The Sponsors Series, Book 1: The First Sponsor

By Wanda Walker

Zhas began life as Chikitum, a boy living in a remote tribe deep within the rainforest. But after half of his family is slaughtered, he is taken captive by slave traders and transported to Bhajar, the capital of the Hahnar Empire. It is there he’s sold to the Yhana School for Zhaljas and given the name Zhas. Here he learns what it means to be a zhalja for a man of wealth— to be his steward, entertainer, host, and most vocal advocate in business and politics. At the age of fifteen, Zhas must be “sponsored” by a man of high society, and the higher the better. Zhas’s place in the glamorous world of Bhajar’s most important people is cemented when he is sponsored by a man of wealth and influence named Tariq Hassal. However, the easy and charming life of a zhalja is not nearly so simple as Zhas originally imagined, and soon he’s struggling to reconcile what he has been taught with the grim—and often dangerous—reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wanda Walker
• Release date: Mar 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463942413

Wanda Walker

Wanda Walker has been writing since she was eight years old, and she hasn’t stopped since. She received her B.A. in English Writing and Studio Arts from the University of Pittsburgh. When she’s not writing, she’s an artist, daydreamer, and chronic internet surfer. Sometimes she leaves the house, but only when her refrigerator is empty.

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The Sponsors

Book One: The First Sponsor

By Wanda Walker

Copyright © 2020 by Wanda Walker

All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including scanning, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover art © 2016 by Wanda Walker

Published in the United States of America

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishements, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

WARNING:

This e-book contains abuse and sexual violence targeting a minor. The author does not wish to condone these acts, but instead attempts to portray them respectfully and with full knowledge of their seriousness. For readers sensitive to such themes, proceed with caution.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Past

Chapter 2: The Choosing

Chapter 3: Tariq-ja Zhas

Chapter 4: Tariq Hassal

Chapter 5: Uhana Maarik

Chapter 6: Zhalja Wisdom

Chapter 7: Lama Jhad

Chapter 8: Imprisoned

Chapter 9: Rhazaaq-ja Qizham

Chapter 10: Power

Chapter 11: The Second Sponsor

About the Author

Other Titles

The Sponsors: Book Two

CHAPTER 1

The Past

CHIKITUM WONDERED IF this was all a nightmare, because it still felt like one. He had cried every night, though now he knew enough to keep it from the others, who never provided any sympathy. The others, of course, were not a static group. For weeks he had marched through thick jungle, muggy swamps, sweltering plainlands, and then the narrow, perilous trails that took them over several mountain ranges, and the group around him changed as the landscapes did. Sometimes they’d stop in villages and citadels, selling a few slaves before buying new ones to fill their places. Never was Chikitum marched up onto the platform along with the others; instead, he was kept back, and Chikitum couldn’t help but wonder if they had something horrific in store for him, perhaps a dragon he would be fed to. The days were long and arduous, but the nights were worse. He would wake up with Papa on his lips, tortured by that brief moment between sleep and consciousness when he believed his father and older brothers were alive and waiting for him to join their weekly hunt. Then reality descended as he remembered the chains around his wrists, and despair wrapped around him so tight he could barely breathe. He’d cry softly into his arm, ignoring the occasional protest from a fellow slave in a language he couldn’t understand. Initially a few captives had spoken Chikitum’s tongue, but now no one did, so he did not even attempt conversation. He just bowed his head and tried to feel as numb as possible.

Most of the slave drivers changed as the slaves did, but there were two men who always stayed. They looked very strange to Chikitum, brawny and bearded in a way that none of the men in Chikitum’s village had been. They spoke a very guttural language, the only one that Chikitum heard enough to understand the basics. By now he knew the bad words, because they were usually cussed at him and others when they lagged behind. As the land became brown and dry, they bought animals to ride so that they could wield their switches from a much higher angle. Chikitum had never seen animals like their mounts before, but while he might have been curious about them before, now he just wished he could eat them. Hunger had become a way of life, but occasionally Chikitum dreamed of the bush meat from his village—monkeys, otter shrews, cane rat, and his personal favorite, fruit bat. Now he mostly received jerky so salted it barely tasted of anything else, as well as a thick paste made from water and cassava. None of it was very good, nor was it very filling. Within two months of travel, Chikitum could count most of the ribs along his chest.

