The Tale Of Qirmizi (Okay, now I'm just putting random things up here.)

First Chapter
Second Chapter
Third Chapter
Fourth Chapter
Fifth Chapter

The sun had just peeked out above the never-ending world of sand, lighting everything with furious shades of bright yellows, reds, and whites, but the town of Qirmizi had been waiting for it to come. The brighter the rays, the more the people began their scurries around town. Tom yawned, excited that daylight had come. The counting the stars soon bored him, and the night dragged on without interruption. Once he thought he spotted movement, but it turned out to be nothing. Alisha was peacefully and happily asleep still, unaware that the rest of the world had started.

Tom rubbed his eyes tiredly and walked over to her. He gently shook her awake. "Miss, I have to go. I don't know how long I will be, but I will be back."

She stared at him, only half awake. "Oh," she said with disappointment. "Can I come, Tom? Please. I don't want to stay here by myself. It's scary..." Alisha bit her lip. "Yesterday was the worst day of my life."

You get used to it, Tom wanted to say. "Yes. I'm sorry... But I can't let you. It's not safe. If anyone other than me comes, run. Meet me later either back here or where you were serving first."

Alisha stared at Tom, frightened. "O- okay..."

"Good," Tom said. He sighed. She was useless for anything other than a bargaining piece, which was obviously her father's plan. He certainly didn't grow her up to be a personal adviser to the throne. He left her where she was, assuming she would be okay. She had not been harmed yesterday in all of the fire mess, so she could make it today. No one seemed to come around the area. He wandered out of the house, wincing at the sun. He put his hand over his eyes to block some of the brightness. Maybe it was this blocking of his view or simply his tiredness, that caused him not to see the man.

Before Tom knew what was going on, he was shoved against a wall with a knife to his throat. Tom cried out and opened his eyes fearfully to see who it was. He almost didn't recognize the man. Dark purple circles lay beneath the cold, black eyes that dug into Tom's face, searching. His confident air had been stolen and replaced with an fearful, unknowing, and violently unpredictable look to his expression. But, no matter how haggard the man suddenly appeared, Tom was still about to connect him with the captain of the guard.

The man cackled sporadically. Tom prayed someone would come by and notice them, but no one did. "W- what do you w- want?" he stuttered fearfully.

"I want my life back!" the man growled with sudden ferocity.

Tom cowered and flinched, shutting his eyes tightly. The captain was drunk too. The smell was overpowering. He was shoved into the wall harder.

"Well! Are you going to do something about it?!"

"S-s-sir..." Tom moaned. What could he do? It wasn't even Tom's fault. How had the captain even survived the wrath of the Emir's advisers? The knife pressed deeper against his throat. No, no, he had to do something... "W-what did I- I do?"

The captain spat in Tom's face, receiving another flinch. "You ruined my life you little worthless piece of skin and bone! If I hadn't been busy dealing with you, I would have saved my job! It's all your fault!" he screamed.

Tom yelled. He had chosen a spot to put Alisha in too isolated... No one was around to hear them. The knife's pressure was taken off his throat. He sighed in relief, but before he had even finished letting out his breath, he felt a blow to the gut. He groaned and clutched his stomach, but the captain hit him again. Tom fell to the ground as he gasped for breath, but the man didn't stop. He began kicking Tom, as well as hitting him, and Tom couldn't recover enough to run or get anyway at all. He moaned and curled into the fetal position. No, not this... not again! He felt blood dripping down him from somewhere. Everything hurt.
And then it all faded.

The next thing Tom knew was he was staring at his blood stained hands. They really did have blood on them now. He hadn't moved from his curled up position on the ground at all. He was in too much pain. The curse. The stupid curse. He groaned. The sun was about in the middle of the mockingly pleasant looking blue sky. He closed his eyes and hugged his knees, his hands scratching against dried blood. He could tell his back was bleeding too from the way his shirt stuck to him. What had happened? The captain just starting beating him without reason...

He froze. The captain had to have followed him to the house and waited. He knew where Alisha was. He needed to get his job back, something to offer. Tom stood up, but his knees buckled. He grabbed onto the nearby wall and steadied himself. He moaned. He was incredibly stiff and sore. He lifted up his shirt before hurrying to put it back down. That was one of the worst he had ever been hurt. He stumbled back over to the house, wondering if Alisha had heard. She hadn't, because when Tom came in she was asleep again.

"Miss," he said with relief.

