The lives of Eorzeans have always been characterized, defined perhaps, by the tragedies that surround them; be they personal or otherwise. I myself have unfortunately been no exception to this particular phenomenon. I wouldn’t chance to claim that my experiences are any greater than my fellow Eorzeans, however I couldn’t tell you what they might have been and far less how they handled them. But, I’ve a feeling that isn’t why you’ve come. Join me by the fire; I’ll fetch you a bit of bread and some drink.
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I am Zesiro Ghalib, son of the chieftain Melisizwe, brother to the firstborn Amadi, and the second-born Tau. Third-born of my father, my responsibilities never had a great deal to do with learning to lead the tribe in my father’s stead. Should the worst have befallen my eldest brother Amadi, it would have been Tau who would have to shoulder that burden. My father made it abundantly clear to me that I was not to worry about such things, rather that I was to be a great hunter and warrior for our people.
As a young boy I was more than happy not to have to spend the long hours with my father listening to his lectures of our tribe and our place in the world. It’s not like I wouldn’t hear about it from my brothers anyway. Instead, I spent most of my time, at a young age, learning from my Uncles. Now I know what you’re thinking, and my answer to that is no. My Uncles were not evil jealous men. I’m sure they both saw me as a son of their own as I spent more time with them than I did with my own father. They were my instructors and my role models, as, they too, were what I was to become.
Of course I was not always so close to them...
I must have been five years of age, if not just a touch older, on that day. The forest was so green in those days, travelers seldom passed through the hedge and if they did, our tribe was blissfully unaware. We were a strong people, shunning the contact with others for so long that we, in time, had forgotten of the world outside our own nucleic one; we existed simply in our corner of the forest. It was a simple and peaceful life. It was not without its’ hardships, but what we faced was nothing that our people weren’t ready to handle.
My mother, beautiful woman, had been weak for as long as I had known her. She seldom left our family’s tent and spent most of her time resting. But for her physical weakness, she was strong of heart, never complaining about her health or having to take care of my brothers and I in her weakened state. Keeping that in mind, when she fell ill that last time it wasn’t something that I paid any particular heed to. Would I have? I was just a child. It’s hard for me to recall anything from those years past that wasn’t told to me by someone else. She was so strong even in her final days. I on the other hand was not so strong.
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Through my tear soaked eyes I could see the wraith-like forms of my kinsmen before her funeral pyre, casting their bodies to the earth, wailing until their voices grew hoarse, and coughing up blood upon the earth. By now my brothers had grown to understand our tribe’s presentation of death, but naturally that didn’t prepare them for them for the death of our mother. I, of course, was entirely unprepared for everything that I was experiencing. My father stood behind me, one arms placed on my shoulder, grasped firmly. His face was so hard, harder than any ore. Of course, I couldn’t understand why he seemed so emotionless at my mother’s passing, his wife. I’m sure that he of anyone would have wanted to scream and curse, to throw himself upon the dirt his fists into earth until it was stained red with his blood. He had to remain strong though, if not for his tribe, then for his sons. To this day, I wouldn’t be able to tell you everything that I was experiencing. I don’t think I could bare it.
It was after that time that I truly started to dedicate myself to my training. If absolutely nothing else, it allowed me to dull the pain of my mother’s passing. Everyone seemed to be trying to comfort me in those months fallowing her death, but I couldn’t have been less interested in what they had to say. When you’re a child you’re just this insular being, constantly taking and thinking you’re the only one in the world who has had to experience what you’re experiencing. Disgusting. Thankfully neither my father nor my brothers would let me get away with being a selfish child for too long.
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I remember it was early winter, the first few flurries of the season floated through the air in the early morning. A lone blue antelope had drifted a little ways from the relative safety of the herd in search of the last few bits of green grass hidden under the blanket of old matted autumn leaves. Its’ own shifting and crunching served to mask the approach of the unseen hunters from the brush. Part sport, part necessity, there was something truly beautiful about the way that we stalked our prey. Under the instruction of my Uncles I had been positioned to take the first shot, they were flanking to help ensure a kill and food for our people.
As I drew the arrow back along the rest, my senses began to narrow to a fine point, focusing in on the moment. Every faint creak seemed deafeningly loud in the moment, somehow those tiny sounds were greater than the cries of the antelope, or the noise that the rest of its’ herd created in running away.
The instant it fell we were upon it, blades drawn. The whole affair only lasted a few moments before my Uncles shouldered the beast and the three of us began to head back towards home, smiles in our hearts.
“Zesiro! That was a fine shot, you keep practicing like this and you’ll be a master hunter in no time.” My elder uncle, Kimba, had always been one to encourage me but never hesitated to correct me. If he offered me a compliment with no sort of correction attached to it I knew that I had done something that truly impressed him.
“I thought that I was already a master hunter.” I smiled back at him from the front of our small group. “After all, we’re taking home quite a bit of quarry.” I gave the four marmots tied together and strapped to my back a bit of a jostle, each one a separate kill of my own hand. My uncles each had one their own, but I’d been a touch quicker than they’d been that day; perhaps a touch luckier as well.
“Don’t let your pride affect your aim Zesiro,” my younger uncle, Tendaji, was always very critical of me, “neither we nor your brothers will ever let you forget.” I could feel him smirking from behind me. He was critical, but well intentioned. I think I knew even then why he was so hard on me; he was the same as I was. Not only was I supposed to become one of the greatest hunters in our tribe; I was also to be Tendaji’s replacement of sorts. He was a great man; even to this day I feel it was a tall order to be his replacement.
“Tendaji, you won’t have to worry about that. Neither you or Kimba will let me get away with that for long.”
“That we won’t.” I wasn’t sure who had spoke, I’m almost certain they both did.
They were somewhere between extra fathers and brothers. They were my mentors and my closest friends outside of my real brothers.
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We were heroes. Triumphantly returning with enough meat to pad out the tribes meals for at least a week. We weren’t the only party returning from the hunt, and although we brought in the largest haul it wasn’t a competition. Every little bit that came in was going to help our tribe make it through the winter with as comfortably as possible.
Zesiro Ghalib
