Zipharus Chronicles: the Crystal of Axiom

By Caleb Scott Prentiss

What would you do if everyone you love and everything you knew is destroyed? And the reason for it all is leaning towards YOU!

Zipharus Chronicles: The Crystal of Axiom recounts Zipharus, a teenage boy with amnesia, who loses his family and people (the Condorians) in a horrific massacre. He is rescued and taken to safety in a cave by Opyius, a Wanderer who is a key in opening a door of answers for Zipharus. An accident in the cave triggers Zipharuss memory, in which, Opyius explains the journey Zipharus must embark on to discover the truth that will reveal past sins resulting in Zipharuss present sorrows.

Zipharus sets out in a quest to explore worlds beyond his imagination, trials that will test his strengths, and relationships that could hinder his venture or his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 8, 2009
• ISBN: 9781469103884

Caleb Scott Prentiss

Caleb Scott Prentiss resides in Gallatin, Tennessee with his beautiful wife and wonderful children. With a vivid imagination, he has transcended his subconscious mind into a passion for writing, so that the entire world can relax and escape into exciting and enchanting realms of fiction. Calebs goal is to touch every reader in a special way with an enthralling cant-stop- reading-or- talking-about- it story.

Book preview

Chapter I

Condor’s Defeat

THICK GRAY BLANKETS of altocumulus clouds covered the sky while small hints of ashes sprinkled down like black snowflakes. The horn of sorrow blew loudly while the mournful tears fell from the eyes of the Condorian remnant. A war had begun, but there were no brave souls with a courageous heart to fight for the people. The surviving men were visionless, the weeping women dreamless, and the parentless children hopeless. Condor, a land that stood beautiful and proud was overshadowed with black smoke from burnt wooden cottages. There was no hope for Condor, only a scared and confused people with devastated spirits.

The morning sun rays broke through the clouds, beaming on the Condorian extirpated wooden watchtowers while Opyius paced through the still bodies lying on the ground in search for a young boy fifteen years in age. He listened to the dreadful sobs of the living until he saw Pimos lying on a small hill. He ran to the hill, knelt, and lifted Pimos’s head up from the ash-covered ground.

Pimos opened his eyes. Opyius . . . my dear friend . . . , he said.

What has happened here? asked Opyius.

The Gothians . . . the Gothians have wreaked havoc upon my people.

So they are responsible for this ungodly massacre?

Yes, we were unprepared for their attack, and they struck us like a mighty wind. Tears ran down Pimos’s ash-covered face. Where is my family? he said.

I have not found them, said Opyius.

Suddenly, Opyius saw Sarcan soldiers from afar. They wore armor similar to the Avant armor made in Milanese workshops and rode on brown mustang stallions that had on large solid iron plates of the chaffron protecting their heads, laminated crinets covering their necks, a pectoral that secured their chest with the crupper protecting the rear half of the fast-riding beasts.

Pimos, where is your son? asked Opyius.

Pimos shut his eyes and gave up his spirit. Opyius laid him on the ground, placed his hand on his chest, and bowed his head. He rose and discovered the young boy lay next to his deceased mother and sister. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled a melodious tune. A unique, stunning silky-coated dark maroon Friesian stallion—with a mid-lighter maroon-colored mane—ran toward him. He picked the young boy up onto his left shoulder and placed him on the horse’s back. He jumped on the stallion, pulling on the black leather reins.

ZALA! said Opyius. Interpreted, GO!

The soldiers spotted and chased after Opyius. He maneuvered the stallion through the huge trees of the Forest of Peace, and the swooshing sound of wooden metal-tip arrows shot at him embedded in the trees.

ZALA, ZALA! said Opyius.

Opyius halted the stallion at the edge of the Forest of Peace separated by a unique waterfall with two unique streams flowing below it. (On the left side of the stream, toward the Forest of Peace, flowed blue clear water; and on the right side of it, toward the Forest of Willow Darkness, flowed a stream of muddy brown water.) Opyius pulled his stallion backward but was struck in his left shoulder with an arrow. (He refused the Sarcan soldiers the opportunity to capture the young boy.)

ZALA, ZALA! said Opyius, tugging on his stallion’s reins.

