Another day in Tent City…

I let out a silent sigh as I climb up the wall, moving my hands and feet to the little divots and indents that act like a ladder for me to climb. I finally reach a narrow, cracked hole in the wall wide enough for me to squeeze through.

With a hood covering my face, I weave through the crowd of elves of Low Town as I head through the sandy main street on my way to the market. Every now and again, I’ll bump into someone and, purely by coincidence, my pocket becomes a little heavier after my clumsiness. I do not look at what is in my pocket, I just continue while the weight of my pocket grows.

I reach the market and use the little trick I learned to move objects from a distance. Of course, it’s magic, but it’s not enough to be traced by the enforcers. Just a trickle. My uncle taught it to me among other things. As Zeeno scrambles to pick up his fruit that, for some strange reason, falls from his stall, I sneak underneath and start piling my bag full of his fruit.

He calls his Stall, Zeeno’s Ripe Fruits and Vegetables, ripe being an understatement. Most are squishy and don’t smell right. Suddenly, Zeno’s thick, chubby, enormous nose and face with shabby eyebrows and rotting teeth ducks under the stall. My eyes go wide and I drop the tazzle fruit in my hand. His long, pointy, elven ears seem to droop on him. “Hey! You lousy kid. Give me those!”

I bolt out of there with the bag of fruit, darting down alleyways and zipping through the people. “You bastard! Wait until I get my hands on you.”

Even as I run away, my pocket still grows heavier as I bump into people. I bolt down an alleyway, only to cut back the opposite way. I climb up a pillar and jump on a ledge. Then I jump from building to building. I leap a distance longer than I’m comfortable with and barely grab the ledge, but I slip and hit the wooden balcony beneath it with a groan. The air feels like it’s been knocked out of my lungs. I roll onto my hands and knees, pushing myself forward as I scramble back up to the roof. A little dazed, but okay.

I jump and land on a cart of hay before sliding down and sprinting to the gap. I make it through and climb down the wall. Now that I’m in Tent City, I relax a bit and walk casually through the pathways between tents. I slip through Glimmer Alley, where all the glimmer zombies beg and plead for another hit of that poison. They look like skeletons with splotchy skin clinging to their bones.

After zig-zagging through the streets and alleys between tents, I slip into our tent. Father’s tinkering with some contraption he salvaged. He can get a few sand pieces for the parts, but those don’t last. Can’t even buy rotten fruit with that. That’s the problem; everything is overpriced. My mother is grounding up some kind of moss. Most people come to her for the tonics and tinctures she makes with what little herbs she can find. Most of the time, she trades her tinctures for other goods and that’s usually how we eat. But not tonight.

“You’ll never guess what I got!” I open my bag and I want to cry. All my fruit is smashed.

“What’s that, hun?” mother asks as she finally looks up.

“My fruit. It’s… It’s smashed. It’s all mushy,” I say as tears flood my cheeks.

“Here, let me take a look,” she says and I hand her the bag.

“Oh, we can make a nice little jam with that, and since tomorrow is your special day, we can use the jam to make a little something nice to celebrate with. You’ll finally be an adult tomorrow,” my mother says as she takes the smashed fruit out, dumping it into a wooden bowl.

“How did you pay for the fruit, Lura?” my father asks as he looks up at me with his gaunt face. His cheeks seem to cave into his face, and that truly saddens me. My family and I have been living in this arsehole slum for my entire life, all twenty-nine cycles of it so far. I’m a day short of becoming an adult. “Zeno was generous today.”

“Lura, I have told you, we do not steal. It is not our way. We’re better than that,” my father says as he stands up and has to lean on the table to remain on his feet.

“Look at you, father, you can barely stand because of hunger. How is it fair that we have to scrap for food while the nobles fatten themselves? They let food go to waste while elves down here die of hunger. They impose their stupid laws and prohibit the poor from using magic all to keep us down. We slave and do their work while they reap all the benefits. Why shouldn’t I steal?”

“Because it would make us no better than them,” he says, adjusting his broken glasses. “We may live in the slums now, but we come from the honorable Syllana bloodline. A true saint.”

“Honor doesn’t put food in our bellies!” I snap back.