Alisha sat up and looked at him. "Tom! What happened?" she said in horror.

Tom's eyebrows met and he looked down at himself. He was covered in sand, blood, and bruises. He growled and began rubbing off the sand and blood without trying to press hard on the bruises. It didn't work.

"Tom!" Alisha pressed, standing. She frowned, unsure of what to do. He was in a filthy state and scared her slightly.

"What?" Tom spat, in an understandable bad mood. He finished brushing himself off and shook his head to fix his hair.

She bit her lip. "Are you okay?"

Tom pressed his stomach, cringing. "That doesn't matter..." he said gruffily. "Come on. We're going to the market." They had to get away from the house. He reached into his pocket; yes, he still had the coins he had gotten from the blacksmith the day before. One or two had been lost, but most of them were still there.

"You'll take me?" Alisha said, immediately brightening.

Tom nodded. “Come on,” he sighed and lead her out. If the place was being watched… He would have to find another place to hold Alisha, if he dared to leave her alone. Every step hurt him. He moved slowly, while Alisha was already walking far ahead of him. He frowned and told her to slow down. She sighed and waited for him.

"Hurry!" she said with impatient excitement.

"Yeah, yeah..." Tom growled. He winced.

Alisha watched with worry. "You never said what happened. What's wrong, Tom?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" he sighed.

She watched him for a moment before sniffing. "Fine." Her smile returned. "What's the market like, Tom?"

"Busy. Dangerous," he admitted. How was this a good idea? Alisha wasn't a good idea.

"Pretty?" Alisha said hopefully.

Tom pursed his lips. "You will see."

And it turned out that the market was all of these things. It was at one of its busiest times and Tom and Alisha could hardly lift one foot without getting turned in the other direction. Alisha could hardly take it all in, thinking everything the most amazing and beautiful thing she had ever seen. She would flitter from one stand to another, squealing at the seamstresses' dresses of thousands of colors to the small dolls the toymakers had.

Tom would watch, only hoping to keep up with her. He smirked at how easily amused she was, with a small wish he could be that way. Her deep violet eyes stayed wide and filled with pleasure the entire time. She lacked any sense of worry or danger. Tom ended up being so tense, and he spent his time looking for anyone that would want to hurt Alisha or him.

"Tom!" Alisha gasped, looking at another stand. He groaned and walked over, seeming shrunken in his condition. "Look..." she pointed. Tom followed her gaze to see a small clay molded elephant. It was painted grey with vibrant colors of purple and pink, with jewels painted on the top of the elephant's head. An intricate little basket was also on the elephant, and Tom would have almost believed it could all come to life. "Please?" Alisha said, staring up at him and biting her lip.

Tom sighed and smiled wryly, fishing a coin out of his pocket. "Fine. But that is it."

Alisha nodded. "I know!" she said happily.

The man behind the stand glanced between Tom and Alisha and received the coin, giving Alisha the elephant. Alisha squealed and held it in her hands carefully. Tom smirked at her, making sure as she walked so entranced in the little figurine she didn't run into anything. He began getting hungry so he bought them some honeyed bread. Alisha was so delighted in it, which amazed Tom continually. He didn't even know where they were going to spend the night.

Title!

First Chapter
Second Chapter
Third Chapter
Fourth Chapter



Tom paled. This was grander than he thought. He had assumed the fire would have been the work of a lone troublemaker's work, someone with misplaced blame on their misfortune. But the fact that someone would try to kill Qirmizi's leader, that someone would actually succeed in killing the Emir...this meant something entirely different. It meant that someone, a rich man, hired an official assassin to kill the Emir. The only person with the means and audacity to do that would be a king.


And that meant there would be war.



When Tom reached the neighborhood Alisha had been, his mood became sour. It was already dark now. She had either run before the fire and now was lost in the crowd that had been running from the fire or she had been taken by kidnappers, slavers, or royal guards. Tom frowned. So it was unlikely she was safe. He glanced at his hands bitterly.

"So the curse is real... that's the one thing I can be sure of," Tom muttered. He stumbled into the house and rubbed the bruise on his stomach, cursing the guards of Qirmizi. Though, with what happened today, they would need us much luck as they could get. No wonder the captain had ran away from the cell in such a hurry and had let out all the prisoners. And that's why he would soon be without his head...

"Tom?" A small whimper came from the corner.