The stallion raced full speed and took an unbelievable soar over that which separated the Forest of Peace and the Forest of Willow Darkness. It safely landed across the other side, and Opyius pulled on the reins with his right hand. The horse halted. Opyius jumped off, propping the young boy over his injured shoulder. He laid him down by a tall tree. The stallion stood and watched over the boy. Opyius saw a large smooth rock on the ground, picked it up, and staggered to the edge of the forest’s cliff. He slung the stone toward the stream below, and it hit the crystal-clear water. He held his left shoulder and hid out of sight.

The Sarcan soldiers arrived at the end of the cliff of the Forest of Peace and saw the waves in the stream. Jarus, the chief captain of the Sarcan soldiers, stopped his remarkable black-coated Irish hunter with a white-mark face.

There is nothing we can do here, said Jarus.

Opyius watched the Sarcan soldiers ride away and then pulled the arrow out of his left shoulder to treat the wound. He stifled his scream to avoid the unwanted attention of the Sarcan soldiers. He walked over to the young boy and gave him a drink of water out of a small black bottle. The young boy slowly drank the water, gradually coughed, and opened his eyes.

You are safe now, and everything will be OK, said Opyius, standing over the fatigued lad.

The young boy shut his eyes and tilted his head left.

*   *   *

Zipharus—a ten-year-old boy with curly black hair, milky brown skin, and light brown eyes—ran into a large and lavish wooden cottage.

Father, Father, Father . . . look at what I have found! said Zipharus.

Pimos sat in a large black straw chair by the fireplace. He placed a writing pen and a half-written letter on a small table beside him.

What is it, my son? asked Pimos.

Zipharus held up a small snow white blue-eyed frog in front of him. Teari—a stunning woman with honey brown skin, dazzling long brown hair and beautiful grayish green eyes—looked at her son and smiled with the comfort a loving mother gives. She placed a golden ham on a big dining table. Zipharus’s pretty twelve-year-old sister, Michia—who was skinny with short black hair, brown eyes, and honey brown skin—walked out of her room and saw the frog.

Zipharus, you know that I am afraid of frogs, get it out of here! said Michia, jumping on the table.

Pimos smiled.

Michia, don’t be afraid. The frog is more afraid of you than you of it, he said.

But, Father . . . , she said.

Come down, Michia. The only way to fight fear is by facing it. Let me take a look at the frog, Zipharus.

Zipharus handed the frog to Pimos. Michia refused to come down from the table.

Zipharus, this is a Berlongin frog, one of the most poisonous frogs to be on this side of Condor. Its snow white skin indicates its immaturity; but once it’s full grown, its skin will change to a dark crimson complexion, and its eyes will turn black like the night, said Pimos.

So can I keep him? said Zipharus with the excitement only a fascinated young boy could have.

Pimos chuckled.

No, Zipharus, you can’t keep him in the long run. I’ll allow you to keep him only for tonight, but early tomorrow morning, when we go cutting for firewood, we’ll set him free, said Pimos.

Thanks! said Zipharus, and he was gone. He searched in his room for a small empty birdcage to put the fog in. He looked under his bed, in the closet, behind his door, but could not find it. He scratched the back of his head. He stood in the middle of the floor, closed his eyes, extended his right pointer finger, and spun around until he was facing toward the window. He stopped and opened his eyes.

That’s right, I remember . . . I put it out there after I finished cleaning it, said Zipharus. He grabbed the birdcage and hurried back into the living room. He couldn’t believe his widened eyes that Michia was petting the frog. Here’s the cage! said Zipharus, holding it up.

May we keep him longer? said Michia.

Michia, your father has spoken. No frog after tonight, dear, said Teari.

Yes, Mama, I know . . . He is just so cute, said Michia.

He may seem cute and harmless now, but he will grow to be very deadly. Come, children, so that we can enjoy the wonderful meal your mother has prepared for us. Zipharus, please take the frog into your room, said Pimos.

Zipharus hurried and placed the birdcage on a dresser. The small frog stared intensely into Zipharus’s eyes and slowly opened its mouth, exposing two transparent fangs. A flashing illusion of two larger transparent fangs with poison dripping off them rushed toward Zipharus like a swift hurricane wind. Zipharus staggered back and fled out of his room, sitting next to his father. His composure was less than normal.

