Mournful Strings

By Rosary Omen

Nine has lived his life as a nobody.

His family didn't want him and he has always had to fend for himself. He never had any money, and he never knew what happiness was.

With little things to go by as far as life went, he knew one thing was for certain. He had to survive. As he goes through years of fending for himself, eating food off of the streets and out of dumpsters he learned to rely on only himself.

One day he is taken away from everything he'd ever known.

Now he has to learn all over again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosary Omen
• Release date: May 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311917768

Rosary Omen

I'm an Australian author who grew up in country South Australia on a small farm, I've been writing since I was 13. My love of writing stemmed from both my love of reading, and my roleplay hobby. I currently live in Adelaide, South Australia and I am studying Professional Writing through TAFE whilst writing and doing a little bit of art on the side.

Book preview

Mournful Strings

Rosary Omen

Copyright Rosary Omen 2014

Published by Little Black Fox Publishing at Smashwords

CHAPTER ONE

He had found the body first.

The ebon-haired teenager had literally stumbled over it in the dimly lit alleyway which had not been lit by the full moon. This was the first corpse he had ever seen, it was terrifying, yet intriguing; he just stood there, staring at the scene before him. The corpse had once belonged to a beautiful young woman, blonde-haired and lightly built. Her eyes were open, blank, staring into nothingness as blood pooled beneath her. The body laid where it had fallen, awkwardly propped up against the dirty brick wall.

One arm lay across her chest, hand limply grasping at the roughshod dagger that had been plunged into her body countless times. The last thrust had lodged it into her heart and the killer had left it there like a gruesome calling card. Nine, as his parents referred to him by, was shaking now; unable to tear his gaze away from the sight before him. As he looked, he noticed more things; bruises on her throat, her face and arms. Her dress was not only dirty and bloodstained, but it was torn. His gaze moved down her body, seeing more bruises, these ones on her thighs. Had she been raped by her killer too?

Finally, he snapped from his shock and stumbled away from the bloody sight. His heel hit something as he back-pedalled which caused him to almost fall against the other wall behind him. Regaining his balance, his gunmetal grey gaze dipped downward to see what he'd hit. It was a case of some sort, a violin case.

For whatever reason, he snatched up the case and shuffled off down the alley with it clutched to his chest. Why had he taken it? It wasn't his to take. This was stealing! Then again... the previous owner was dead and had no need for it any more. Nine knew he'd have to hide this away from home, there was no way he'd be allowed to have such a thing like this.

There was a tree in the field behind his house that was large and tall, he went there to get away from his family and the world. There was a hollow just below the thickest trunk where he stashed his treasures, and this violin case would become a new addition. Although he'd have to be quick stashing this, his curfew would come into effect soon and he'd learned quickly to never, ever be late.

He'd broken into an easy run to speed his travel, and soon enough he loped across the flat empty field towards the tree, his tree. Like a monkey, he scrambled up the trunk with practised ease and dangled by his legs from the branch to tuck the violin inside underneath the thick black blanket he used to protect his things. Tomorrow he'd look inside and see what was in there, right now he had to go home though.

The prospect of going home never stopped being a depressing thing, but he had no choice; he wouldn't survive by himself on the streets and he had no friends or any other family that would take him in. With a heavy sigh, the black haired boy quickly crossed the last half of the field and jumped the fence. The small home his family was squished into was close, eleven people in a three bedroom house was as bad as it sounds. He was the youngest and only the eldest two had ever known the joys of having their own room, not that he cared. He hated his family, every single one of them.

His mother was a drug addict and his father was a gambling addict, the four eldest were in prison for various crimes, two of the middle were wanted for murder, the twins were heading down the path of a life of prostitution, and then there was him. He was the bastard child of the family, literally. His mother had slept with one of her dealers as a part payment for her debt, and 'Nine' was the outcome. His mother had hated him so much, she'd never given him a name; but she didn't have the heart to end the child's life.

Sometimes, he wished she had.

He pushed the door open, just as the wall clock struck ten. Just in time. No one was in the entryway, usually someone was there to cuff him upside the head if he was late. He slipped off his tattered shoes and set them neatly aside before moving into the living area of the house. He went straight into his room, glad to find it empty for now. Laying down on the straw stuffed sack, he shuffled about to get it comfortable and pulled the thin furs up to his chest. He could hear the others talking, the sound muffled. His father's voice was absent, he was probably out gambling away his wages again.

