The Child From Loman, part 2

Um. I know this isn’t what you want to hear but…. I didn’t get many revisions done. Now, before you prepare the burning coals, understand. First, I got a new Apple laptop (I’m ridiculous happy about it!) but I’m still learning to use it (and trying to convert old info into new... Not an easy process!). Second, I took a Community Nutrition test and a Nutritional Biochemistry test. I’d to see you try to memorize thirteen vitamins, their functional name, main functions, deficiency (signs and symptoms), and where it’s found in food in less than two days. So there! No revisions because of school.

However, the next section of the Child From Loman is ready. I think you enjoy this story, so I don’t think anyone minds. To the story!
*********
“Question,” Captain Aaron Gillian asked, joining him at the rail. Jonathan’s attention was on Nacre disappearing in the distance. “Why the sudden whim to go to Loman?”

Jonathan didn’t answer immediately. The night before, he had a disturbing dream. There wasn’t much he remembered of it, just flashes of a child sleeping on a lumpy pallet, covered in ragged blankets, under some unknown bridge. All the king really knew was that when he woke up, he knew he had to get to Loman as fast as possible.

“I’m pulled there for some reason,” he finally answered the ship’s captain. “I don’t know why Aeterna wants me there, but it does.”

Gillian frowned. The sea captain knew a bit about the Santer powers and the strange things that had a tendency to happen. Jonathan’s father, the late King Bret, tried to tell people that his powers were getting stronger, but everyone dismissed the idea. Even his heir. The war was taking away his mind, the king thought solemnly. Very few people knew that, however.

Jonathan’s own power was normal. He knew what his people generally felt, sometimes he could tell when a part of the land was suffering from draught or flood. But there had been times when the magic of Aeterna would impress an idea on him to act.

“Does your wife know about this?” Gillian asked, sitting on the rail and folding his arms. “Because you insisted that you be called Fred Chief on this… trip.”

Jonathan smiled weakly. “No, she doesn’t know. All she knows is that Aeterna has called me to do something.”

Gillian snorted, his opinion of the subtle deceit. But it was the only way of going to Loman without all the fanfare that would come with a visiting monarch. Aeterna may pull him in directions he didn’t want, but that didn’t mean he had to go as its king.

Fred Chief was his other name. His other life. Being the only heir to the throne, his younger self couldn’t stand the pressure without exploding. His solution to the problem was to go into the city not as the heir, but someone else. Just a regular citizen. Jon smiled as he remembered the adventures of his childhood. Very few of his commoner friends actually figured out the truth, but they played with him anyway. Jonathan felt that he was a better king because he knew just how hard it was to be a commoner.

And then he met Abigail. For the first time in his life, his reality was better than his fantasy. It had taken a short time for him to discard Fred Chief and the life that man led. They were eventually married and had their first son.

Then their son was kidnapped.

Jonathan had problems dealing with the death of his only child. It was a stress he didn’t know how to cope with. After the heir’s disappearance, the king returned to the double life that was Fred Chief. Since Sara’s birth, he disappeared less into the other world, but he still kept Fred around.

It made leaving Nacre much easier if no one knew he was leaving. His wife was kind enough to not ask what Aeterna wanted him to do; she just looked annoyed at it. However, she was telling everyone that he had gone visiting an old friend who asked for a last visit.

“Well,” Gillian said, pushing off the rail and straitening his jacket. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Fred. Loman is generally not a place you find great things.”

“No,” he agreed softly, Nacre finally disappearing beyond the horizon. “But something is pulling me there. Loman has something Aeterna wants.”
*****************
Martin woke up sometime in the late morning. He lay on his pallet, staring up at the bridge and wondering what his dream had been about. It was the same man from before, but this time he was dressed in something plainer, and he was aboard a ship…. He shook his head at the vision. The flashes of other people meant nothing to him. All they caused was trouble if he paid too much attention to them.

Groaning, he rolled onto his side, his ribs aching from the beating of the day before. Taking slow and deep breaths, he figured that he didn’t have any broken ribs to worry about. That was always a good sign.

