It was nothing like the stories.

Remains of trees scattered the far reaches of the once great orchards. No leaves decorated the withered branches upon them, nor did a single ruby red apple glisten as their solemn party passed by. The sands consumed all.

“Do ya tink anyone stayed?” posed Manma.

Azhar dug his hands into his pockets and sighed even louder than usual, “People always stay.”

The moment they came across the first collection of ruined sandhuts and tree huts, Azhar was proved right.

Here and there, what could be called vagrants at best huddled and scurried amidst the wasteland. The desert winds whistled by as Azhar halted by the street’s entry.

“Toftof, I have a feelin’ dat dere be enemies here.” Warned Azhar.

Toftof caught up to the rest at his mention, “And what be dis feelin’ based on?” he puffed.

“My sweat.”

Cirin eyed Toftof who had been walking the other pack serpent. He appeared to be in great difficulty for his hands were balled and his teeth out and clenching.

“Dese people are not yours, ya stupid imp.” Azhar tossed his head from side to side, “Dey be desperate.” He stopped at a particularly skinny trio of children, “Starving.”

After a while, Azhar nudged his head at the company and continued walking.

Azhar lowered his voice, “When we be at our lowest points, it dun matta how smart we were, we become no mo dan beasts. Ya undastand?”

“Ya dun have to tell me.” Hushed Toftof.

Cirin made sure to pull Sol close as they trudged brazenly through the street’s center. The eyes of the depraved locked onto them and did not let go. There presence was strange, and made stranger still by the small felian among them. Cirin felt the same sweat form on the back of his neck. He knew from Ezmir, that sweat did not lie.

And lie it did not, for the instant they reached the street’s midpoint Cirin caught the particular scrap of several footsteps echo behind him. He turned just as Azhar did, yet where Azhar drew his blade, Cirin faltered at what lay before him.

A crowd formed there, not of motely bandits desperate for money, but of regular people, desperate perhaps, but desperate for their lives.

And old man quivered in front of the much younger members of the crowd and lowered himself to his knees. Azhar kept his blade up and his eyes narrowed.

The old man, whose arms were bones and clothes tattered, pressed his meek hands together and prostrated himself there.

“The generation before mine is dead.” The old man’s voice was broken thing, it was just as tattered as his clothes. Cirin noticed what the old man meant then as he stared at the members of that particular crowd. They were young. The oldest among in their early twenties. More so, they all looked like walking bones. Many even appeared as pale.

“Please.” Continued the elder, “Save the remaining few.”

Azhar lowered his blade after sometime and sheathed it a moment a later. He turned without so much an answer and walked a few steps.

“Sorry.” He answered as he walked away.

Cirin felt his gut wrench. He turned after his master and shouted, “Old mo-”

“We must help them.” Cried Sol.

Azhar stopped a few paces away, “We came here to tell da people you live, not ta save anoda city. We’ll find some lodging tonight and leave tommora.”

“But.”

“No arguing, my Prince. Ya safety is my highest concern. And dis be no safe place. Not now.” Azhar tossed his head to a nearby alley way, then snapped back to his front and continued walking.

Manama and Toftof both apologised to the elder before tugging the pack snakes along with them. Cirin sighed and grabbed Sol by the arm.

“Come on, Sol. I dun like it eider, but we gotta listen to da old mon about dis.” Tried Cirin. Sol nodded back, he tended not argue with Cirin. Yet Cirin could tell the boy hated turning away from those people. In fact, as Cirin jogged to Azhar with Sol in Tol, Cirin hated it to.

He felt powerless, feeble, someone who could not even lift a sword. He glanced painfully at his broken arm, in a way he was powerless. The fight with the golden eye boy proved that. It made him wonder why he was even there. Azhar’s pet project? No. He was a means to keep the prince in check.

Even as he walked away, he could hear the pleas for help emanating from the dying crowd.

Each voice was different.

“Help us.” A girls.

“Help my family.” A man’s.

“Help, please. Save us. Wait.” A woman’s

“Wait.”

Cirin stopped. Every voice had a body, and some voices spoke more of their bodies than others. This wasn’t a starving voice, and that made Cirin turn. As it did for Toftof, Manama, and even Azhar.

Azhar brushed passed Cirin. He met the owner of that voice halfway between the remnants of the crowd and their own company.

“A green eyed boy, as pale as dey come? And a collection of notable guards? You must Prince Sol and his escorts.” Said the man. He was middle aged, dressed in fine silk, and had a finely cut head of hair that spoke of his wealth.

Azhar and the man greeted each other with a half bow, “And who you be?” asked Azhar.

“A friend.” Said the man as he bowed to the remaining four behind Azhar. He tossed his walnut brown eyes to Azhar, “I am Uhatu. Lord Uhatu, and a former noble of Gara. I overheard your objections to da prince and I can be a means to what ya need.” He pointed to a hillside manse near the base of the fallen tower, “Stay at my manse tonight.”

