Chapter 1: Peacekeepers

Click. Crunch. Click. The shining black shoes strike the gravel. From where he is, behind the dustbins and garden compost, he hears the palace-service-boy from a mile ago. How foolish can he be to be so loud? Doesn’t he know there are creatures out here that are hungry enough to gobble him up without a second though?

The service-boy dumps something in the big trash bins.

Food!

Too weak to stand, he half crawls – half drags himself to the bins. Already there are three dirty pups squealing with pleasure as they scavenge through the waste.

Tough luck, boys.

With a sweep of his arm he sends them scattering and starts to search. Bits and pieces of inedible things fly. The pups whimper and cower in the background.

Tough luck.

His hands finally close on something warm. He peers into the bin, seeing a brown paper bag marked with grease. He snatches it up as if scared it would disappear. Ripping the paper open he ogles the food.

A harsh growl ripples in the air.

Wha –

He turns.

The pups give pathetic snarls. His eyes are not on them. A fully grown dog with yellow feral eyes glares at him, snarling. The three pups yap, their voices maddeningly intelligent in the night. He raises the bag of warm food. The bitch bursts out barking but the harsh baying dies down quickly, each rasp quieter than the last. A low snarl lingers on.

New plan.

Never anger a mother with her children, you gotta know that.

He puts it down on the ground. The bitch’s growls slowly fade into a mere reminder. The three pups yelp in delight and they rush forward, tripping over each other, snarling and growling playfully as they devour the meal. The bitch’s eyes never leave him. His eyes never leave the pups.

*****

He crouched in the shadows of Chorin, city of beauty, home of royalty. Night was as still as death. Not a creature in the winding maze of alleys moved. Buildings held their breath.

Eying the dustbins hungrily, the boy climbed on all fours like an animal. A few nights ago his meal had been scavenged by a bitch and her pups. If they dared come again, he’d stand his ground and fight them tooth and claw. A ragged piece of cloth hung from his waist down to his knees – the only adornment he possessed.

The earth shook slightly. Something rumbled in the distance. The boy tugged his gaze from the dustbin. He loped over to see what it was. A magnificent chariot pulled by two silver-white stallions clicked over the cold dull cobblestones of the road.

The boy saw a man dressed in black raise a rifle. He crouched in a corner, almost invisible against the walls of the buildings. Aiming carefully, he was oblivious to all else that existed.

Hunger made the boy apathetic; he was about to turn away when he saw who the chariot confined: excluding the chauffeur, there were three people: a bodyguard, the King, and…Princess Sheruna.

The boy stood, walking as if in a trance. His jaw dropped slightly, giving him a rather faraway expression. Never had he thought of resting his eyes on her. Her glossy dark curls rested on her shoulders, bouncing as she spoke. When she turned to take a look outside, he felt as if he’d been drenched with a bucket of icy water. Her eyes were the sea on a calm sunny day. Azure and sparkling.

They met his.

*****

Princess Sheruna signalled for the chariot to stop. Her father watched her but she ignored him, descending gracefully after the chauffer opened the door for her. The bodyguard followed, eyes straining to see any movement in the dark.

“Princess, you mustn’t –” he protested, shifting uncomfortably. Inspecting the dark alley, his hands rested on the reassuring lump near his waist.

“Hush, I know what I’m doing.” She gazed at the boy that had caught her attention. His ribs protruded plainly from under his brown skin. He was nothing but skin and bone. But it was not that which had drawn her curiosity as a lamp would draw a moth. It was his eyes. She’d never seen the likes of it, coal black, but shimmering like a beacon against the darkness of the ally.

He opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. Sweat was visible on his weather beaten skin, glistening in the moonlight. But it was a cool night – surely he was not fevered? He licked his trembling lips.

“Pardon?” She took a step forward; cloaked with compassion, her eyes flickered back to the soldier. “Look at him. I want to bring him to the palace with me.” She took another step.

*****

Time was scarce. He had to act. Fast. None of the people in the chariot could see the assassin – he was well camouflaged in the dark. Instinct kicked in.

“Run.” The boy whispered, waving his hands franticly. “Go!”

He heard the click of the rifle. He jumped, pushing the princess away. She screamed. The sound was covered by the sound of the rifle going off. His body thudded heavily to the earth, raking his skin raw. He twisted around to watch what happened next. Pain throbbed throughout his body where the gravel skidded cross his skin.

The bodyguard whipped a pistol out of his coat. He aimed for someone in the alley. Fired twice. And turned to help the princess. Once Her Highness was on her feet, he made his way to the man in black – fallen on his face. The bodyguard thrust him around and his well-trained expression of detachment twisted into that of loathing.

“Cinah!” he spat and rolled the man back on his face.

The King came out of the chariot. Anxiety, fear, shock etched across his face.

“You saved my life,” the princess said softly to the beggar-boy. To his surprise, he saw no scorn or disdain but genuine gratitude. She held her hand out to him. He ducked his head in shame and climbed to his feet by himself. She withdrew it reticently and, turning to her father, said, “He saved my life.”

“Come Sheruna, we return to the palace,” the King stated.

“Come with me.” His daughter turned back and smiled at the boy. He did not move. She gazed appealingly at her father. “Father, you must let him come to the palace.”