He sighs and rubs his forehead. “No, but hard work does.”

“Not when you only get paid with a few sand pieces that are worth as much as the sand it takes to make them. We can’t even afford the crumbs from the wealthy nobles’ scraps. I’m so sick of living this way!” I shout. Then I see the looks on their faces and realize I have gone too far. A sigh escapes my lips. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. Life is so unfair.”

He gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hobbles over to me and wraps me in a warm hug. “I know, my child. I know. But I couldn’t bear it if you got caught. The cost is too high. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were put in chains and sold as a slave.”

“That is another thing that makes little sense. How is it justified to be sold into slavery for stealing something that only costs less than a copper?” I ask.

My father shrugs. “I do not know, my dear. I don’t make the laws. But I suspect it’s because of how bad things have gotten. The slums have only grown since the Council of Nine has taken over the rule of our city. Ever since our great King Volodar Morric has left the throne, things have slowly grown worse.”

“Why did he do it? Why did he walk away?” I ask.

My father only shrugs. “I don’t know, my child.”

“Well, I just came to drop off the fruit. I gotta run,” I say, and bolt out before my parents can argue.

I still hear my father shouting. “You better not be heading off to Lethvelion. Your uncle isn’t a good influence!”

I walk out of the tent to run into Sister Damaris, who pays us regular visits. “Lura…”

“Sorry, sister, can’t stay,” I say as I push past her, rushing through the lines of tents, heading to the underpass of the bridge to the gate to the Under City. That’s where I find a tunnel down to the path to the underground sewers. Of course, it stinks like dung and piss, but what would you expect from the sewers? Traveling below, I head through a maze of corridors and passageways. I find a secluded place and use a bit of magic Uncle Leth taught me, summoning a small ball of faint blue light. Lethvelion says that as long as I only use a trickle of magic, it can’t be detected. It’s illegal to use magic without a permit, and the only people who can afford permits are rich nobles. Of course, you could always borrow the money, but the banks would never lend money to tent trash like me. Maybe someone in Mid Town or even Low Town with a reputable line of work. Or someone who works for the Golden High Elf Trading Company. Although I hear they give scholarships to those with exceptional potential. But I suppose I’m not one of them.

I empty out my pockets, and I find a nice catch. Aside from the junk, which contained some kind of letter, a torn piece of parchment that looks like it came from a book, a vial of something dark, and some kind of token, I got a nice stash of jewelry and some coins. A little ruby, some silver coins, plenty of copper, and even a golden crown. There’s a nice little pearl bracelet, but I’m drawn to a beautiful golden ring with a bright, glimmering sapphire. It feels like it calls to me. I can’t tear my eyes away from the sea of glimmering blue within the sapphire. A clatter in the distance pulls me out of it. I shake my head and stuff everything inside my pocket besides my new ring. It looks perfect on my finger. Feels even better. As soon as I put it on, it feels like a surge of energy went through me. With a bit of magic I’ve learned here and there from Uncle Lev, I make the ring go invisible. No one will ever know it’s there.

I did quite well if I say so myself. I take a better look at the vial of dark liquid. Wonder what it could be… I put it in my pocket with another invisibility spell. Got to be careful using that too often. What about this letter? I open it and read what’s inside. It’s a letter from a man named Ba’theas Keenreaver addressed to Iolas Paynore of the Golden High Elf Trading Company. Sounds like he’s trying to bribe the man. I also unravel the parchment and it has some cryptic meaning. It reads as follows.

A hidden secret lies in a list at the back of this book.

That’s odd. Obviously, this note is useless without the book. I toss it aside. I pocket the letter and make my way through a maze of tunnels I know all too well until I reach my destination, a place we call The Gallows, the underground city.

Down a corridor lies an iron door. I knock once, then twice, then once, and wait a second before knocking three more times. The narrow sliding window shoots open. “Oh, it’s you, Little Sparrow, the tinkerer’s daughter.”

The sliding little window closes, and the door opens to the sight of a large, bald elf with pointy ears that have grown past his head. He’s got a gruff, long, black beard with a mustache to match. His arms are as thick as sewage pipes. “Don’t tell me you’ve got more junk to haggle with.”

“Not junk, valuable treasure,” I say with a smile.