“Den we’ll take you up on dat offer.”

The two bowed to each other again and joined the other four as they traveled down the road.

They reached the manse by nightfall. The house was not a particulary large one, yet it held the most common of Ilivanmarin manse essentials. It had the two man high walls, a cared for garden and most importantly a grand view of the tower.

Cirin scrutinized the walls as they entered through the gate. There were cracks on those walls and strange stains on the surface. Moreover, the tips of the walls were finished with spikes. Cirin had never known nobles to be a warlike people. Especially not the wine loving officiates of Ilivanmar.

“Come in, come in.” insisted Uhatu.

Manama, Azhar, Cirin, and Sol followed Uhatu into the lavish manse as Toftof split off with a stable hand to handle the pack serpents.

“We have guest rooms on da second floor.” Motioned Uhatu to the stairs on his left, “You may rest dere tonight, while I have my people prepare dinner.”

“Most appreciated.” Nodded Azhar.

“Uh, I can arrange a separate room, for my lady.” Said Uhata as he turned to Manama.

Manama chuckled and nudged her head to the door, “Eh? Mother Manama will be fine sleepin’ wit da snakes.”

“My-”

Azhar laughed and patted the noble on the back, “She be a little strange. If I were you, I’d let her do as she wishes. We be gone tommora anyway.”

Uhatu’s plastered on my smile fell then and his tone plummeted with it, “Right…” He said slowly. He clasped his hands and mimicked Azhar’s laughter, “We’ll prepare the finest of bathes to make up for it.”

Azhar patted Uhatu on the back again, much to the noble’s displeasure, “Tank ya for da trouble.” He yawned.

He was gone up the stairs shortly after, while Manama took the door to her own retreat. Cirin lowered his head at the noble, “Tell me why.” He started.

“You must be anudda of da prince’s guards.” Said Uhatu, “I see you be asking why I have given you lodging-”

“Not dat.” Hushed Cirin. He glanced at Sol, who had his little eyes on Uhatu the entire time. “Why did da people stay behind? Even if dey be starving?”

Uhatu lowered his brows and blew a drawn out sigh, “Oh how da young be foolish. Walk wit me.” Just as sol started to move. Uhuta held out one hand, “Not you, my Prince. Please join your guard on da uppa level. Dis be a chat fa ya friend here.”

Sol turned to Cirin and Cirin nodded at Sol. Sol latched onto Cirin’s sleeve, “Tell me, ok?” pleaded the prince.

Cirin ruffled Sol’s ebon hair, “You need not eva worry about dat.”

Sol smiled before departing the next moment. Once he was sure Sol was gone, Uhatu took Cirin on an immediate tour through the houses facilities, choosing to remain silent as passed the first sitting room.

“Dis manse has four sitting rooms, a kitchen, three blaconies and six bedrooms. Do you know what dat means?” Uhatu paused shortly for Cirin to answer.

“You’re rich?”

“We were rich.” Corrected Uhatu, “Dis manse was second only to da royal house in Lamonori in da free cities when da tower still stood. Now it has lost all value. All we have left is da clothes on our backs, what food we have left in da storehouses and a dozen pieces of papers sayin’ we own da grand majestic orchards of Gara.” Uhatu made a particular play with what he said last, making sure to exaggerate his ‘r’s’ as he said ‘Gara’.

They had just passed into the final sitting room when Uhatu spoke again. This room was full of old paintings of towers and apples trees. It stank heavily of oil and liquor.

“When da towa fell, no one knew what would happen. Or radda.” Uhatu paused, “We didn’t want to know what would happen. People are da same you see. Weder pennyless or rich, dey love deir homes. Dose of us who refused ta leave in da first week were too late ta do it in da second. Everyting was gone da moment we decided to stay.”

“But it isn’t gone.” Protested Cirin, “Why not help da people down dere? If you help each udder you may still survive.”

Uhatu gave Cirin a discerning look, “Dere are only two types of mean who defend strangers. Dose dat are kind, and dose burdend wit remorse. You speak as if ya shoulder da blame for dis. What is it dat weighs on ya mind I wonda?”

Cirin balled his fists and kept quiet.

“No matta.” Continued Uhatu, “It is not dat simple, child. Da moment we open our stores to dem, dey will take everyting.” Uhatu stopped in front of the final doorway and let Cirin passed him into the room. It was the kitchen.

Cirin had only seen the royal kitchen a couple times, yet this one reminded him of a smaller version of it. It was clean, loud, and above all busy. Atleast ten cooks rushed from facility to facility, chopping, stewing, dicing and yelling.

“Dese few are da only ones we can support andi n return dey help us keep our formr lifestyle da way it is.”

“Papa!”

