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.

...Suggest a Title!

Because I'm useless at coming up with some. Here's part two of ___! Hope you like it. :D Also, here's part one, for those who haven't read it.

Tom’s jaw dropped. He stared at the girl, who smiled at him.

                “I haven’t been to Father’s palace in a long time, though. Some men came to take me to visit my cousin’s palace, but we never arrived. I’m surprised my father let me go, but he will be mad I haven’t returned. Something strange happened on the road there and they gave me to these awful people.” Alisha shrugged and sat on the edge of another stand, legs swinging. She was completely unaware, Tom realized. She had been kidnapped and she didn’t even know it.

                Tom flinched from the stares they were receiving. “Come here,” he pleaded quietly.

                Alisha smiled and hopped down. “Where? Is it nice? Pretty? Father always takes me site seeing in his carriage.” She beamed.

                Tom pursed his lips and gently grabbed her arm, pulling Alisha along. She was so innocent, Tom thought with slight confusion. How? Her father must keep her locked in that room of hers. He still couldn’t believe he was in the presence of a princess. Tom, the thief and slave, talking to a princess! It was nigh impossible. It explained a lot though. Her inability to grasp the place of a slave, her beauty, her simple mindedness.

                When they reached a fairly secluded alley, Tom stopped. Alisha made a face. “It isn’t exactly pretty…”

                Tom buried his head in his hands. “Listen to me, you can’t tell anyone you are a princess. No one, ever.”

                Alisha laughed. “Oh, Tom, why not? What are you afraid of?”

                “That someone might take advantage of you. Listen, you were kidnapped by those men. They weren’t ever going to take you to see your cousin, and your father never let you go. They lied and wanted to sell you for money,” he explained as simply as possible.

                Alisha simply laughed again, angering Tom. Then she frowned. “Wait, you mean they weren’t trying to be nice? Tom, that’s awful!” She cupped her face in horror.

Tom pursed his lips and nodded. “So don’t tell anyone else who you are or they will try to do the same.”

Alisha’s eyes filled with tears and she suddenly ran into his arms. “Tom!” she cried. Tom stuttered, watching her with confusion. “Oh, Tom!” she continued. “My father must be so worried! What’s going to happen, Tom?”

Tom felt a strong sense of impending doom as the princess began to look like she was relying on him. She was a horrible judge of character, which had been proved many times already. Tom felt like he should say something as the one way hug continued. “It’s- it’s okay. I will help you.” He instantly wished he could take his words back. How could he help? It wasn’t even like he wanted to. He had way too much to accomplish without dragging a useless airhead around. Not like it was really her fault for living so protected, but Tom really couldn’t deal with her. She was too fragile and insecure, and Tom was…Tom was Tom and had lived Tom’s life. He couldn’t change himself now.

Alisha was, of course, blissfully ignorant of Tom’s worries and doubts. She hugged him tighter. “Thank you, Tom! Oh, thank you!”

Tom nodded and pushed her away. He stared at her. She certainly looked about his age, but was it possible? She was so innocent. So innocent Tom began to wonder if he would prefer to have had her life, never lifting a finger, but never knowing anything about the outside world, over Tom’s life, working every moment of the day to stay alive and out of jail, but being knowledgeable in the ways of the world. Tom scowled, hand straying habitually to the dagger hidden in the folds of his clothes. A little too knowledgeable. But he still didn’t know which one he would choose.

“So, now what?” Alisha grinned at him. She bounced up and down.

Tom stalled. “Um…well…it would be best if you didn’t return to the woman’s house. I- I don’t think it would be too safe.” By all the idols in Surnim, Tom was actually going to help her! He scowled to himself and at his weakness. “I will find you a place to stay; I promise.”

While Tom was trying to figure out how he was going to do this, a wicked thought entered his mind. He could sell Alisha for ransom. She wouldn’t even know he was doing it, and Tom wouldn’t have to be a slave anymore. He could live the rest of his life off that money, and it would be a thousand times easier than any other way his life would go.

“It’s okay, Tom. I trust you,” The girl smiled at him.

He laughed scornfully. “Don’t.”

Alisha tilted her head. “Why not? You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?”

Tom began walking again, only to pause soon after. “I promise…I promise on both my parents’ grave I will let no harm come to you.” He had everything in common with the men who kidnapped her, but Tom would not be those men.