That didn’t mean that it also didn’t hurt. Pain blazed on his sides as he sat up. All that trouble for apples he would never get. Groaning, he rubbed his ribs, trying to will the pain away. Once he was able to move without too much pain, he got out the bread and cheese the woman gave him the night before. He nibbled on it, thinking about what he was going to do that day.

“Anyone home?”

Martin quickly put his bread and cheese away, recognizing the voice right away. “I’m home,” he answered, leaning back against the wall. “Come in.”

The boy who ducked under the sheet and stood inside was the other street urchin who shared that side of the bridge. He was about ten, but he looked older. Terry brushed his long orange hair from his brown eyes. His easy grin was contagious.

“For a bit there I though’ you were gone for good,” Terry laughed, leaning against the support beam. “Ya got back pretty late las’ nigh’. Sammy was scared from the figh’ ya had when ya did git back.”

Martin shrugged, trying to hide the pain of it from his face. “I’m not giving my space up. Tell your little sister sorry.” Terry and Sammy were one of the few surviving siblings among the urchins who lived straight off the streets. The other urchin siblings lived with parents whose only care meant a roof over their heads. They were lucky that Terry was old enough when their mother died to live under the bridge.

“I accept your sorry,” said a soft voice. Craning his neck, Martin could make out the wisp of a girl who tired to hide in Terry’s shadow. She shared her brother’s orange hair, but her wide eyes were a frightened grey. Their dirty faces didn’t match well either; Terry said that they had different fathers.

“Any good pickin’s las’ nigh’?” Terry asked, reaching behind him and patting Sammy’s head.

Martin shook his head. “Unless you want a run in with bad people.”

Terry sighed. “Ain’t tha’ normal. How did tha’ job with the teens go?” Martin grimaced. The boy nodded again. “Told ya they were trouble.”

“Terry,” Sammy whispered, tugging on her brother’s worn shirt. “Ask him.”

Martin frowned. “Ask me what?”

“Well,” Terry said, grinning recklessly. “I was thinkin’ of beggin’ from those monks near the docks. Wanna come with?”

“You can’t be serious,” Martin said, shocked by what Terry wanted to do. “There are slavers near those monks! They’d catch us!”

“Ah, come on,” the kid laughed off. “Tha’s why I’m askin’ ya! Good thin’s usually happen around ya.”

My lucky glove. Even the other street urchins knew that he had a bit more luck than they did. Some resented it and others used it. And none of them knew about the glove, but they all suspected something. It had gotten to the point where Martin was afraid to leave his spot without the glove. No one was going to take his luck away from him.

“Sammy and I didn’ git anythin’ to eat las’ nigh’,” Terry pled. “Pickin’s were slim. I don’ wan’ my sis to starve, Mar’in. Please.”

Martin sighed. Terry was lying through his teeth again; he was better than Martin when it came to finding the best eating spots. However, the pled for his sister always hit the spot that made him want to help.

“Alright,” he grumbled, grabbing a shirt from off the ground. “Just let me get into something better.”

He suspected that Terry would laugh and say something about knowing he would help. Instead, it was Sammy.

“Thanks, Martin,” she said softly, tugging her brother out to give him some privacy. She smiled a bit. “Thanks a lot.” Martin stared at them as they went behind the sheet. Normally, Sammy didn’t say much of anything; she spent much of her time in the place Terry had secured for them. He was one of the few people who knew she actually existed.

Maybe Terry wasn’t lying, Martin wondered. Terry, although governed by the street urchin life, did everything he could for his sister. It was a love rarely known among their kind.

Martin sighed, taking off his old shirt and putting on the new one. If only I can find such a safe place. But he was the orphan, the urchin with no past. There was no such place for him. Stuffing his lucky glove down his shirt again, he left his hovel to go beg food from the monks.
*************
The monks from the nation Poca had made vows to save all lost souls. It was their duty to save the heathens from their path of damnation; especially those already captured by greed. Loman, in their eyes, was the worst place. They believed that its people were quickly killing their own soul. The monks hated Loman.

The feeling was mutual.

There was a reason why the slavers set up shop beside the monastery. Not only did it annoy the monks with their “unholy” practice, but the slavers got something else out of it. The only people who went to the monks for aid were those who were the most desperate. People who had no where, and no one, to return to. Perfect future slaves.