Cirin turned to the collection of three small children as they rushed Uhatu, rushing to his leg and jumping to grab his attention.

He lifted the nearest and smallest of the three children, a small toddler, and held it high as a middle-aged woman with wavy black hair crossed the sitting room.

She was dressed in a red one-piece with a golden river lily imprinted by her hip.

The moment she got to Uhatu, the two leaned in and pecked a kiss.

“Uhatu, is dis one da guests?” she asked quaintly.

“Yes, my dear. He is da prince’s youngest guard at present. I was giving him a tour.” Uhatu turned to Cirin, “I hope it was to your pleasing?”

Cirin noted the three children as well as the workers in the kitchen, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for these people, even if he knew they were living the way they did while others starved on the streets just blocks away.

“It is.” Said Cirin.

“Den I insist you rest fa now in da rooms above, da food will be ready shortly.”

Cirin left the family and made to the upper floor with his left hand in his pocket. Uhatu was right about one thing. He was guilty. Guilty of being weak against the golden eyed boy. When Azhar found Cirin that night in Ezmir, Cirin had learned that Zanzabarra had escaped mere moments before the golden eyed boy had chosen to. From that, and from how the boy mentioned Zanzabarra before leaving, Cirin concluded that the boy’s departure was based purely on Zanzabarra’s retreat. If Zanzabarra had not left, Ezmir would have been lost and Sol along with it.

Cirin slammed his hand against the wall. Had the boy been here? He wondered. Had he been too late?

The doro closest to where he had hit the clicked and crept open. From it, Sol’s small head peeped out. He turned his head fro mside to side until he saw Cirin and eyes went a lit.

“Cirin!” he beamed, pushing open the door fully and stumbling to his guard.

Cirin pushed back Sol with his left hand until the prince was an arm’s length away.

“Uhatu says da people stay cause dey love deir homes. No udda reason. Same with Uhatu’s own family. Dey’re not bad people.” He concluded.

“I knew that.” Smiled Sol.

“Den, if none of dem are to blame, who do ya point ya blade at?” asked Cirin. He shut his eyes and smiled sadly as he realised he was asking a seven year old boy philosophical questions.

“No one!” shouted the seven year old boy, “If everyone smiled and shared, everyone would be happy? Wouldn’t they? Cirin.”

Cirin flicked Sol in the head and laughed a little, “I guess you’re right, ya imp. Is da old mon here?”

Sol nodded furiously, stopping only briefly to rub his injured head, “Down the hall.” He pointed, “The biiig door, right there.”

“Thanks mon.”

Cirin made to the biggest door just as directed and opened it without so much a knock. Azhar never gave him much privacy either.

Inside the brightly painted suite were two ornate drawers on either side of a queen size bed. And on the bed, aside from the priceless linens, laid an unceremonious slob of a man on his side who , quite promptly, scratched his bum as soon as Cirin entered.

“Oi, old mon.” sighed Cirin.

Azhar glanced at the boy over his shoulder, “Oh, it’s you, mouse. What’s wit dat face? Haven’t seen a man try ta rest afta traveling da desert fa two weeks?”

“Didn’t say I wanted to.” Confessed Cirin.

“Well? What is it?” yawned Azhar as he turned over.

“I want ta try training now.”

Azhar blinked once and turned over, “Impossible.”

“It’s been weeks!”

“Give it a rest, mouse. And give me a rest.”

Cirin stomped in, shoo’d Sol from the door, and slammed it loud enough to wake a whole house full of sleeping Azhars.

Azhar sat up and ran his hand sloppily across his face, “Do ya want ta train dat bad?”

Cirin tensed his shoulders, “Yes.” He said sternly.

“Ya have ya blade wit ya?”

Cirin reached for the rusted blade on his back, “Aye.”

“Den…” Azhar lept from the bed, swiped his foot under the bed frame, and kicked his blade out from under it. He hooked the blade with his foot, then knocked it up in the air into his grip. “Fight me.” He said as he cracked his shoulders.

Cirin had no time to question the absurdity of it. Nor did he want to. There was something he wanted to test.

He drew his rusted sabre out with his left hand and swished it in front.

Just as Azhar took up his usual stance, Cirin proceeded to mimic it. First he lowered his knees, and second he held the blade pointed to the ground. Finally he tilted his body til it was directly parallel to his masters’.

Azhar shook his head, “I told ya not ta copy me.” He started.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Cirin lowered his chin and lunged forwards only to have Azhar dodge it with ease.

“Dis is da only way I’ll get stronger!” grunted Cirin whilst attempting another swipe.

Azhar dodged that swipe and finally parried the third. From there, the man pushed all his weight onto the press of his blades until Cirin was forced to fall back.

“Ya tink ya can even hit me while ya left handed? Pah. Ya be betta dan dis mouse.”

Cirin charged. Azhar dodged.

