Hevel: Hevel, #1

By Patrick. M. Kmn

Arkan's troubled life collides with an enigmatic outlaw duo, drawing him into their shadowy world. Mesmerized by their allure, he becomes their silent follower. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick. M. Kmn
• Release date: Mar 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224368389

Patrick. M. Kmn

Hello there! I am Patrick, a storyteller from the heart of Kenya. I love spinning tales, and my inspiration comes from the everyday rhythms of life, the joy of storytelling, the satisfaction of working with wood, and the captivating worlds found in a good book. When I'm not lost in fiction, you can catch me creating with wood. Woodworking, to me, is a patient art, a dance with craftsmanship that's a bit like creating a finely crafted sentence. Beyond the tangible stuff, I like to let my imagination run wild in articles and essays. The written word is like an old friend, guiding me through exploring everything from deep topics to the simple joys of life. Right now, my focus is on finishing up a series of books. Each tap of the keyboard brings me closer to revealing the characters and worlds that have taken root in my imagination. I'm excited to share this journey with you, dear reader. Cheers, Patrick

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iwill die here; of this, I am fairly certain! The night’s heady breeze did nothing to thwart my anguish, and dawn gapes with such malevolence—tis a wretched sight to behold.

Embedded in the embrowned air is an old familiar grin I’ve come to expect at every turn; the source and cause of all my rue— oh, how odious he’s become.

Who'll receive me, I wonder... I'm not worthy of it, and neither I nor others would tag me worthy of notice, let alone a reception: Still, to be received would be mighty pleasant. Pray I won't prove overly fetid therein; I am not in a good way, and haven't been for a while.

On a positive note, I have yet to spot a single condor. I've heard stories—horrid accounts of their ravenous guzzle—how they peck and viciously gouge out the eyes and guts of condemned men at the gallows. It's the stuff of nightmares, no doubt, the doing of those gods of old. Should any rise to my succor, this is my sole plea: that they mold me anew and proper for the hereafter. Nevertheless, it's unjust that I should hang alone when my delators are equally marred—Eya more so. Everything about her is a sham; I insist upon that, even the day I first laid eyes on her.

But, enough about that; this isn't really about me. It's about these outlaws I met a while back, or rather, shadowed. Then again, it might be about fate; that seems more fitting. At one point, Zeid said, We can only swim the best we can, and even then... And even then, it’s never in man’s hands. I’ve found myself musing over the whole affair and aptly huddle—a well-earned cycle of torment all things considered. How these things happen, I’ll never understand, but they’ve led me here, and the fruits are no less bitter than my recollection of events—tethered still to this loathsome presence.

Part 1: Mareth

Joe and Akim had asked me to quit worrying so much, Joe mostly. I suppose I looked a little blue, but anyone in my condition would have. Everything will be right as rain, they said. Joe, a mountain of a man, would also make mention of her beauty and poise, Eya, and my eyes were naturally eager. Words won’t do her justice, he stressed earlier that morning, as though he’d examined my thoughts and found them yearning for details, ... soon, she’ll be here, right Zed? Yeah, any time now.

Oh, I can’t wait to see her again, he continued, giddy as a lamb in the prairie with his fingers brushing against the iron bars.

Easy...there, Akim interjected, as he stretched his thin, long legs. You don’t... you... you don’t want him getting the wrong idea now...

It was all so gripping, watching him wriggle into and engage in idle conversation. He went about it as one who’d never been part of social interaction—as though the whole affair was strange and foreign to him but he felt compelled to participate.

Heavens, no! exclaimed the other Why, I would never... I didn’t mean. You got me all wrong. Oh, you know what I mean, you...

To this Akim returned with incoherent mumbles, hmm, and aha, much like a parrot sounding a list of familiar words but quite unsure of their meaning. Still, he’d tried his hand.

My heart only beats for Esra... Esra and no one but, Joe explained ...perhaps Eya brings word...I expect she does. The idea electrified him, bringing a wide, infectious smile to his face.

The exchange, stripped of Akim’s odd contribution, would soon run out of steam and die. But Joe was in it the long haul—till the well ran dry.

Zeid, or Zed, as Joe calls him, was alone in the adjoining cell, lying on the dusty floor without a care in the world, or so made it seem. He was the reason she was coming Mareth, Eya. The sole reason Joe and Akim were all too certain we wouldn’t hung.

Much like Akim, he proved to be quite reticent, sharing on a need-to-know basis. That's his inherent, sober disposition. Intoxicated, however, there isn't an outlook about the world he won't unleash—notions painted with all shades of bleak. I must admit, I found peculiar enjoyment in lending ears to every one. If only he were that vocal when sober, I'd have volumes to share. Alas, we can't have it all; life is selfish like that.

Time passed and Joe, who’d run out of tales to tell, started pacing. Akim sat quietly at the furthest corner, his cold, beady eyes scanning everything in sight. There were moments, perhaps hungering stirring the mind, I suspected he was brewing something egregious in that head of his. He had, in my eyes, all the makings of a fellow hatched under a bad sign—one fashioned by gloom and woe. 

‘Say, what demons trouble you so?’ The question raided my mind the very moment I met him, and rightly so, say I—his aura inspired nothing but strange curiosity. Well, now I know better, but more on that later.

My mind strayed, and for a moment, I forgot of hunger and the searing pain on my sides. My face fared no better, but the state of it, at least for a moment, was also a distant trifle. I thought of Eya—the woman whose name had saved our necks from the hangman, and wondered how she’d compare to Serah.