What’s wrong, Zipharus? asked Pimos.

Nothing . . . nothing’s wrong, said Zipharus with a forced smile of assurance.

All right, then . . . everyone, grab hands, said Pimos, bowing his head.

A candle on the table burned bright. Every table in Condor was illuminated with lit candles, but upon a hill looking over Condor, a stranger in a black-hooded cloak put away a telescope in a black leather strap and jumped onto a black Friesian stallion. He rode away and blended with the night.

*   *   *

Zipharus opened his well-rested eyes but placed his left hand over them from the glare of the morning sun in his room. He got out of bed and yawned. He glanced over and noticed that the frog’s skin had changed to vanilla and its eyes were copper brown. Zipharus saw Pimos walk past his room and pointed at the cage.

Father, will you please come in here! said Zipharus.

Pimos poked his head into his room and glanced at the frog. Are you surprised to see that his color has changed? asked Pimos.

Is he sick . . . did I hurt him? asked Zipharus.

Pimos put his left hand on Zipharus’s shoulder. No, son, but we need to set him free, he said with a warm smile.

Zipharus hurried to put on his wood-cutting clothes. Pimos walked out of the room and headed for the front door. He felt a sudden breeze.

Zipharus, are you forgetting something? said Teari.

Zipharus went and kissed her on the cheek.

Teari clinched him close. Have fun, my love, said Teari, releasing him.

Zipharus sprinted to the door, equipped to help Pimos cut wood. He had a little axe on the left side of a brown leather belt and the caged frog in his right hand.

Zipharus, stay beside me. There are dangers that lurk in the forest, said Pimos.

No problem, said Zipharus.

They strolled through the tall autumn-leaves-colored trees. Zipharus started hearing strange, unfamiliar noises. Pimos glanced at him and saw his distorted countenance.

Don’t be afraid, just stay close to me. Here is a perfect place to cut, said Pimos, stopping. He removed from his shoulders a black leather sling and held a magnificently large crystal-bladed axe with a chrome hilt. This has been in our family for centuries. My father passed it down to me, his father to him, and soon it will be passed down to you my son, he said.

Pimos knelt and extended the axe. Zipharus put both hands around the handle, and a blazing beam of sunlight from fair-weather clouds shone on the blade. It glowed with a luminous bluish white glare.

Time to cut, said Pimos, taking the axe from Zipharus.

He positioned his feet in a sturdy stance and swung at a tree. The blade cut through the tree like a hot knife through butter, but the tree did not fall. Zipharus looked at Pimos.

Emuyou! Timber! said Pimos. The large tree crackled and popped, crashing to the ground. Pimos and Zipharus spent the morning cutting and trimming a few trees for firewood. They gathered all the wood in one pile. Pimos pulled out a small pearl flute and played a melody. A white Condorian Kladruber stallion with a black muzzle around its mouth approached them pulling a cart. They loaded the wood onto the cart and headed for home. Zipharus heard twigs cracking and popping and tree branches stirring from a slight breeze that whistled through the leaves.

It sounds like someone is following us, said Zipharus.

There is no one following—wait! said Pimos.

He stopped the stallion and pulled Zipharus behind him. He removed a chrome bow with sharp chrome metal-tipped glass arrows.

Whoever is behind us, show yourself, said Pimos, placing an arrow in the bow.

A number of birds flew out of the trees behind them. They turned toward that direction. Pimos knelt on his right knee. Quietness overshadowed the forest. Pimos gripped the bow and pulled back the arrow. Unexpectedly, Zipharus leaped onto Pimos’s back. He released the arrow, and it shattered in a tree. The sound of laughter compelled Pimos to turn around. He saw a beautiful ten year old girl. She had light caramel skin, long golden blond hair, and her irises were lavender with golden pupils that shimmered like freshly minted gold coins.

Ananoxxcia, that tree could have been you. What are you doing out here alone? asked Pimos.

I didn’t mean to startle you, but I saw the both of you walking into the forest. I wanted to scare Zipharus for scaring me yesterday, said Ananoxxcia.