Tom froze in fear for a moment, before recognizing it was Alisha. "Miss!" he cried and walked blindly over to where her voice came from. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he spotted her curled up as far into the corner as possible. When he came near, she flung her arms around Tom's neck.

"Tom!" she sobbed, crying into him immediately. Tom shivered and tried not to push away. She wasn't going to hurt him. She couldn't even if she wanted to, but she probably did.

"I- I'm sorry. I would have checked in on you if I could have, Miss." Tom said quietly to her.

Alisha shook and tears flowed steadily down her face. "What happened, Tom? People were screamng! The noise of it all... it was awful, Tom!"

Tom nodded. "I'm sorry." He was surprised she was still here, but relieved. Nothing would happen to her, and now he had no worries about him not being around. He had nothing to do. No person in their right mind would take a slave as their apprentice, especially not one who had just escaped prison. And if they only knew the extent of it. If Alisha knew the extent of it. Tom frowned at the thought. She trusted him, stupid girl, and he had to help her now. As he looked down at her, crying as she pressed her head against his chest, he wondered if he had gone mad. On the way to Qirmizi, it was possible. Too much exposure to the sun. Many men and women had fallen to it. They would imagine things and talk nonsense, before being exiled by their family. Tom had no family, but he certainly wouldn't be getting a new master.

Tom almost swore, catching himself before Alisha heard. He couldn't imagine the king's anger when his daughter was returned, but not as the innocent thing as she was before. But now Tom could never get hired again as a slave. Tom shuddered. he would be that man Alisha was scared of, the one with no hands. Tom just had two, cursed hands. What was better? Freedom and satisfaction. That's all Tom wanted in life, nothing more, and that's all he couldn't have.

Alisha had stopped crying, so Tom gently pushed her away. She sniffed and stared up at him. "Do you have a handkerchief?" she inquired.

Tom blushed and shook his head. No slave would have that except the king's official nose blower, and nothing but royal mucus would be allowed to touch it. But Tom mused bitterly, Alisha would be able to use the handkerchief. Even Alisha was now lacking hers though, due to her position. Her normal, elegant dresses and outfits Tom imagined she would have had obviously been taken by the kidnappers, leaving her only with a slave's dress, which was neither flattering nor clean. She still wore a rough pair of flats that once were fit for a princess, but no longer maintained a sense of grace and money.

As Tom examined Alisha in her pauper's clothing, it gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction, while the sense completely appaled another part of him. He felt so proud that someone of such high stature could be so quickly be brought down to his level. Maybe, just maybe, the opposite could happen to him. He really didn't need to be in a palace or court, but a nice house, with a few slaves of his own... that would be perfect.

Alisha began crying quietly again, moving back to bury her head in him. Tom frowned. This wasn't his job, so why was he doing it? He really didn't know. Alisha? He knew next to nothing about her. For fame? He was a slave. Anyone would see it as Tom doing his duty. For the money? Again, he wasn't going to get any of it. No one would care to see him rewarded. Plus, when they arrived to wherever they were going, Alisha would once again be locked up in her room, staying unknowing forever.

Yes, that might be why he was doing it. Maybe he was interested in how a human could be so stupid in the ways of the world, and he wanted to show that Alisha that the world was an evil, cruel place. Tom completely believed seeing all this would help her somehow. He wouldn't tell her his past or take her to a tavern in the middle of the night, but if he could just make her understand the world they lived it. How it hurt. How it was selfish. How it enjoyed others' pain and was only happy with seeing the helpless in pain. Tom's parents hadn't done anything to deserve their misfortunes. And yet, they had been taken from Tom anyway.

And Tom, Tom was only trying to live. He had no food; he was forced to steal. Masters beat him; he had to run away. And his other secret... That had never been branded on him, because the only scar he would recieve from that would have been the cuts from the noose. It had been self preservation. He hadn't meant to. Right? There had to be a difference between the two.

"Where were you, Tom?" Alisha whispered.

Tom frowned. "I was trying to come, Miss. There was a big fire at the Emir's palace."

"A fire?" Alisha sniffed. "Was anyone hurt?"

"The Emir died." Tom said quietly.

Alisha gasped. "Oh no! Who is going to lead the town?"

Tom shrugged. "A new leader will be chosen. The town will be unsettled for a while, but if it is a good Emir, the city will be settled soon."

"And if it isn't?" she asked, scooting back on the sack bed and lying down.

"Then Qirmizi will have a rough future."