She was a vision of beauty, Serah— unusually tall, with dark tresses that cascaded down her back and amber-colored eyes I never could gaze into without quickly looking away. To say I was infatuated would be a mighty understatement. That said, she couldn’t seem to ever remember my name. It was nowhere near her lips, and I imagine absent from her list of all things important. Still, it weighed on me silly when others approached her. I would have taken solace in the fact that she never showed the slightest interest in anyone or anything else, for that matter. But mine was a green and stubborn heart, too green and stubborn to give chance to reason—a fault I squarely lay on Sil, a dream fiend, come manifest. He would puff me up, inflate my ego to heights unfathomable, then mock whatever attempts I made on said affairs. The damned cycle would surely have depleted my pride reserves had the world not turned—then again...

The jailor, also a man of few words, rugged, and in possession of a subtle, sullen expression, tossed scraps of bread into our respective cells, promptly interrupting my train of thought.

The bastard, muttered Joe to no one in particular. Still, we swooped in to partake. The pieces were moist with a pungent odor and all sorts of ugly hues, but I was too hungry to care. I imagine the same held true for the mammoth. Akim remained seated; upright and nonchalant with his arms crossed as if thinking to himself, ‘Far be it from me to stoop that low’. I reckon we made quite the spectacle in his eyes. Zeid was also indifferent to the jailor’s conduct. He remained on the dusty floor, his feet crossed, eyes to the old, very old muddy ceiling, and an old, brimmed Kufi of hemp resting atop his sunken chest. 

I watched him intently, after getting my fill, puzzled as to why Eya, a woman of supposed high repute, was coming this far for his salvation. It wasn’t a short distance from Tatawin to Mareth, you see, nor is the course merciful to the poor souls who find themselves upon it. So oppressed by sandy hills, dolines of varying depths, and sinister caves is the route that many choose to avoid it like a curse. Suffice to say, it is the dwelling place for devils and their kind as far as the good majority are concerned.

Even so, I could picture her on a brawny white Percheron en route, radiant as the Queen of Sheba. Behind her, a retinue of squires, pundits, and hirelings eager to serve as the rhythmic cadence of their horses' hoofbeats echoed through the quiet hollow. Neither devils nor ruffians...

My train of thought was once again brought to an abrupt halt—the mammoth had lost all patience.

Insignificant vermin! he bellowed with a flaming scowl ...may the ghouls take you and fortune forget your names! His voice, booming like thunder, with words sharp as knives, soon grew hoarse as a single thread of sweat trickled down his temple. His skin had also become pale, even more so than the first time, and like a wrathful demon shook the grid with such vigor that the hinges nearly came apart.

Fear took hold of me like a vice, and for a moment, I remained frozen. Yet even as I felt the icy tendrils of dread creeping up my back, a sense of compassion stirred within me. Underneath his anger and vitriol, I could sense a tumultuous torrent of pain, akin to that of an infant writhing in agony. But if empathy is a rare commodity in the world outside, it is practically non-existent within the prison’s walls. Cruelty, fueled by corruption has become the norm leaving many to rot therein. Fortunately for the trio, and myself by extension, freedom carried a price tag.

The jailor, object of the tirade, remained unfazed and barely gave attention to the ruckus. But his character merely served to stoke the flames of his adversary's rage.

Zeid filled his ears with promises of wines and a proper steak to calm him, dull the fire, reminding him of Eya’s imminent arrival. Meanwhile, I beseeched whichever god was in the vicinity to watch over me. There was a good chance he’d take it out on someone, and I, the weakling, made for a splendid target—grounds for my hearts’ plea.

Barely five days had passed since my body was crushed and rent, my spirit still reeling from the brutal torment. But life, it seemed, at that moment, at least, had more in store. I could envision it all, start to end; a trifling on my end grabbing his attention, the cudgel-like mitts landing thunderous blows upon my scrawny, frail body, my head bashed against the sturdy, metal bars, and my unconscious body tossed whichever way. Yet as luck would have it, for me a sign of divine intervention, he’d fall to his knees, let out a proper yawn, and sink into deep slumber in the fetal position.

As he lay there, surrounded by immaculate peace, I watched his pallor gradually surrender to a medium complexion, just as it had a few days earlier—first his face, then his neck, and finally, his arms.

Huh! uttered one of the jailor’s men with a genuine expression of confusion on his face.

Huh, indeed I added in silence.

Kadupul Flower

None was more excited than Joe when the Jailor approached the cells for a second time —keys jingling and all. Had he a tail, it would have wiggled right out of place. 

Looking past the man-child, he briefly studied Akim, walked to the adjacent cell, took a deep sigh, and began in a somber tone with his head bowed Darkness reigns in you, Meshal. You’re loathsome as you are popular... All the same, my heart aches for the burdens you bear. Perhaps that’ll bring you solace when they finally drag you down... and they will drag you down.

Zeid merely looked at him with indifference as he rose to his feet —not a word issued from his lip. 

Having restated his opinion of the trio, to slight vexation on Joe’s part, and cast upon me a condemnatory gaze, the man unlocked and pulled aside the cell doors to a satisfying sound of metal grinding against concrete. I’d visualized, craved this moment a thousand times. 

Our ankles were promptly adorned with greasy iron fetters before being led out back, around through a twitchel, and right to the front of the jailhouse. Why we simply couldn’t have used the front entrance