Alisha was surprisingly silent for a while, hurriedly following him. “Your parents died?”

While he had half a mind to ignore the question completely, he still spoke. “Yes. I was two.”

“That’s so young. Some of my slaves’ parents died, but most of them are older than us.”

Tom swallowed. She knew nothing. “How old are you?” He kept walking, trying to find a good hiding spot for her. It had to be abandoned and large. She would be easily distracted, so somewhere she would not want to leave or having difficulty leaving.

“Fourteen.” Tom shook his head in disbelief. “Tom, are we going much further? I’m tired. We should get a carriage to take us there.”

Tom sighed. “We can’t afford one.”

“Why not? Usually if they see who I am, they will let me for free.” Alisha stared up at him.

“Remember! People can’t know who you are, and your father is not here to pay,” Tom said. Was she more trouble than she was worth?

The girl simply nodded. Suddenly, she gasped and grabbed at Tom. “Look!” she said in fright. Tom frowned and followed her gaze.

“What?”

“That man…” she whispered with horror. Tom finally saw who she was talking about. There was a man a little ways down the alley, lying on a mat. He was covered in filth and he had fallen asleep. There was a small tin beside him, obviously for coins. Tom couldn’t figure out why a man like him couldn’t find a job, even with the slavers, until Tom spotted the man’s arms. He had no hands. Everything past the bone that stuck out in the wrist was gone. Tom paled. Soon enough, that man would be Tom. A caught thief either escaped, was killed, or had his hands cut off. Tom glanced at his hands, one of which Alisha had grabbed. He had been very lucky.

“It’s okay,” Tom reassured both of them, gently leading her away. Father wouldn’t have let her see that…

“Why was he on the street, Tom?” she said quietly, in fear.

Tom took deep breaths. Did he really have to be the one to tell the girl how life worked? “He was a thief. For that, his hands were taken. Without his hands, he cannot work. Not even the slavers want him. Since he cannot work, he cannot make money. No money means no food, no house, no friends.” Tom said. Was that his doom? It seemed like it.

“Oh…” Alisha said, looking downcast.

Tom kicked open a beat up door. “Here,” he said with a smile. It was a very small, one room house in the outskirts of Qirmizi. The place wasn’t very clean, but it was secluded and no one wanted it. Tom’s stomach was doing flips. The outskirts of Qirmizi meant that the Red Walls were looming right over them constantly. He took a deep breath. He wished he could rub or hide his hands, but Alisha was stubbornly clinging onto his right one.

She paused in the doorway. “Where is here?”

“Where you will be staying,” Tom said. He was quite satisfied he did find a place, for he wasn’t sure if he would be able to. Luckily, the neighborhood was full of empty houses. The only fallback was who would populate the area at night… The girl nodded, but did not move from where she was. “You want to go in?” he asked.

Alisha smiled. “Of course! I was just going to wait until after you cleaned it,” she explained.

Tom scowled. “What? I’m not your slave! I don’t even want to be a slave at all! I should have left you to get kidnapped again…” As soon as Tom looked back at her, he regretted his words. No, he regretted saying them to her.

She cried into her hands. “To-om! You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to me!”

Tom frowned and put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “I know. I still won’t. I didn’t mean what I said, Alisha.”

Alisha stared at him and shook her head. “You said you wanted me kidnapped!”

“I didn’t mean it!” He yelled.

She shrunk again. Tom couldn’t think that anyone had raised their voice at her, no matter how many times she did to them. Tom frowned and kept his arm on her shoulder ever so lightly, and she turned her face away from him. The frown deepened. What could he do? He knew nothing about comforting. He had known this was a bad idea. She was too fragile.

His hand fell off her shoulder and Tom walked away, not looking back. He wandered into the other abandoned houses, searching. He finally found what he wanted and returned, pushing past Alisha into the house. She had just stood there, confused and frightened. Tom felt a lump in his throat grow, and he intently stared at the broom in his hands he had gotten before sweeping. Tom gently moved Alisha out of the way and swept the dirt out. He moved Alisha inside a bit before leaving again. This time, he came back with a half filled sack of straw for sleeping. He laid it in a corner and turned to look at her.

