Malik Ishtar sighed as he leaned against the railing of the verandah. It had been a difficult day, and the verandah was always the place Malik retreated to whenever he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He stood feeling the cool early evening breeze and looked out at the beautiful shades of pink and purple the sky was turning as the sun set.
A hawk flew in the clear dusk sky, and Malik's violet eyes scanned the horizon as he watched the hawk fly high above. For a moment, Malik imagined that he was the hawk, flying high over the waters of the blessed Nile, free to go wherever he wanted. Malik wished he could be free, free from the duties, the obligations, the expectations of his family and his kingdom. But the vicarious feeling of freedom and flight was as feelting as the hawk disappearing from view as it flew off into the distance.
Malik was once again left with his tumultuous thoughts. He felt like a prisoner, like a hawk in a cage. But the more he beat against the cage, the more hurt and imprisoned he became. No one understood Malik Ishtar. No one knew of his angst and feelings of lonliness. From the outside, Malik's life seemed blessed. He was indeed a "son of privilege". He was a member of Egypt's distinguished noble class, a member of the "blue-blooded" aristocracy, the high class of citizens that had insiders' access to the pharaoh's court.
Malik's father was a high official who had served on Pharaoh Akmankanon's council for over thirty years. He had retired two years earlier, with full honors and a lavish pension. He expected his two children to follow in his footsteps and establish long, distinguished careers at the pharoah's court. Malik's older sister, Isis, was twenty-three, six years older than Malik. She was a shining example of what a child of the nobility should be like. She had begun training to become a high priestess at the age of nine, a rather young age, since most who trained for such positions didn't begin the training until they reached adolescence at age twelve or thirteen.
Isis was a very gifted child, and that had been noticed by Pharaoh Akmankanon himself. She had the highest marks in her priesthood training, and at the age of nineteen, she had become the youngest person ever to enter such a high position of service in the Pharoah's guardianship. Mr. Ishtar beamed with pride whenever someone so much as mentioned Isis's name. But Mr. Ishtar was not very pleased with his younger child, his son, Malik.
Malik was a slacker in the eyes of his father, a careless youth who neglected his duties and obligations. At the age of twelve, Mr. Ishtar had enrolled Malik under the mentorship of High Priest Mahaado. Master Mahaado was one of the best users of magic Egypt had ever known. He mentored several children of the elites under a rigorous training program, designed to prepare them for high-level positions in the pharoah's court and earn them a coveted place in his majesty's guardianship and council.
Mr. Ishtar had long been a benefactor to the training programs, and when Malik entered the training, Mr. Ishtar spent even more of his fortune on the program and as gifts to the High Priest. Malik never seemed to please his father, and his father often made it a point that Malik repeatedly be reminded of how much money Malik's training was costing him. Not that Mr. Ishtar would be worried about something like money, because he was a very wealthy man and an aristocrat, but he was always looking for ways to make Malik feel worthless and guilty.
"You should be grateful that I spend my time and fortune on someone so dim-witted and lazy," he would tell Malik. "Whatever position you manage to obtain at court, it will be because I paid huge sums for it, and not because of your own skills or intelligence."
Malik knew that his father didn't pay for him because he had any real ambitions for him or had any pride in him. He paid because it would gravely dishonor his father's name if his only son didn't obtain a high position in the pharaoh's council. For the son of a highly-respected and long-time official at the palace to not live up to his father's name would be scandalous.
The Ishtars were a very powerful family, and there was a long line of prestige in holding high positions and being among the pharoah's inner circle. It would be entirely unacceptable and downright deplorable if an Ishtar son couldn't folllow in line with such responsiblity. The Ishtar family name would be tarnished, in the eyes of Mr. Ishtar and the rest of the ruling class. So despite Mr. Ishtar's resentment of his "wayward" son, he would spend all he could to ensure the Ishtar name remained untarnished and reknowned.
Malik remembered the day he had begun the training, and how much his heart wasn't into any of his studies. He felt disinterested in any of the things Master Mahaado had to teach him, and he was always being scolded by his teacher and mentor. After the first year, Malik's unsatisfactory marks and performance in his studies, caused Master Mahaado to hold a meeting with Mr. Ishtar.
The high priest had warned Mr. Ishtar that his son would be expelled from the program if he didn't improve. "Mr. Ishtar, you know how much I deeply respect and admire you, and how indebted to you I am, but I cannot keep Malik in such a rigorous course of study with the marks he obtains," Master Mahaado had told Malik's father.
