The small town was quite lively in the early morning. Men and women bustled from their homes to and from different buildings and business. There was a classiness amongst the fashion of the townsfolk. The men all wore luxurious suits and top hats, while women wore immaculately sewn dresses with intricate patterns that stretched down just before their ankles. A small train station sat at the western end of the town, a lone cobblestone road snaking out from the station halving the small town. Here and there, a horse drawn carriage would rumble in or out of the town’s gate. The narrow roads of the town all connected at a cobbled square, which was surrounded by an extravagant manor as well as a tall white chapel. Just beyond the small walls of the sandy town, lie a large field of oil rigs. Like the hands of a clock, the oil rigs bobbed up and down as they drained the oil deposits deep beneath the sands.
Thomas, Osman, and Sal’é hopped out of the Stinger behind the rock formation. Osman began digging through compartments all across the back of the stinger before removing a small pair of shorts and a small lawman jacket from one of the compartments. He tossed the clothes to Sal’é.
“Best wear this, people ‘round here aren’t warm to your way of dressing.” Osman gruffly said as Sal’é examined the clothes. She quickly threw on the black shorts and the small grey jacket. The shorts barely crept towards her knees, while her jacket barely reached her stomach. She zipped the jacket up, finally concealing her leafy top.
Afterwards, the trio began to make their way through the sands as the small rock formation they retreated from hid the rising sun behind them. The trio waded in the ankle deep sands, making their way towards the waking town. Osman removed a cigarette and fumbled with his lighter before sparking it. Thomas too removed his pack from his jacket. He opened it to see still only one cigarette missing from the pack. He removed another and sparked it with his thumb.
“Seems like a nice town,” Thomas said as he raised his cigarette to his mouth.
“Slick is here, don’t forget,” Osman replied.
As they neared the small town, they watched as a train came screeching into the town. It slowed itself as it roared before finally coming to a stop at the small train station. Thomas could see a few cranes hoisting the cargo containers off the back of the train. They finally neared the small wooden gate of the town shortly after. The sun was already halfway through the sky.
They approached the small wooden arch that separated the small sandstone walls of the town. The buildings within the town were either flat roofed, made of a dark hardened clay or the new style of wooden townhouses that was becoming so popular in Palacia. The adobe buildings sported circular windows, while the tall wooden houses had intricately designed glass panes fixed in every room. The tall angled roofs of the wooden houses dotted the horizon of the town. Atop the small wooden gate was a small sign, the nails holding it to the arch barely keeping it in place as the wind viciously whipped the town.
LONECHAPEL
The trio entered through the gate onto the main street of the town, the only one made of cobblestone. The cobblestone road halved the town east to west, while eight evenly divided dirt roads split the town north to south. Smaller dirt trails and footpaths connect these eight dirt roads between one another. Sal’é pointed across the main street to a saloon on the left corner of the second dirt path.
The busy streets of Lonechapel were filled with people and carriages alike. The trio kept to the right side of the street, slowly making their way through the bustling mob towards the saloon.
“He’s in there,” Sal’é said to Osman as they neared the saloon. Osman patted Thomas on the shoulder and the trio stopped on the side of the path across from the saloon.
“The Black Magic Saloon ‘eh,” Osman said as the trio stared at the saloon. He sparked a cigarette as he stared inside the doors. The loud music from inside could be heard faintly from across the street, barely making its way to the ears of Thomas and Sal’é. Osman struggled to see inside the saloon, he quickly darted his head to the left and right and began crossing the street. Sal’é quickly darted after him, leaving Thomas standing for a moment before he too began to cross the street.
Thomas stopped when he felt the slight tugging at the back of his jacket. He whipped around to see a small boy with big brown eyes staring up at him. The young boy was covered in robes, he wore a small headdress that covered his head and neck but left his face exposed. His long tunic extended over his arms and down past his feet, he struggled to keep his hands free from the flowing robe. The ornate robe was a bright purple, with a solid red trim.
“Excuse me sir,” The young boy began, his high voice pairing with his unique accent made it difficult for Thomas to understand him. Thomas knelt down to be at the boy’s level before nodding him on. He threw his cigarette on the ground as he did.
“My people are being killed, there is someone after us for our land,” the young boy exclaimed as he worked himself up. Thomas put his hand on his shoulder as the young boy breathed heavily, attempting to calm himself.
“What’s your name? I’m Thomas,” Thomas replied as he held out his free hand to the young boy.
