Arias Archer & the Shadow Cloak

By Hamzah Malik

When Kara's soul is viciously stolen on the eve of her 13th birthday, Arias will do anything to find her - even if that means leaving the mortal world behind and crossing into Falasia, the realm of lost souls.

Realising that a demonic King called Kazzabus plans to literally stitch Kara into a cloak made of broken-hearted souls, Arias desperately seeks the help of Sakundra, a woman who leads a ruthless rebel group called the Rough Riders.

Navigating the bizarre yet deadly world of Falasia in a hopeless race against time, they both search for the legendary 'Babbling Warrior', the only soul in existence who knows Kazzabus' sole weakness. Along the way they encounter strange creatures, from the elusive Spiritja's, who harbour secrets of their own, to the dreaded Zivaluni - perfect assassins who assume the guise of children.

As time dwindles away, it becomes evident that an utterly unequipped Arias will have to cross blades with Kazzabus, the most skilled warrior in Falasian history, in a deadly duel for his sister's soul, and the very fate of Falasia itself...

Potter fans, welcome to the world of Falasia...

What current readers are saying:

"I've not felt like this about a book since my Harry Potter/Khaled Hosseini days...If you are looking for a book that takes you somewhere completely different but gives you ample doses of humanity and the lengths we go to for the ones we love, this is the book for you. Cannot recommend this book enough!!" ★★★★★

"There are not enough words to describe this book, but it is truly fantastic! To give some context of how brilliant it is, I read this book in just 5 days, I just couldn't put it down it was too good. I got lost in the world of Falasia and didn't want the book to end." ★★★★★

"A truly gripping read, I couldn’t put it down. I would definitely recommend reading Arias Archer & the Shadow Cloak" ★★★★★

"Great story, well written adventure for older children looking for something to read after Harry Potter. I have read a lot of indie self published novels in this genre, none come close to this. I’ve bought copies for my 11 year old son and my nephews and niece who all love reading fantasy/ adventure books. I'm already waiting for the sequel!" ★★★★★

if you're into Harry Potter, The Chronicles of Narnia or Stardust, you'll love Arias Archer!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hamzah Malik
• Release date: Oct 14, 2019

Hamzah Malik

Hamzah Malik is an author from the UK, who began writing at the age of 7, although he openly admits that none of that work is ever going to be publishable. During the summer of 2010, Hamzah told his younger sister a bedtime story, all about the adventures of a fictional boy he created called 'Arias Archer'. He was encouraged to write a novel based on the story, and 'Arias Archer & the Shadow Cloak' was finished 6 years later. During this time, he attended university, where he earned an English degree, started his own marketing business and won numerous awards for his entrepreneurial endeavours. Hamzah enjoys speaking at schools about writing, loves drinking Jimmy's coffee and is currently writing the sequel to Arias Archer, where old foes return in new and perplexing ways. Follow him on Twitter @HamzahWrites for daily short fantasy stories.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1:

A Sprint Through the City

No one knew the unfairness of life better than Arias Archer. This very thought echoed in his head as he darted up the stairs of an abandoned warehouse, his pulse racing like tribal drums before a sacrifice. He glanced behind him and his eyes widened in alarm when he saw three figures still in hot pursuit, their trainers pounding the floor.

Arias stumbled on the last flight of stairs and cried out as he slammed his knee into a metal step. He winced and continued running, ignoring the dull throbbing engulfing his leg. Arias burst through the door at the top of the stairs. He was on the roof. With a tentative glance over his shoulder, he sprinted towards the edge. He had come here in a panic but now knew his chances of escape were pretty bleak. Panting for breath, Arias ran his hand through his hair and peered over the edge.

He was high up for sure, perhaps three stories, an urban cluster of buildings gazing back at him. His heart leapt when he saw a fire escape snaking down the side of the building. He clenched his jaw and ran towards it. He had always feared heights. Truth be told, there wasn’t a whole lot he didn’t fear. He began to edge forward slowly, his breathing ragged. Upon reaching the edge he stopped one step away from the metal railing of the fire escape.