“Junk,” Balbys grumbles as he lets me through.

“Someone’s junk is another one’s treasure,” I say.

“You can paint a sandstone gold, but it’s still junk,” he says.

I only shrug and skip by.

The Gallows is not the safest place in town, but it’s by far the only place you can sell stolen goods. It’s the city below the city within a huge open corridor that runs for at least a few elvish miles. There’s only one actual street down the middle with both sides packed with shacks, makeshift hob shops, run-down bars, stalls, and lots of shady alleys. This place makes Tent City look like a haven to live in which is laughable.

I make my way through the merchants, if you can call them that, and weave through my fellow thieves of all sorts. Everything from simple cutpurses to the most cunning burglars. And you can’t forget about the assassins, gangs, mercenary sell swords, and other shady people. Not just elves, either. Some dwarves and humans here and there. I even see an orc and one of the cat people called Kar. Someone’s even trying to sell a jar of sand they claim is from the deep desert with healing properties. What’s even crazier is that someone’s dumb enough to buy it.

I walk into a rundown, shabby bar made of stacked crates, tarps, and rotted wood that rests up against the sewer walls like so many of the other shacks. Inside are a few tables that are also made out of crates that make for stools. Several men and women take up the seats. A game of dice takes up one of the tables. The men are all the same kind, thieves. Not the shadiest bunch; in fact, you could call them honorable thieves if there is such a kind. Of course, I wouldn’t trust them with your coin purse, but they won’t stab you in the back.

“Kid, haven’t you learned anything yet?” the owner of the shack of a bar asks. A woman named Lesvhis that few would cross. She’s got some wrinkles on her copper-toned face, with unkempt, dark-black hair streaked with gray, and wears a constant scowl, but she’s fair. Cross her and you’ll find a dagger in your heart, but she’ll have your back if you show her proper respect.

“Oh, come on, Lesvhis. You know this is the only way in the lower sects to make a decent coin. My family’s got to eat,” I say with a smile.

“Ain’t that the truth! I swear, thieves are becoming younger and younger. Or maybe it’s just that I’m getting older and older. I don’t know anymore. Just don’t sink too deep. You got that?” She waves her finger at me with that constant scowl.

I nod. “I’ll try. If only there were other ways to find work.”

“You sure got that right. The city is too crowded with too many mouths to feed and not enough food and work to go around,” she says, blowing a string of her dark gray hair out of her face.

“It don’t help with the council continuing to lay down all these harsh laws. Why did the King abandon us? He’s the one who led us to succession from the Woodland Realm and he left us in this desert to starve,” I ask.

“Oh, my dear child, it was the king who paid the ultimate price for our freedom from the Woodland Realm with his beloved wife. After she died in the war, he lost himself. But there are those of us still loyal to the rightful king. King Volodar will return someday when he finds himself. Mark my words. That or his children will finally gain the strength to take down the council,” she says.

I nod. “We can all hope, but in the meantime, I got some stuff to sell.”

“Just make sure you know when to walk away, child,” she says as she lets me behind the bar counter and into a back room where there lies another enormous iron door hidden in the sewer wall. She opens it, and I head down the stairs into the darkness.

At the bottom is a light that leads into a big open corridor with several smaller rooms attached. The corridor itself is lined with crates, barrels, and boxes. A big open square is set in the middle with battered couches and chairs. Several men and women lounge around. Some playing dice, while others tell stories and barter over what little they have.

I walk down into the lounge.

“Oh, look who it is, our Little Sparrow,” Larongar says. An older elf with gray, frizzled hair, a shadow of a beard on his face, and plenty of scars. One prominent scar trails from one ear across his nose to the other. He’s never said what caused it.

“Scarface, pleasant to see you too,” I say with an exaggerated smile.

Haerzis, a bald, dark-chocolate skinned half-elf, snorts a laugh. “I’ll never tire of you, girl.”

Larongar shrugs. “She tells it like it is.”

Olaurae slams a cup on the table of crates and smirks at Filarion before he lifts the cup to reveal a pair of dice with snake eyes. “Looks like I win again.”

Filarion stabs his knife into the crate, splintering it. “Damn you, Olaurae, you cheated. I know it! Let me see those dice.”