Zipharus climbed down off Pimos’s back. I was not afraid, he said, gaining his stance on the ground.

All right, you two, we need to head back home before Ananoxxcia’s father begins to worry about her, said Pimos, leading the way out of the forest.

Yes, sir, said Zipharus and Ananoxxcia, following him.

Pimos saw a perfect area to set the frog free. He grabbed the birdcage from the cart and looked at the frog. The frog’s skin complexion had changed to dark violet, and its eyes were pearl white.

It’s time to let you go, little fellow, said Pimos, analyzing the frightened frog.

He walked over to Zipharus and handed the birdcage to him. Zipharus took the cage and opened it. The frog hopped away. The three of them watched it change to its original complexion.

Did you see that? said Ananoxxcia, pointing.

The Berlongin frog has a unique way of changing its color when it is afraid or away from its environment. Once it feels safe from harm, it’ll change back to its original complexion, said Pimos.

I would not have caused it any harm, said Zipharus.

I know, but that didn’t matter. What would you do if you were taken from your home? There’ll be fear inside your soul, but you’ll determine whether to learn how to adapt to a new environment or perish from the fear, said Pimos.

I’ll never leave Condor, said Zipharus.

Yeah, you’re too scared to go anywhere, said Ananoxxcia.

No, I’m not. There’s no other place better than Condor, said Zipharus.

I beg to differ, son. There are places that are just as beautiful, maybe more beautiful than Condor. Condor is your home, Zipharus; but once you become older, you’ll learn more about different places. Some places I’ve had the honor to visit, said Pimos, looking up and seeing two red intense eyes staring at them from the trees.

Zipharus . . . Ananoxxcia . . . get behind me, said Pimos.

What is it? asked Zipharus.

A large six-foot, two-hundred-pound bluish gray Wolvaram—a vicious wolf with hind legs shaped liked a ram’s—leaped out of the trees and growled, exposing large white razor teeth. Pimos took out his bow and arrows. Zipharus touched his side, felt his axe, and pulled it out.

I’m ready to help, said Zipharus.

Get back! said Pimos, pushing Zipharus down on the ground behind him.

The Wolvaram leaped at Pimos with its front paws aimed to kill. Pimos had a split second before the beast attacked him, but he was unprepared for a counterattack. He was defenseless. Zipharus quickly threw Pimos his axe. Pimos caught it, slinging it at the Wolvaram. The axe made a whistling noise, spinning in a circular rotation midair, hitting the Wolvaram in its chest. The beast crashed to the ground. Pimos grabbed his axe and slowly walked up to the Wolvaram that was playing possum. Pimos was close. It opened its evil eyes, pushing Pimos down.

Father! said Zipharus.

The Wolvaram stood on its hind legs, pulled Zipharus’s axe from out of its chest, threw it in front of Pimos, and growled.

Pimos crawled backward away for freedom, but the beast stepped toward him—ready for the kill.

Hey! said Ananoxxcia.

The Wolvaram looked toward the sound of her voice, and an arrow struck straight into its frontal lobe. Glass shattered in the Wolvaram’s face, and the sharp metal point was embedded in the beast’s skull. It leaned face first, falling to the earth limp. Pimos hurried out of its way.

ARE YOU OK? said Zipharus.

Pimos waved his hands. STAY BACK! he said.

Pimos picked up a thick stick and poked the Wolvaram. No movement. He turned his head and saw Ananoxxcia gripping the bow with another arrow, ready to shoot. Once she saw that Pimos was safe, she dropped them on the ground. A tear fell from her right eye. Pimos walked up and knelt. He gave Ananoxxcia and Zipharus a big embrace. They hurried and left for home.

Pimos, while strolling through the forest, turned to Ananoxxcia. You have a true talent, and with it you’ve saved my life. Did your father teach you how to use a bow and arrow? asked Pimos, curious and intrigued.

No, that was my first time shooting a bow and arrow, said Ananoxxcia.

Pimos’s eyes widened. Ananoxxcia smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

Miles later, the three of them arrived at the cottage.

Zipharus walk Ananoxxcia home. I’ll unload the firewood, said Pimos.