Turning on his heel, Cirin swept the blade in a wide arc at Azhar, who just as easily ducked the attack, and had it cut the tapestry behind him.

The two circled each other. Once Cirin had him facing the door way, he swung low, determined this time, only to have his master meet the attack with his own downwards facing blade. The blades rasped against each. Rust against finely tuned steel.

“Ya give up, mouse?”

Cirin scowled and jumped back. He stabbed the empty air ahead of him to keep the man at a distance.

Cirin shook his head furiously. It was the only way he could think to calm himself. “Ya words won’t work on me, mon.”

Azhar held his blade to the side and lifted his free hand towards Cirin. He motioned the boy to come at him.

Angrily, Cirin flicked his blade to the side and ran headfirst.

Azhar needed only to step to the side to avoid the assault, while Cirin dumbly stopped a few step behind his master.

The tow turned to each and leapt back.

Cirin puffed, “Ya grown soft, old mon. You’d have me bruised and on da ground by now.”

“Look Cirin.”

“No wonda ya only be a dog.”

“Cirin.”

“Maybe I’ll have dat Zanzabarra train me instead.”

Azhar shut his eyes and lifted his free hand to his face as he sighed into it.

Cirin lowered his chin again and charged. This was his chance.

Closing the gap, Cirin reached Azhar in half a second, yet Azhar’s blade knew he would come. The moment Cirin was within the reach of Azhar’s blade, Azhar twisted Cirin’s blade out of his hand knocked him back with a kick to the chest.

Cirin’s blade flung passed the boy until it lodged itself through the aforementioned priceless linen sheets.

Cirin blinked, “How? You weren’t even looking.”

“I didn’t need ta.” Said Azhar, “I knew da length of ya blade and I knew da sound of ya footsteps. A careless swordsman makes more sounds dan he needs ta. A swordsman be only careless once he forsakes da beauty of his style. Listen, mouse, my style requires complete control of my state of mind while da style I be teaching ya thrives on ya passion.”

Cirin go up to his feet, wincing once as his right arm began to throb. “I’ve lost ta ya every time wit dat style.”

“hmpf.” Puffed Azhar, “Ya will never beat me, mouse.”

Cirin looked down, “I’ve lost to him because of this style.” He cursed under his breath.

“Mouse?” quandered Azhar.

Just then, the door flung open, and a red faced Uhatu sumbled in, his eyes immediately thurst upon the murdered sheets and butchered tapestry.

“D-d-do you know how much dese are worth! Spirits- I.” Uhatu shook his head and swallowed hard as he composed himself. Behind him, Cirin saw a frowning sol, who looked more distraught than Uhatu.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him.” Admitted the boy who was almost in tears.

“Mister Azhar.” Started Uhatu.

“Yes?” said Azhar awkwardly, now facing the man fully.

Uhatu puffed again, raised his finger and began to outline the finer details of rare Ilivanmarin silk, including the lengthy colouring procedures and its many many links to ancient Ilivanmarin culture.

Yet Cirin drowned it all out. He had been listening to a different voice.

Your master speaks the truth.

Cirin was whispering as quietly as he could, whilst Azhar was distracted, “What do you mean?”

His style fails you. This other style is the right one. Practice that instead.

“My right arm is broken.” Snapped Cirin, “I can’t even if I wanted to.”

But you left is fine. That was your weak arm wasn’t it? Take this as an opportunity to train with it.

“How long have you been watching me.”

Your entire, miserably short, life.

One of Cirin’s eyes twitched. He hated being watched. To think some strange voice in his head had been doing so… For a moment he wondered if he was going mad. Cirin shook his head. By all accounts, hearing and communicating with a voice inside one’s head was the definition of a mad man. Still, he hadn’t heard the voice for two weeks. He thought it was gone entirely, he evne thought that it may have been an illusion. Yet now, after he had resolved to see if a psar would bring it- and now that it did- he didn’t know what to think. Only ask.

Cirin peered at Uhatu, and thanked the spirits for the man’s obsession of bed sheets. He spoke so passionately on the matter that it had fully engrossed both Sol and Azhar, though Cirin was sure that only one of those two were truly encapsulated.

The boy lowered his chin once more, “Who are you?” he whispered.

I have a theory, but I do not like it.

“Tell me about dis teory.”

No. I can stay silent if you’d like. I might as well if I’m reduced to answering the questions of a lowly pig.

“Ok.” Puffed Cirin, “First ting we need ta clear. What must I do ta earn ya respect?”

The voice was silent for a while, though Cirin could feel it listening. It was as if a stranger was constantly looking over his shoulder.

Never lose again.

“What?” hushed Cirin.

You heard me, pig. IF you intend to earn MY respect, become strong. You want advice on how to do it? If my theory is correct, then the answer is simple. Use both your arms, and use them well.