Alisha nodded and her eyes closed. "Tom?" she said, half asleep.

Tom watched her. "Yes, Miss?" But she had already slipped into the realm of dreams. Tom stood and walked over to the doorway. He leaned against the wall and stared into the night. He wouldn't let himself sleep, not with the city in such a state. It would be a long night, even though it had already began. He bid his time counting the stars and wondering what his cursed life had ready to throw at him next.

Tom!

No, I don't have a title yet. :p

First Chapter
Second Chapter
Third Chapter

Alisha shivered.

She stood a few steps away from the doorway, wondering where Tom was. When he was coming back. If he was coming back. She whined. She was so dumb. She had told him to leave her because she had gotten mad. Now Tom wasn't coming back. Tom was upset and he had shown it by leaving. She was going to be kidnapped. She hugged herself. She had been kidnapped once. Tom had said he was going to let it happen again, and if it did, there was nothing Alisha could do to stop it. She was a princess, weak. This was just awful!

She was lost. Terribly lost. She needed Tom. She didn't know where he was. She didn't know where she was and needed to get back to Father. Father was probably so worried. Would he be mad at her? Father was the only one whoever got mad at her. Father. And Tom. She stared out the doorway, looking for a sign he was coming back. Alisha turned away from the doorway. No. She didn't need Tom. He was not her slave, and she couldn't treat him as one. So what was she waiting for? She should find someone to help her. A guard, or an official. That might work; Father said to trust them.

But what if they wanted to kidnap her too? The men before had said they were guards, hadn't they? And Tom said not to tell anyone who she was. Alisha spun around, staring through the doorway once more. Tom, where are you? Alisha pleaded silently. A figure passed by in the distance, raising Alisha's hopes. It looked like a man. She watched hopefully. The figure came closer. Alisha could finally see his face. Her smile faded, until it turned into a depressed frown. No. Not Tom. Tom had left, and he wasn't coming back. And it was all her fault.

Tom felt like it had been ages trapped in the cell before the captain came. The guards had dragged him to the small prison and shoved Tom in a small cell, only about five feet deep on each side. Tom sat, huddled against the wall for a while. His stomach had acquired a new bruise from where the guard punched him, and his arms had marks from the soldiers' firm grip. Tom hugged his knees. They were going to kill him. He moaned. Or, if they didn't, it would be worse...

His mind flashed back to a different time and place.

But you could barely tell.

Tom was still in a prison, just a little smaller. You couldn't tell whether he was more terrified then than now. He was in about the same pose, curled against the corner. Footsteps, clear and heavy. Guards'. Metal armor clanging along with the spears that soon peaked around the corner. Two of them. One went about unlocking the door, and both faces were serious. The guard watched Tom carefully, glaring with extreme loathing. Tom couldn't differ. He hated himself then, but for different reasons. For getting caught. For getting in there. For getting himself killed.

"Last wishes, thief?" the guard with the keys spat as he swung the door open.

Tom mumbled something as he was yanked to his feet.

"Too bad. No one like you is gonna get any kind of special treatment," the other guard growled and shoved Tom out of the cell.

Then a blur. Tom pulled out his dagger. The guards lowered their spears. Tom's arm was cut, but he remembered that guard falling to ground in a TERRIFYING puddle of blood. Then, in the other guard's surprise, Tom pushed his dagger into the other man. And then Tom ran. And ran. Ran away from everything he had known, except his dagger and his marks. He ended up in many places, all of them worse than the last. The beater. The drunk one. The one who never fed him. His scars would let Tom get away with nothing.

Tears streamed down his face as he knew what fate lied ahead of him. The fate of a dead man, or the fate of a murderer. He was stuck. They would not go easy on him. They would look into his records and see what he had done… Tom was going to die. He sobbed into his knees.

“If you are going to steal from someone in this town, you should at least be a man about it,” a man said.

Tom glanced with red eyes at the large man before him, who Tom recognized as the captain of the guard. The captain stared at Tom with open revulsion and hatred. Tom cowered and hugged his knees tighter. This man would be the death of him. Or others. Tom couldn't help it as his fingers grasped the hilt of his dagger slowly. It was his only comfort here. Or anywhere. The man wore clothes like the guard: tan tunic and pants with a sash to show their allegiance to Qirmizi. This man also wore a dark brown vest and a cloth around his head to shield his face from sand and sun. The head covering gave the captain's face a shadowy, brooding look. Tom could only just see the man's dark, pebble eyes staring at him with a scowl to kill.