The arid landscape now seemed very foreign to him, though as with everything else, he became used to the rocks and sand that turned the soles of his feet into leather. He forgot what the morning rain smelled like, the way it would fill the air with the rich scent of rotting fauna and damp earth. Things that had once been so familiar—the majestic trees draped in vines, the distant calls of territorial gorillas, the women laughing and singing as they cast their nets in the river—now would seem just as strange as these lifeless brown mountains that littered the landscape. The trees were wide and short here, surrounded by long grasses and prickly bushes that Chikitum tried to avoid going near.

Eventually Chikitum realized that the number of slaves had dwindled. Once they reached the ocean—one of the few things in a long time to surprise Chikitum—they only had a couple slaves left. They were herded onto a sea vessel, something much larger than any of the canoes he’d grown up with. Huge swathes of white canvas were stretched across a web of poles and ropes, snapping in a wind that blew fiercely across the choppy waters. Chikitum would have liked to figure out their purpose, but someone grabbed his neck and shoved him through a trap door and into a dank, dark room that smelled of human waste. There were more people here, certainly more than he had traveled with.

Living in almost total darkness meant Chikitum was incapable of counting the days that had passed. It felt like a year, but perhaps it had only been a week or so before they pulled into port. The men herded everyone in the cargo area up on deck, then forced them down a gangplank to the dock below. Chikitum might have minded their rough treatment more if he weren’t entirely aghast at the scenery around him. While his journey had included the occasional citadel, it was nothing like the city rolled out before him now, just as expansive and endless as the ocean. Boats larger than fortresses dipped and bucked alongside piers, appearing monstrous next to the fishing boats lined up beside them. Beyond the docks soared multi-storied buildings, made from white stucco and piled on top of one another like bricks. Even the cliffs jutting out over the ocean were covered in houses that somehow managed to cling to the rocks. There were more of those strange animals here, the ones the slave drivers had ridden, but there were others too, large tan creatures with spindly necks and humped backs, burdened with huge sacks and blankets. As the slave drivers dragged Chikitum down the street, he couldn’t help but stare at all these things, a new marvel waiting beyond every corner. When they pushed through a crowded market, Chikitum saw men breathe fire and acrobats bend themselves into knots, all for the few coins tossed their way. Chikitum recognized the language as the tongue of the slave drivers, though he couldn’t identify any of the words, at least until he accidentally bumped into an old man who cursed freely.

Chikitum was nearly dizzy from the chaos until they reached quieter streets, these ones lined with larger, more luxurious houses, many of them hidden beyond tall solid walls tipped with black spikes. Elaborate and colorful tiles framed doorways and windows, and each gate carved in wood by an artisan’s hand. Chikitum had grown up in a mud hut; he’d never seen any building quite so beautiful.

By now, Chikitum was alone with two of the sailors who had brought him here. The rest of the slaves had been taken in another direction, perhaps to auction. Never had Chikitum been isolated from the rest, and it both frightened him and gave him hope. What could his fate possibly be now? He thought about bolting, but the one sailor’s grip on his tether seemed strong. Both sailors were thick in the way Chikitum’s past slave drivers had been, and bearded, too. Their skin was nearly as dark as the wet jungle soil, and their scalps were shaved bare. Chikitum couldn’t help but think they looked as if their heads had been flipped upside down.

They crossed through a small empty square. At its center was a pool of water ringed by squat trees bearing orange fruit. Beyond it were several archways, all barred with gates. One man stayed by the pool with Chikitum while the other called through the gates. Chikitum twisted to look at his reflection in the clear water, though the blue tiles along the bottom made it impossible to see anything besides the faint outline of his head. Looking into the water reminded him of how thirsty he was.