Cirin had been quivering with rage while the voice spoke. It’s arrogance had no bounds. Whatever it was, it knew exactly how to rouse him. He was about ready to tell the voice off when he felt it’s presence vanish. He turned around immediately, swiping at nothing when he realized the room had gone quiet.

“Mouse?”

Cirin spun to the sight of three people staring at him.

“You ok, mouse?” asked a concerned Azhar.

“Yeah.” Nodded cirin slowly, “I’m just tired, da pain of my arm is getting to me.”

Uhatu clapped his hands, “Well den, join us for dinner and rest afterwards. Ya all earned it afta ya travels.” Uhatu motioned them all to follow him as he made out the doorway and through the hall.

“Oh and mister Azhar.” He said cooly, “Please refrain from sparring in da bedrooms.”

“My bad. My bad.” laughed Azhar.

A feast awaited them at dinner table. It took the breath out of both Azhar and Cirin, who both owned the stomachs of giants, while it gave the prince of inadequate diet a shrug.

All across the long rectangular table sat bowls of various scents and wafting steams. One by one, the kitchen staff revealed the plates as all five of the guests took the respective seats. Uhatu took the other furthest seat while he inducted his wife and three small children to the seats closest to him. Sol ,as per custom, sat on the furthest side of Uhatu.

The bowl of apple scented curry took Cirin’s attention first. Cirin never imagined something as sweet as an apple could be used in what appeared to be a neatly plated dish of cutlet pork strips and grainy brown rice. Next, his eyes drifted to the plates topped with flaky flat bread that also smelled of apples. Near that, rested a pitcher filled nearly to the brim with a bubbling apple cider, while several sauce trays glistening in every color of fall teased him by.

Then, a rather burly cheff, with a braided beard and mustache, presented the dining party with a platter of diced and glistening brown meat. That to, smelled of apples.

“Da finest sand otter meat.” Ushered Uhatu from where he sat across from the table, “A Gara delicacy.”

“Dat be an awful lot for a delicacy.” Noted Toftof, who had already been feasting on an entire chicken with his barehands.

“Dis be a special occasion.” Uhatu’s words struggled to leave him as he bore witnessed to sand rat savagery. He cleared his throat, “Eat! The rest of you eat. Ya must be hungry from ya travels.”

Cirin sat closest to Sol while they ate. The aspiring swordsman had nearly consumed half his bowl of curry when he realised his charge had barely touched the dish offered to him.

“Sol, a gotta eat, udderwise ya gonna stay as skinny as dese skewers.” Cirin lifted his eating skewer in expression.

Sol looked away and pouted.

“Is it da hungry people dat be boddering ya?” said Cirin. He looked from head to head and turned back to Sol when he was sure none of the adults were listening, “It bodda’s me to, okay?”

Sol glanced up, “Really?”

“Ya mon. But we can’t do anyting about it. Dose people chose ta stay, and dey chose to accept what dat meant. We can only hope dat fortune finds dem some day.”

Sol picked at his food with his skewer, “What happens, when people don’t eat, Cirin?”

Cirin took bite out of his pork slice and drowned it with a sizable gulp of his cider. He placed the cup on the table slowly and sighed, “Dey go to a betta place.”

Sol’s eyes bounced from his plate to Cirin and finally to his own hands, “Is there lots of apples in this place?”

“The best.”

“And kind people?”

“the kindest.”

“But then, why don’t everyone go there?”

Cirin placed his skewer down. “People love deir homes.” He quoted slowly.

To that, Sol clasped his hands and kept silent for an uncomfortably long time. Soon the sound of idle chatter of adults, the clinging of cutlery, and happy squeals of Uhatu’s three children washed into the absence of the two boy’s conversation. The more cirin fixated on Sol’s statue like expression the more he felt aware of what happened around him. He could even make out the frantic panging within the kitchen.

The screech of Sol’s chair thrust Cirin out of his waking dream. In fact, it silenced all but the panderings of the three children on the other side.

“Prince Sol?” questioned Uhatu first.

“Sol?” added Azhar.

Sol smiled and held his head to the side, “I’d like to eat up stairs. Is that fine?”

Azhar looked uneasy, yet Uhatu played a smile that spoke well about the indifference of nobles.

“You are a guest and, furthermore, royalty. You may eat whereva ya please.”

Azhar raised a hand to silence Uhatu, then turned his eyes to a Toftof in mid bite, “Toftof, go with him please.”

Toftof sighed vividly, placed down his chicken, and swaggered to the boy, “By all means, ya majesty.” He offered, his face a mess of grease and sauce.

Sol bowed his head to the man, as Toftof as well as a two servants packed his food in white cloth. A moment later, the usual noises returned.

Cirin threw a look at Azhar, yet Azhar shook his head the moment he saw the boy. The instruction was clear. He had to stay while Toftof escorted the prince. Cirin scarfed down the last of his pork slice angrily. He still couldn’t trust Toftof, especially not with Sol.

