Let me explain before you tie me to the stake! Right now, I’m applying for a dietetic internship through DICAS (pronounced in my head like die- cuss, which most dietetic students feel like doing to the program right now). Anyway, it’s a big deal and I’ve got to finish it by Wednesday. So, since my focus is on DICAS, I haven’t been able to edit the next section yet (and believe me, editing needs done. Not major changes, but changes nonetheless. I was just a bit excited when I wrote it and left out some points). Just please be patient as I work hard on my application.
But I do feel obliged to give you something. Now that’s Fred’s secret is out, I can give you a bit of something I worked on this last summer. May I present, The Child From Loman, Martin’s early life and how Jonathan found him. Enjoy!
***************
A young child sat on an upturned barrel, waiting for the signal from one of the older boys. His dirty face frowned in concentration as he listened for the distinct sound of a not native bird. If all went right, he would go to sleep with a full stomach. The thought made his stomach growl. Groaning, he pressed his hand on his stomach to keep it quiet. How long had it been since he was full?
Trying to distract himself from his hunger, he looked around the street he was waiting. It was like most streets of Loman. Merchants trying to sell their wares to other people, horses whined in their carefully guarded lines, laborers carried goods from one spot to another, sellers flashed fake smiles as those with money examined the merchandise, the clanking of coins being exchanged. There were also guards and attendants who followed the merchants and buyers, both parties eying the other suspiciously. The sights, sounds, and smells clashed out on the streets and often overwhelmed newcomers. Here, in the seaport of no nation, Loman’s only rulers were greed and money. A paradise for anyone who had enough of both.
The child gazed on the scene, seeing more than most. The children of Loman were ignored. For the most part anyway. Most kids didn’t have money, and if they did, their parents made sure that they never went out without some sort of guard. But they had plenty of greed. At least, that’s what he had been told. He was just hungry.
“Hoo, hoo, hoot!”
That’s the signal, the kid thought, jumping off the barrel. The teen had called it an owl. The child rolled his eyes; like he didn’t know what an owl was. But his job wasn’t to question the leader; his was to be a distraction.
Why did they want me to be the distraction? he wondered for the hundredth time. Most older kids, the lucky ones who got into their teens, never paid much attention to someone as small and as young as he was. It was called the Thinning. Let the younger street urchins fight it out until their teens. If they survive that long, they could be accepted into the teen gangs. And if they survived those gangs, the thieves would take them in. The child knew a lot of other street urchins who never got to his all of nine, almost ten, years.
His target was one of the poorer merchants, one who didn’t have much standing in the order of things. He wouldn’t have been in business if he didn’t bribe the innkeeper he had set his shop up in front of. The only reason the innkeeper allowed the peddler to stay there because of the bright colored apples would attract customers. The kid’s stomach growled again, reminding him of the hunger he wanted to go away. Pressing his stomach again, he hesitantly approached the apple seller.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice cracking, “sir?”
The merchant looked down at him through his long mane of hair. “What?” he sneered through his nose. The kid wanted to bolt out of there and leave the older teens deal with the arrogant merchant. No, he firmly told himself. I don’t back down. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed an apple and ran.
“Thief!” the peddler yelled, pointing at him. “Someone catch him!”
Not if I can help it, the child thought, feeling his anger rise. He urged his feet to go faster. Behind him, he could hear the merchant try to give chase. No one would help him. In the world were greed and money matter, helping others ranked low on anyone’s priorities.
If the plan went right, the teens would be taking more apples while the peddler was away. The kid ran faster, leaving the swearing man far behind. Clutching the apple he had stolen, he disappeared in an alleyway. He tired to quiet his panting as the man barreled past his hiding spot. The kid let out a quiet sigh of relief. Perhaps one of the reasons why the teens wanted his help was because he was faster than most; some teens had trouble keeping up with him.
Instead of going back to the regrouping spot, the kid waited until the merchant walked past his hiding place again, grumbling under his breath as he walked back to his stall. The kid watched and sighed again in relief when he was gone. His distraction had done it. There would be enough apples for everyone. He eyed the apple in his hand. They said it would be his, since his dirty hands had touched it. Most teen gangs would have told him to give it over. He was a lucky street urchin.