Martin and Terry stood across the street from the monastery and the slave market. Martin eyed the market, noticing the wretched creatures known as slaves and the bulking slavers who broke their will on the backs of the slaves with their whips. His life as a street urchin may be harsh, but it was nothing compared with the slaves of Loman. Captured innocents, prisoners of war, people who couldn’t pay their debts, the forgotten homeless, even the few born into that world. All of them would envy Martin’s life.

“Yur luck’s on ta’day?” Terry asked, also eyeing the slave market. Martin flinched as one of the slavers beat an old man bent with age across his bony back with a stick. The old man’s cries rang through the air.

“I think so,” he answered softly. He didn’t know for sure. He wasn’t nervous coming to the monks, but now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was those screams that put his nerves off. His nerves sometimes worked like that.

Just in case, he did bring his knife.

Like it’s going to help against the slavers, he thought, trying to focus on the monastery.

“Alright,” Terry said, slapping him on the back. “On the coun’ of three, we’ll break for the monks.” The kid took a deep breath. “One.” Martin crouched, hoping their quick plan worked. “Two.” Terry was shivering. From excitement or nerves, Martin couldn’t tell. “Three!”

They ran out into the street, straight for the monks. If they managed to get through the front gates, they would get food and the monks would smuggle them out later that day. In his years, Martin has only seen a hand full of people ever make it. Terry had done so once.

“There!”

Martin risked looking at the source. He paled as three slavers ran to block their path from the only entrance to the monastery. They weren’t going to make it.

“Terry!” he screamed, grabbing his friend and shoving him away from the slavers. Terry noticed the bulky men with wide eyes.

“Run!” he yelled, taking off away from the slavers. Martin was close behind. Glancing back, he could see the slavers try to give chase.

“Go,” Martin yelled. “They’re after us!”

They ran without looking back. Streets later, Martin finally felt safe again. “Terry,” he breathed, slowing down. “We’ve lost them.” He knew it without looking behind him to see the truth.

Terry let out a shivering breath as he stopped. Bending over, he held himself up by placing his hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath back.

“This is just great,” he grumbled. “How am I gonna feed her now?”

Martin sagged against the closest building. He was surprised to see the tears of frustration in the urchin’s eyes. “Didn’t you get anything last night?”

Terry shook his head. “I was takin’ food home when some teens caugh’ me and took wha’ I had.” He lowered his head. “Sammy hasn’ eaten in two days.”

Martin stared amazed at Terry. There was such love between the two siblings. Something he could only dream of having. He sighed deeply. Why do I feel like I should have someone who should care for me? Silly feelings of an orphan.

“Let’s go home,” Martin said. “I have something I can share.” The bread and cheese could feed the three of them.
*********
Two weeks of sailing had brought them to Loman. Jon found himself on the deck again, watching its approach. That strange nudging from Aeterna was defiantly pulling him to the seaport. He still didn’t understand why.

What is here? he wondered, staring at Loman in an attempt to see what he had to find. What do you want, Aeterna? There was no answer, not that he was expecting one. Aeterna rarely explained itself.

“It’s a good thing I have a legitimate excuse for being here,” Gillian pointed out, taking a moment from bellowing orders at his crew. Jon turned around to see the ship’s captain standing by the helm, overseeing the crew work. “I’d hate to be here without one.”

Jon nodded. Loman’s two powers were greed and money. Without either present, the citizens of the seaport would suspect something foul at work. Their excuse was delivering some supplies to the Aeternan embassy. Ambassador Sealie had asked for some Aeternan goods. It wasn’t an urgent request, just something he wanted. An excellent excuse.

Jon turned back to watch Loman get closer. There was something here. The question was what.
*************
Martin’s stomach was growling again. He woke up, feeling the hunger more keenly than normal. That’s because I didn’t eat last night, he thought, rubbing his noisy stomach. Ever since Terry had told him how he had been having a hard time finding enough food for him and Sammy, Martin tried to help in all the ways he could. The night before had been hard pickings; he lied when he told Sammy that he had already eaten when he gave her the food he found.

Terry, however, saw through the lie, and the gratitude in both their eyes made his hunger worth it.

But it did hurt.