“For the love of the King, Filarion, I told you to stop doing that!” Zaos says with a glare. The silver-haired elf with a big, fluffy beard is normally even-tempered but can snap when you push him far enough. “This is the fifth crate you’ve sliced open in the last two days. Go replace it and stop ruining our tables.”

“Sorry, tell Olaurae to stop cheating. I don’t know how he does it, but there’s no way he can win five games in a row without cheating,” Filarion grumbles as he gets up, and grabs the crate, tossing it over with the rest of the crates with holes in them and grabbing another.

“He’s got a point, Olaurae, you do cheat. That’s why I’ll never play with you,” Larongar says.

“You never complained before. As I recall, you’ve made quite a bit of coin betting on me to win,” Olaurae says with a grin.

Larongar shrugs. “I’d be a fool not to. But that’s against those foolish sell swords. No one here is stupid enough to bet against you, besides maybe Filarion.”

“Hey!” Filarion scowls. He’s a bit younger than Zaos, Olaurae, Larongar, and even Haerzis. But the scruff on his face makes him look older than he really is. Although he’s much older than me. Of course, age is a complicated issue. The elves who use magic are nearly ageless, but us lowlife sewer rats that aren’t allowed to use it or lack the ability age at a much faster rate. I’ve even heard some elves are over a thousand cycles old. That blows my mind.

The iron door opens and a bunch of boots clap their way down as Lethvelion, Minpireth, Renna, Valindra, Aimar, Akkar, Elas, Dakath, Haryk, Kesefeon, and a man that makes my stomach curdle, Phraan all walk in. Saevel, Erolith, and Delmuth nearly stumble down the stairs carrying three large chests.

“Now that was one hell of a grab,” Haryk says as he collapses on the couch next to Haerzis.

“Those uppity pompous arses didn’t see it coming.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Don’t worry Little Sparrow, I’ll tell ya all the details if you come by my bed later,” Phraan says as his eyes travel down my body and make me want to take a bath.

“Eww, gross,” Renna says as she and Valindra both pretend to throw up. “Phraan, the girl is young enough to be your granddaughter, ya perv.”

Renna wraps her arm around my shoulder and steers me away from that gross man as she and Valindra head over to another couch and plop down. Minpireth sits on the armrest next to Renna.

“Don’t listen to that perv, and if he tries anything, let me know and I’ll cut his hands off,” she says with a wink.

“I’ll cut his cock off,” Valindra says. Her eyes stab daggers into Phraan as she uses her hands to demonstrate. “Snip, snip.”

“Better be careful, Phraan. The girl is my niece,” Lethvelion says, making Phraan stiffen.

“I was only joking,” Phraan says as his eyes travel over to me with a look that betrays his words. I shudder in disgust.

“Mark my words, Phraan. Make more jokes like that and I’ll cut your tongue out. You may have the inside scoop with the dock schedules, but that won’t stop me from cutting your heart out if you even think about touching my niece,” my uncle says. My father may not like me hanging out with him, but I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I don’t know what caused the rift between the two of them, but my father won’t even talk to Lethvelion.

“I would never,” Phraan says, running a hand through his greasy, long, brown hair. One ear has the tip sliced off. A scar runs down his cheek and runs into his beard, leaving the skin bare.

Lethvelion gives him an icy stare before he turns away and brings his attention to the chests they brought down. My uncle has long, graying-brown hair with a beard to cover his face below the nose. His face is made hard, like many people down here. But there’re crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes from the genuine smiles he occasionally gives. Especially to me. He always knows how to get a laugh out of me.

Valindra braids my hair as my uncle opens the chests to reveal more gold than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Some gemstones bigger than my fist are scattered amongst the gold coins along with silver chalices, beautiful golden gem necklaces, and other gorgeous trinkets.

“What did I tell you?” Kesefeon says as he claps my uncle on the shoulder. “I knew the Golden Trading Company would bring in several shipments of gold from their sales with the slave shipments from Chillshore. This is only one of many. And all we had to do was row out to the ship and sneak on to grab a few chests.”