“I’ll help you in any way I can,” he finished.
“Fajridan,” the young boy replied hoarsely as he caught his breath.
“Come with me. My village elder, he’s too stubborn to seek help, but he knows it is beyond our control,” Fajridan began his eyes widening as he spoke.
“He can tell you what’s happening I know not the true depth of the issue,” he continued.
Osman and Sal’é returned to Thomas and Fajridan. Thomas stood up from the young boy and turned to Osman.
“He needs our help,” Thomas began before Osman raised his hand silencing Thomas.
“Slick is within a hundred feet of us,” Osman spat back. Thomas quickly pointed to Sal’é before continuing.
“She can track him across the world,” He angrily replied. He turned to face Fajridan whose eyes began to fill with tears.
“Thomas you’re being stupid and careless, we can always come back,” Osman angrily said.
“I’m going to help him with or without you,” Thomas said as he grabbed hold of Fajridan’s hand. The young boy began leading Thomas back towards the small gate out of the town.
“Three days Thomas, then I’m acting on it without you,” Osman called out to Thomas as he and the young boy disappeared in the mass of people. Sal’é concerningly looked at Osman before he turned to face her. He knelt down and picked up the still lit cigarette Thomas had been smoking. He tossed it to Sal’é who struggled to catch it.
“Track him.” Osman said as he ran his fingers through his white mustache.
----------------------------------------
Thomas followed Fajridan as the young boy led him out of Lonechapel and out towards the field of oil rigs. The young boy moved swiftly through the sand, whereas Thomas trudged through it like deep snow. The hot sun bore down on the two as they neared the oil field. They continued on, Thomas taking note of the tall oil rigs as they bobbed up and down. In the distance Thomas could see a small column of smoke, just beyond a few rocky peaks jutting out from the sand.
The two neared the edges of the sandy rocks as the sun began its slow descent to the right side of Thomas and Fajridan. Thomas could see the thick smoke cloud rising from just beyond the small rocky peaks. Fajridan led Thomas through a small crevice in the rocks that fed to the other side.
Thomas slid himself through the rocks, his skin dragging along the sharp edges of the two massive rocks. On the other side, Thomas was amazed to see small oasis in the desert surrounded by multiple small adobe buildings. The buildings were all a single story high but featured smooth round domes or cylindrical roofs that stretched across the top of the buildings. Some were perfect squares with a dome roof, others were rectangular with the cylinder roofs. They roof sported small holes along them, used for natural light within the buildings.
Across the center of the small pool of water were a line of six beautifully sculpted adobe arches equidistant from each other, they sported exotic mosaics across them. Draped across the arches, was a beautiful garden of vines and flowers, hanging over the small pool of water.
The garden stretched from the arches down around the edges of the small pool, a single small wooden spicket stood straight up near the center of the pool.
“What is this place?” Thomas asked in awe as he followed the young boy down the sandy slope into the small village.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“This is Qam, our home.” Fajridan called back to Thomas. Multiple robed people began to emerge from the small buildings as Fajridan raced into the village. Thomas stumbled down the slope but regained his footing as the ground evened out. Fajridan ran to the embrace of a robed woman who was quickly ushered into her home by a tall man. The man wore a deep brown robe and a headdress that covered all but his eyes. Fajridan said something to the man as his mother took him inside their home.
The robed man turned and knelt down and whispered something in the ear of an elderly man draped in beautiful white robes. The bottom of the robes were stained with a sandy yellow, from dragging across the dunes for so long. The rest of the men and woman wore darker colored robes as well. They all sported the same headdresses that covered all but their eyes. The elderly man had one with an ornate gold crown atop his headdress. He pulled the headdress down from his mouth and nose to reveal his wrinkled face. His eyes sat deep within his skull, surrounded by years of wrinkles and bags. He used a mahogany cane to hold himself up as he stood.
The old man slowly shambled towards Thomas as he finally arrived at the edge of the town. Thomas approached the old man and held out his right hand.
“I’m Thomas, Fajridan said you are in need of help,” he said politely to the old man. The old man waved Thomas’ hand away with his cane, before taking a small breath.
“We do not need your help,” he replied deeply. He began to slowly turn himself away from Thomas as he continued.
“Your people are the reason we suffer.” He spoke out. He looked back at Thomas, a fire in his eyes as he did.
“Get out of our land,” he spat before turning back away and shambling back towards the village.