The captain kicked the bars, causing Tom to shake more. "What's your name, slave?" the man barked.

Tom winced and turned his head away, keeping his eyes on the hard ground.

"Now!" the man demanded, frowning. "Listen to me, slave; this can be done quickly or not quickly. I will determine how much clearance you get, and I can have you get by unscathed, or I can have you killed. You want to be on my good side, don't you?"

Tom moaned and buried his head in his knees. If he told the captain his name, Tom would be found out all the sooner.

The captain sighed and squatted. "How old are you, slave?"

"F-four, fourteen." Tom whispered.

"Fourteen? Where are you from?" the captain continued in a calm, but firm voice. "Here, or out of town?"

Tom swallowed and paled. He couldn't answer that either.

"I have a son your age," the captain said, changing subjects. "He's got the same color hair as you, but shorter. Your masters didn't take good care of you, did they? Is that why you ran away?" His voice was strained to stay level. When Tom refused to answer, the captain stood and kicked the cell. Tom yelled and scrambled away from the side of it. "What's your name, slave!" Tom curled back into the fetal position, hoping the captain wouldn't try to hurt him again. Another kick was sent to the bars though.

Suddenly, screams were heard from outside the jail. People fled past the doorway, and sounds of fighting soon accompanied the yells. The captain glanced at Tom, swore, and ran out, already taking his sword out of his sheath. Tom watched in dismay, standing and staring through the bars. He saw the chaos from his seemingly calm and safe place inside.

Alisha!

Oh no...had she been kidnapped? What happened? Was someone ransoming her right now? Visions of her in tight bonds and surrounded by men who wanted to hurt her filled Tom's vision. He pursed his lips. He had to get out. He had already tried to pick the lock, though. He swallowed as the havoc from outside continued, and he had no idea what it was. Tom couldn't see any guards or the captain now. What if some danger was coming through the city, and since Tom couldn't leave, he would die? He moaned and tugged on the bars. Nothing. He hadn't really expected them to just move right out of the way, though. He ran a hand through his long hair. Great. What happened?!

The fleeing seemed to relax for a while, but maybe because the people were no longer fleeing where Tom was. He was sitting in a corner of the cell with a very hopeless attitude. He dug his dagger into the ground. It was getting dark. He was hungry. The city was probably ruined. The princess was long gone. The guards were all dead and no one had the keys to the cell. He would be stuck here forever, trying to see whether boredom or hunger killed him first. He kept pressing the dagger into the ground, distracted enough to not see the man come in for a while.

At first, Tom thought it was one of the city's attackers, coming to end his life short and quick. Tom had mixed feelings about this, but it didn't matter. It was not an attacker, it was the captain of the guard. Tom shrunk away, but the man was too busy unlocking the door. Tom scowled. He would die now. Maybe the captain found Tom guilty for whatever anarchy happened before. Tom stared at the man, whose face was red and he was fumbling with the keys. Finally, he opened the door and motioned for Tom to get out. The captain began running to another corridor, but paused and stared at Tom.

"Go! Now! While you can!" he growled.

Tom hesitantly stood again, nearing the door. "W-why?"

The captain gave a twisted smile. "Instead of you being dead, it looks like it might be me. Now run, I want to give the next captain a run for his money." His face began serious in a certain amount of cruelty and vengefulness, and he ran to release more prisoners.

Tom only paused a second more before running out. He slipped out of the doorway and retreated to a shadow. When he looked at the city, he was in shock. The main building, that Tom had sorely avoided, the palace, had smoke rising above it. A fire. That made sense. The water would have been scarce to put it out. It might not have been so bad, since Qirmizi was built next to a river. Tom had also avoided that. He wasn't used to such large, powerful things, and it would have too many people flocking around it. Tom also couldn't swim. Who could, really? Tom's mind went back to the fire. Who started it? The fire was much too close to the palace to have been an accident, that was obvious.

Wanting to see exactly what happened, Tom wandered to the outskirts of the city. He spotted a small boy of about five and grabbed his arm. Tom wasn't as hesitant to talk to people, seeing as whatever he did would be fairly dwarfed by the fire. "What's your name?" he asked the boy quietly.

"Samer," the boy said, staring up at Tom. He pulled his arm away and picked up a rock interestedly. He wore no shirt, just rough cloth shorts.

"Yeah? Samer? Do you know what happened, Samer?"

