-Daladin-
A ragged, dying crest of wind carried the road dust, the sand grains billowing up into the sky. As the solid, stoic cacti stood still against the feeble wind, the stark sun drove upon the soil, a merciless torturer of the land.
Sandstone buildings overshadowed busy, bustling Ariant, casting a dark, unshakable gloom amongst the weary travellers. Even so, the delightful chatter and ever-present barter carried up into the heavens. As goods exchanged hands, and flowing mesos clattered, the tired, unyielding breeze dragged through the lively streets, sand trailing in its wake. A young boy choked as he inhaled the foul air.
He tightened his grip on the bowl before him.
Holding his frayed sleeves to his mouth, his eyelids closed down as the dirt flew past. When the tiny sandstorm passed, he, spurred on by some strange, sporadic notion, thrust his crudely-carved bowl out at a passing couple.
"Bah! Another filthy Ariant brat!" The Orbis man snored in undisguised contempt. He spat into the flaxen clay, bestowing no other gift upon the silent boy. He proceeded to meticulously wipe off the saliva with a corner of his sleeves.
The waxen clouds, in all their resplendence, shone upon him as he gazed up at the sky. He admired their alluring beauty. For a moment, he set aside his worries, and let himself soar in the vast sky.
The blazing, west-hanging sun momentarily blinded him as his eyes open. Vexed, he realised through his frustration that it was evening, yet his clay bowl was untouched by even a single, paltry meso. Soft tears sprang to his grey eyes. In his desperate despondency, he charged down the street, tightly embracing the bowl, shouting in simple English.
"Mo-ney! Mo-ney!" He stumbled over the two simple syllables. His piteous appeal for much needed mesos failed, and he slunk back to his gang hideout, sinuous, trailing tears rolling down his taupe face.
Swirling in gentle eddies, the wind gently nudged Daladin as he trudged back to what he called home. Even at sunset, the air still scorched. Despite the unwavering heat, he shivered.
He feared what would happen soon.
Greasy, grimy, his palms felt the adobe walls as he guided himself through the maze, his clay bowl hanging forlornly at a strap by his waist. With calm precision, it somehow managed to rattle upon every wall, an unforgettable reminder that he had failed Nabaria. Without the thousand mesos, he would again be beaten. And his sister would be deprived of milk, too, as punishment for his inability…
"Where is my money?" The gang leader held out a demanding hand.
"None, I have none… Sorry, Nabaria…"
"No money… AGAIN! Thrice you have said this. Are you pocketing the money?"
"No, no!" Claws of fear claimed his pounding heart.
There was no sign; no forewarning, no indication. Even out of his periphery, the left hook met his cheek and he sprawled across the ground. He felt an increasing pressure upon the small of his back as Nabaria forced a knee into his flesh. Neck wrenched up with cruel efficiency, he screamed out in sheer animal instinct.
Promptly delivering a sharp kick to Daladin's head, Nabaria repeatedly slammed his broken face into the cracked walls. As his limp body was released, only to collide with the ground, crimson flew from his chapped, bleeding lips.
Recovering from his ballistic anger, Nabaria calmly stated, "Next time you don't give me my thousand mesos, you're in for worse. Oh, and say bye-bye to half of your sister's milk."
Her neck muscles moved rapidly as she worked at the second-hand milk bottle. Sucking eagerly, the tiny infant lapped up her first meal in a dozen hours. She gurgled; plainly, she wanted more milk. A sharp thorn of guilt pierced his heart sinew as he shook his head gently, and at his gesture, the baby's pleas escalated into loud wails.
"She comes from the sand,
A faraway land,
She rests in my hand,
A deity so grand…"
Crooning softly into her auburn hair, Daladin's tears spilled onto her face. As the lullaby calmed her slightly, he continued, till her pitiful, tender voice quietened and her face relaxed.
"Sweet Talim…" he whispered gently in the local language. His parents had died in a raging fire seven months and eight days ago, and he had barely escaped with Talim. Her cries had awakened the townspeople, but all they found were two charred bodies, embracing past death.
Soon, his voice failed, and he sought reprieve from this cruel reality, face nestled deeply in his pillow.
