Words of the wind

Zaka was the king’s brother and the commander of the army of the Three Reigns. Zaka wasn’t his name, but it was how everyone called him, it was the noise his sword made when it pierced his rival: “za” when the weapon poked the body and “ka” when he pulled it back, out of the flesh. In the years he had built himself a good reputation: he had wiped out half of the population of the reign of Jezir and enslaved the other half, he had killed the Ziz, thanks to him his brother had unified the Three Reigns, he had killed the Ziz, created an indestructible army, he had chosen five “invincible” generals that obeyed him and at last he had killed the Ziz. Yes, the fact that he had killed the supergiant eagle, which controlled the winds, was the thing that had made him famous. Poor creature… But Killian didn’t care, if he had learnt something since he had been found, five years ago, covered in the ice of a frozen lake, it was that no one could best him, not even a giant-eagle plucker. Even if he didn’t retain any memories of his life before those last five years, he wasn’t stupid. A powerful man like Zaka, even if he looked like a pathetic individual to Killian, wanted certainly something from him, otherwise he wouldn’t have let him fight his precious generals, let alone even kill one of them. “Forgive me, I didn’t introduce myself properly: Oberon II, but my men call me vice king Zaka” he bowed flapping his hand dramatically. “I am not a man of yours” Killian remained impassive, although a very light thrill of excitement moved him. “They told me you were a tough guy, they also told me you go around calling yourself the Crystal King…” Zaka pointed out, massaging his goatee. He then gave Killian, who didn’t even deign to respond, one short look in the eyes, as if to examine his very soul and with that ambiguous smile on his face shaked his hand, reassuring him: “you can call me just Zaka or Oberon, if you prefer. How should I call you?” “Killian, it’s fine. I came here because I was told that you hold information about my past.” “Straight to the point! Ha-ha! I like it. Of course! Firsts things first: Killian is not your name, and you are certainly not the Crystal King.” Killian furrowed his forehead, so Zaka burst into a strange cackle: “Why do you want to know your story? The past is nothing else than a prison, a beast that doesn’t want to be tamed, that watches you, day after day, and at night howls into your ear. If you want advice from an old friend, the past doesn’t bring anything but pain. Let’s sit down.” Moving his arm, Zaka indicated exactly the rock which once served as chair for the guy Killian had murdered, so he continued: “I chose this place, because it brings up a lot of common memories. Weird that you don’t remember anything… If I have to go on with the story, you have to know that I want something in return. There is a mission that only you can complete…’ Slightly irritated, Killian inquired what it was about. Zaka joined his arms and stretching his legs, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, he responded: “You have just to kill someone and kidnap someone else. Now I am going to narrate your story approximatively, and when the job is done, you shall have the details and the names of who is involved. You don’t have to accept now, just hear what I have to say first.” Little did Killian know, that he shouldn’t have listened to those false words from a liar, a manipulator, so empty of significance that they could have as well been words of the wind. One of those winds that start slowly, but then, before you notice, they become hurricanes.