Arias closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened them and let out a strangled cry as a giddy sense of vertigo overtook him. His hand shot to his left trouser pocket and he squeezed a smooth tube of pills. Arias took out the small tube and held it shakily in front of him. Tiny orange pills seemed to be squinting back, all jostling for front place to see what would become of him.

He knew he had mere seconds to spare. Arias grasped the cold rail with one hand and forced himself to shuffle forward. Baby steps. Once he was on the railing, he would focus on making his way down. But it was not to be. He heard the shuffling of shoes on the roof, the air thick with jibes and slurs. It was rather insulting—they weren’t even in a hurry. He could escape if he wanted to. Of course he could. He cried out as he took a step forward, trying his utmost to ignore the nausea pulsing through his body. The three boys laughed at his effort and Arias glanced over his shoulder. One of them was lounging next to the door, lighting a cigarette. Another larger boy was doubled up, panting from the physical exertion. But the one who worried Arias the most was skulking towards him menacingly.

One last chance, Arias thought. Now or never. Do or die. Funny how many phrases there were for seizing the moment. Being a bookish boy, Arias knew them all, but had never once been an embodiment of those phrases. He took another bold step forward, before feeling cold fingers grasp the scruff of his neck. He heard a deep grunt, and then he was hurled clear across the roof. Arias hit the concrete with a dull thud. His pills scattered across the roof, with even the tube rolling away. He groaned and rolled over. Cuts mostly, nothing broken. This commotion sparked the interest of the other boys. The chubby boy lumbered forward, sweat patches spreading under his sausage-like arms.

‘Nice one, Bruce! The little rat ran for long enough!’ he spat breathlessly.

The boy smoking the cigarette took a long drag and flicked it off the roof, wiping his hands on his faded jeans. He was a spindly boy whose bones protruded so prominently from his face it looked as if they were aching for freedom.

‘Shat it, Marcus, I’m bloody shattered. Let’s get this over with.’

Arias laid still as the boys surrounded him. Marcus kicked Arias swiftly in the stomach and looked up at Bruce, beaming like an excitable puppy expecting praise.

Arias didn’t move. Both boys towered over him, until Bruce came into view, blocking the sun. How had such a simple day turned so sour? Arias took a deep breath and tried to block out their voices, which were fervently discussing what to do with him. A murmur of indifference from the thin boy. A guffaw from Marcus. Bruce’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it was the sharpest out of the three. Was it worth getting up? No. Best to grit his teeth. Arias stared at his hand. It was scraped from the impact of hitting the ground, and there were smudges of green mixed with the specks of blood. Dried green paint from earlier that afternoon.

*

Arias hated painting. Why cover up imperfections? Isn’t that what made life interesting? Raising his arm for what seemed like the thousandth time, he covered yet another plank of wood in thick, green paint. The fence would look as boring as every other fence on Whistow Drive, Arias thought glumly. He wiped his hand over his large forehead, sweat trickling onto his brow. The sun had been a pleasant surprise at first, but now it seemed to be pressing down on him, as if urging him to finish the job more quickly. Arias’ back protested as he bent down to paint another plank of wood. Being tall had its advantages, but today it was proving to be a source of discomfort. It would all be worth it though, thought Arias, with a smile to himself. After he was done painting this fence, he’d have enough money saved up to buy Kara a birthday gift.

Arias observed his hand. In the sun, his olive brown complexion had grown a little darker. He stood back to admire his work. He was already over halfway done. As he dipped the brush into the bucket of paint yet again, his thoughts were interrupted by a short scream. He reeled around, his sharp hazel eyes darting to where it had come from, and his heart sank.

A small child who was no older than ten was struggling to free himself from an oafish-looking boy. Two other boys stood around, sniggering at his feeble attempts to break free. Arias sighed and ran his hand agitatedly through his curly brown hair. He clenched his jaw, and absentmindedly massaged his bony shoulder.