Eventually a door opened and someone shuffled up behind the gate to talk to the waiting sailor. They must have come upon some kind of agreement, because the man opened the gate and crossed the square to where Chikitum and his captor stood.

This man was not like the sailors. He was tall and thin, carrying himself with a certain grace and poise that his long flowing robes required. His thin white drapery was embroidered along the edges in something shiny and metallic, which matched all the heavy jewelry hanging from his ears and neck. Chikitum had of course seen jewelry before, but it was always made from wood, seeds, and ivory, nothing that glittered in the sunlight like so. Nor did his people ever wear so much. Chikitum wished he could ask the man if it was heavy, if his ears stretched with the weight of it.

Chikitum lowered his gaze upon the man’s approach, but the man leaned down and grabbed Chikitum’s jaw with a firm grip, turning his head side to side like the slave drivers had done once they’d apprehended him. Then the man jammed a finger into Chikitum’s mouth to pry it open for a look at his teeth. When his hand moved to press against the swell of Chikitum’s stomach, he frowned and snapped at the sailor, who shrugged. Some heated conversation was exchanged before the man in gold knelt down to Chikitum’s level, grasping his hands and turning them over to look at his palms. He asked Chikitum a question, but Chikitum could only shake his head in confusion. With a grunt, the man continued to inspect Chikitum, going so far as to remove his loincloth and observe him naked. Chikitum had spent much of his life running around naked, but he didn’t like this stranger looking at him so intensely when the man wore such extensive drapery to hide his own form.

After running his hands over Chikitum’s legs and feet, the man finally stood and pulled aside the sailor to speak to him. They seemed to argue forever, and Chikitum’s legs began to ache. He’d grown used to being stashed away in the bottom of a boat, so his limbs weren’t quite ready for strenuous use yet. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a faint strain of music. It sounded different from the drums and flutes he’d grown up with, but it did make him feel strangely hopeful.

Eventually a deal was struck. The man in gold vanished back into the large house, only to return with a small leather bag. He handed it over, and the sailors gave him Chikitum’s tether. The sailors walked away without him, and Chikitum had to face his new master.

The man waved Chikitum forward, reaching a hand down to grasp at the back of Chikitum’s neck. The grip felt neither kind nor threatening, but Chikitum’s heart fluttered in terror.

The man unlocked the gate and ushered Chikitum through. Once he locked it behind him, they did the same for the large wooden door, which took them into a wide courtyard with a long shallow pool and flowering bushes planted along cobblestone paths. Palm trees bowed toward them from either side, their emerald green leaves stark against the crystal blue sky. Two stories of verandas looked out into the courtyard, mostly empty except for two older boys leaning against a railing and whispering to one another. When the man holding Chikitum’s neck yelled at them, they vanished through a doorway, leaving Chikitum and the man alone.

"Zhafakhis," the man said, drawing Chikitum along a cobblestone path to the other side of the courtyard. They must have passed through three or four gardens before they turned and headed down a series of hallways. There were so many closed doors, and all of them looked the same. The man had to know where he was going, because he stopped by one identical door and pushed inside. Within, there were six beds laid out on the floor, all perfectly made with a small stack of clothing sitting in the center. All but one, at least. This, Chikitum began to understand, would be his bed. A new bed in a new home.

***

THE NEXT TWO days whirled by in a flurry of events. Chikitum was bathed and fed before he was handed off to another young man who used a thick soap and a blade to shave his head. Chikitum knew better than to move, and the man was skilled enough not to nick him once. He was then given to someone else, a younger boy a few years older than Chikitum, who led him through a labyrinth of beautifully-tiled hallways until they reached a large room filled with fifteen boys his age. All wore the identical wardrobe that Chikitum had been given: a sheer white fabric looped around the legs and then knotted above the groin. Despite their matching clothing and haircut, not all of the boys looked the same. Some were much lighter-skinned, with long noses and narrow faces, which struck Chikitum as very odd. All the boys stared at him upon his entrance, and Chikitum returned the favor.