Then why am I so nervous? He had found that if he was nervous, it was generally for a good reason. Something bad always happened when he was nervous. What’s going to happen now? Being extra aware of his surroundings, he cautiously went to meet the teens.
As he walked, he looked at the apple he stole. He couldn’t remember the last time he had an entire apple to himself. Usually, the only apples he ate were half eaten ones he found in the garbage of rich people, most of them bruised and molding. He ate them anyway to keep from starving. This apple was pale green and bruised in a few places; but it was whole. He took a careful bite, savoring the sweet taste. Wiping the juice from his face with his shoulder, he put the apple into his pocket. If something bad was going to happen, he at least wanted the apple.
The place the teens had told him to meet them at was another alleyway, one far from the apple stall. There were three teens sitting on crates, munching on the fruits they stole, and laughing at the cruel jokes they shared. The kid hesitated before getting any closer. He was nervous about seeing them. Shouldn’t it be better if he ran away?
“There’s the kid,” laughed their leader, the biggest teen. The kid flinched as the other two saw him. All three of them were at least twice his size. “Come on over, Martin,” the leader chuckled, waving him towards them. “You did a great job.”
Martin hesitated a moment longer before joining them, his nervousness growing with each step. Something bad was about to happen; despite their good moods. If anything, it was a very bad sign for a street urchin such as him.
“Scared of us?” one joked, slapping him on the back when he got to them. Martin flinched. Yes.
“Did you get enough apples?” he asked, his voice squeaking.
“Sure did,” the last teen laughed, holding up a large bag bulging with apples. “You did great kid.” He laughed louder. “You should have seen the weasel man when he came back and found more apples missing! The innkeeper had to come out and threaten to throw him out if he didn’t stop the racket!” The three teens laughed. Martin could only chuckle weakly.
“Ah,” the leader said, calming down. “That was so funny, I’m tempted to keep my promise to you.”
Martin shivered. He figured the teens wouldn’t give him a fourth of the apples, as they agreed. But there was something else… He had to force himself to not reach for the apple in his pocket.
“Could I at least have one?” he asked, taking a step back as they jumped off the crates they were sitting on. The largest one grinned.
“Sure,” he said, reaching into the bag and pulling an apple out. It was rotted, so much so that it dripped on the teen’s hand. “Have it!” He threw it and hit the kid in the face. Martin yelped, trying to wipe the rotten apple off. Before he could clear his eyes, the teens were on him. He cried out with the first punch to his gut. Instinct took over. Dropping to the ground, he covered the back of his neck with his hands and curled into a ball. The teens laughed as they kicked.
Please! Stop! Martin gritted his teeth to keep from crying. That’s why they were doing this. They wanted him to entertain them. As long as he remained silent, they would loose interest.
His trick worked. The teens quickly lost interest in him. Martin lifted his head barely high enough to see the leader looking back at him. The two other teens were already in the street.
“You’re good, kid,” the leader chuckled. “Live a couple more years and you can join us. See ya, Marty.”
Martin dropped his head, sobbing as softly as he could. I don’t want to join any of you. Not if this was how they would treat kids. He would have bruising on his ribs, and a sore stomach, but he lasted through the beating. Wiping the rest of the bad apple off, he reached into his pocket to see how his own apple survived. His hand brought out mush.
Martin sobbed again. He lay there in the dirty alley until nightfall, his eyes closing with sorrow. He knew the signs of unconsciousness. His vision was already starting to blur.
They must have hurt me more than I thought. He groaned, relaxing and waiting for the blackness. Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe normally. It wouldn’t last long. It never did.
Then a vision flashed in his mind. It was a man in a multicolored room, gazing out of a window over the sea. The man wore fine clothes of a rich man, and he held himself with pride. However, his expression was concerned.
The vision was gone as soon as it came. Martin ignored it, finally surrendering to the forced sleep. The visions never did anything for him.
**************
Jonathan Santer, King of Aeterna, suddenly felt pain in his sides and stomach. Groaning, he rubbed the affected areas, wondering why these attacks would come. The doctors he had consulted in secret said they were nothing, that he was in perfect health. However, King Jonathan still felt pain. It had been three years since he stopped trying to find a way to heal it.