He knew the feel of that meaty fist all too well. That was Bruce Gooner. In Arias’ opinion, he was a gorilla living amongst men. With squinting eyes and a smatter of freckles across his inflated face, Bruce was not known for his range of facial expressions, usually choosing to express himself physically. Bruce had tormented Arias for years, relishing the anguished cry which escaped his lips when he had him pinned against a wall, curled up in a ball, or in a headlock. A few summers ago Bruce had dislocated Arias’ shoulder for refusing to write an essay for him. He had pinned him down and stamped on it repeatedly, a gleeful look etched on his face.

The boy shrieked again and lashed out, smacking Bruce on his flabby cheek. Arias inhaled sharply. After a few moments of silence Bruce took the boy from the scruff of his hoodie and dragged him down an alleyway, his friends eagerly following with a primal excitement in their eyes. Arias stood alone for a moment, the paintbrush shaking in his hand. He had no chance against even one of those boys, let alone all three. Yet it was the voice of experience which egged him forwards, towards the alleyway they had taken the boy. The experience of being that small boy all his life sparked a deep sense of empathy within him.

He had been there all too many times. Only in his experiences, no one had come to help. Arias took another step towards the alleyway. No turning back now. As he rounded the corner, Arias noticed he still had the paintbrush in his hand. He must look ridiculous, he thought. Perhaps Bruce would let the boy go and saunter off. Maybe his sadistic mind would wander just long enough for both Arias and the boy to run.

‘I have a…a p-plan’ he stammered, tapping his head lightly against the wall. ‘Oh gosh, what the hell do I do?!’ He fretted to himself, wringing his paint stained fingers. Arias held his breath and peered round the corner.

The boy lay on the floor. He wasn’t moving. Bruce’s friends were taking it in turns to kick him. Arias clenched his fist. He stood behind the boys, waiting for the right moment to intervene. He knew it wasn’t coming—maybe he should leave silently and pretend it never happened.

But it was at that moment that everything changed. One of Bruce’s friends moved to the side and Arias saw the boy was still conscious. He was bruised and his grey sweater was torn. He looked at Arias, a solitary tear running down his dirt streaked cheek, his blonde hair plastered to his forehead. Apparently seeing the fear and reluctance in Arias’s face, the small boy closed his eyes and bit his lip. Arias realised he had been holding his breath and exhaled slowly. The bullies would notice him any second. Suddenly, one of the boys took several steps backwards. He was a tall boy with black hair. Surely not, thought Arias. Not a run-up. That could kill him.

‘Check this, lads!’ he guffawed, running up to the boy like he was a football player.

The boy gathered momentum and lifted his foot high behind him.

‘S-STOP!’ Arias yelled, the sound of his own voice shocking him.

The tall boy stopped at the last second and wheeled around. Bruce veered his head, his huge mass shifting, and scowled a set of stained teeth. His voice was deep and his dull eyes glared at Arias hungrily.

‘If it isn’t Jangles!’ he said. ‘Have you got a problem with anything here?’ He gestured casually to the battered boy on the floor. ‘You wanna join Phil down there?’

‘Just leave him alone Bruce, you’re going to kill him for God’s sake. Just… please… leave… leave him, please. We can come to an agreement.’ Arias tried to make his last words sound assertive, but his voice was still shaking terribly.

Bruce scratched his head, exposing a roll of hairy flab. ‘Sod off, Arias. Phil bumped into me and I dropped my cigarette. Unless you want the same treatment I would get the hell out of here. Now.’ He growled, jerking his head at Arias.

Arias stood his ground and shook his head. ‘Um, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea, really.’

He really hoped none of them noticed how much his legs were shaking.

Bruce snorted and turned around, picking Phil up. As he raised his chunky fist, Arias did something he would later bitterly regret. He launched the only thing he had at Bruce. He saw the paintbrush careering through the air in slow motion, flecks of paint fleeing it, as if terrified of making contact with Bruce.