“You were right, my friend. I’ll give ya that. You get the first pick of it. Then the rest of you lot can take your share and the rest of it will be put in the coffers. This is cause for a little celebration. Let’s crack open that barrel of wine we stole from that greedy chairman… The one that looks like a weasel. What was his name again?” My uncle asks.

“Eldaerenth Heiris. The weasel face,” Zaos says with a laugh.

“That’s him. Weasel’s face. We’re going to have to get another barrel. The weasel knows excellent wine,” my uncle says with a smirk.

“That he does. I think he gets it from that human town. What’s it called?” Zaos says, scratching his beard.

“Wasn’t it… Lagan berries?” Kesefeon asks, running a hand through his auburn hair.

“It’s Lagoonbury,” I say.

“How do you know?” Kasefeon asks.

“I read it in a book,” I say.

“You can read?” Larongar asks, getting a laugh from the rest. I stick my tongue out at him.

“Of course, she can read, my brother used to be a scholar before… Well before it all changed. I’m sure he’s still got some books hidden away,” my uncle says.

“The Tinkerer was a scholar?” Filarion asks, scratching his head. “I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, especially how to play dice,” Zaos says.

“I know how to play dice just fine, Olaurie just cheats,” Filarion says with a glare.

Olaurie only shrugs. “And yet you’re the fool who still plays me.”

“You don’t even deny it,” Filarion says with a huff.

“So, did you have luck today, Little Sparrow?” Renna asks as she sharpens her long dagger. She and Valindra are by far the most beautiful elves I’ve ever seen. Both sisters with dark brown hair. Renna has one side braided while the other side hangs loose. Her eyes are as blue as they can get with a dim glow to them. Valindra shares the same eyes and hair color but keeps her hair short. Both have delicate ivory skin. If they didn’t dress like scoundrels with tight bridges, boots that come up to their knees, and dark brown hair, you’d mistake them for nobles or high-born with their smooth, ivory skin, unlike my copper tone. I may have golden hair that most women desire, but my skin is far too dark to get away with being a noble. But I do have vibrantly glowing blue eyes.

That’s what most women dream of, having a fair complexion with pure golden hair and glowing blue eyes that show how much magical potential you have. Of course, having potential is far different from being able to afford a permit to practice magic. But some with deep glowing eyes who are as poor as a sewer rat have been lucky enough to find benefactors willing to pay for their training and permit. Of course, that usually comes at an enormous cost with strings attached. Those poor bastards end up as servants for their benefactors. I probably could find one myself with my deep, glowing blue eyes, but I would never accept being a servant for some snobby noble or high-born.

I empty my pockets onto the crate, everything except the coins, the ring on my finger, and that vial. Valindra’s eyes light up. “Ooh, I’ll give you five silver for that delicate pearl necklace.”

“Seven and a couple coppers and you got yourself a deal,” I say with a smile.

“You make a hard bargain, but I’ll take it,” Valindra says as she pulls out her coin and hands the agreed-upon amount.

“You didn’t get much,” Haerzis says.

“Quality is always better than quantity,” Renna says as she eyes my loot. “Nevertheless, that ruby is a little small, but you made out with that pearl bracelet. I wouldn’t have paid that much for it.’

“Pffft!” Valindra huffs as she holds up her hand, eyeing the bracelet. “You can’t put a price on something so beautiful.”

“In that case, I should’ve asked for more,” I say, and that gets a few good laughs.

“Ya think?” Larongar snorts out a laugh. “If someone is willing to accept after your first offer, your offer was too low.”

“He’s right, I would’ve paid a crown for this. These pearls are authentic. I can tell. I have an eye for these things,” Valindra says with a smirk. “You have no idea the value of authentic pearls. Our city might border the shoreline of the deep Pirate Sea, but few will dive in to get pearls like these. Most creatures down there love to eat elves. And some even go after the creatures big enough to eat us. Nabu only knows what else is down there.”

“She really does,” Renna sighs. Nabu is the god of wisdom and magic. The ancient god that King Volodor followed when he succeeded from the Wood Elves. Of course, that’s long before the Church of the Light moved in with their bizarre religion.

My uncle walks over, picks up the crumpled-up letter, and reads it. “Hmm, this is interesting. We might be able to use this. Looks like some noble lord is bribing the Golden arses.”