Zipharus obeyed his father’s instructions. He stared at Ananoxxcia on the walk to her home. So . . . that was your first time shooting a bow and arrow? asked Zipharus.

Yes, it was. What’s wrong with that? said Ananoxxcia.

Nothing . . . I mean . . . that was fantastic, but it was done by a . . . a girl!

Yeah, so . . .

I mean . . . I have never seen anything like that, ever, and when I did . . . it was done by you . . . of all girls.

Ananoxxcia stopped in front of a metal tub filled with cold water.

I can do more things than that . . . , said Ananoxxcia.

Like what? said Zipharus.

This! said Ananoxxcia, throwing cold water in Zipharus’s face.

I’m going to get you! said Zipharus, chasing Ananoxxcia the rest of the way to her home, and the ambiance of laughter filled their joyous spirits.

Chapter II

The Wicked King

AFTER CONDOR’S DEFEAT, Movalech sat in a huge Gothic throne hidden in darkness. He slowly opened his solid white glinting eyes. Obedi- a five-foot-tall, blood-red half gremlin and half goblin with black Mohawk, long-nose and ears, and creepy bright yellow eyes- stood in front of him.

Is it complete? said Movalech in a confident authoritative, deep-pitched voice.

Yes, my lord, it is completed as you ordered, said Obedi in a scratchy, high-pitched tone.

Good, my servants have pleased me. All of the lands shall be mine, and I’ll rule them all.

But, my lord, remember that the Sarcans were the reason for your war. Are we not to share ruling power with them?

Are you questioning me?

No . . . no . . . my lord. I would never question your judgment.

Movalech stood twelve feet in stature, weighing more than a half a ton of pure muscle, with dark chestnut skin. He had long thick black bullhorns that curved from his temples. Cursed at birth, he had the body, face, hands (that could expose six-inch claws), and legs of a man, but with bullish characteristics, having no feet but large wide, circular-shaped black two-toed hooves. Obedi moved toward the left side out of his way. He gaited away from his throne followed by a long black robe shrouding his broad shoulders. He stepped in front of two large glass doors, and a sudden breeze flung them open before him. He walked on a huge balcony meant for an evil lord arrayed by moonlight.

Movalech ruled Gothia the Forbidden Land. Nothing pure lived there, only a deep darkness of evil that no man could survive. He watched his army of gremyrmidons-hideous seven-foot brownish green gremlin assassins-arrive through two gigantic black cast-iron gates. The assassins entered the castle. Movalech walked back to his throne. He sat with his eyes being the only visible thing seen by Obedi.

Leave me, said Movalech.

Yes, my lord, said Obedi, walking out of Movalech’s large throne quarters followed by an echoing sound of two large black doors closing.

*   *   *

Large blue cast-iron gates opened, and the Sarcan soldiers rode through them to the castle of Sarcia, an enormous white stone castle fit for royalty. Jarus and Mecius, his right hand, jumped off their horses and walked upstairs in front of two castle guards.

Let us in, said Jarus.

Two huge pearl white doors opened. King Aethro—a tall well-built man with dark scarlet hair and beard and tan skin—wore a red robe trimmed in white velvet. He sat in a large white throne trimmed in gold. (His counselors, dressed in white robes, stood parallel to the right and left of him in a long aisle.) Jarus and Mecius knelt before the king with their heads bowed.

Is it done? asked King Aethro.

Permission to speak, my lord, asked Jarus.

Speak.

I have failed you, my lord. Opyius the Wanderer arrived and took the boy.

What? I should have your head for this, but your loyalty prevents my hand.

Unexpectedly, Prince Aerimus took off a silver helmet, exposing a handsome face, dark scarlet hair, and tanned complexion. He walked and stood tall beside the king, but then knelt, kissing the ring on his father’s right pinky finger. He stood and trained his eyes down at Jarus and Mecius.

Father, I come witnessing the shame Jarus has brought before your throne. I request the task in which he has failed you, said Prince Aerimus.

I was informed by a letter sent to me days ago that the Condorians were attacked and no survivors were left, said King Aethro.

My lord, the letter which you read was a lie, said Prince Aerimus.

