Rhys sat with his brother, watching as the people around them headed home after a long day of work. And from the look of the sky, it was about to rain. Yet another reason to hurry home and finish the chores. The homes in this part of the city were tiny and rarely had more that two rooms. But a roof was a roof. And Rhys would do anything to get his brother into some sort of shelter. Instead, all they had was a tattered old blanket that Rhys had wrapped around them both. Rhys was pressing his younger brother Shahar close to him, to offer comfort and whatever warmth he could provide.

Rhys looked down at his brother. He was shivering, and his face was red with fever. Rhys pulled the blanket off of himself and wrapped it around Shahar like a tight cocoon. “Any better?”

Shahar smiled gratefully at his brother. “A little…”

Rhys hugged Shahar closer. He felt the first few drops of rain his face and he sighed. As the rain fell harder, people ran into their tiny little houses. Rhys watched as a boy, about Rhys’s age, ushered his younger brother into their house. They were soaking, but they were other laughing. Rhys knew if things had been different, he might be doing the same thing with Shahar. Then after the rain stopped, they would run out of the house and throw mud at each other while their parents laughed and warned them to be careful.

“Come on guys!” a teenage anthro girl called to her younger sisters. They ran, squealing, down the street. One of the younger ones, maybe Shahar’s age, stopped and looked at them. Her face showed something mixed between sympathy and horror. Rhys met her eyes and silently pleaded with her. Invite them in. Let Shahar get out of the rain.

Please.

The girl opened her mouth to speak. Suddenly one of her sisters ran back and took her arm. She cast a glance over at Rhys and Shahar. She looked down at her sister, frowning. “Emma, you know we have no more room! Especially not for Witchans!”

With that, the elder sister dragged away the little girl. Rhys sighed and looked up at the black clouds above. They were homeless, parentless, poor, and discriminated against. Here in this country, they were treated like plague-carrying rodents. Just things that were to be left alone to die or squashed out before they caused any harm. Rhys glared at the clouds. His parents had always taught him that there were gods looking down on them, protecting them…he found that hard to believe right now.

“If you’re looking out for us, why did our home burn? Why did you take our parents? WHY IS MY LITTLE BROTHER SITTING OUT HERE IN THE POURING RAIN WHILE HE’S ILL?! SOME GODS YOU ARE! YOU DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT A LITTLE KID!”

Shahar looked up at him. “Rhys…they’ll get mad…”

“Let them.” Rhys muttered, looking back at Shahar. His brother stared at him fearfully. Shahar was still young…he still believed the story of gods and their protection with a whole heart. Rhys sighed. “They know I don’t mean it, Shahar…I’m just angry…”

Shahar leaned his head against his brother’s chest. “Why?”

“Because.” Rhys replied. “Because. We have no home, no food, I can’t find anyone who will hire me, and without money I can’t buy you any medicine. And without medicine…”

Shahar was silent, as was Rhys. And for the long time there was nothing but the sound of the rain falling around them. Then Shahar let out a shuddering breath, which Rhys suspected was supposed to be a sigh. “Big brother…am I going to die?”

The question was like a knife to the heart. For as long as he could remember, Shahar had been the most important thing in his life. He loved playing with his little brother. Teaching him how to master his magic. Shahar was the only thing that mattered right now. Rhys bit his lower lip, then shook his head. “No. No you aren’t. I don’t care if I have to drag you to the castle and beg for the king’s help myself. If there’s anything, anything in the world, that can make you get better, I’ll do it.”

Shahar smiled and closed his eyes. “I know. And if you got sick, I’d do anything to make you better.”

Rhys smiled, just a bit.

xxxx

The storm passed during the middle of the night. Shahar slept, but Rhys remained wide awake. At points during the night, he would check how Shahar’s breathing was. He became worried as it seemed to become harder for his little brother to breathe. When Shahar woke up at dawn, he was much worse.

“Is…is the storm…” Shahar began. But he didn’t seem to have the energy to finish his sentence. He only coughed and leaned his head back against Rhys’s chest.

Rhys nodded slowly. “It’s gone…it’s gone…”

Rhys stood up and scooped Shahar up into his arms as if he were a baby. Rhys trudged down the narrow dirt road. It had been reduced to nothing but mud due to the heavy rain. Rhys walked up to the one teeny tiny house that he knew. He knew the inhabitant was up by now. She always was. And if she wasn't...well...she was in for a rude awakening. “Chaya! Chaya!”

The rickety wooden door opened. A Witchan woman stepped out. She had long white hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail. She had the same large, pointed ears as them. Only two fangs poked out from her upper lip, and she was much paler than them. A fellow Witchan, at least. She looked them over with slight disgust. “Rhys, hello…”

“Chaya, I know you have work to do…but could you please look after my brother?” Rhys pleaded. “It’s just until I get back from the market. I’m going to get him some medicine. But I can’t just leave him out on the street. I thought he could withstand the rain...but...but I was wrong. I was stupid.”

Chaya clicked her tongue and sighed. “Well that's not a big surprise. Alright, I'll do it. I’ll even give the boy a bath…your both covered in mud.” She took Shahar from Rhys’s arms and cradled him like a baby. “Hm, are you sure medicine will help him, Rhys? He looks pretty far gone…”

“Don’t say that!” Rhys hissed.

Chaya raised her eyebrows. “Alright, alright. Calm yourself…and hurry back. I don’t want to have to look after the urchin for long.”

Rhys fought back his response. He didn’t like Chaya, and Chaya didn’t like him. But his mother had helped cure Chaya’s only son of a mysterious illness. (The time he was able to be cured, that was.) Since then, Chaya had been doing little favors for the boys and their parents. In turn, they’d done things for her. It wasn’t friendship, more like something Rhys heard about called mutualism. Two living things helping each other out so they can survive. That was all it was. It didn’t have anything to do with liking each other. It was about surviving.

