Arsh didn't know what to do. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. Sitting right in front of the corpses with his eyes wide open and hands on his knees, he didn't dare to look at them anymore.
When he first arrived at the scene, some birds had already started gathering on the corpses. It took some time for him to get rid of them. But no matter what he did, they kept coming back. It took him some time to find his grandfather among the corpses. He stood there like that, until darkness came again.
The moonlight reflected on the pool of blood on the ground. The air was cold now, but before the other desert creatures came for the corpses, he had to deal with them. This was not a task he could handle alone.
He took one of the villagers' horses. The horse was shifting nervously under the unfamiliar person's grip. He urged it forward, racing along the silent, empty paths of the desert toward the nearest village, Surhamil.
…
The villagers knew the lone rider approaching through the darkness of the night was an ominous sign. Before long, news of the unexpected visitor had spread, prompting the villagers to step out of their homes. A few of the elders went to the village entrance to meet the stranger coming from afar. When they arrived, they saw a young man covered in blood.
It was a familiar face. He was the grandson of Arshun, the elder of Kerthamil village. They know this young man becasue his grandfather had always been proud of him; he sometimes accompanied Arshun, he was a smart boy, and unlike other young men, he was gentle and obedient toward his family. But today, this boy stood before them, in bloodied clothes and staring at them with eyes that held the emptiness of death.
"You are the grandson of Arshun. What has happened?… Help our guest, get him cleaned up, bring fresh clothes."
"No need, elder. I'm in a hurry, I need your help."
Without delay, Arsh recounted the events one by one. Some of the villagers' daughters, sisters, and relatives had married into Arsh's village, while others came as brides in this village. Now, all of them were hearing the news of their families' deaths from the young man's mouth, collapsing to the ground in grief and crying.
Arsh, however, remained calm. At the moment, the only thing on his mind was to fulfill his duty and ensure a proper burial for those who had died before the animals could tear them apart.
Soon, some of the village youth went to alert neighboring villages. A group of other young men, elders, and relatives of the deceased returned with Arsh to Kerthamil.
The moment they arrived, the sheer scale of the massacre hit them. How could anyone commit such an atrocity? They knew that similar tragedies sometimes occurred during times of war. But what could possibly have caused such a massacre now? They didn't even want to imagine the terror these people must have felt before dying
321 bodies. Children included. A total of 321 bodies were counted.
If it could be said, there was one piece of good news, it was that three babies had survived. While the villagers were inspecting the houses, they found three newborns in one home. Someone had hidden them. Arsh recognized the babies' fathers, mothers, and siblings. The youngest had been born only two months ago. He vividly remembered the celebration of her birth, which had taken place in the same square where everyone was now lying dead. One of the babies had an uncle among the villagers who had come, while another had relatives in a different village. But the youngest had lost all of his relatives. Like Arsh, she was now alone in the world.
The others began preparing fires to burn the bodies. Within a few hours, groups from neighboring villages also arrived. People wanted to see their loved ones, siblings, and daughters one last time. Arsh said goodbye to his grandfather as well. Just as he had done with his father, he took one of his grandfather's earrings. By dawn, the dead had been burned.
His father, meanwhile, was brought from the well he had described to others. At Arsh's request, the ashes of everyone were placed in the empty temple. Prayers were offered for Arienne.
No matter how much they tried to clean the pool of blood in the square, it could not be fully removed.
…
A few hours after sunrise, everyone had returned to the places they had come from. Although they wanted to take Arsh with them, he refused. Leaving a few young men behind, the villagers departed.
Arsh remained calm. Everything had happened so quickly, and he wasn't trying to make sense of it. He was simply observing. The young men who stayed with him interpreted his unusual calmness as grief and encouraged him to wash, eat, and rest. Without objection, he did as they suggested. Eventually, he retreated to his own home and his own bed to rest, the air filled with the scent of incense someone had lit to help him settle. He didn't want to argue with anyone about how unnecessary all this was.
Soon, he fell asleep. The calm he had maintained while awake gave way to nightmares.
That evening, when he woke, he heard some noises from outside. For a while, he ignored them and continued lying in bed. He began to think about what he should do next.
Now, he had no family, friends, or other relatives left. The place where he had spent his entire life, the only place he truly belonged, was now empty.
'Should he leave this place?' But he had spent all seventeen years of his life here, in this village, just as his parents and their parents had before him. For centuries, this small village in the desert had been their home. He belonged here, in blood and in spirit. Although he had dreamed of exploring the world in the future, he knew that ultimately, this was the place he would always return to. Yet, now even here, he felt as if he had nowhere to go and no place to return to.
Without people, what was the meaning of living here? The people who had lived in this place had witnessed his entire life. Every memory he had was tied to them. But now, they no longer existed, and he was the only one left to carry those memories. He felt as if his life had lost all meaning. If he were to die right now, there would be no one left to remember him. No one who would feel sorry for him.
He thought he should cry when he think about it. But once again, he couldn't.
"Should I end my own life? There is nothing left in this world that belongs to me," he murmured to himself. "If my grandfather heard me say that, he'd beat me," he added with a faint smile. "He'd say, 'This is a great sin!'"