Malik bitterly remembered how that evening, his father had come home enraged. He found Malik sitting at the table, eating dinner with his sister, Isis, and a few of her friends from her priesthood training, as the Ishtar family's long-time faithful servant Rishid was offering the guests drinks and sweets.
Mr. Ishtar exploded into a fit of rage, breaking plates and glasses on the table and causing quite a scene. He yelled at Isis's friends to go home and then he yelled at the servants to leave the room immediately. After everyone quickly scrambled out of the dining hall, Malik's father struck him hard across the face.
He then grabbed Malik by his cloak's collar and told him that if he didn't get his act together there would be hell to pay. "I will not let a failure like you tarnish my name!", he yelled, as his eyes gleamed with vicious anger. Isis began pleading with her father to stop, but this only enraged Mr. Ishtar further.
"Stay out of this! This does not concern you!", he shouted. Quietly, Isis left the room though it pained her a great deal to see her father treat her younger brother so maliciously. Mr. Ishtar then proceeded to strike Malik again and again, until Malik passed out at his feet. "Stand up! Don't think I'm playing with you, boy!" Mr. Ishtar continued to yell abrasively at his son.
He threw the unconcious Malik against a wall. Malik's eyes fluttered open, he tried to sit up, flinching from the pain. "Sorry, father," he pleaded. "Father, please, stop hitting me, I'm so sorry, I will be a better student, I promise."
Mr. Ishtar huffed, "You're on a very short leash, now, boy," he hissed. You mess up one more time, and I will disown you. You will be banished from the kingdom forever, and I don't care where the hell you go. I won't care if I never see you again, in fact, I won't care if you are eaten by wild dogs. Now go up to your room and don't let me see your pathetic face again tonight."
Hurting physically and emotionally, Malik had quietly gone up to his room. Malik's room was on the second floor of the Ishtar mansion, up a flight of winding stairs with golden railing. Malik's room was at the end of the long hall. There were three other rooms on the second floor, one was Isis's room and the other two were lavish guest bedrooms. Mr Ishtar had the master bedroom on the first floor, right next to the downstairs guest bedroom, and on the other side of the mansion were the smaller rooms where the servants slept.
Malik's room reflected the wealth and opulence of his place as one of Egypt's nobles. He had a large bed draped with deep purple spreads and pillows, and he had chests full of clothing and gold jewelry. But Malik's privileged status belied how he really felt inside: torn, broken, and depressed. All the material things he owned could never come close to quelling the turmoil and sadness in Malik's young heart.
From an outsider's view, Malik Ishtar lived a life of luxury and privilege, a life so few in Egypt had. He lived in a mansion, he was waited on by servants who called him "master", but Malik was drowning in sorrow. He felt so different from those around him, he felt surrounded by people, yet all alone.
He lived with the heavy burden of not being good enough for his father, he lived in the shadow of his seemingly perfect sister, he lived with the fact that there were duties he was expected to fulfill and the shame the Ishtar family name would suffer if Malik failed, as he believed he always seemed to do. He lived with a father who resented him and looked at him as an embarrassment rather than a beloved son, a father who threatened to disown him, a father Malik believed didn't care if Malik was killed by thieves or even eaten by dogs, as he'd said himself.
If only his mother was alive. But she had died many years ago, she had died bringing him into this world. If only he'd died instead of her, he thought to himself. Then everyone would be better off. If only his father would love him. If only he could follow in the footsteps of those glorious Ishtars that had come before him, if he could for once do something right, make others proud. These thoughts constantly clouded Malik's mind.
A tear rolled down Malik's tan cheek as he thought of his painful memories. The sound of Isis's gentle voice as she called to him from inside the house interrupted the young man's thoughts.
The sky was darker now, and the lights of oil lamps had begun to appear. Malik looked over the horizon once again...a bright star caught his eye, and he stared at it with his lovely lavender eyes for a moment.
He remembered something Isis had told him a long time ago, when Malik was only six or seven. Isis had told him that stars can make wishes come true, and the brighter the star, the more likely it would be for the wish to come true. Malik sighed, he was seventeen now, and he wasn't sure that he believed such things anymore, but quietly, he made a wish.
"I wish I wasn't so alone, he whispered quietly", "I wish I could fly away from here." Then as Malik turned, he whispered another quiet wish, "I wish for a chance to prove myself." The cool night breeze softly played with Malik's light blond hair as he wiped the tears from his eyes, he turned back for a second to look at the bright evening star again. He could swear he could see its light twinkling now, whereas before it had been steady. With a slight hope inside his heart, he went inside the house.