No expression showed on the thirteen year olds face as the door was slammed open suddenly by his mother, glassy eyed and scowling. Nine! She shouted. Get me food, I'm hungry!

In his mind, he yelled at her to stop being so lazy and to do it herself. That he was tired and wanted to sleep, that she had other children to help her if she wouldn't do it herself. In reality, he was on his feet mumbling a Yes, mother. Before he shuffled out to the kitchen. At least when she was like this, it didn't matter what he made.

As usual, he took the knife from the chopping block and sliced a chunk of bread from the loaf, then put some lettuce and a thick wad of ham atop it. Just looking at the food made him hungry, he wasn't allowed to eat -their- food; he wasn't part of the family in their eyes. Nine survived on scavenging and begging in the city for his survival, and right now it was his third day without much more than a few crumbs.

Here, mother. His voice matched the emptiness in his eyes as he presented the food to his mother, the blonde woman snatched it, shoved him away and started to eat.

Why did it still hurt to be treated like nothing? This was how it had always been, but still... his heart ached. Turning away, the black haired boy silently went back to his room, flopping down onto his bed with a sigh.

He awoke early the next morning, just on dawn. His stomach complained loudly before he'd even crawled out from under the furs; perhaps he should go try and find some food. After he ate, then he could go check out the treasure he'd collected last night. Nine quietly padded through the house and stepped out. It was raining outside, only lightly at the moment, more of a drizzle really. Good thing he didn't mind the rain, and he minded walking in it less. Sometimes it hid his tears, and usually it helped wash his worries away.

As he walked the dirt road towards Ibaja his feet started to feel wet, which meant this pair of shoes were finally broken. He stopped to lean against a tree and kicked them off into the long grass on the side of the track. Hopefully there would be some shoes laying around somewhere he could take, or else he would have to deal with walking around bare foot for a while. The last time he had tried that, every sharp stone felt like a knife to the soles of his feet. His soles had been bruised for a few days after that.

This time, he walked beside the track on the grass rather than on the road itself. Perhaps there would be less rocks here, it wouldn't be a good day if his day was spent limping around on sore feet. The light rain turned into a heavier shower as the sun peeked out from behind some clouds, the scent of fresh rain filling the air. That was one of Nine's favourite smells, there was something refreshing about it. He used to creep out of his room on rainy nights and sit under the porch, just listening to it. In the summer rains he'd often go for walks, in the day or night. Any reason to get away from home, really.

Thankfully his feet barely found any hidden rocks in the grass, although once he got to Ibaja that would probably change. There were always small fragments of cobblestones and rocks picked from the feet of horses laying on the streets, he'd have to be careful again there. His thoughts were interrupted by his stomach complaining loudly for the hundredth time since he'd left the house half an hour ago.

The town was already bustling, even this early. Shopkeepers and stall owners were getting ready to open for the day, some children were running through the streets. Although a large group of them were chasing after a stray tabby cat, the poor thing tried to duck and weave through the legs of unaware humans as it fled from the group of loud children. Their arms were outstretched and their delighted screams of excitement echoed through the street, the group vanishing down a side road after said cat.

The young teen weaved through the maze of back alleys, taking care to avoid the alleyway where he had found that dead woman. The memory made him feel a little ill and he shuddered, moving faster now to try and leave the fresh memory behind. If Nine was lucky, he would be able to get some bread or even pastries from the bakery just up the street. If he was quick enough, that was. Every morning around this time, it was the same; food was discarded into the alleyway behind the shops and fought over by the homeless and the poor. It wasn't uncommon for one or two people to walk away from the scene wounded. Desperation often drove people to be brutal.

He rounded the last corner and saw there was already a small group gathered around the back door to the bakery, waiting for the owner. If there were ever any sweetbreads or pastries, they were always the first squabbled over. To get your hands on one of those was a rare occurrence indeed. The sound of the handle rattling and the tumblers clicking audibly into place caused a silence to sweep across those gathered, they turned almost as one to face the door, tense and ready to pounce. The door swung open and the baker scowled across at the gathered beggars, not one ounce of pity on his features.

Filthy dogs. He sneered, heaving the bucket under his right arm forwards. Have your scraps.