‘Bruce!’ The tall boy yelled out just in time for Bruce to turn around. The handle struck Bruce firmly in the temple with a thud and fell to the floor with a clatter. The two boys gasped, and Bruce stumbled back a few steps, looking dazed for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, as if exhausted by the effort of breathing in.

A thick silence drenched the alley. Phil fell to the ground and crawled towards Arias, sobbing as Arias helped him up. A cut blighted his left cheek, but the bleeding had stopped. Arias looked up at Bruce and his friends.

‘Sorry!’

As if they were communicating telepathically, they all lunged for Arias at the same time. Bruce bolted towards him with an unnatural speed, his friends following closely behind. Arias scampered out of the alleyway, faster than he had ever run before, looking back only once to see Bruce shove Phil to the side, his sordid slurs flooding the street.

Arias’ heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t know where he was going, but he could hear they were still in hot pursuit, cursing at him wildly. A rock whizzed past Arias’ ear, smashing a car window as he sped down another street. He was running towards the industrial area of the city. Where would he go from there? A sharp stitch plagued Arias’ side like a hot knife, but he persisted with a grimace. He rounded a corner and saw a metal fence leering down at him. He cried out in frustration before launching himself at it and clambering over. A cold hand grabbed his ankle but he kicked it away, running towards an abandoned warehouse.

*

The pain upon impact was excruciating. It didn’t help that Arias was thin and lanky, as he could feel his body burning in agony. The air seemed to be teasing him, coming in quick, short bursts. A sharp pain spread across his stomach, like a hot poker slicing across his flesh. Bruce grunted and aimed another kick. This one landed in exactly the same place. Arias moaned in agony and rolled over. Such a peculiar feeling, like a torturous insect unfurling its wings inside his stomach.

The hot sun beat down upon him, and tears mingled with his sweat. But he wasn’t going to give Bruce the sadistic satisfaction of hearing him cry. He bit his tongue and shut his eyes, curling up into a ball. Why was this experience so sickeningly familiar? Arias felt as vulnerable as a foetus, lying there curled in a ball with his eyes scrunched shut.

Bruce shoved his trainer in Arias’ face. Granite and a grimy substance stuck to his cheek.

Come on, lick it Arias. There’s a good boy. He sneered.

Sorry! I’m sorry!

Arias tasted harsh rubber invade his mouth before he could push his trainer away.

You’re pathetic. Bruce snickered.

Arias lay there, his dignity in tatters. Perhaps if he didn’t move, didn’t speak and didn’t make eye contact with anyone, they would go away. Yet another kick to the stomach. So much for originality. That one was Marcus, but at least his boots weren’t steel-toed like Bruce’s. Silence followed as Arias remained perfectly still, his last dregs of energy dissipating into the evening sky.

‘I’m bored, Bruce…. He’s not even screaming proper anymore.’

Bruce grunted and lowered himself, leaning forward on one knee. Arias gazed back at him, covered in cuts and bruises. He could barely breathe and his stomach felt like pulp. He groaned, a guttural sound escaping his lips.

‘Wasn’t that fun, Arias? Wanna go again?’ Bruce whispered.

Arias rolled over and waited for them to leave. But it wasn’t over yet. Marcus muttered something and there was a pause, followed by excited chuckles.

Bruce grabbed Arias by the neck of his hoodie and dragged him to the edge of the building whilst his friends guffawed uncontrollably, ribbing each other with wide eyes.

‘Please, don’t!’ Arias yelled, as Bruce hung him over the edge of the building.

‘I’m pretty strong, Jangles, but my grip is just terrible!’ Bruce said, holding Arias by his hoodie with two fingers. ‘How ya feeling?’ he sneered.

‘Please, stop it! Just leave me alone!’ Arias yelled, his heart exploding from his chest.