Rhys turned and ran down the muddy road, towards the center of the city. As he ran, the poverty decreased and the houses grew in quality. Soon, he reached the market. This was as far into the city as he’d gone. People like him didn’t go into the wealthier parts. It just didn’t happen. Shopkeepers were setting up for the day, some already selling. Vendors yelled from their carts. No one tried to sell anything to him, however. They knew he had no money. At least...not yet he didn't. Not yet.

Rhys reached a small shop. There was no door, just a faded purple sheet thrown over the doorway. He pushed it aside as he walked in. The shopkeeper was anthro man with short brown hair and brown cat ears and a puffy brown and white tail. He smirked as Rhys came in. “Ah…so that’s what that smell is…”

“Ha.” Rhys said sarcastically. He spread his hand and with a CRACK, his staff appeared. He’d had it for as long as he could remember. It was made of pure silver and held a green orb. There were tiny emeralds embedded in the staff that swirled across the silver. Ah, magic. He slammed the staff down on to the counter. “Pure silver with emeralds embedded. How much can I get for it?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes grew wide. “Where…where did you…”

“Family heirloom. My father gave it to me when I turned sixteen.” Rhys replied. It meant as much to him as Shahar. And something about it…it brought about a strange feeling deep inside of him. As if he were part of something more when he used it. Something more to him. He wasn't just Rhys when he used it...he was somebody else entirely. “I don’t know what it’s worth, but I know it’s worth a lot.”

The anthro tore his eyes from the staff and glared at Rhys. “Why would you sell your own staff? I know how you Witchans work. They give you a staff when you become a man, and you make a vow to never part with it. It’s a Witchan's most treasured possession. This can’t be yours. You wouldn’t sell it, and a boy like you couldn’t have one this fine.”

Rhys gritted his teeth. “One, I wouldn't have been able to summon it if it wasn't mine. And it’s more than that. To us, this staff is a symbol of growth and adulthood. You should know that only something dire would make me want to sell it. So, I’ll ask you again: How much can I can for it?!”

The shopkeeper glared at Rhys, but turned his attention to the staff. He picked it up in his hands to see how much it weighed. He took out a few tools and tapped the metal. But when he tried to do the same to the orb, it let out a small burst of green energy. The shopkeeper jumped, then glared at Rhys.

Rhys shrugged. “It doesn’t like you.”

The shopkeeper mumbled something that Rhys didn’t catch, but he would bet anything that it was something insulting. The shopkeeper shuffled off into the back of the store for a moment, then came back with a red box. He dumped the contents on to the counter. Thick golden, silver, copper, and tin coins fell out. The shopkeeper counted out the money, moving a few coins towards himself but leaving the rest for Rhys. He gestured to Rhys’s pile. “That is my offer.”

Rhys counted three golden coins, five silver, eleven copper, and twenty tin coins. However, he needed the shopkeepers help when it came to counting them. Rhys could barely count and read. When you were poor, you weren’t educated. Rhys nodded to the shopkeeper. “Taken.” He dumped the coins into a small pouch he wore around his belt. Rhys looked at his staff, sighed, and ran out.

xxxx

When Rhys returned, Chaya had kept her promise. She’d bathed Shahar and put him in some fresh, dry clothes. Old ones her son had worn, long ago. She’d layed him down on a straw mat on the floor and piled all the blankets she had over him. Rhys smiled gratefully at her. “Chaya…thank you so much…”

Chaya just shook her head. “Did you get medicine?”

“Yes.” Rhys said. He reached into the pouch and pulled out one of the gold coins. He handed it to Chaya. “Take it as a show of thanks. But in return, you have to let us stay here until Shahar is fully better.”

Chaya gasped as she looked at it. “Is…is it real?”

“Yes.” Rhys said, nodding.

“Rhys, how did you get this?!” Chaya demanded.

Rhys sighed. “I had to sell my staff.”

Chaya gasped again. Her face showed nothing but shock and horror. “Your staff?! Rhys, that is forbidden! And it was a precious family heirloom! Your ancestor forged that staff for his second born son over four centuries ago! And you sold it?!”

“It was the only way I could get him medicine!” Rhys snapped. He pulled out a brown bag, about the size of his fist. He found a wooden bowl and poured the contents, which was a dark red powder, into it. He didn’t look at Chaya. “May I use some water?”

In silence, Chaya left the room. She came back with a bowl full of water and slammed it down on to the floor beside him. Some of the water sloshed out of the bowl and on to the floor. Rhys held his hand over the bowl and muttered something. The water began to boil and spit out steam. He poured the contents of the other bowl into it. The water suddenly turned a dark red color and became thick. Rhys took the bowl and walked over to the mat where Shahar lay.

“Shahar. Brother, wake up.” Rhys said softly shaking him.

Shahar opened his eyes halfway. “Am I…dead yet?”

Rhys shook his head. “Try and sit up.”

Shahar ended up requiring Rhys’s help to sit up. The poor kid was too weak to do so on his own. Rhys then had him drink the mixture. Shahar complained that it tasted like shoe polish, then went back to sleep. But Rhys felt better. As long as Shahar stayed here and the medicine did its job, they would be fine. And with the money he got from selling his staff, he could feed them both for the rest of the year. Maybe even afford to build them a house. They wouldn't have to live on the streets any longer.

“Rhys, you realize that your parents would be deeply ashamed of you for doing that.” Chaya said, her voice serious and dark.

“It was all I could do.” Rhys sreplied coldly. “I know it’s like selling your very soul…but I’d do that for Shahar! He’s all I have, Chaya…wouldn’t you have done the same for your boy, if he could have been saved?!”

Chaya didn't answer.