Various baked goods arced through the air and tumbled to the wet, muddy ground. There were some fruit breads, a cupcake and even a doughnut along with the savoury breads. Those sweets were instantly pounced upon by hungry hands that tore at the food desperately. Nine wasn't fast enough to get to any of the sweetbreads, although he did see a loaf of bread roll out of reach of three men who were clawing and punching each other. The black-haired teen practically launched himself at the food, his movements going unnoticed by the man fighting over it. As soon as his fingers grasped it, Nine turned on his heel and broke into a run to distance himself from the group.

As he ran he could hear footsteps echoing behind him that weren't his own, it seemed someone -had- noticed and was giving chase. Nine wanted to look behind him, but he didn't dare, knowing his luck he'd trip and fall.

It's mine! Fuck off! He shouted over his shoulder.

Whoever it was didn't even slow down, and panic started to seep into Nine's mind. He'd never been chased before. Well, not for an old loaf of bread. He ducked through the alleys, trying to loose his pursuer. He rounded a corner and took a few moments to lean against the wall, breathing heavily. Running on an empty stomach wasn't easy. He dared to peek back around the corner to see if he could see who was chasing after him. No one was there, he couldn't even hear their footsteps any more, perhaps he'd lost them or they'd given up. He breathed a sigh of relief as he caught his breath, Nine honestly wasn't sure how much longer he'd have been able to run.

Well, that was that. Time to eat! He took a bite of the bread, pleasantly surprised that it was fresher than the roll he had been able to get a few days before. Perhaps if he was in time, he could get his hands on some fruit or vegetables from the marketplace. A large shadow fell over him as he started to walk forwards, bumping into the crossed arms of a very tall, heavily built, and very scarred man, The man didn't say a word, he merely eyed Nine up and down with a wicked grin.

Everything went black.

CHAPTER TWO

Ow...

His head was aching, an annoying dull throbbing in the back of his skull. His eyelids felt heavy, so he kept his eyes closed for now. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was... Wait, what was that sound? Through his daze, he swore he could hear the sound of horses hooves clopping and the creaking of wooden wheels and... the clinking of metal chains? It was then he realised he was being rocked and bumped slightly wherever he was propped up. He forced his eyes open, wincing at the light, although that pain was forgotten as he realised two things. He was in a caged wagon, and his wrists and ankles were shackled.

There were others in here with him; men, women, even children younger than himself. All were filthy, in rags and looked homeless. Licking his dry lips, Nine raised his head slowly, trying to ignore the dull ache in his head and he looked at each in turn. None made eye contact with him, none except one freckled guy about his own age.

So uh, what's goin' on? Nine asked him in a hushed voice. Is this the law? Are we in trouble?

The redhead eyed him for a moment, shaking his head. Well, no and yes. This isn't the law that has us, but yes, we are in trouble. You must be new to Ibaja if you don't know of these guys.

No, I ain't. Nine shook his head carefully. I just... Well, I don' live in town. Who are these guys?

The redhead pulled his lips into a tight line before frowning. Slavers.

You mean... like...real slavers? Nine blurted out. As in... Sold to the highest bidder, slavers?

His stupid question caused the redhead to snicker. Yes, actual slavers. If we're lucky, we'll get sold and at least we'll have a roof over our head and won't need to beg for mouldy food any more.

But no freedom... Nine sighed, letting his head droop.

He couldn't call them his family, not really. Sure, he was related to his brothers and sisters by his mother's blood; but that's all it was. Blood and nothing more.

One of the intimidating looking men riding beside the wagon on a chestnut stallion clanked his sword against the bars. Hey! You two in there, keep your mouths shut if you know what's good for you!

The two boys fell silent, not wanting to get into a fight with the armed men. Especially when there were three mounted, and two on the front of the cart. They all looked mean, and from the scars they all bore, it was obvious they had no qualms about fighting. Nine had no idea where they were going, his knowledge of the countryside outside of Ibaja ended with the land close by his home and his tree in the end field.

The wagon rattled along the bumpy roads, passing farms and travellers. They passed through some small hamlets, not stopping once. People turned and stared at the filthy, rag-clad figures in the metal cage. Most assumed they were prisoners, and those men were mercenaries or bounty hunters. They passed through another small town, the wagon tailed for a while by a gaggle of curious children who threw stones at the prisoners.

Please! Help us! One of the women broke her silence suddenly, lunging at the rails and clutching them tightly.

Before she even had a chance to say anything else, one of the riders slammed the hilt of his sword through the bars and into her stomach. The woman cried out weakly, the air forced from her lungs and she scuttled towards the centre of the cage, crying softly as she gasped for air. The other woman, a