Bruce tugged hard at Arias’ hoodie, which sent him tumbling to the floor in a heap. Arias lay there, with his knees curled up to his chest, shaking uncontrollably with his eyes scrunched shut. He hated himself for looking so weak, but he had always been terrified of heights. He heard Bruce chuckling with his friends and after a while his three tormentors slinked away, slamming the roof door behind them.

CHAPTER 2:

An Unfinished Carving

‘W hat the bloody hell happened to you?!’

‘Nothing. Nothing happened, Kara.’

Kara stared at Arias, her eyes wide.

Arias knew he looked terrible. After making his way out of the warehouse, he had stumbled home and attempted to shower, doubling over every few seconds in pain. Now, just to top off a gruelling day, Kara was staring at him with pity. He couldn’t meet her eyes so he focused upon her hair, which was tied up in a bun with an elastic band. Shiny chestnut coloured hair—like their mother’s had been. Arias tried to conjure a smile to lighten the mood, but Kara still looked concerned. She sat him down and looked closely at the scratches. He recoiled, trying to feign indifference at the state his face was in. She sighed and walked over to her drawer, and as she began to rifle through it, Arias caught a reflection of himself in the window. The word ‘pulp’ came to his mind. Kara returned with a small blue box.

‘Hold still, silly,’ she muttered with an intense frown. ‘We need to clean these properly. Then I’ll focus on finding who did this to you.’

Arias smiled. She was serious about finding Bruce. Her petite frame fooled many, but Arias knew better. If Arias was the child of thought, Kara was definitely the child of action. That made sense, too, as anyone caught calling Kara Archer a child would receive a swift slap in the face.

She was dabbing a cotton ball on his face now, which was dripping in a strange-smelling liquid. Arias gazed at Kara, who was biting her lip, her button nose scrunched as she focused fervently on cleaning his wound. Even though Kara was only twelve, she was already known as a loyal friend with a penchant for getting into trouble, which made her presence anticipated, and her laughter infectious. Arias noticed a hole in her purple sweater. She had never been interested in fashion—she preferred to climb trees or race the other kids in the neighbourhood. Above her bed was a poster that said ‘Live, Don’t Exist,’ which she had made herself with a set of paints she had salvaged from the attic. Arias focused upon her large eyes. He remembered seeing those eyes for the first time, in a cold hospital room nearly thirteen years ago.

*

Arias’ podgy fingers jabbed at the raindrops racing down the window. He hesitated and made a number ‘4.’ He wriggled his toes in his furry tiger slippers and grinned. In the window’s reflection a toothy toddler grinned back at him, hair tousled from being woken up by his father. What was this place, anyway? Some sort of building with big white rooms. Perhaps they were looking for someone smart enough to paint them. A master artist to bring the room to life. Arias was a master artist—his mother had told him so when he had painted that pink caterpillar a few weeks ago. Arias toddled over to a small table with paper and some pens on it and carefully selected a blue biro. He walked over to the wall, tossing the lid over his shoulder and began to scribble furiously. Silly grownups needed to get their act together, he thought. This might take him a while. Suddenly, a deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

Come on, Arias.

It was his father. He was standing in the doorway holding his hand out towards him. His curly brown hair was messier than usual. Arias dropped the biro and toddled towards him, focusing on the caterpillar-like moustache above his lip that always brushed against his nose when he was kissed.

‘Up we go…’ he muttered as he hoisted Arias into his arms.

Father was so big, but so gentle. His hands were as soft as Arias’s, but the top of them were veiny, like a magical snake was sleeping inside. Arias giggled and prodded his hand. It was then he noticed something was wrong. Father always laughed, or stroked Arias’ head when he did that.

How curious. As they walked down the corridor they passed a painting of a man sitting on the edge of a bridge which was overlooking a shiny lake, the moonlight dancing on the surface. Arias smiled at it. He hoped that man wouldn’t fall. Mummy always told him to stay away from dangerous places like that. ‘Don’t play near the water, my little prince,’ she said. Soon enough they both arrived in a small, well-lit room. The walls were white in here too, so Arias wriggled out of his father’s arms and toddled towards the table to find a pen.