A day passed.
He was yet to earn the thousand mesos, and had six days left.
Hobbling awkwardly upon his sprained leg, his poorly-bandaged hands hugged his sister as he stumbled towards his usual spot at the marketplace. Apart from the usual clay bowl, he also carried a wooden sign, and the atrocious scrawl upon it stated: I NID MUNEE.
He kneeled forlornly, embedding the wooden post into the soft, smooth sand, and hung his head downwards pitifully. He hoped that someone would sympathize with him, and donate to him the money that he urgently needed.
Yet, as two women, probably from some far-off continent, passed by him, he heard one whisper to the other, cupping her hands on her friend's ear, speaking furtively into it.
"Just another ploy."
Why would they not believe him? Just one glance at their pitiful, scrawny bodies and anyone could read their unfortunate plight. But no, no one, neither wealthy travellers nor his richer compatriots, would deign to offer even a single meso.
The sun finished its cycle, resting far away on the edge of Ariant, the rolling hills its cradle. Soon, the Night-Eye reigned the sky, and Daladin, too, embraced slumber, his emaciated frame curled into a tight ball.
Sharp, piercing, the first Kiyo cries awakened Daladin to the dawn. As the golden nectar spilled across the land, the animals of the land rose, greeting this pure, sweet presence with a synchronised chorus of sounds.
He immediately checked for his sister, who lay in the tiny, chipped bowl, still asleep. Gently, he placed her on a piece of tattered canvas he tore from an abandoned market stall, and took up the clay bowl, ready to resume another day of begging.
Alone, he walked the streets, all the while hopelessly asking for mesos. He was shunned by the rich, ignored by the poor and remained empty-handed. Lost in melancholy thoughts, his misery led him to trip upon a cobblestone.
The bowl slipped from his hands as he stumbled, and fell upon the rocky pavement, shattering despite the sand cushion.
He let loose a cry of shock and bended down to collect the myriad fragments. He held back his pain as the jagged edges lacerated his healing wounds. Blood dripping past his fingertips, he stuffed all the pieces into his pockets as he was overcome by a sudden fatigue from blood loss. Trudging over to his sister, he felt more miserable than ever.
He entered the street where he normally sat. Dizzy, he lurched towards his begging spot, and dropped to the ground, exhausted. His arms reached backwards to pat his sister.
But all he felt was the cloth. His sister was gone.
Howling in anguish, his newfound strength forced him to stand up and survey his surroundings, trying to find his sister. There! He caught a glimpse of a small figure with orange-brown hair.
Charging towards it, he soon realised that his baby sister was being cared for by a strange girl. Slowly, he walked over, trying not to frighten or surprise the girl carrying her, lest she let Talim fall.
"She comes from the sky,
A place so high,
Here she lies,
A goddess in my eyes..."
Her beautiful, enchanting voice sent a wave of calmness towards him. His nerves fully soothed, he realised that it was the complement to the song fragment he always sang to his sister. He reached out to touch the girl on the shoulder.
"Aiieee!"
She turned around wildly in shock, sending him sprawling onto the hard ground. Apologetic, she helped him up with one hand. As Daladin stares into her attractive, wide eyes, he suddenly felt a strange sensation, as if he were a soaring djinn. Then, the odd moment passes as she asked, "Who are you? Why are you bleeding so much?"
"This is my sister... I am Daladin."
"Oh! I found her lying on the floor, I thought that she was abandoned... I'm sorry, I didn't know that she, well, still had family..." An awkward silence spilled over the two.
Talim's ravenous cry punctuates it.
"She seems very hungry to me. Is she?"
"Yes." He went on to explain his predicament.
"Ah! I can help you! I am the daughter of a wealthy merchant in this area. My father runs a lithium processing store. I'm sure he'll let you stay for a while, and if you're willing to work, he'll definitely pay you too!"
The desolation that had hung around him for the past few days vanished with that proclamation. A surge of gratitude swelled in him, followed by an immense gladness. He bowed gratefully to the stranger, and embarrassed, she quickly guided him towards her father after relinquishing her hold on Talim.