The moment he finished and began to rise, a servant wisped by and placed a heavenly platter of diced otter meat in front of him. Cirin’s lip twitched, and his mouth watered. He sat down abruptly. After dis he convinced himself.

When all Sol and Toftof were gone, a loud clang returned the former silence. All eyes turned to Uhatu, with his spoon held just at the tip of a glass cup. His autumn brown eyes fell upon the one man who stood as tall as him.

“I shall tell ya da truth now.” Began the noble.

Cirin swallowed the last of the cubes.

Uhatu closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, “A couple days ago, a few of da remaining citizens attacked my manse. No one was injured, but I fear da worse. Ya saw dem didn’t ya?”

Azhar nodded, “A few. Not many, though it be enough if dey organise well.”

“My family can’t run.” Said Uhatu motioning at his three small children and his wife beside him, “We missed our chance and eva since we’ve been biding our time here. I took da biggest risk finding ya company dis evenin’ because I have a proposition for ya.”

Azhar placed his skewers down, “I refuse.”

“We’ll pay ya.” Pressed the noble.

“No, my lord. I refuse ta spill da blood of dose people.”

Uhatu ran his hand across his mouth and tapped the table nervously, “Ya undastand don’t ya? No matta what dey will attack us. Blood will spill no matta what.”

“Whose hands do ya want da blood ta be spilled on? Dere were children out dere.”

Manama turned to Cirin then and motioned a servant to come by. She had been sitting quietly all the while next to the two boys. That was strange of her in and of itself.

“Mudda Manama tinks ya dun need ta hear dis, eh?” she looked up to the servant boy who arrived at her request, “Caramel apple slices.” She ordered, “For da two boys.”

The servant nodded and left at once.

Before Cirin could speak, Manama pressed a finger against his lips, “Take da slices to Sol and eat wit him tonight. We won’t let anything happen to ya two while we’re hear. Trust us.” Manama removed her finger and winked one tattooed eye lid.

Meanwhile Azhar and Uhatu were embroiled in the midst of a contest of words, Cirin stood up from his seat, accepted the dish given to him by the returning servant, and made his way out of the room.

Cirin found himself smiling as he trekked to the stairs. Azhar did care. Even if he refused to help back then, it must have been begrudgingly to himself. He looked up the spiraling stairs and became engrossed in the thought of the secrets he had been hording as he traversed the lavish steps. Azhar was shrewd man, no matter how dumb he made himself look at times. He would learn everything eventually. And what then? Would he call the boy mad for having a voice inside his head? Would he try and hunt down the golden eyed priest who injured his apprentice so? Would he scold his own apprentice for hiding such things?

Each time he asked himself a new question on the issue the boy became more and more weary of letting Azhar find out.

He stopped in front Sol’s door and knocked on it once. To his surprise, the door creaked open, releasing the light of the flickering lamp within it. Cirin nearly dropped his apples slices.

Sol was gone.

He ran inside the room and tossed his head aobut in panic. Not just sol, Toftof was gone to. Cirin grasped his head. His fears were correct. Maybe Toftof had accompanied them to get to Sol. It was a ruse. It had to be. Toftof was a liar after all.

“Dey’re gone! Dey’re gone!” bellowed Cirin as loud as he could. He shouted that three times more as he ran down the staris.

Azhar was already there, his chest pounding and his face contort.

“What do ya mean gone?” He puffed.

That was why a search party in the middle of the night formed.

Cries for Sol echoed across the manse grounds and into the surrounding manses that had been abandoned.

One of the servants from the dinner party slowed to a halt by the gates of Uhatu’s manse.

He tossed his eyes from Azhar to Manama to Uhatu and shook his head as he caught his breath.

“Dat was da last manse.” Cursed Azhar.

“I-I dun know how dis happened.” Stammered Uhatu.

Azhar ran one hand through his hair, turned, and grasped Uhatu by the collar.

“Uhatu!” yelped his wife as she reached for Azhar. Manama stepped from behind her and pressed a dagger to her throat.

Azhar lifted the til the tips of his toes touched the ground, “Da prince is missing, most likely in da town, and ya just told me dat very town be full of people who be clamoring fa noble blood.” Azhar shook the man as he grasped for breath, “If anyting happens to dat boy, I’ll give dat town enough noble blood ta paint everah dead apple red again.”

The man gurgled madly as Azhar held him even higher.

“find him.” Spat Azhar, as he finally let Uhatu go.

Manama did the same with Uhatu’s wife, who promptly rushed to the man now on his bum.

Cirin scanned the city scape while those threats were uttered. It was dark. Too dark to see most anything, except… His red eyes narrowed on a particularily bright point in the city.

“Old mon, look at dis.”

Azhar walked to where cirin was squatting and lowered to his height.