Martin managed to get up and meet Terry outside. His neighbor looked as tired and hungry as he did. Terry flashed one of his weary grins.

“My sis is gonna be a heart breaker when she gits older,” he laughed. “I’m gonna need ta keep something ta beat the boys back.”

Martin chuckled. “You’ll do a great job. What are we doing today?”

Terry shrugged. “Dunno.” His stomach growled loudly. His grin suddenly became forced. “I’m half tempted ta go ta tha’ one place where men play with pretty boys.” Terry shivered and Martin gasped in horror. The horror stories that came out of that place were almost as worse as the slaves.

“We’re not done yet,” Martin said desperately. “Let’s talk with the teens. Maybe they’ll let us work with them.”

Terry snorted. “And git bea’ up with nothin’ ta show for it? Be serious.”

“Then let’s steal something ourselves.”

Terry froze. It was a bold plan. The teen gangs got mad at street urchins who tried to steal themselves. It cut out of their spoils and made the merchants tighten their security. The street urchins who stole often found themselves killed by the gangs for rising above their stations.

“Mar’in,” Terry said, shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous. We’d die.”

“I’d rather die then play with men,” Martin growled. “Give me a chance to steal something before you head for that place.” Terry seemed hesitant. “Alright?”

The urchin sighed. “Alrigh’. I’ll give ya tonigh’. If ya’re no’ back by sundown… I’m goin’ ta tha’ place.”

Martin nodded, understanding the terms. Taking off, he was determined to save his friend from that fate.
**********
The teens were talking in one of the alleyways again. Martin stayed in the shadows as he overheard what the gang talked about. They always talked about places they wanted to steal from. Martin’s best chance for not getting beaten to death was by stealing from the places they wouldn’t. There’s a reason why they don’t steal from those places, the reasonable part of his head told him. He shoved the concern aside. He was going to save his friends.

“An Aeternan ship came in this morning,” one of the teens reported.

“Stinking Aeternans,” another snapped, spitting something to the side. “Get the best of everything, they do. Regular shipments from home, entertainment, food they like.”

A teen with missing teeth growled deep in his throat. “And they never share. For all their talk of helping others, they keep a fair share to themselves.”

“Someday I’d like to steal from that embassy.” The teen jumped off his box, bringing his fist up to fight an invisible guard. “Take them out to show them who’s really in charge.”

“Keep dreaming,” their leader snapped, the same one who tricked Martin weeks earlier. “No one has ever gotten into that embassy. They have ways of keeping the likes of us out of it.”

Martin frowned. What sort of ways? Guards? Magic? That last option seemed possible. It was very expensive to use, but the best protection.

What choice do I have? His friends were going to either die of hunger or sell the only thing they had for food. Martin took a deep breath as he left the shadows and back into the sunlit street.

The Aeternan embassy. Aeterna, the land where people could have a better life. Martin wished so much to leave Loman and sail for that promise; some days he physically ached to go there, a pain stronger than his hunger ever was. However, it seemed unlikely an urchin like him would ever get to Aeterna. His only hope was to steal from them to keep surviving the dark pit that was his life.
***********
Jon was alone at the embassy. It was often empty, with Ambassador Sealie off working with the various officials that pretended to govern Loman. Gillian was back at his ship, unloading the goods to be delivered there. He had gone ahead to find that Sealie had already left. The protection magic had let him in because of his Aeternan blood.

The king sighed. Now that he was there, how was he supposed to find what Aeterna wanted him to get?

He wandered around the embassy, wondering what it could be. Could it be an object of power? A lost Aeternan needing his help? Or was Aeterna just curious if he would follow what it suggested? If that was the case, he would be sore annoyed.

His stomach growled again. Jon frowned. The closer he got to Loman, he found himself ravenous. No amount of food could stave it off. He pressed his stomach to keep it from growling again.

No food is going to fill this, he knew. But he still thought nothing wrong with a snack. Decided, he went in search of the kitchen.
**************
The embassy seemed empty. Martin still approached it carefully. Just because he couldn’t see any guards didn’t mean that they weren’t there. As he got closer, he realized that the place was protected by magic. He didn’t know why he knew that. He just did.