The king drew his blade and thrust it into Mecius’s torso, slowly laying him on the cold floor.

Be still, Jarus. This is a warning for you. You failed me in a very important task, and I relieve you of your current position. My chief captain will be Prince Aerimus. Castle guards, remove him! said King Aethro, pointing at Jarus.

Castle guards ran to take Jarus away, but he did not give up without a fight. He reached over to Mecius’s side, pulled Mecius’s blade, and stabbed one of the castle guards in the right shoulder. Two other castle guards pulled their blades and attacked. Jarus pulled out his sword, blocking the left guard’s swing, and uppercut the right guard in his jaw. Jarus ran to the front doors.

SEIZE HIM! said King Aethro.

Three other guards tried to stop Jarus, but they were no match for his expertise with a blade. He laid them wounded on the floor. The front doors opened, and Jarus fled down the staircase, jumping onto his horse. (The soldiers at the bottom of the staircase he once commanded looked at one another, appalled). He yanked on the horse’s reins and rode off.

The Sarcan soldiers’ mustangs sounded like thunder, leaving a trail of thick clouds of dust, as they were chasing Jarus. The front gates began to shut. Jarus pulled up on the stallion’s reins, and it leaped through the gates—saving its hind legs from being trapped. The soldiers halted their horses at the gates while Jarus rode far away from his home.

King Aethro stood in front of the double doors, and Prince Aerimus stepped to his right side.

I’ll not disappoint you, Father, and personally will make sure Jarus is dealt with, said Prince Aerimus.

Find the male child, and there’ll be no concern for Jarus, said King Aethro.

Yes, my king.

Prince Aerimus went down the staircase, and the king walked back into the castle. (His counselors watched him go through a door leading to a hallway decorated with a beautiful red carpet.) King Aethro stood in front of a wall with a breathtaking oil portrait of a young woman—with no important significance—sitting on a large gray stone next to a crystal blue waterfall.

May-la-sue-a-o, said King Aethro. Meaning, Open.

The portrait darkened and opened into a secret passageway. King Aethro stepped into total darkness and pulled out from his side a fire stick (a long slim red stick that looked like a candle and, when struck, produced a burning flame at the tip.) King Aethro walked down a stony staircase in front of a secret door. He opened the door. Tarantulas ran away from the light. He stomped on a few of them and placed the fire stick in a hole in a wall next to him. In front of him was a huge oval-shaped Gothic brown detail-crafted wood frame with a crystal mirror that levitated above a cold stony floor.

The king removed a dagger with a white hilt from his right side and pricked his left pointer finger. He touched the mirror with his blood-dripping finger. The mirror transformed into hemoglobin and streamed down to the floor, accumulating into a puddle.

A five-foot black shadow stepped out of the wood frame and stood in the center of the puddle, causing the blood to run up its back forming a red cloak. Larthan, a pale-faced very aged man having a pointy nose, beady black eyes, and raspy voice stood in front of King Aethro.

Is the boy captured? ask Larthan, concerned.

No, said King Aethro.

This is sorrowful news and defeat upon your part.

I’ve sent Prince Aerimus to fulfill the task. I’ll conquer.

Conquering is for the weak, but to rule is for a god. To be a god—that’s what you want?

Yes.

Larthan smirked and walked into a misty room filled with white smoke at the bottom of the floor. He sat in a chair at a white marble table that turned into a 3-D visual of all the lands surrounding Sarcia.

We must find the boy and kill him since the Gothians could not do it. You must bring him to me, and I’ll place a sign upon his head and a scar upon his chest, said Larthan.

What sign and scar? asked King Aethro.

You shall find out when the time comes.

The king watched the 3-D visual vanish away. Larthan left the table followed by a straight trail of white smoke. King Aethro got up out of his seat and followed the smoke toward the mirror. He stepped in front of it, staring at his reflection. A hurricane rush of black smoke burst through the mirror but did not shatter the glass covering the king. Villainous laughter filled the dark room from the mirror.