…
The sounds from outside broke his thoughts. Arsh got up and stepped outside. A fire had been lit in the hearth, and a pot of water on it. A few people from the neighboring villages had stayed through the day, tending to the remaining tasks.
When he entered the room, everyone turned to look at him, their attention fixed on every movement he made.
"I'll help with the meal," he said, ignoring their stares. He didn't like the way they looked at him, as if he were something fragile.
He hated that feeling.
He hadn't paid attention to who they were the previous night, but he knew these men. He recognized two of them, the ones who had come from Surhamil with him.the night before. From time to time, when the elders gathered, young men from different tribes would also join, and these two were usually among them. The others were people whose faces felt familiar, but whom he did not truly know.
"Don't bother, we'll take care of it. We were waiting for you to wake up. The elders want to see you. Let's go, after we eat." said one of the men from Surhamil.
After they finished their meal together, they set out. Arsh found himself in Surhamil once again. The elders of the other villages, along with the relatives of the dead, had gathered there, sitting in the area prepared in the square. Some people were still crying; others were praying. It would continue like this for three more nights. Laments and prayers would be offered to honor the dead. Since the square in their own village was no longer suitable for gathering, the people had decided to come together here instead.
When Arsh entered the square, he greeted the elders.
"May Arianne's blessing be upon you."
In response, all the elders returned the greeting. They gestured to an empty cushion beside them, inviting him to sit. After joining them in prayer, all their attention shifted to Arsh. The young man still maintained his composure, they thought.
"We spoke with the elders of the other villages. They want you to rest for a while and decide what you wish to do. The doors of all the villages are open to you. Our advice is that you stay here with us. You will be accepted as one of our own."
Arsh had been expecting this question.
He had already made up his mind. The only issue was that he was not yet of age. Those who were underage were not permitted to leave their villages on their own. But since his village no longer existed, that tradition no longer held any power over him.
Behind the elders, a black-haired, dark-eyed young man was watching him. It was as if the young man was waiting for the answer Arsh was about to give. When Arsh looked over to see who he was, he recognized him. Arsh recognized him; his sister had married into Arsh's village. The young man had recently lost his parents, and now, his only remaining relative, his sister, was gone too.
He, too, had lost everyone he loved…
Arsh paused for a moment, then turned his gaze forward again. He was in no state to pity anyone's grief or try to understand it.
"Thank you for accepting me," he said. "But living here is… difficult for me now. I will be leaving."
A silence fell among the elders. Just as Arsh had expected the question, it was clear they had expected this very answer. It was nothing more than a formality being observed.
A young man who had lost everything had nothing left to lose. Nothing bound him anymore. They knew it was impossible to hold back someone so young, whose blood was running hot and over whom they held any authority
The elders showed their approval in silence. There was nothing more to say about Arsh staying or leaving. But one question lingered in Arsh's mind.
"Where are the babies? Two of them still have relatives, but the youngest has no one."
"For now, they're all in the care of a wet nurse," one of the elders said. "One of the relatives will soon take also the other orphaned child as well. Don't worry, they are trustworthy people."
"Her name is Ellam. Please tell them."
For the rest of the night, the elders discussed how the livestock and remaining belongings would be divided among the neighboring settlements, how the money would be collected, and how it would be distributed to the families of the dead, and to Arsh.
When night fully settled in, Arsh insisted on returning home despite all their pleas.
He rode slowly toward his village. Not a single light shone in the night; every house and every street had surrendered to darkness. The only thing glowing was the reflection of the moon on the lake. He moved deeper into the village swallowed by the dark and wandered through the empty streets.
"My whole life was spent on these streets… and yet everything that belonged to that life vanished so quickly. Is life really this fragile?"
Before he went to meet the elders today, he had already made his decision.
Should he really go to another village and start a new life? But the thought of meeting new people, pretending everything was fine, and letting time bury the memory of his family… He realized he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
Could he stay here, alone? There was enough food to last him more than a year. In the end, everyone was gone. He still had the livestock, and money. Nothing tied him down, yet everything held him in place. But this thought was also horrible. He couldn't imagine living here by himself.
He should do something. …
Soon he found himself in front of the temple. He dismounted and entered the dark, cold marble building. The walls were lined from end to end with rows of urns. He stepped in front of the altar and knelt in the shadows.
"Arienne, is this the fate you have given us? You really have abandoned us. Now tell me… what should I do?" he scoffed, rising to his feet. After paying his last respects to the dead, he left the temple.
If the gods had abandoned them, was every life destined to fall apart so helplessly?
If the gods will not act, then he himself must do something.
He needed to find those who had killed his family and the villagers. He wasn't curious about their reasons. There was no need to know. It didn't matter, for he knew there could never be a reasonable explanation for something this monstrous.
He would hunt them down and kill every last one of them, just as they had slaughtered the people he loved.
His decision was made. From this moment on, the purpose of his life would no longer be to live, but to take revenge.
He would have his vengeance.
…
Two days later, everything was ready. The rituals for the dead had been completed, and Arsh had gathered the necessary funds.
He left his home and closed the door behind him. He didn't have many belongings, loading what little he had onto his horse, and rode to the exit of the village.
He looked up at the sky, checking the position of the stars. There were still two hours until sunrise.
Without looking back, he began riding his horse to the north.