Sammy and Terry are starving, he thought, forgetting his own hunger. If I don’t do this, they’re going to get hurt. Trying to calm his jumping nerves, he walked up to the building. Martin stared up the tall building. It was at least four stories high, and nearly as big as three buildings combined. It took up the entire block, though most of the block was more garden than building.

Martin ignored the greenery, focusing on the embassy. The doors were most likely locked, and he figured that if he picked a lock there would be an alarm. He needed to get inside without using a door.

A shoot caught his eye.

Checking his surroundings, he investigated the shoot. It seemed like a garbage shoot, judging by the smell and dirty surface, neither of which bothered him. It was a short distance up, the main floor he guessed. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the trap door and slid into the shoot. Reaching up, he caught hold of the other side.

This is easier than I thought it would be, he wondered as he pulled himself up. Taking more care than before, he slipped into the embassy. He found himself in the kitchen. It was spotless and made him nervous just being inside. He had never been inside such a fine place. A stove and oven that looked used, but clean. Doors painted white that led to different parts of the embassy. Silver pots and pans hung from a rack on the ceiling. And a lot of drawers under gleaming white counters. Martin felt like the only speck of dirt in it.

Find some food, he told himself, shaking the awe out of his head. That was why he was there. The main table in the middle of the kitchen had food already laid out on it.

My lucky glove is working for me, he thought, stuffing his shirt full of food. He kept glancing around as he kept putting food in his shirt, wondering why no one was around. It was getting near noon and most rich people ate at that time. His lucky glove might be working, but anything could go wrong.

Once he filled his shirt, he walked carefully to the garbage shoot, growing excited that he was about to pull off what most couldn’t.

“And what do we have here?”

Martin ran by instinct alone. Anyone talking was a bad sign! He almost reached the shoot when he was picked up by the back of his shirt. The food he had taken spilled out of his shirt and scattered on the floor. I’m doomed!

The person who caught him brought him up and turned him around. Martin wanted to shrink at the face he stared at. It was a strong face with deep blue eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. For some reason, he knew this man was powerful. He wanted to freeze in fear. NO! he thought, snapping out of his fear. I will not surrender! He struggled to get out of the man’s hold.

“Calm yourself, child,” the deep voiced man huffed, strengthening his hold on his shirt. “I’m not going to harm you.”

Martin glared at the Aeternan stranger. A lot of people told street urchins that before they broke those promises.

“Relax,” said a soft voice, one he sometimes heard. And always trusted. “He won’t harm you.” Martin stopped struggling, but he still glared at the stranger.

The Aeternan frowned. “How did you get in here?”

Martin refused to answer.

“I see,” he chuckled. “The type who won’t talk. Alright, young boy. I bet you’re hungry. Would you like something to eat? I was about to sit down myself. Join me.” Before Martin could protest, the man pulled out a chair from the table and sat him down. The Aeternan then sat on the chair next to him and kept within grabbing distance. He gestured to the food on the table. “Go ahead, eat.”

Martin hesitated before grabbing an apple and biting into it. He kept an eye on the stranger as he picked out a roll and piece of cheese and eating that. The Aeternan also stared back, his deep blue eyes searching him.

“What’s your name?”

“Martin.” The answer was out before he could stop himself. Horrified at himself, he almost didn’t notice the man nod thoughtfully.

“Where you come from, Martin?”

This he didn’t answer. He couldn’t read the name of the streets. And besides, he didn’t want this man to know where he slept. The Aeternan chuckled.

“Back to silence I see. I’ll try a different question. Where are your parents?”

“Dead.” Again, the answer just came out.

The Aeternan sighed. “I’m sorry.” Martin just shrugged. He didn’t remember them, or the fire that he was told that took their lives. All he knew were the streets and its unforgiving order.

“How old are you?”

“Nine, maybe ten.” Why was he answering? Why couldn’t he stop himself?

“You look closer to ten,” the Aeternan said, half smiling. “Why are you here?”