Sighing, he glanced around his office. It was of the same stone as the rest of the palace, a multicolored stone that shone different colors in different light. In the fading light of day, it was glistening a pale blue and gold. But bookshelves covered one wall, while a large family portrait filled the other. Leaning back in his chair, Jonathan regarded the painting.
He and his wife stood with their daughter held up between them. He smiled a bit; his wife, Queen Abigail, was as beautiful as the day he married her. A slim figure with passionate grey eyes and long flaxen hair, she was the center of his world and one of the few people he trusted. Their daughter, Princess Sara, was growing to look more like her mother every day. However, the five year old was also showing the queen’s temperament. Everything had to be done her way or not at all.
At least Abby is more controlling of her temper, he thought with a chuckle. The next few years was going to prove interesting.
However, as much as he loved his family, he knew there was someone missing from the portrait. He sighed deeply, looking down at his desk and the paperwork he was putting off. It was approaching the eighth anniversary of when Nacre, the capital of Aeterna, had been raided by pirates. He had been away fighting a war against the nation Venter. He had established a treaty with General Terk the week before when the attack against the capital came.
The attack that took their son away.
Years of searching had brought him the news that he had just read. It was in Suit’s own handwriting, and brought the news he had been fearing. The pirates had been working with General Terk. They had been ordered to take the prince if the general lost the war. But at the rendezvous with the Venter navy, the pirate ship was sunk and everyone killed.
I already knew my son was dead, he tried to berate himself, but the pain of loss attacked him just as hard as it did when he learned of the kidnapping. His Connection had proved it all those years ago. Prince Henry was dead. The letter only proved it still.
He couldn’t sit any longer. Shoving away from the desk, he walked over to the large bay window that overlooked Nacre and the sea. The loss of the heir had hurt Aeterna until Sara was born, but he and Abby still hurt. It was hard to say who was in more pain. Abby who watched him get kidnapped or himself, who had been away from Nacre when he should have been there with them.
A vision flashed in his mind. A child, maybe nine, possibly ten, lay on the ground of a dirty alley, sobbing softly. His face was covered in a dark sticky substance and his hand full of mush.
Jonathan blinked as the vision left. What was that? He was familiar with magic, since he was connected with the magic of the land, but this seemed… different somehow. He never had visions before. He shook his head. It could be anything and no one would likely give him a clear answer about it. Besides, it only lasted a half moment. It couldn’t mean anything.
I need to go to Loman.
Jonathan frowned at the intruding thought. For the last eight years, the same thought would randomly come to him. I need to go to Loman. It was a bit nagging, but easily ignored.
Not this time. It was demanding. Jonathan groaned, rubbing his temple. Go to Loman? The seaport was on an island half way between Aeterna and Poca. A known thieves nest, Loman wasn’t the type of place a reigning monarch went to just because he felt the need to go.
Maybe I should just go, he thought, rubbing his chin. It would end the thoughts of going; he had nothing to lose by going. And besides, he didn’t need to go as the king of Aeterna. He did have another name he went under when he didn’t want to be king.
“Jon?” that sweet voice said softly behind him. The king turned around to see his wife standing in the frame of the doorway, their daughter clinging onto her mother’s skirt. “It’s bedtime…”
“And I want you to read!” Sara finished, rushing into the room and hugging him around his knees. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please?”
Jonathan laughed as he bent over and picked his little daughter up. “Alright,” he said, flicking her nose. “But I don’t want you to whine about going to bed. Deal?”
The young princess laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Deal!”
Abby smiled as they joined her at the door. She kissed him softly on the cheek. “It’s time we all go to bed,” she said, wrapping her arm around his free one. “The paperwork will be there in the morning.”
Jonathan smiled, pulling the two women in his life closer. He didn’t know what he would do without them.
**********
It was finally dark when Martin came to. Groaning, he forced himself to first his knees and then his feet. He swayed slightly as his pounding head tried to clear, but he managed to keep upright.
“I need to get home,” he said to himself, walking away. If he didn’t, someone would move in.
With the fall of night, most people moved their businesses inside. The street gangs would meet to divide their spoils, the thieves would meet to start stealing from others, and the street urchins would venture out to forge for food.
The thought of food reminded Martin of his growling stomach. When was the last time he ate? It had been the night before. The kid sighed, resigning himself to digging through garbage again.