“Is that so? Maybe we can blackmail them both,” Larongar says.

“Might be worth a try,” my uncle says with a smile. “We all know nobles always have something to hide. Bloody bastards. You want to know why nobles always stick their noses up?”

Most of us shrug.

“They walk around with sticks up their arses all day,” my uncle says as he mimics a noble walking as if he has a stick up his arse with his nose up in the air. I snort out a laugh with everyone else.

The keg gets opened and they all gather for a drink. My uncle turns to me. “Lura, you should get home before your father decides to come after ya. He already blames me for enough things.”

“Oh, come on. I still have to sell this ruby,” I say. I hold it up and look around. “Any takers?”

My uncle tosses me a gold crown. “That’s for the letter, too. Now get home before it gets dark out.”

I nod with a smile, tossing him the little ruby as I flip up my new gold crown and pocket it with the rest of the coin. “Later suckers. I’ll be back with tomorrow’s grab.”

They all say their farewells. On my way out, I run into Saevel. He’s probably just as young as I am with short brown hair and a smooth ivory baby face, but he’s half a head shorter than me. “Hey, Lura!”

I give him a smile that burns his face red. “I just wanted to say hi. Uh… So… Uh… Hi! You look nice. I like the braid.”

“Thank you, Saevel. That was nice of you to say. You look… Not as shabby as everyone else.” I cringe at my own words. His smile doesn’t even dull. He’s nice, he really is, it’s just. He’s not my type. I wish he were. “Well, I have to be off. It was nice seeing you.”

“Thanks. You too!” he says with a wave as I turn to leave.

I hear him yelp as Delmuth punches him in the arm. “Smooth.”

I snicker on my way up. As I walk into the bar, I flip a silver coin on the bar and say goodbye to Lesvhis, ducking out before she can try to give the coin back.

I head out of the Gallows as Balbys opens the door for me. “Still got your junk?”

“I sold my treasure for a good price,” I say with a smile.

He only shrugs and shuts the door in my face, leaving me with a flat stare. The man has no social skills.

I head down the long sewer corridor as I hear someone else walk out of the Gallows. Paying no mind, I follow the passageway back to the Tent City through the maze of corridors and passageways as the footsteps continue to follow behind me. They seem to pick up speed, as do I. My heart races as I turn to look back, not seeing anyone.

I rush through the sewer and trip over my feet as coins scatter everywhere. A curse escapes my mouth as I rush to pick them all up and stuff them back into my pocket.

“My, my, look what we have here,” that all too familiar, creepy voice says. I look up to see someone I do not want to meet in a dark sewer like this.

Phraan stands over me with a wicked smile. Half his face hides in darkness, making him look even more sinister. “Hello there, Little Sparrow.”

I rush to my feet and run, but his arm wraps around my waist and forces me up against the wall. His breath is as foul as his rotten teeth and drains all the warmth from my face. “Let me go!”

“Oh, why should I do that?” He pins my hands above my head with one hand as the other travels down my stomach, making my skin crawl. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time now.”

Tears start to fall from my eyes. “Please let me go.”

“Oh no, Little Sparrow. I think not. I’m going to teach you a lesson on becoming a woman,” he says as his fingers reach my pants. I try to squirm and struggle, but he’s too strong.

Suddenly, a shiny blade presses against his throat, and he stiffens. Slowly, he backs away, holding his hands up. “I should slit your throat, you disgusting excuse of a man.”

Renna’s eyes burn with anger and revulsion. I slide down the wall into a sobbing mess on the floor. “You can’t kill me. I have some powerful friends who’ll turn you into a whore slave and make your life a living hell.” says Phraan.

“You think that’ll stop me from gutting you like a fish? I swear to all the gods there are, if I ever see you down here again, I will kill you. And that’ll be a mercy because Lethvelion will want to do much worse when he hears what you tried to do,” she says, pressing the knife harder against his skin. A trickle of blood drips down.

Phraan takes another step back and Renna lowers her blade just a hair. The disgusting man puts his hand up against his neck. “You’ll regret this.”