“I have no people, let me help you.” Thomas pleaded with the old man. The old man quickly spun back and pointed his cane at Thomas.
“The color of your skin defines you, before the Danerins came there was peace in Qamran. There were no prisons, and no delinquents to take to trial. There were no locks or keys, no thieves, there was no concept of money, so we were never poor.” The old man cried as he called out to Thomas.
“We were too uncivilized to own property, thus wealth did not define our men. There were no laws or lawmen, therefore no one was ever cheated or swindled. You Danerins call us uncivilized and then teach us to be civil, until the land you lock us on is found to be filled with wealth.”
“Then once again we are too uncivilized to manage it or keep it.” The old man was screaming at Thomas as his voice filled with pain and anguish. He stopped for a moment and caught his breath before continuing.
“Now you seek to exterminate us, finally take us off our sacred homeland. You say you seek to help; how can you return the lives of all those who have been lost?” He finished quietly as he calmed down. Thomas nodded and bowed before the elder before turning back and heading towards the sandy slope. He removed a cigarette and sparked it as he walked. Thomas could barely hold back his own tears; the old man’s suffering had poured into Thomas as he spoke. Thomas had been frozen by the old man’s grief.
“WAIT!” Someone called out to Thomas. He turned back to see the old man shambling through the sand towards him multiple villagers chasing after him. He had dropped his cane and was running like a madman at Thomas. Thomas readied himself as the old man neared him. The elder stopped and caught his breath for a moment, dropping his hands to his knees as he breathed. The villagers caught up to him and held him up as he caught his breath. He looked up and pointed a shaking finger at Thomas.
“Show me how you lit that,” He gasped. Thomas raised his hand and loosened his tenseness, igniting his whole hand into the deep black flames. Within the flames was the skeleton hand of Thomas, darker than the darkest black within the flames. The villagers and the elder all sat in awe and wonder as they stared at Thomas’ hand. He retracted his flames back into his hand shortly afterwards.
“I am sorry for my misjudgment, please allow us to feed you.” The old man spoke softly as he and the other villagers bowed their heads before Thomas.
“Please forgive us we humbly accept your help,” he said as he and the villagers led Thomas back to the small village. They took him into a large central square building with a large dome roof. The building had no furniture, other than a few chests lining the walls. Along the walls were a series of immaculately sculpted arches. Within each arch was a magnificent painting, each arch continued the story from the last painting. Thomas stared at the paintings as he walked across the room, trying his best to interpret the meaning of the story.
“It’s a love story,” The old man said, his words echoing within the small room. Thomas turned to face him as the villagers lit a few torches along the walls brightening up the dimly lit room. Thomas could see it now clearly. The paintings told the story of a farmer who fell in love with the daughter of the emperor, the emperor made him a soldier to destroy his love, he fought in many wars and became a distinguished general, he then led an attack on the emperor burning the capital, he and the daughter of the emperor hid themselves away in the desert.
“That is the origin of our people.” The elder said to Thomas as he finished walking around the room staring at the paintings. Thomas looked up to the man confused.
“If you don’t mind me asking, who are your people?” Thomas asked the old man. The old man smiled as he stared back at Thomas before looking up into the tall dome above them.
“We are the Qamrani, the rightful people of Qamran,” he replied stoically. The old man turned to face Thomas.
“I am Qamari, the chieftain of the Shwuruq Tribe, we are one of the last tribes of the Qamrani,” he said to Thomas as he extended his right hand. Thomas shook the old man’s hand as they locked eyes.
“What is your strife?” Thomas replied softly. Qamari pulled back from Thomas and shambled across the room to a small chest, he removed two small silk pillows and then returned to the center of the room. He threw the two pillows down on the ground across from each other and then sat on one of the pillows on his knees. He motioned Thomas to sit down before him, so the young man did. Thomas sat on his knees just like the old man before him.
“I have much to tell you,” He began as he stared at Thomas. Qamari motioned to one of the villagers standing in the doorway of the building. The woman approached him, and he whispered something in her ear, she rushed off as he pulled away from her.
“She will get us water, you must be thirsty,” he said to Thomas. Thomas nodded before looking up at him.
“Sir I have three days to help you, please tell me what is going on,” he pleaded. Qamari stared at Thomas for a moment, his eyes looking deep into him. He closed his eyes before opening them with a smile and nodded.
“When I was a boy the Danerins first arrived here in Qamran. I remember very little of the war, but I remember the losses were high.” Qamari began, his voice filling once more with anguish and grief.