The man standing at the front of the room was much older, old enough to have white hair growing at his temples. He waved Chikitum inside, grasped his shoulder, and asked a question Chikitum couldn’t understand. With enough hand motions and pointing, Chikitum eventually understood that he wanted Chikitum’s name.

Chikitum, he replied, his voice cracking and splitting with disuse.

The man winced and shook his head. After tapping his lip a moment, he said, Zhas. Then he jabbed a finger into Chikitum’s chest. Zhas.

It took Chikitum a while, but soon he realized the man was renaming him. Chikitum shook his head, but the man kept repeating it until Chikitum gave up and nodded.

Zhas, he said half-heartedly. It was a simple enough name, at least.

The man nodded in triumph, then turned Chikitum to face the other boys so that he could introduce him by this new name. All of them gaped at him, making Chikitum feel like some kind of strange toad on display. Finally the teacher waved him toward an empty cushion near the back, so Chikitum went, walking stiffly and erect as their eyes all followed him. Only when he sat down and folded his legs underneath him did the attention move back to the man at the front, who resumed his rapid lecture in the slave drivers’ language.

Chikitum had not been imprisoned or beaten, but he still felt tears rising. This place was so strange and cold, and no one had spoken a word he understood for months. Now they had gone so far as to give him a new name, as if his past life had never existed. Yet he refused to be anything but Chikitum. By now, his name was all he had left.

***

THE NEXT MORNING, another boy arrived who looked just as frightened and bewildered as Chikitum. Chikitum briefly hoped they came from similar places, but the boy’s language was nothing like Chikitum’s. Both Chikitum and the new boy were taken into a private room, empty except for a fireplace and a grass mat on the floor. A heavyset man was waiting for them, arms crossed over his chest. He gestured toward the new boy, who resisted. The man behind him scolded him, swatting him across the rear until the boy stepped forward. Chikitum hung back, trying to be brave like his father would want.

The heavyset man grabbed the wrist of the new boy and drew him closer to the fire. Only then did Chikitum see the long rod, its tip glowing red amongst the burned coals in the fire. For a moment Chikitum froze in terror, waiting for the other boy to realize what Chikitum had. By the time the boy figured it out, the heavyset man had already lifted the rod. At the very end was a tiny insignia, which was then forced down onto the back of the boy’s hand. He screamed, trying to leap back but kept there by the solid grip of the man burning him.

Chikitum’s body moved before his mind did. There was only one man standing behind them, so Chikitum whirled around and ducked between his legs, scrambling across the tile and dirt until he escaped the room. He ignored the shout behind him and took off, running so fast he might have impressed the quickest boy in his village. Chikitum nearly collided with a man who emerged from a room laden with scrolls, but Chikitum skirted around him and kept running.

Chikitum didn’t know the layout of the building yet, but eventually he ended up in a room with several stoves and various types of meat and vegetables strewn about. All of those working there stared at him as he bolted past them, but only one woman tried to apprehend him, and he avoided her easily. Finally he burst into a courtyard out back where there were no gates—just a tall brick wall. Chikitum had always been fascinated with monkeys, so he tried to think like one as he scaled a short palm tree. By the time he’d gotten to the top of the wall, several other servants had arrived in the courtyard, as well as a guard. After one more look over his shoulder, Chikitum tumbled down the other side of the wall, landing hard on the cobblestone. Normally he might have yelped and cradled his stinging feet, but he was too terrified to linger. Instead, he took off down the narrow alley, avoiding the occasional cart and goat blocking his way.

Finally he reached a main road, where a few people were walking about. Someone shouted at him a few houses down—two guards wielding spears. With a yelp, Chikitum scrambled the other way. In his hysteria, he nearly collided with several of those strange humped animals, but they just chewed their hay and looked at him in mild interest. He ducked and ran between their legs before taking off down another alley.

It would have helped to know the city layout, but Chikitum had no idea where he was. He could at least smell