“A light... a light!” guffawed Azhar.

Uhatu was rubbing his throat, “must be a gadering.” He squawked.

Azhar tossed his narrowed eyes at Uhatu, “You come wit us.”

…

Azhar ran fast when he was mad. His pace made Cirin beg for breath and Uhatu struggle to keep up. Manama, however seemed at ease with it.

Azhar slowed to a stop at the first signs of a gathering. Manama stopped second, and Cirin third. Several moments later Uhatu arrived, his hands plastered to his knees and his breaths long and labored.

This gathering was much larger than the first they saw earlier in the day. It was clear by the outline of heads against the piddling light that there were at least fifty or so people gathered there.

Azhar began a slow walk, which evolved into a quick trot and finally sprint towards the gathering. When he was nearly there, a shadows collided against him and drew him to the side.

Cirin, Manama and Uhatu were quick to catch up.

Cirin held his breath as he the face of the interceptor. No doubt Azhar was in a similar state of shock as he stared the imp of a man.

“Toftof?” he spouted.

“Aye. Now calm ya self.” Toftof tilted his head at the gathering, “Come, dere be something ya need ta see.”

Toftof began walking towards the gathering with Azhar in tow.

“Where is he? Where is he?” echoed the walking Azhar.

“Be quiet and look.” Barked Toftof.

The first of the people they met at the gathering bowed and opened a way immediately.

Azhar, despite all he had been through quit his thrashing instantly.

Cirin brushed passed the man to see why. The reason left his motuh agape and his eyes quivering.

The light revealed of three lamps held by three different vagrants revealed it all. It was Sol. The boy had been sitting on his heels as he reached for the meal besides him. He grasped a large chunked of meat and rice and held it to one of three children clamouring in front of him.

“Ahhh.” He giggled, as the smallest of three children happily swallowed the rice and smiled. The other two laughed in tune and portions of the crowds began to laugh to.

Cirin looked them then, they weren’t all laughing. Some were crying. Some were silent. Yet despite who they were, everyone there was smiling. Sol fed another of three children. It was apparent he had been doing so for some time, since all three had sauce stains by their mouths. All three children were about his age, but Sol didn’t show it. At that time he had become their protector.

“He’s so skinny.” Hushed a woman within the crowd.

“Is he truly a prince? I can’t believe it...” whispered a man.

Uhatu made his way to Azhar’s side.

“Those three children he’s feeding.” Uhatu wiped his eyes as he spoke, “Dey- dey remind me of mine.”

Azhar crossed his arms and nodded, “When we came here, da eldest among dese people told me da generation before his had died. Dose kids are most likely orphans.”

Cirin gripped his jerkin. Sol was five years his junior, yet he had something Cirin had not. He had courage. Perhaps it was the world he saw through his little eyes, or perhaps it was a longing Cirin did not quite understand. Nobles, royals, starving, or fattened, the prince who was hated saw through it all.

“I’ll become strong.” Cirin said under his breath. Azhar glanced at the boy, but the boy’s eyes remained on Sol, “I’ll lose to no one, so I’ll neva have ta lose Sol.”

“Well said.” Nodded Azhar. “What are you planin?”

Cirin looked at Azhar and noticed he was talking to Uhatu.

“What I must.” Said Uhatu.

With that the noble walked into the middle, much to the displeasure of the crowd, whose smiling faces soon turned to scowling ones.

“People of Gara.” Began the noble, “I-” Uhatu looked to the ground to find the words, “I was afraid. Afraid of da starving people I once called my own.” His eyes bounced between every person there, “I’m sure you hated me. I kept my food to myself and my family. It was selfish. It is selfish. I tought dat if I gave up my food, my own family would starve.”

“Oi Uhatu, it seems da crowd isn’t happy bout hearin dat.” Warned Azhar. Many of the on-lookers had balled their fists, some were about ready to pounce.

Uhatu held his hand up to pause Azhar.

“That is how I tought. However! Seeing dis young boy, as skinny as a twig, feeding dose poor children, I know how foolish I have been. Some of you know dis boy’s name. And if ya don’t I shall tell ya.”

Prince Sol reached for the food only to find it empty. He reared his little eyes at the man who was talking then. The man pointed at the prince.

“He is Prince Solesio Gel’Rave!”

There was a hustle amongst the crowd as what they suspected was confirmed.

“He is of higher rank dan any noble in dis kingdom. He has da potential ta change everyting. I see my own folly when I see his kindness. And I know now what I must do.” Uhatu rose his hands on either side of him, “Startin tommora no one will go hungry.”

The crowd gasped in unison.

“I shall share what I have.” Said Uhatu with a sigh his voice dropped low after that, “For dose who wish me dead, spare my family if you can.”

There were whispers within the crowd until finally a parting appeared on the other side and three men with curved swords walked through it. The Tanin gang of Gara were known for their curved swords.