The King frowned. The boy could almost hear him thinking: Take a beggar to the palace?

The beggar-boy shook his head slowly.

“Please.” Sheruna’s lashes fluttered longingly. “Papa… Please….”

“All right, then. Come on, boy.” The King’s shoulders half lifted as if in a shrug.

*****

The man’s body tightened with pain. He touched the wound and knew it was too late. Blood overflowed, seeping past the gaps between his fingers. He opened his mouth to gasp, to speak, to make a noise just to reassure himself he was okay. In the corner of his eye he saw that beggar-boy creep into the chariot. He would have cursed him – but he was beyond caring. The boy would be the same age as his son back in Cinah; that gave the man reason enough to forgive him. He struggled to flip himself around, wanting suddenly to see the night sky.

“Die!”

He heard the snarl of hate before he was able to twist around. He didn’t see another man give a fatal blow to his head.

“Get rid of the body,” the man hissed. A few boys ran forwards, bodies close to the ground. They grabbed onto the dead assassin and rolled him forwards. No questions were asked. The Peacekeepers worked fast and efficiently.

“Rags,” the same man whispered. “Where are you?” Warily, he gazed around, trying to make out a familiar figure in the darkness. He could not have been older than twenty but his troubled eyes expressed a being twice his age.

An old beggar shuffled out.

“Did you see that? Zeen is taken by the princess. Do you think –?”

The man’s hurried questions were cut off by a frown. “All in due course, Black,” Rags murmured. “He’ll come back to us sooner or later.” The old man glanced slyly up at the younger one. “So, concerned about your half-brother, huh?”

Black shook his head and was quiet. His eyes searched the road, as if it would leave him some clue to the future. Zeen was his brother and he didn’t like people saying they were half brothers.

“Look, the boys are returning,” murmured Rags. “Look at their performance.” He smiled crookedly. Some of them were rubbing their hands across the cloth they wore over their waist. A few scattered away, pretending to have no association with Rags or Black. That was the Pact. They had actually thrown the man down a hill to the graveyard where another group of men would be waiting to bury this unfortunate soul. Before throwing him away, they would have searched his body for anything valuable. Once they found something with value, they hid it. When someone asked them the right question, they would answer with a corresponding code which would tell that person where to find them.

“Let’s guess what the boys have got us eh?” Black started to walk. He stopped. “Not coming, old man?” He glanced down at his hand, realising only then that he still held the bloody sharp stone. Black threw it in the trash bins, knowing it would be emptied and any evidence would disappear.

“Nay, you go.” Rags waved him on.

Black spotted a boy singing at the corner. He rounded up to him and demanded, “Found any food?”

“Yes,” replied the child sulkily.

“Where?” Black grabbed his shoulder, shaking him forcefully. A few by-passes stared but no one came to the child’s aid. “Where? Tell me!”

“In my stomach,” shouted the boy, trying to untangle himself from Black’s grasp. “I was hungry!” Black let him go.

“Ungrateful thing.” He turned heel. Shoving his head down, he was able to hide the smile that was spreading across his face. Stomach, the boy had said. They had hid the valuables with the pigs.

*****

Black was very busy for the coming few days. The Peacekeepers had to give word by bird to other places in Winata. Peacekeepers were initially a small group of people who patrolled the streets in secret, trying to keep violence and crime at a minimum. With all the poverty and lawlessness of the streets, the only law enforced was that of the Peacekeepers’. As their number grew, the Peacekeepers were not restricted to Chorin only. They bore the name Peacekeepers, but to keep the peace, they would use force, or rather, as Rags had said once, “We’re beggars and thieves but we try to look after our own.” If the soldiers in the royal palace were too proud to look past their noses and too scared to dirty their hands, then who was there to keep the peace and protect the woman and children?

“Birds,” Rags spat, almost dancing a jig to avoid stepping on their faeces. “Why birds?” He glanced over his shoulder for anyone passing by but he knew that there wouldn’t be. One of the teams would have seen to it that no one passed this way. The Peacekeepers were like that – communication was the key to its success.

“Because Winata’s small enough, Rags,” replied Black, fastening a note to one of the birds and bidding it fly off. “They’re smart things, and those Cinah are scared witless of them.”

Rags laughed out his nose. “Smart my ass,” he remarked and gently shooed a bird that came too close over his precious shoes.

Black grinned for a moment before his lips turned into a tight line. Rags noticed the change and he touched Black’s shoulder in sympathy. The man didn’t shrug him off and Rag knew that he was truly feeling bad.

“Still thinking about Zeen?” he asked.

Black nodded. “I hear they call him Zared in the palace.” He sighed, running a finger down the back of one of the birds. He looked glum. “Do you think he’ll remember us when he comes out?” He corrected himself, “If.”

Rags slapped Black playfully. “I’ll bang it back into his head if the boy dares forget us, I tell you.” He moved away from Black and started tying notes to the birds himself. “Let’s finish this work and go get something to drink, aye, Black?” There was no reply and Rags shrugged. To the bird he commanded, “Find Captain.”

A/N: Okay, here it is again, I know this is the second time I've posted the story and this time I intend to finish it. I hope you will like this story and for the others, Fallen Angel and Cryptic Paths, I'll be updating them irregularly. Please review :) I return favours!!

Narq.