Dzovinar's Tale (Cormac McCarthy Style)
Sep 22, 2024
EntertainmentI am Dzovinar, daughter of the waters, and my fate was sealed long before the stars drew breath. The sea was my cradle, the vast and endless blue, where the world was not yet broken by the cruelty of men and kings. In that place, I was free. But freedom is an illusion, one that breaks upon the rocks when the winds of fate blow cold and strong.
The day came when the world of men reached out to claim me. The Caliph of Baghdad, old and withered as the sand itself, sought me not for love but for power. My father knew that the kingdom would burn if he resisted, that our blood would soak the soil of our homeland. I knew it too. So I stood, eyes dark as the depths of the ocean, and I made the choice. My fate was tied to the hands of men.
They took me from my sea and placed me in the palace of Baghdad, a place of gold and stone, a place where the air itself was heavy with the weight of power. The Caliph was no god, though he pretended to be. He was but a man, cruel and distant, whose eyes gleamed with the greed of an empire, not the warmth of a husband. I bore his gaze, I bore his presence, but my soul remained in the waters, far from this prison of stone and flesh.
But even the mightiest kings can be undone by the simplest forces. It was not the Caliph’s armies or his power that brought my sons into the world—it was the will of the earth, the will of the waters. Sanasar and Baghdasar, born not from love but necessity. They were my sons, born of a union forced upon me, but in their hearts, they carried the fire of my spirit, the unquenchable rage of the sea.
When they were old enough, they fled, as I knew they would. They left behind the palace and the Caliph, escaping to the mountains, to a place where men and gods still wrestled for dominion over the earth. There, they built Sasoun, a fortress of stone and iron, and in doing so, they built a new world, far from the reach of the Caliph’s grasping hands.
And what of me? I remained, bound by the chains of my duty, the weight of sacrifice heavy on my shoulders. My sons were free, but I was not. The sea was lost to me, and the palace walls closed in like the cold, uncaring stones they were. I was Dzovinar, born of the waters, but here I was, a prisoner in a land where the desert consumed all, and the only sound was the wind whispering through the halls of the palace, reminding me of what I had lost.
I dreamt often of the sea. In my dreams, I would walk along its shores, my feet sinking into the wet sand, the waves lapping at my ankles. The water called to me, its voice soft, like a lullaby sung by a mother to her child. But I could not return. The palace was my cage, and the Caliph, though old and weak, held the key. My sons were far away, building a kingdom in the mountains, their hearts strong and wild, untouched by the cruelty of this world.
They would be kings, I knew that much. They would rule with the strength of the earth in their veins and the wisdom of the waters in their hearts. They were not bound by the chains that held me, and for that, I was glad. But for me, there was only the silence, the cold stone, and the memory of a time when I was free.
I am Dzovinar, daughter of the waters, mother of kings. My story is not one of glory or victory, but of sacrifice. And though the world may forget my name, my sons will live on, and through them, I will be remembered. The sea is patient, after all, and one day, it will reclaim what was taken from it.By High Priest Ardzan of Armenia