He ignored the back alleys of inns and rich people’s homes. The inns would already have urchins searching through the trash while rich people had guards around their homes. Instead, he went for the less prosperous merchants. There were fewer urchins there and the peddlers didn’t mind if the children ate their garbage. It cleaned up their streets.
The first few homes he came to, there were already urchins digging through. Martin weakly waved at them. They shared sorry smiles and continued eating. It was tough to be an urchin, but at least they tired to be kind to each other.
Martin came to a house with no urchins. He stopped before he dug in, waiting for that nervous feeling to warn him. There was no such feeling; this place was safe to eat. Careful of the lighted window, he snuck past it to the garbage by the door. Lifting the lid, he looked inside, the smell of half rotten food drifting up his nose. The smell never bothered him; it was new street urchins who had a difficult time with it.
Plunging his hand into the trash, he bit his tongue awkwardly as he searched for anything edible. A half hour later, he sat down beside the garbage, pleased by what he got. Two chicken legs with meat on both ends of the bone, a still good roll with only a bit of mold he picked off, the ends of various vegetables, and even a half eaten apple that was still good. He was extra lucky this night. He enjoyed his meal, waving at other kids who passed by.
“I’ll be right back,” someone from inside said loudly. “I’ve just got to throw this out!”
Martin froze. Someone was coming out? Why wasn’t he warned? Before he could get up and run, a large woman opened the door and nearly stepped on him.
“Oh dear,” she said, seeing him. “Seems we have rats again.” Martin shivered. Not a good sign when someone called you a rat. He almost ran when the woman smiled down at him. “Don’t worry, young child,” she said softly. “Just stay here a moment and I’ll be right back.” She closed the door. Martin knew if he had a chance to get away, now would have been the time, but he was rooted to the spot.
“Did you forget something?” another voice asked, and not too kindly either.
“I did,” the woman answered. There was a scuffing sound. “I’ll be back again.”
The woman returned with something wrapped in a white cloth. She patted his head and gave it to him.
“It would be unwise to return here,” she told him, placing something else in his hands. “I don’t want to see you again. Is that understood?”
Martin nodded his head vigorously. The woman smiled. “Good. Now, get out of here before the guards come out.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Running as fast as he could, he didn’t stop until two streets over. Breathing hard, he found a dark place to sit and see what she gave him. He gasped as he opened the white cloth. It was some bread and cheese, neither rotting nor molding. Quickly tying the cloth back up again, he checked his other hand. He froze.
It was a candy.
Candy was rare. The only time he ever had one before was when he helped a merchant calm his horse. The candy had been his reward. This one was almost the same. It was dark in color and it got soft the longer it rested in his hands. Before he could stop himself, he stuffed it into his mouth. He savored how it melted and went down his throat. Candy was so good. Licking his hand, he knew he had been doubly lucky that night, despite the beating earlier.
Really time to get home. If he didn’t, someone else would move in. He stuffed the bread and cheese down his shirt before getting up and leaving. The street urchins continued their foraging; some would be at it all night to get full stomachs. Martin ate enough to stave off hunger. Eating yourself full just made an easier, slower, bigger, and sleepier target.
The trip to his home was short. Walking past the houses, the moonlight revealed the bridge he slept under. Bridges were highly coveted among the urchins. Only the older ones could sleep under them. It’s only been three months since he moved in when the previous urchin joined a gang. Age was finally working for him.
Walking along side the bank, he approached his bridge when he noticed two shadows moving toward his spot. He sighed. It seemed that he was going to have to throw out whoever they were. Street urchins might be nice to each other, but lines were drawn.
“Do ya think he left?” one of the shadows said, peering under the bridge where his stuff was. “He didn’t take anythin’.”
“I don’t think he would if he’s dead,” snapped the other. “I can’t wait for him to get back. Let’s take it.”
Martin snorted. “No, you won’t.”
The two shadows froze and spun around. Martin recognized the two. They were the next two street urchins under him. When he left the bridge, they would move in.
“Martin,” the first one said. This was Penn; a sniveling coward who followed the other, Cleck. “Ya’re back.”
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he snapped, using Penn’s slang. “Whatcha doin’ here? Tyrin’ ta take what’s mine?”
