothing to me, Zelian emphasized, and that was a completely true statement.

Have you never heard of the Phelesian Scrolls? Do you not know who I am? Sherri’e has never spoken of me? Delphius queried, his voice tinged with disbelief and hinting of hurt pride.

Never heard of you, and I never heard of these ... these ... What is it you seem so proud to guard, these Fallacy Scrolls? Zelian insulted, purposefully.

Phelesian Scrolls! Delphius corrected emphatically, his face reddening. It was the exact reaction Zelian had been fishing for.

So? Zelian smirked with an exaggerated and dismissive flick of his hands.

So? bellowed Delphius indignantly, his anger aroused by the man’s insolent dismissal.

Striving to bruise the big man’s ego and sense of pride, striving to loosen the tongue of Delphius with thoughtless rage, Zelian continued to fish. Sounds silly to me, and certainly of no consequence.

The Phelesian Scrolls are hundreds, even thousands of years old! They are the writings of God’s very hand! Everyone knows of the scrolls, and I am their keeper, Delphius all but screamed.

Not wanting to let the man vent his anger or regain his composure, Zelian rolled his eyes and smirked at the man. I care only of Sherri’e, he stated lightly, attempting to direct the other man’s ranting.

You ignorant lout! You know nothing! You are more foolish than even I thought! And you know nothing of Sherri’e or how to care for her!

She and I care for each other, Zelian prodded.

You don’t know how to care for her!

I love her.

It is I who loves her! You are but a fool. Yet she thinks only of you! Damn you! You ... you ... you cowardly fool! Like a stupid rock, you are no smarter; and when the governor’s soldiers get here, I shall hang you myself! I will kill you as soon as they learn of your accomplice, and I will ...

Though Delphius continued to rant, every word building upon his fury, Zelian ceased to listen. He now knew enough of this man’s mysteries. He knew Delphius had not killed him only to learn of his accomplice in the constable’s shooting. Delphius wished to learn of Terrell. And Zelian knew now, also, that Delphius had betrayed Sherri’e’s trust.

Soldiers of the Central Regional Army would soon storm in upon him.

The big man’s taunting of Zelian, his accusations of Zelian’s abandonment, had been an attempt, an all too successful attempt, Zelian now knew, at stalling him.

Delphius, in sudden awareness, snapped his mouth shut and glanced about him, stunned. His composure hardened