But something stopped him. There was a bed in the centre of the room, and someone was lying in it, with a sheet draped over them. Why is there ketchup on the sheet? he thought. Dinner should always be eaten at the table. Mummy always told him so. Edging closer he saw a hand hanging limply from the bed. It was his mother’s hand. Arias grinned and grasped her finger, giving it a quick tug.

This was the part when she normally jumped up and said ‘If it isn’t my little prince!’ with her chestnut coloured locks bouncing around her shoulders, a tinkling laugh echoing around the room. But nothing happened. No jokes or surprises this time. Just a dull silence, which was soon punctured by his father ushering him to the other side of the bed, where a small cot lay. He turned his head and starting shaking uncontrollably. How strange—he was crying. Arias thought only children cried.

A few seconds dragged by and the truth starting settling in on him. It felt like a hot spider crawling around his insides, and he felt queasy as another few suffocating seconds passed. He felt trapped. Rain had started lashing at the windows, the only constant as his life changed forever. Arias felt like screaming to get his mother back. He grabbed her finger defiantly and gave it another tug, and then another, but she remained motionless. Why didn’t she want to play with her little prince anymore? Maybe it was because he still couldn’t tie up his laces—she had been teaching him for weeks but he couldn’t get his head around it. He looked pleadingly at his shoes and starting fumbling with his laces, his fingers shaking too much to hold them still.

He abandoned his laces and looked at his father, urging him silently to take control and fix things, like he always did. But even he seemed helpless. Angry questions sprang to his mind. Why had she left? Why leave without a goodbye? The same fear Arias felt when he was alone in the dark at night was creeping into his mind, wheedling its way into all of his happy memories of his mother. His father was kneeling at the bed now, whispering one word through his strangulated sobs.

‘Saira...’

But Arias didn’t cry. He gazed at the tiny bundle inside the cot instead. She was so small, so fragile. Her hands were impossibly small, curled up in tiny fists, as if she was ready to fight the world. She lay there fast asleep, her face tensed slightly, like she was mulling over a difficult decision. Arias put his hand into the cot and gently took hold of her hand with one finger. Her tiny fingers closed around it instantly.

‘I’ll look after you. I promith,’ Arias whispered softly.

She gave his finger a gentle squeeze and opened her eyes. Honey-coloured eyes gazed at him, unblinking, unafraid.

*

‘There,’ Kara said, giving the cut one last dab for good measure.

‘Thank you, Kara,’ Arias said.

Kara jumped off the bed and threw the cotton bud into the bin. Her lips spread into a beaming smile, her uneven teeth overlapping one another.

‘Do you feel up for it?’ She asked hesitantly, wringing her fingers. ‘We don’t have to, you know...’

‘Of course I do. Let’s go.’ Arias said, mustering a smile.

‘Sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

‘Yesss!’ Kara yelled, punching the air.

Since her fifth birthday, both Arias and Kara had paid a visit to a specific willow tree on the eve of Kara’s birthday. They had made it a sacred tradition to etch a small ‘K’ onto its trunk. It was Kara’s birthday tomorrow. In all the drama of the afternoon he had forgotten the reason he had been painting Mrs. McFerris’ fence in the first place was to save up to buy her a small gift. Perhaps he could go back tomorrow and finish the fence. Arias hoped Mrs. McFerris didn’t think he had deliberately left it half finished.

‘We should go before it gets dark, though.’ Arias said absentmindedly. He massaged his stomach gently. It was a nasty purple when he had seen it in the shower, but it didn’t feel like anything was broken.

‘Will Uncle Filbert be asleep yet?’

‘Whether he’ll be awake yet is the real question.’ Arias muttered, smiling as Kara giggled. He walked to the door and poked his head out. ‘Sounds quiet enough. He’s usually tinkering around with his clocks at this time. Don’t worry, he won’t notice.’

