Читать книгу Rayan - Son of the Desert - Indira Jackson - Страница 8

"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.“