“I’ll get some candles later, Miss Alisha,” he mumbled. She was a princess. How could he forget his manners? He was a slave and she was royalty. If he forget the distance, her father would have his head.

Alisha smiled softly and walked over to him. “Tom, please do not call me that.”

Tom examined her face and sat that she was observing tact and not mentioning how bad she thought the house was. He grimaced. He had no money for a room at an inn and they could not be known by any for Alisha’s sake. He shook his head. “I am a slave, Miss Alisha.”

A frown. “But you are also my friend, Tom. My father always reminds me my slaves are not my friends, but you are.”

Tom shook his head again, persistently. “I am simply helping you because you are my better.”

“Tom!” Alisha stomped her foot. “Fine. But without you, I have no friends, Tom. You were going to be my first.”

He blushed and bowed his head, guilt filling him. “I am sorry, Miss.”

Alisha crossed her arms and sat on the edge of the sack bed. “Apparently not! Now leave me!” she said.

It was an impulse for both of them, for Alisha to think she wanted to be alone, and for Tom to gladly get out of a ‘master’s’ sight, but as soon as Alisha saw him go, and as soon as Tom stepped through the door way, they were on edge and full of worry.

Tom, For Lack of a Better Title

Enjoy the start to, maybe, a new story! :D

Tom shivered.

The sand blew across the land in spurts, getting in the boy’s eyes. The sun beat down on his back while his bare toes squelched in the shifting ground. All the animals for miles off were trying to find a better place to be, to get away from the sun’s deadly rays. Wouldn’t take long for a person to die out here in the heat. Water was hard to impossible to find except miles under the heavy sand, and unless you knew where you were going, you would easily be lost. The boy was lucky he wasn’t going far, or he would have needed a horse. You don’t linger in the hot lands without resources.

Tom shivered again.

And sweat.

Heat was not the problem, though it did cause his temper to grow worse. No, Tom had fear. Always did. He had been scared as a small child, alone, in the streets. He wasn’t the only one who could have been stuck there, the fever sent many to the streets, but he was the only one who ended up there. The only one who never had anyone to save him. His life was too littered with the corrupt.

He glanced back, where the tall house was now just a little dark speck. He sighed and sped up a little. He didn’t think he was being followed, but who really knew? His pockets jangled as a dark reminder. Tom swallowed hard and pressed on. He would make it to Qirmizi before nightfall if he continued at this pace. He had been told it was only a couple leagues away. He should see it clearly when he got there. Qirmizi was the City of Red. Tom had heard stories about how it became that way, how the outside, guarding walls had turned crimson one season.

The city’s first Emir had wanted the city to stand out, to make it easy for travelers to see. The plain clay bricks blended in so well with the sand, few would have seen Qirmizi unless they were looking hard for it. His men began painting with the little dye they had, and the people knew that dyes and paints were hard to come across, yet the Emir’s men kept painting. It was said that the Emir had told them to use animal blood, or even human blood. From that day on, it has been bad luck to touch the red walls of Qirmizi.

Tom made a face. What would happen if he, someone with the worst luck ever already, touched the walls? He shook his head to clear the thought. He didn’t want to imagine…He would find what he needed, a trade. He could easily do this. All it took was for him to see reliable and intelligent to get someone to teach him a trade. And someone who was willing to teach a slave, already very late in trying to learn a trade. But not too late, Tom reminded himself. Or was it? He was fourteen, which meant he only had one year to get an apprenticeship, then he would be a man. Once you were a man, you could only continue the apprenticeship you had, and if you were without a trade, the slave work increased. Longer hours, fewer breaks. Less pity.

Tom trudged along. He was in a right awful mood. He would never get in such a bad mood before. But that was his life, always going downhill. He watched birds circle overhead. Maybe they thought he was doing to die soon, not knowing his destination was close enough. His skinny body did make it seem like he had been starved out in the desert, though. He couldn’t blame them. He was smaller than others of his age, constantly shrinking when someone approached. Tom pretended to blame it on his slave nature, but that was not the slavers’ fault. He didn’t see other slaves running around, slinking from shadow to shadow, afraid of any yell or harsh tone.