Although Arias was grateful for a roof over his and Kara’s head, he harboured a deep bitterness for who they had ended up with. Their uncle Filbert inhabited a different reality than everyone else, choosing to spend time making clocks rather than talk to Arias, or Kara, for that matter. Arias didn’t even know exactly how they were related. All he knew was that he was a relative of his father’s, but they didn’t talk. Uncle Filbert left the running of the house to Arias and Kara, his cold nature being cause for an icy silence whenever he entered the room. He was a wiry man with big circular glasses and wore a permanent frown, looking down upon Arias like he was disappointed in his very existence.

Kara picked up a photo frame. Inside was a picture of their father. An athletic man, with Arias’ curly brown hair. His square jawline and thick eyebrows framed his face well. He was smiling. Perhaps someone was making him laugh when it was being taken. Arias stood behind Kara and glanced at the photo.

A year after his mother had passed away giving birth to Kara, their father had mysteriously vanished. One night he had kissed them both goodnight and the next day—he was gone. Arias remembered feeling terribly important when the police had questioned him, but felt like he had given the wrong answers to their quiz, because both he and Kara had been packed off to Uncle Filbert’s house, where they had stayed ever since. They hadn’t heard from their father in over a decade—he was presumed dead, but a funeral had never been performed. Arias put his hand on Kara’s shoulder and prised the frame from her.

‘Where do you think he is?’ Kara asked quietly.

‘I wish I knew.’

‘Well, maybe he’ll come back.’

‘Don’t pin your hopes on it, Kara.’ said Arias, running his hand through his hair with a sigh.

Arias remembered how when he was small his father used to say ‘Respect is important, Arias. You mustn’t be sweet enough to swallow, or sour enough to spit out.’ This saying had made Arias laugh at the time, as he thought his father was under the impression he was made of chocolate. But as time had passed, its meaning had sunk in. Kara had no memories of their parents, but had idealised their father in her mind. To her, he was charming, adventurous and fearless, and although Arias had gently tried to explain he wouldn’t randomly return with an infallible excuse for disappearing for over 10 years, she stubbornly clung onto the hope that he would one day re-enter their lives.

‘Let’s go. You ready?’ Arias said.

‘Ready.’ Kara replied.

They both traipsed down the stairs, an uneasy silence lingering between them.

They spoke little on the way to the willow, which was half a mile down the road.

‘So, who was it this time? James? Bruce?’ Kara asked, keeping her eyes ahead.

‘Ah, it was no one, Kara.’

‘You’re clumsy, Arias, but even you couldn’t do that to yourself!’ she said, gesturing to his face.

‘It was Bruce. Kinda my fault anyway…’

‘It’s not kinda anyone’s fault. It’s all completely his fault! The slobbering oaf. I’ll go to his house tomorrow and make him apologise!’

‘Kara, he won’t apologise. And thankfully you have absolutely no clue where he lives.’

A pause followed and Kara smiled coyly.

‘What…’ Arias said, tensing up a little, ‘what is it?’

‘I know where he lives.’ Kara said a matter-of-factly. ‘Egged his house last week.’

Arias stopped in his tracks. ‘That was you?!’

Kara bit her lip and stifled a giggle. Arias raised his eyebrows and continued walking.

‘I’m a girl of many talents. Don’t look so shocked.’

Arias shook his head, smiling to himself. Kara attracted mischief, yet inexplicably never got caught in the act, which was a relief because she was an exceptional student in school.

Then, Kara said something that caught Arias totally off guard. ‘Am I like her?’

Arias frowned. ‘Like who?’

‘Like mum.’

Arias’ heart skipped a beat. On the eve of her thirteenth birthday, it would only be natural for Kara to be thinking of their mother. He should have anticipated it.

‘You are. You’re brave, just like she was. Confident too, and sensitive.’

Kara was silent for a moment, biting her lip. ‘Did I kill her, Arias?’

Arias gasped. ‘Of course you didn’t, Kara! What made you think