Samer turned serious. "Our Emir. Emir Zafir was killed," he said with wide eyes.

Huzzah!

Here is the (kinda short) third chapter. Look at that, two posts in one day.

(Btw, happy birthday, Dad!)

First Chapter
Second Chapter

Tom’s stomach protested every step. But he had to keep going. She told him to go, and he had placed her somewhere she should be safe. He could get on with life for a little bit, maybe even a few hours. She wasn’t stupid; she would live. Tom scoffed at his thoughts. She hadn’t even known when she was kidnapped and he expected her to make her own decisions and protect herself if anything happened… So really, nothing could happen. Tom groaned and forced himself to keep going. He wasn’t anyone’s slave.

Which exactly what he was going to try to do. He would start this very moment, forgetting about Alisha and princesses and kidnapping, and he would find a trade. He wandered through the city a bit, looking for someone that had something that would work for Tom. He had no idea what kind of job he wanted, but he knew he couldn't really be picky. It was only midmorning, so most of the workers should be in their workplaces. He clearly avoided the bakery, still feeling awful about that. This town wasn't his home town; that's for sure.

Tom swallowed, staring at his bare feet on the doorway. He shouldn’t even try. He should go back and make sure Alisha was okay. She was probably bored and might get into trouble. What if she left the house and got kidnapped again? Or what if a slaver found her? Tom shuddered at the thought. It was one thing for someone to think you were a slave, but another for you to be one. There were processes... Tom tried not to think about it. Not that he wanted to think about what he was trying to do now, and probably going to fail doing.

               The door opened to reveal an older woman, about thirty. Her black hair was in a bun at the top of her head, and her eyes were sharp, yet kind. The woman gazed at him with a mixture of pity and distaste. Tom hadn't seen the woman when he spied on the shop before. Just a man who Tom now spotted behind the woman. He had on an apron and held a small hammer in his hand, for Tom had gone to the smithy.

Tom had gone to the smithy for a couple of reasons. One, it looked fairly empty, not many workers. This mean Tom would have less people to deal with and less people asking questions about him. Also, the smith seemed a calm and nice man. Tom knew just by watching for a few minutes what kind of character he would be like. The smith also didn't seem to be a drinker. Easily read, so any mood swings would show warning signs. Tom really just wanted a master that would be an apprentice type of master, and not a slave master.

"What do you need, boy? This isn't a charity." the woman said coolly, but still frowned with gentleness. Her eyes searched Tom's face.

Tom turned red and lowered his gaze. "Ma'am, I would be pleased to know if I could find anywhere I might serve as an apprentice," he mumbled.

"Son, speak clearly," the smith said, not unkindly.

The woman stared with curiosity.

"I would like to enter into an apprenticeship, sir." Tom repeated, louder. His eyes were still locked on the ground.

"Why hasn't your father already set you with a trade? Why not learn his?" The woman asked. She didn't wait for an answer though, but she grabbed Tom's wrist and yanked him around, pulling up the back of his shirt. Tom gave a surprised yelp before grimacing. He knew exactly what the two adults were seeing. A couple of whip scars, one circular scar on the bottom right of his back, and an "X" on the bottom left. The latter two were both made by fire and iron, a brand. The circle one was a small seal that marked him as a slave. The "X" was to show two different things. One slash was to show he was a thief; another was to show he was a runaway.

The man grunted. "Why have you come here, slave? Do you want to rob me, too?"

"N-no, s-sir," Tom stammered in fear after the woman released him.

"Wish to waste years of my life, and then leave before the apprenticeship is finished? Waste my time, money, and effort?" the man growled.

"N-no, sir!" Tom said. He had known this was a bad idea.

The smith sighed. "Come here, boy."

Tom's legs had been halfway to the abandoned house at that point. He trembled and shook his head.

The woman just watched with a tender look as the smith called again.

Tom hesitantly stepped into the workshop and over to the smith slowly. His legs were heavier than ever, and he was forcing himself each step. "Sir?"

"I believe you," the smith put a hand on Tom's shoulder, ignoring the small flinch. "I do not think you wish to continue the thieving or running. No one likes to run," he said quietly.

Tom gave a faint smile in relief. Not only was the smith not going to hurt him or take him to the officials, the man wasn't mad at all. He seemed okay with Tom. Tom began growing a small hope.