Why Tom was like he was, he didn’t know. He just wanted it to stop. He groaned. In about a year, if he didn’t have a real trade, he would forever live as Tom the Slave and Tom the thief. He didn’t want to be either. He wanted to have a home. To have food. To have warmth, even on the cold nights in the winter. To stop cowering in the alley ways and shrinking from angry masters. It could happen, he thought. And, if it were to happen, while a city painted with blood wasn’t exactly the best place, it had a sense of mocking irony to Tom.

Tom was lucky to have made it in the city. He did make quite a shifty figure for the guards at the gate, but it didn’t help he was a slave without his master. He almost got taken to the commander’s headquarters, but Tom managed to slip out of the guards grip and get away. Of course, this didn’t make his objective in the city any easier. Now he had to avoid guards and look trustworthy. Why was everything so hard?

                He sighed and pushed his long hair out of his eyes. Tom hadn’t thought the guards got too good of a look at him, especially since he kept his eyes to the ground most of the time. An old habit that wouldn’t let Tom go. He sighed and now forced himself to look at his surroundings. The big red walls around the city had been quite intimidating, more than five times his height. The paint had looked awfully like blood, but Tom had avoided touching it. Inside the gates was a bit more cheerful, despite the fading sunlight. He could see where the markets would be, where the rich lived. Where the bars were. Tom avoided those more than anything. Drunken men were a horrible sight to him. A painful sight, really.

                As he walked through the town, he had habitually found the bakery, though no food was there for him to take freely. He pursed his lips and slipped through the door as a woman headed out, keeping to the shadows. A large, burly man was in an in depth conversation with another, so Tom found courage to cross the room to the breads. He smiled when he reached the other side. He tiptoed over to the stone slab shelves and took just one, small piece, making a quick getaway out the back door. He paused as he went out, wondering if he had made it. Nothing. He smiled and took a smile bite of the bread.

                “Hey!” A man stopped in the road, staring at Tom. Tom’s eyes widened and he bolted. He ran down the back alley as fast as he could, but glancing back, he saw the man following. Then other yells joined the original spotter. The baker, most likely. Tom felt an unusual guilt come into his stomach and throat. He was fine with stealing, mostly. But not like he did. No, this was all wrong. He sighed and kept running; there was no turning back now. Tom heard the people getting closer, yelling for him to stop. What idiot would stop now? He knew what would happen if he did. He looked back again, almost running into a wall. He put both hands out to stop himself. Tom looked at the wall.

The red wall. The wall stained with blood. He paled, backing away. No, no, not him! He whimpered. Looking back, he saw a crowd coming close behind him. He swore and ran to the left at random, speeding up again. He stared at his hands. He had put them solidly on the stone, and there was no getting around it. He had also dropped the bread. Obviously, the curse was already at work. Tom turned corners as quick as he good, but the mob kept following. He grimaced, suddenly disappearing into the shadows. He dug his fingers into the house stone he was against, slowly getting a good grip, and Tom began climbing. He was fully hidden in the well picked shadows. He laid on the roof, peeking off the edge to see the people go by. He recognized the spotter, the baker, and the man the baker had been talking to, and one other.

He sighed and rolled back onto the hard, clay roof. They were looking for him, and he was cursed. Cursed. Completely and utterly doomed. He would never find a trade now. If he even lived through the curse, it would be as a slave forever more. He held back a sob as tears streamed quietly down his face. He hated crying. Crying was for women and children. He had gone through more than them; he should be stronger. He sighed and wiped his nose. What was he going to do?

Because he really needed another issue. Tom was now a convicted criminal and a cursed slave. He moaned and curled up in a ball on the roof. He examined his palms, as if searching for blood that had rubbed off on to his tan skin. There was none, but Tom kept imagining bright red spots and streaks across his hand in the growing dark. He sniffed again and turned to look at the stars as they came out. He hadn’t purposefully chosen this spot to sleep over night on, but it just ended up that way. He hoped the morning would be better, and the morning would bring him nowhere near red walls. He was going to try. Tom knew he had to. Maybe the stone’s paint really just was dye, stashes that the Emir had for many years. It could be. He could be perfectly fine.

“No! Never! Stop this at once! How dare you!” A young woman yelled at Tom. Tom cowered in front of her feet. She was the master. He was the slave. This was how the world worked. He winced as she kicked him in the stomach multiple times, continuing her rant. He cried out in pain, but she paid no heed. The ground was hard and sharp beneath him, which didn’t make sense. There was a layer of straw between him and the ground. Wait, no, that was disappearing. It was just hard clay. Tom glanced up, confused. Now the woman was gone, while he could still hear her voice.