He then turns heel and walks away. Renna doesn’t put away her blade until the sound of Phraan’s footsteps drifts into nothing. She sheaths her dagger and kneels down beside me and wraps me in her arms. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

I wipe the tears from my eyes and nod. She sits down next to me with her arms around me and we just sit there for a while. After my tears have long dried up, she helps me up and walks with me out of the sewer. As we make it to Tent City, I turn to her and hug her. “Thank you, Renna.”

“Of course. You come to me if that bastard ever tries anything again. Okay?” she says as she lifts my face up to hers. I nod.

“Good, now be careful out here. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. You know just as well as all of us what they do to thieves they catch,” she says, nestling her hand in my hair.

“I know. I’m too good to be caught,” I say with a half-hearted smile.

“That arrogance will get you in trouble, Little Sparrow. Gods, you remind me so much of myself,” she says as she eyes me wearily. It makes me smile widely. “That’s not a good thing. I made so many mistakes. Now go home.”

I sigh, but I give her one more hug and head through the rows of tents before I get to my family.

“Where have you been?” my mother asks.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been spending time with Lethvelion’s little gang of thieves,” my father says. I don’t answer and just plop down on my cot. “You have, haven’t you? Lura, I’ve told you time and time again, that Lethvelion is trouble. He’s no good.”

“Why do you hate him so much? He’s your brother, after all,” I ask. 

“I don’t hate him, I just… I don’t approve of his lifestyle. How can I with his chosen line of work?” he asks.

“What would you want him to do? Give up and live like you? A poor, raggedy tinkerer? Life isn’t supposed to be this way. We weren’t put here to live in tents and beg for our food. Your brother agrees, and he decides to do something about it instead of sticking his head in the sand and pretending all is well!” I snap at him. I might have crossed the line, but it’s all true.

However, seeing the hurt in my father’s eyes doesn’t make me feel good about it. No. It makes me feel pretty awful. My father takes a deep breath. “Is that what you think? That I have given up?”

I nod. He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but that is far from the truth. Just because I choose to stay on the right side of the law doesn’t mean I’ve given up. I will continue to help as many people as I can, fixing whatever they need because that is what I feel is the right thing to do. Yes, it might not make a big difference. It won’t change how things are in this city, but it makes a difference in the lives of those I help, and in return, they help us and others. We can make change in this world if we choose to help others and not hurt them. If we decide to lend them our hand instead of taking what’s in their pocket, more people will also help. That is how we make the world a better place, not by thieving.”

“But how can you change anything if the system we live in is broken? It doesn’t matter what we do, we’ll always be poor and segregated from the rest of the city. I admire you for being so kind and good-hearted, but I just don’t agree with you. I just can’t accept this way of life,” I say.

My father’s eyes seem to grow tired. “I hope you never have to learn the weight of the consequences of such actions. They will cost you everything, just like they did with my brother and me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I once walked the same path as Lethvelion…”

“You were a thief, too?” I ask as I feel a surge of anger. “You’ve been telling me all this time to stay away from him yet you were a thief, too? You’re such a hypocrite and a liar! I believed you were always this saint, but the truth is, you’re just a quitter.”

“Lura, let me finish,” he says.

“No! I’m done listening to you,” I say as I rush out of the tent. I run through the rows of tents all the way to the wall. I climb up my path of indents, holes, and gaps. Squeeze through the narrow path and then climb up the corner of bricks until I reach a ledge. Lifting myself on top of the ridge, I shimmy over to the overhang that’s out of sight from the guards and sit there, watching the sunset over the shoreline of the Shifting Sands desert to the west between the deep blue sea and the tan shifting sand. Why do things have to be so tough? I hate it here. I hate this city. I hate the Council who rules it. I hate people like Phraan who think they can have whatever they want. I wish I could just leave. Run away and find someplace that I can truly call home. Life is just not fair.

This place is not a home, but a hell. I’ve never felt at home here. I don’t belong here, and I feel so incomplete. I don’t know why, but I feel as if I’m missing a part of myself somewhere and it can’t be found in this shitty city. It’s somewhere out there. I can feel it.

I turn to the north and follow the shoreline with my eyes all the way until it’s lost from sight.

Be the first 100 to sign up for the Aratheon Newsletter and a FREE Digital copy of Broken Souls!