Martin looked down at his lap, refusing to answer that one. How could this Aeternan understand the hunger that came with being a street urchin? Or what they would do to get fed? “You wouldn’t understand,” he spat out, glaring at the Aeternan’s feet. “Nobody cares for us.”
***********
The child Jon caught was not what he expected. Of course he knew Loman had more than its fair share of urchins, but he also knew the life of an urchin in the seaport was harsher than other places. Other urchins he had seen here paled whenever he looked at them. The king knew the power of his gaze sent most noblemen running. But this Martin had looked him in the eye without flinching. He even defied him.

Jon watched as Martin took another bite out of the apple he picked. For some reason, his hunger lessened the more the child ate. Aeterna, he silently asked, is this what you wanted me to get?

Looking at the child now, he recognized him as the same child of his dreams. Now being closer, he could tell details he missed before. A common face, average build, hazel eyes, and long dark brown hair that reached the boy’s slim shoulders. But the look in the boy’s eyes was not the beaten down street urchin. It was the look of determination. What he was determined to do, Jon could only guess, but it was a powerful emotion for one as young as him.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Martin spat out, glaring at his feet. “Nobody cares for us.”

A phrase most urchins would use, but Martin’s tone was more bitter than hopeless. Jon put his roll and cheese down, a bit surprised. Yes, there was fight in the boy.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he admitted, “but I know a lot more than you.” Martin snorted but didn’t reply. This defiant attitude made Jon smile. “Did you know that you shouldn’t have been able to get in here?”

“There’s no guards,” Martin muttered, taking another bite. “It wasn’t hard.”

“But there is magic,” Jonathan answered. “It blocks most people.” What he didn’t tell the boy was that it couldn’t block Aeternans. Martin may not realize it, but he had Aeternan blood. How much was still a mystery, but it was enough for the magic to let him in the embassy.

“Because it let you in,” Jon said instead, “it means that you’re special.”

Martin frowned, finally looking up to glare at him. “Street urchins aren’t special.”

Jon found himself shrugging. “The magic of this place would say differently. It only lets in special people.” An idea suddenly struck him. The boy was probably already living in a curse and dreamed of leaving it. Why not offer the cure?

“I’ll tell you what, Martin,” he said leaning forward. Martin didn’t flinch, just glared. “I’m going to offer you something because you are special. Tomorrow afternoon, I leave for Aeterna and I know the captain personally. I can talk him into taking you aboard.”

Martin snorted. “Liar. No one cares about street urchins.”

“I haven’t finished,” Jon said sternly. “I can provide you a future, Martin. In Aeterna. I can’t force you, but the offer stands. You can either come with me. Or…” He left it hanging. Martin frowned, confused.

“Or what?” he asked.

“Or,” he said idly, leaning back and waving his hand vaguely, “you can stay on the streets, stealing food and wondering if you’re going to survive the day.” He paused, eyeing the uncertain child. What was he uncertain about? He had just offered the boy a chance to leave this pit. “I’ll let you think it through. As I said, my ship leaves tomorrow afternoon. If you want to come with me, you can find me. My name, by the way, is Fred Chief.” The boy didn’t need to know he was talking with the king of Aeterna.

“Take what food you want,” he offered, seeing the still hesitance in Martin’s expression. “I won’t stop you from leaving. Just consider my offer.”

Martin glanced at the food with a hunger Jon couldn’t understand. When was the boy’s last full meal? Suddenly, the boy grabbed a sack full of vegetables and ran out the door without saying another word.

Jon sighed as the door slammed shut. Well, that went well. But now he knew who Aeterna wanted. The question now was why?
**************
Ah! They have met and parted ways. I’ve about another nine pages of this story before I stopped to continue Martin’s adult life. If you want those last nine pages, just let me know.

Oh, and I wasn’t kidding about having a prize last week. Perhaps Les Mes is a bit obscure, though…. I still have a prize, so here’s another chance to get it. As you all know, I got myself a new Apple laptop and I finally figured out what I was going to name it as I was driving to the store to get it. (I find it sad that all my technology is named after guys... My car is Maxx, my jumpdrives are Kelsier and Kaladin, ect). Anyway, my old computer is called Foaly, after a character in the Artemis Fowl series. My new laptop is called Rollin Hand. First person to tell me where that character is from gets the prize.

Thanks for reading and enjoy the journey!

The Child From Loman

So, um, I don’t think I should continue the story today…..

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!