                Tom jumped. He was on the roof of a building. Yes, the building the woman must be in. But she hadn’t been yelling at him yet; it was a dream. Tom pulled his shirt up to reveal his stomach. No, no new bruises. He looked warily over the edge of the building, sighing. He went into a crouch, then extended his legs and jumped off. He winced as his bare feet slammed against the ground, and Tom stood, trying to blend back in with the early morning flow. He slunk through the shadows until he could see in the doorway of the house he had slept on top of. He wanted to see the master and the slave and find out what happened.

                Whatever Tom thought he was going to see, he didn’t come close to seeing that. It was the slave yelling. At her master. There stood a speechless , infuriated, and confused middle-aged woman and a young, self-righteous slave. Tom wouldn’t have known the young woman was a slave except by the clothes she wore. She had on ragged, loose, and dirty clothes that looked a lot like Tom’s own clothes. The slave seemed to not fit in them in more than one way, for she was the most beautiful slave Tom had ever seen. Although her place in the world had diminished her grace, Tom could still tell what she could be. She had gorgeous long, black hair now frizzy and tangled. Her violet eyes, something that would make her worth more as a slave, shone with fury against her master. Tom was in awe. This was not the wealthy part of Qirmizi, how could that house afford her?

                “Know your place!” The master yelled back, trying to get a word in. She looked quite about to hit the young girl. Tom winced for her, but the slave seemed unaffected. “When Father gets home, you will listen to him and he will decide your punishment!”

                The slave sighed. “Finally! I get to speak to the person who can fix this!”

                “Fix what? I hope it’s your attitude you speak of, slave, or you will say nothing to him!” The master spat angrily. Tom shivered, wondering what was going on. Things seemed off. The master stormed away, slamming the door in another part of the house. Tom stared, watching the slave. She pushed the hair out of her face and looked around the front room. She glanced up and tilted her head. Tom swallowed; she was looking right at him. That shouldn’t be possible. Tom was always blending in with the shadows when he could.

                “What?”

                Tom froze. He was caught. How? He swore, realizing in his distraction he had stepped away from safety.

                “Who are you?” the slave pressed. Her voice was light and soft, yet now had a harsh and distrustful edge to it. Tom was glad that she was a slave, and he could act however he wanted. He wasn’t obligated to answer. Yet, the tone she was using…it demanded attention.

                “Tom.” He swallowed, darting his eyes around. Most people didn’t pay attention to either of them, but kept walking in between the two.

                “Tom who? Tom what?” the girl asked with a small smile.

                “Tom. Tom the slave.”

                The girl stood and walked over to him, not paying attention to the traffic of everyone walking around. She smiled. “I’m Alisha. My Father wanted to name me that; it means ‘protected by god’.” She smiled wider, seemingly far off in her thoughts.

                Tom stuttered. Who was this girl? She should be off in a palace somewhere, working for a princess. Why hadn’t the slavers sold her to them? He was very confused. “N-nice to meet you…”

                “Yes…” Alisha smiled. She still seemed distant.

                “Do you think you should go back? Your master will want to there, most likely.” Tom said quietly, staring at his feet.

                Alisha laughed lightly. “Master? I don’t have a master.” She stared up at him, eyes twinkling.

                Tom’s eyebrows scrunched. “Really? Who was that woman you were yelling at then?”

                She shrugged. “She claims I am her slave, but that is impossible.” The girl seemed completely unaware of what all this meant. She grinned suddenly. “I have slaves. Yes, lots of them. And they all live in my Father’s palace. My room is absolutely huge, Tom! It’s bigger than that fat woman’s house three times over.” She bragged, face lit up.

                Tom raised his seemingly single eyebrow. “What? Who are you then?” As he spoke, his voice got quieter, and his gaze settled on the dusty path. If this girl was important, he wasn’t allowed to speak to her.

                Alisha laughed lightly again. “You don’t know? I thought most knew.” She began wandering through the crowds aimlessly, looking at whatever took her fancy. Examining a piece of clay work from a stand, she tilted her head at Tom. “I’m a princess.”