“We were crushed by them, and then subjugated and forced onto reservations. That was how it’s been since I was young, but five years ago oil was discovered in Qamran. Not just a little either, the most on the planet.” He continued.
“The vast majority of that oil was on our lands. Our lands were then divided amongst us once more, they said to avoid greed and corruption within our tribes. At first it was a blessing, we had a way to profit off our miserable new lands.” Qamari said, his voice filling with hope.
“But in recent years, our people have been being killed and enslaved to take us off our lands. The lands are being sold to corporations and oil companies; they are profiting off our demise.” He finished. Thomas stared back at him as the woman returned with two small sheep horn cups filled with water. Thomas and Qamari both took one and thanked the woman before she returned to the doorway.
“Who is selling the lands?” Thomas asked Qamari as he took a drink of the water. Thomas was stunned at the quality; it was the freshest water he had ever drank. He quickly gulped the rest of the water down as Qamari gleamed back at him.
“We do not know,” He simply replied. Thomas stopped and stared back at him. He pondered for a moment before jumping to stand up.
“That sleepy town will have the answers, everyone there looked so rich. I’m sure the answer is there,” he said to the old man as he turned to leave the small building. He stopped at the doorway and turned back to Qamari as he still sat there staring at Thomas.
“I will get to the bottom of this, I will bring change here,” he said confidently before heading out and racing back towards the sandy slope.
----------------------------------------
Back in Lonechapel, Osman and Sal’é sat across from one another in a small restaurant off the main road. Osman stared down at a plate of eggs, hashbrowns and bacon, as Sal’é tore into a large slab of ham steak over a bed of biscuits and gravy.
“No, hold it like this,” Osman said as he raised his fork above the table in his hand. Sal’é confusingly darted her eyes from Osman’s hand holding the fork, to her own attempting to mimic his form. She again began stabbing viciously at the ham steak as she pulled it to her mouth and tore it apart. Osman sighed before gently stabbing the eggs on his plate and raising them to his mouth.
“Where’s Thomas?” he asked Sal’é as she grunted and whistled as she ate.
“He’s heading back here,” she said between bites, her mouth stuffed with food. She looked up at Osman for a moment.
“Why’d you have me stop tracking whatshisname?” she asked as she continued to stuff her mouth with some of the biscuits. Osman continued to gently eat his food from his plate before raising a napkin to his face and wiping a small bit of grease off the corner of his mouth. He politely set the napkin back down next to his knife before taking a drink of the water in front of his plate.
The restaurant was filled with people, it was the fanciest in Lonechapel. A live band played music on violins within the large wooden building. Tables were donned with a pearlescent silk white tablecloth that draped down on two sides. The walls were covered in wallpaper with an intricate floral design. The vines and flowers of the wallpaper jumped off the walls as real vines and flowers draped across the beams of the ceiling of the building.
“Slick is a big time outlaw; he’s not run of the mill loser. He’s a household name back north in Palacia. Now he’s in this small uppity oil town that ain’t even on a map, and Thomas happens to find some lead about something going on here. I got a hunch the two are connected.” Osman replied before finishing his eggs and moving on to his hashbrowns.
“So why did we not go with him?” Sal’é asked. Osman continued chewing his hashbrowns before swallowing and continuing.
“Fate has kissed Thomas, not you or me, it’s best to let him chase what he wants himself. If Fate has decided Thomas’ path to find Slick already, it’s our job to nudge him in the right direction. Thomas can’t rely on me when he follows his own path.” Osman said.
“Is that why you’re chasing Wyatt?” Sal’é replied. Osman glared at her for a moment before she quickly bowed her head and continued.
“No offense sir, but Wyatt’s name has reached even the depths of my homeland. I truly believe in you and Thomas, but I cannot fathom the way you two beat him alone. I hope you do not expect me to also throw my life away to that man.” She spoke softly.
“None taken.” Osman replied. He took a sip of the water then set it back on the table.
“I will die when we face Wyatt,” he said confidently. Sal’é quickly raised her head to face him, her face covered in shock.
“I regret every day helping that man hunt down my best friend. I was careless and consumed by greed. But Thomas isn’t. Fate has a plan for that boy,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke.
“Hopefully upon my death something awakens in Thomas that gives him the strength to defeat Wyatt,” Osman finished. Sal’é stared back at the old man before slowly eating her food. Osman too returned to eating his food as he somberly faced the future ahead of him in his mind.