"But-" The word, such a small word, dashed Tom's hopes and shattered them to a million pieces. "I am old and have already taught my own sons. I don't want to make a promise I will be too old to complete. Sorry, boy," the smith sighed and pushed a few coins in Tom's hand. "Good luck to you."

Tom’s smiled had been stripped off his face. He shoved the coins in his pocket and headed out, under the watchful eye of the two adults. He stepped out and sighed, shaking his long hair out of his face. He groaned as he slipped into the crowd. He had failed. Miserably. He was never going to find a trade; no one would take him. His hand felt the marks on his back. Not as long as those were there and it was impossible they could go away. The brands were deep and made well.

Tom pulled out the coins in his pocket with a sigh. It was a little bit of money, but not too much. Not enough to buy his freedom. Those prices constantly moved up with your age, doubling, tripling, until it was nigh impossible to buy yourself out of slavery. Tom glanced back at the house. If someone wasn't afraid of him and his past, yet still didn't want to have him as an apprentice, there really was no hope. He put the gold coins back. Now what? Keep searching for a master, or give up? He could go back to Alisha. His stomach churned, hoping she was okay.

Suddenly, a yell. A man came running down the said road as Tom. He yelled again, "It's the thief!" Only then did Tom notice that the man was looking straight at him, speeding toward Tom.

Tom paled and turned on his heel, rocketing away. Oh gosh, someone had recognized him. It was the man the baker had been talking to. Tom cursed, realizing he had wandered onto the same street as before. At least now he knew the way. The wall. He was coming up to the wall. Tom turned the same direction as before, but this time he didn't hit the wall. He knew if he ran a certain way, he could find his way to where Alisha was 'serving' and where she was now. But the man knew where he was going too.

When Tom was turning to go to the house, the man jumped out in front of Tom. Tom swore and ran the other way, and now he was completely lost again. A few more people had joined the chase. Tom wondered what the smith would think if he heard that Tom was indeed continuing his life of a thief. He really didn't want to, maybe. It was the only life he found easiest. Where else could he get food if he didn't take it? He usually didn't take the best, fresh bread, only the old bread. But Tom could tell by the angry yells of the people behind him, not everyone agreed that this was any better. He sped up, only to have to dodge a woman and her child. He ended up falling and landing on his face. He was roughly yanked onto his feet by a firm hand.

He winced under the gaze of the baker's friend, who held the back of Tom's neck tightly. Tom tried to shrink away, but the man held him firm. A couple guards joined the man, and a crowd of people flocked. For the second time that day, a person from behind him, presumably a guard, examined Tom's scars.

"Slave," a deep voice said with revulsion. "Thief and runaway."

The baker's friend spat. "I knew it!" He shoved Tom roughly, and the boy stumbled into some guards. He shrunk further, fingers reaching for his dagger.

"We'll take 'im to the captain. If a cell doesn't fix his attitude, there are other things for a slave like him..." the guard growled, grabbing Tom. Another guard did the same, and no matter how much Tom tried to wrench away, he couldn’t. “Hold still!”

After one more attempt to escape, a guard punched Tom in the stomach. Tom gasped and tried to recover his breath. It was too late to run now.

In Which I Make the First of Many Apologies

Sorry guys, I seem to be having a mixture of writer's block and laziness- something you will never want anywhere near you. I wanted to post something though, without just posting, 'I have nothing to post, bye.' But I'm not sure what to put, so this is going to be making it up as I go, mostly. I figure I'll do some random things.

Warning: This blog post contains Ominous Rain saying what's on her mind...

POP QUIZ: Where is your towel? Name three ways it could come in handy in this very moment.

If you did this, you are one hippy frood.

If you didn't and have lost your towel, well, it's your own life you are risking.

Next!

MUSTACHE.

Next.

N.D. Wilson is epic. He has been my favorite author for a pretty long time. His writing is as magical as a seventh son, and I'm planning a trip to Kansas every time I reread the 100 Cupboard series. He also has a new series called Ashtown Burials, and I am painfully waiting for the second book to be released (I believe) this December. Also, he's got some encouraging ideas about the world in general. That fantasy and magic exist in this world; we just aren't looking at the world in the right way. Anyway, he's brilliant and I respect him greatly.


Ummm...so yeah, let's see

Mustaches- check.
References- check.
Obsessive Rant- check.
Puns-

That's what this post is missing. Okay, hold on.


Where should a novelist never live? In a one-story house.  


There. It's a pretty bad one.