Excerpt from my novel FATE.

 

The Arabian

                      “Before we go any further, I will tell you about the Arabian … maybe the only innocent victim in the whole story of FATE.”
       Silias Brack’s terrified stallion in his padded stall reared, panicked and kicked. He could smell the smoke drifting on the otherwise cane-smelling air. This act of rebellion began with the beheading of the prized stallion, a creature that represented Silias’s pride and social standing.
       It was the next best thing to beheading Silias himself.
       After the bloody deed was done, the horse’s severed head was gruesomely tied to the whipping post for Silias to witness from his top bedroom window.
       The message did not need explaining.
       It was understood by all that there was no going back now.
       Well … I’m telling you, the way it will be told in the years that followed the revolt … the act of vengeance stemmed from the horrific violation inflicted upon a young house girl, who, despite her innocence, was acutely aware of her status as a living, walking property belonging to a white master where freedom was nothing but trouble-talk.
       What had been done to the girl was not uncommon, and very few white men would question it, not even in giving it a thought. But it lived in every black back bent in the fields … every scar from the lash, and every black man, woman, and child with the intentions of freedom be nothing but trouble-talk.
       However, this longing for retribution was not just about her ... but she helped.
       She did, but did not live to tell the story.
       What had been held back for years was now let loose in anger and payback … with no going back.
       And that retaliation that was carried out on an innocent Arabian horse that had been treated better than any black skin … it told the story to those who did not want to know … and when it was looming up at you in the face. The sight of the stallion’s head on the whipping post struck at the heart of Harlock, but it also ignited a flicker of hope of escaping.
       He could see an opportunity opening up like a passion fruit, but could end on a hanging tree as that strange fruit did … you know what I mean … if you have known ‘strange fruit’ you would know what I mean.
       It was just a matter of time.
       Still … something else stirred.
       A hint of that chance.
       The sense that his fate was loosening its grip.
       He did not ask.
       The chance came before him … not as mercy, but as something that had waited long enough.
       And he was going to seize it.
       It was just a matter of time.
      However, I can tell you … amid the chaos and cries of slaves running in all directions … Black Harlock stood firm in front of that raging inferno that was devouring the mansion. His eyes locked on the flames as he braced himself to confront the heat head-on. When he entered the mansion, the fire's heat radiated around him, warping the air that was rising to the heavens as an offering in looking for forgiveness.
       But he did not flinch.
       With every crackle and roar of the blaze, adrenaline surged through him, pushing him to take action. Harlock knew this was not just a fight against fire … it was a true test of his bravery as a Zulu … and resolve in listening to his intuition.
       A pivotal moment that would shape who he was as he fought to save Silias Brack, his white master.

 

 

 

 

 

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