Uhatu shivered for a moment then lowered to his knees as he accepted his fate. Uhatu bend his neck low, “Do it quick. Tell my wife, Delialah, I love her mo dan when we first met. Tell my daught-”

“Quit yapping Uhatu.”

Uhatu turned his solemn head back at a crossed armed Azhar. Azhar unfolded his arms and pointed a head of Uhatu.

Just as Uhatu turned to confront them, his face gained back its color.

One after the other, each man dropped his blade and bowed. Then, the crowd, like a wave in an ocean all bowed their heads to.

“Why?” stuttered Uhatu.

Da man in the middle of three armed men answered with a voice as rough as the sand, “You stayed behind.”

On that night, a pact was made between the people of Gara and its last noble. Gara was its people and a town no more.

By morn, a long line of men carrying food supplies filed out of Uhatu’s storehouses from behind his manse.

Uhatu stood outside his gate, his wife Delialah by his side, and his three children clinging to his legs. The cries of Gara’s denizens could be heard as orders were barked to ratio the food.

Unlike when they first came into town, Cirin noticed a considerable amount of chatter and even more laughter. Gara had died and come back to life in less than a day. Cirin’s ruby eyes trailed to the one boy who had done the impossible, though he seemed quite un aware of himself as he ran amoungst the children he had befriended the day prior.

“How will ya survive?” questioned Azhar.

Uhatu shrugged, “We’ll ratio till da traders come.” Uhatu looked to his wife and back at azhar, “We’ve also been tinking about becoming nomads. Not just us, but all of Gara.”

“nomads, eh?” mused Manama, “Den da sands blessing to ya.”

“We’ll need it.” Laughed Uhatu.

“Uhatu.”

Uhatu snapped to Azhar nervously, cuffing one hand around his neck as he answered, “yes?”

Azhar balled one hand then clasped it with the other, held it under his chin and bowed to Uhatu. Uhatu paused for a moment and did the same.

“An honor.” Said the noble.

“I must ask one of ting before we go.” Started Azhar, “When did da towa fall?”

Uhatu looked to the tower, and furrowed his brow in an uncomfortable manor, as if remembering another unpleasant memory, “Four weeks ago.” He said.

Azhar lowered his chin onto his thumb and index finger, “Do you know how?”

Uhatu nodded slowly with his eyes closed, “I suppose I should show you. Tis is da least I could do.” He admitted.

Azhar tilted his head, “Show us?” he said.

Uhatu guided their company of five down a narrow pass to the lower end of the hill. From there he snaked passed several abandoned manses, and had the five traveller follow him across the edge of a dry reservoir.

Finally, he arrived at a long, cobblestone path that led to the base of Gara’s tower. Cirin noted the wide ditches on either side of the path.

“Dere used ta be watta dere.” Said Uhatu as he noticed the boy’s curiosity.

At the base of the tower Uhatu looked to Sol and shook his head.

“Fa what I’m about ta show ya, I’d suggest leavin da boys outside.”

Azhar grabbed Cirin by the shoulder and thrust him forwards, “Cirin goes wit us.” Said Azhar. He nudged his head to Toftof, “toftof stays outside wit Sol. If I tink he needs ta see it, I’ll call him in.”

“Alright.” Said Uhatu. “Come wit me.”

The four of them traveled inside the ruins of the tower. Somehow the bottom part of the entrance survived the cave in.

Cirin was the last to enter the ruins as each of the adults disappeared below as soon as they entered. Yet when Cirin got there, his heart stopped.

“Spirits.” Hushed Manama.

Azhar was already running towards it.

“Dun touch anyting!” warned Uhatu, who by that point knew better than to rush after Azhar.

“Is-is she dead?” wavered Cirin.

There, where the central beam would have been, a single figure of a woman stood crucified and petrified in stone atop a million spikes of jagged rock. The spike all converged on what would have been the lower half of her body.

Cirin wanted to vomit.

Uhatu’s voice could be heard echoing from he stood, “We suspect she broke da towa. A servant of a good friend of mine said he saw what happened when it was too late. Dere was a man here to, as well as a child.” Uhatu turned to Cirin then, “About his age and bald.” He turned back to Azhar, “With golden eyes.”

Azhar pointed at the crucified figure, “and da girl?”

“Dead.” Confirmed Uhatu, “She was seen hours before in da city before she was found here.”

After that, Manama changed places with Toftof who promptly ran out and proceeded to vomit. Cirin looked away from Toftof when he did that, only to spot a tree growing just out the base of the tower. As they made towards the manse to reunite with their packs snakes, Cirin noticed the tree was dead as were all the others, yet one apple still glistened off its branches.

The company left after that. Uhatu, out of gratitude for the prince, gifted the travellers with a basket of apples.

“Remember us.” Were Uhatu’s parting words.