Cleck stood taller. The young boy was going to be a monstrous mountain of a man if he grew up to be that old. His bully attitude may get him there; it may also kill him. “This spot’s ours,” he challenged. “You didn’t come back in time.”
Martin snorted again. “Right. It’s my place and I’m not giving it up. Got it? Now leave before I make you.”
“I think you’re going to have to,” Cleck sneered, casually slapping Penn. “You’ve got to get past us.”
Martin glared. “Fine.” Before either boy could act, he charged them. He brought his knee up to Penn’s stomach, dropping the coward. Cleck managed to step to the side, but Martin was quicker. Swinging his arm around, he hit the larger boy at the back of his neck. Cleck fell with a cry. Not giving the boy a chance to get up, Martin jumped on top of him, pressing his elbow into the small of his back.
“Now,” he whispered, digging his elbow more into Cleck’s back. “Are you going to leave my place alone?”
“Yes!” Cleck cried, tears streaming down his face. “We’ll leave it alone.”
“Good,” Martin snapped, quickly stepping back from him, placing himself between them and his spot. “Go.”
Neither boy looked back as they ran away. Martin snorted. They were a year younger than him and were always trying to take his place. He waited until they were out of sight before ducking under a support beam and checking his spot. A thin sheet covered his spot, strung up between two support beams that protected the place from most weather. He pulled the sheet back and, with a single glance, knew nothing had been taken.
His bed, a worn pallet some innkeeper had thrown out, was pushed up against the wall. The different sort of blankets he had found were neatly arranged and his pillow, an old vegetable sack filled with straw, were waiting for him to sleep. He side stepped the shallow hole in the ground, a pit used for fire when the nights were too cold, and sat on his bed. The only other things in his hovel were candle stubs left from the pervious owner, a knife he carried only when he woke up feeling really nervous, and a few clothes.
“Home,” he sighed. Reaching into his shirt, he pulled the bread and cheese out. He turned to the back wall and pulled out a loose brick, revealing a hiding spot. He put the precious food inside and replaced the brick. About to lie down for the night, he remembered something else.
Reaching into his shirt again, he pulled out his lucky glove. Martin turned it over in his hands, trying to remember where he picked it up. For as long as he could remember, it was in his possession. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that good things happened when he had it. Some small part of him believed it was magic, but the other argued that it wasn’t. If someone was going to make a magic glove, it would have a partner and looked more… magical. This was plain brown with a dark green trim.
On a whim, he pulled it on his right hand. It reached his elbow. Laying back down, he gazed at his gloved hand.
If this were so lucky, I should be in a home. The thought was bitter, but it was the truth. What luck was there with getting beaten? Or having your food or spot stolen? Martin sighed, letting his hand drop. He was lucky. A decent meal with food for tomorrow. Candy even. He wasn’t beaten to death and would recover faster than others.
But he still wished for a home. Turning over, he looked at the sheet covering his spot. Martin didn’t remember a home, no parents, no siblings, not a proper roof over his head, not even a name. The only reason he had a name was because an old lady said he needed one. She called him Martin after one of the Seven Founders of Aeterna. She told him it was said that anyone named after a Seven Founder would find the same traits as them. Martin of the Seven Founders was extremely smart.
The kid burrowed under his blankets, doubting being smart would get him out of this life.
If only I could get to Aeterna, he thought closing his eyes. It was perhaps the dream of every street urchin at Loman to get to Aeterna. There, anyone with enough hard work and determination could get somewhere. Martin yawned, hoping his dreams carried him to that mystic, wonderful place, where he could find a home.
***************
You know, I’m not really nice to Martin. Again, I’m sorry that I won’t be able to continue with adult Martin’s story, but I hope this eases the pain of waiting another week. I really do need to get my DICAS done.
Speaking of DICAS, look what I found as I was looking for material for my application!
That’s right! It’s the notebook I started writing Martin’s story in! My goodness. I was a crappy writer. No really. I spelled duke as “duck,” Chief was often spelled wrong, and don’t get me started on the lame plot and two dimensional characters. It’s amazing what ten years, a laptop, and a lot of practice can do for a story.
Got to go. DICAS won’t get done without my input. Enjoy the journey!
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