Malek
He saw the Hattvah go but he couldn't stop him. It was all too much: the betrayal by his so-called kin especially his brother Cleb; his rescue; the fury of the Hattavah at finding out what he really was, and the declaration that his father was before him. Was it really him? That red-faced old villager? He'd made some feeble motion to follow Dakkoul then slunk back and was now looking him over.
"My son?"
Those words didn't sound as sweet as he thought they would. Not with the doubt crammed into them. A moan came from behind him. Cleb's eyes were already fluttering even as his mouth moved.
"We've got to get out of here." Melek jumped to his feet. "Let's talk elsewhere."
They found a less foul alehouse. This one had flowers out the front and a whistler at the bar who interrupted his song only to get their orders.
Now his shoulder was being gripped by the man before him and his chin held towards the light.
"You look like Dakkoul," the man said grudgingly. "But who are you really? Some cousin of my wife's?"
"Remember the Sheredith?" Malek fired back, filled with bitterness that he now had to prove his claim. "You made her pregnant with me and then deserted us. You were supposed to raise me."
His father held on tighter for a minute before pulling him in. Malek was being hugged. A wild, fierce hug that contained something in it that soothed just a little the ache of abandonment in his heart.
"I did not know," his father breathed and Malek, remembering the Hattavah's insistence on this point, believed it was so.
He finally had a father. And perhaps even a brother if the Hattavah would ever forgive him. He remembered the righteous fury Hattavah's face and made a quick decision. Now, with his father's help, was the time to break for his freedom. He would make peace with his brother later.