*   *   *

Darren, a slim tan-skinned, freckled-faced, dark-scarlet-haired ten-year-old boy, walked through the shabby marketplace of Sarcia in a dingy cotton white shirt and brown pants ripped at the knee. Sarcan merchants gathered in that central area to sell whatever they could to make a living and pay King Aethro’s high taxes. There were many produce booths, jewelry booths, clothing booths, and crooked livestock dealers hustling their products. Darren looked around for the perfect area to grab food for his poverty-stricken family. Many merchants were unaware of his mischief, being hard at work advertising and selling their goods before the king’s tax collectors arrived. Darren stepped in front of a jewelry booth. An elderly cantankerous merchant squinted his eyes in disgust seeing him. WHAT do you want to buy? I don’t have all day BOY! said the cantankerous merchant.

I’m just looking, sir, said Darren, politely.

Looking. Get away from here! said the elderly merchant, swinging a cane at Darren—knocking a number of his jewelry to the ground.

Darren ran far away from the merchant’s booth. He reached into his shabby pants pocket and pulled out a silver compass he took from the jewelry merchant. He strolled in the marketplace and spotted delicious green melons at a melon booth that had a wooden roof held by wooden pillars. He looked around for tools that would assist him in retrieving the melons. He looked down and then saw on the ground six feet of rope. A few feet from the rope lay a sharp broken arrowhead. He picked them up and tied the rope around the arrowhead. He looked at the rooftop and saw a horse step beside the melon booth.

He stepped on the horse’s back and pulled himself on top of the roof. The horse walked away. He stuck his head down and saw the melon merchant put his earnings in a dingy moneybag. He glanced to his left side and saw five small smooth stones. He picked one of them up and threw it next to the melon merchant.

The merchant turned to the direction he heard the stone hit. Darren threw the arrowhead down at a melon and pulled it up. The merchant snapped his face around. He walked toward the melons, scratching his head, bewildered, and arching his eyebrows confused, counting his product.

Tax collectors rode into the marketplace on brown Nonius horses, stopping at each booth. The people tried to run from them, but many of the Sarcan’s were caught and forced to pay taxes. The chief tax collector, named Volane—a pale-skinned man with long raven black hair and goatee and light green eyes—arrived in front of the melon merchant’s booth on a tall silky—and bay-coated Nonius stallion. Darren slid back and hid.

I’ll need your taxes with an increase of four percent ordered by the king, said Volane, looking at the melon merchant.

My business has been slow. Please, I only have little profit, said the melon merchant.

Volane looked up and saw Darren scoot back from peeping over the edge. He removed a silver T-hilt metal sword and sliced the two front pillars. The melon merchant dove out of the booth, and the roof crashed to the ground. Volane jumped off his stallion, walked to Darren, and grabbed his right hand. He dragged Darren in front of the melon merchant.

This is why your business loses profit, because of a street dog like this taking what’s not his, said Volane.

Thief! said the melon merchant, pointing at Darren.

Volane walked over and grabbed the merchant’s moneybag off the ground. He placed Darren’s hand on the broken rooftop, prepared to chop it off.

This is the penalty for stealing, street dog, said Volane, raising his blade.

Darren picked up a melon with his free left hand and threw it at Volane’s face. Volane released Darren, and he sprinted away.

STOP THAT STREET DOG! said Volane, wiping his face.

The tax collectors chased after Darren. He maneuvered through the crowd and saw a fence of goats piled at the end of a gate. He freed them for a diversion against the tax collectors. The tax collectors halted their horses. Darren saw a huge straw basket and hid in it, closing the lid. Three tax collectors rode past it. He took a deep breath but heard a hissing noise. He leaped out of the basket, followed by a strike from a large rattlesnake barely missing his feet.

Darren rose from the ground and ran home. Once he was free and clear of the tax collectors, he reached into his left pocket, pulling out the melon merchant’s moneybag. He tossed the moneybag midair.

All in a day’s work! said Darren, catching the bag in his left hand.

He stood in front of a shabby, broken-down wooden house with a hay rooftop. He opened a loud-squeaking door and saw his mother, Omar, placing a loaf of hot bread on a small table. His younger twin sisters were playing. Corlion, his father—a slim man with tan skin, dark scarlet hair and beard, standing six feet tall—stepped out of a room. Darren ran up to Corlion and poured