They found him before a conveyor belt, ordering his subordinates around even while helping to process the unrefined purple gems. As he saw his beloved daughter, Mohamed made his way through the many men and grabbed his daughter up, who promptly shrieked with laughter.
"Resa! Oh you naughty child, where have you been?" In a tone half chiding and half joking, he set Resa down as he folded his arms across his chest somewhat sternly.
"Well… I found this girl, and this boy, well…"
She gestured for Daladin to explain his own story, and the lithium-refiner listened patiently as he described his life.
"And so?" Mohamed raised a curious eyebrow at his daughter, who, flushed-face, said, "Please, we can let him stay for a while at least, can't we? He is willing to work for you! And I need a friend, too, of my own age…"
Staring into Resa's pleading eyes, Mohamed finally relented. He waved a hammer at a nearby worker, shouting at him to set up another bed in the workers' quarters. Then, he eyed Daladin critically.
"Hmm… pretty slim build, eh? Nevermind. I've got plenty o' lads here who could do some workout too. Thin… too scrawny for any heavy work. Narrow shoulders too. You ever tended a fire before?"
"A cooking-fire, once."
"Ahahah!" Mohamed let loose a deep chortle. "I don't mean those puny lady-flames. I mean a real monster, like that over there."
Following his finger, Daladin craned his neck to spot a fire. It wasn't hard. The gargantuan flames raged high, melting the lithium that passed through it. Daladin nodded twice in agreement, swallowing his newfound fire-phobia.
Fire… his parents died in a fire…
"Dal! Dal!"
His mother cried softly, her pleas for help awakening Daladin and his newborn sister. As he looked around wildly, orange flames licking at the beams.
"Daddy! Mommy!"
His childish wails ceased the cries from his mother. He exited the door, cradling his crying sister. Surrounded by pillars of flames, he cried in anguish.
"DALADIN! GET OUT OF THERE!"
His father's deep voice resonated throughout the hut. As he looked around for the source of the voice, he saw his father at the entrance, covering his mouth, beckoning for him to come. As he leapt over burning planks, his father said, "I'm going to get mommy out. Stay here, okay? Don't move until I tell you to do so."
With that, he charged off into one of the rooms.
Daladin heard a faint, muted shriek somewhere. His mother. Then he heard a low grunt as a beam somewhere cracked. His father. Suddenly, a pillar gave way to a licking flame and the roof collapsed on one side.
Soft voices whispered. Disembodied, they trailed to him over the smoke.
"Daladin… Talim… Oh, how are they going to…"
"Shush. We'll be fine, okay?"
More weeping. More wailing.
Suddenly, Talim let loose a horrible sob. He covered her mouth and turned around as the house abruptly fell down, the flimsy pillars unable to withstand the pressure.
His tears welled. Somehow, past his naiveté, he understood. He took a step, a small step forwards into the carnage. There, amidst the destruction, he stood like an angel of death, and kneeled down, ignoring the sharp cuts. The shimmering dust cloaked him in an ephemeral wreath of darkness, and, softly, he wept…
The flame pit roared high, like a ferocious, ravenous lion, voraciously swallowing the purple ore that went through it. A harshly-tanned Arian sat dully at the fire, poking at the hot coals with a rod of tempered brass.
"Master Mohamed told me to work here."
The Arian turned around, a wide, friendly beam on his face. "Welcome, welcome! Ain't too often we get newcomers here. Here, I'll show you the ropes, sonny. The name's Madares, by the way."
"This here, it's a beauty. It's the best one I've ever made, boyo. It's called a stoker; got that? You gotta push the coals around so that this monster here don't get too big."
"Now, you gotta make sure no paper or wood gets too near this thing, or we're gonna have a huge problem on our hands. Remember that!"
"Then, what happens if the fire gets out of control?" Daladin asked questioningly.
"Well, then say your prayers and get the hell out of there! Here, you take over now, I'll sit back and observe."
Nervously, Daladin took the elongated stoker from the Madares, who patted him on the back encouragingly, then shoved his own chair back and fell asleep within a matter of seconds. With the bad tutorial that he was given, Daladin pushed the coals around at random, and soon, the fire raged out of hand.
"Hey, what happened, sonny?" Madares woke up to the sudden heat. "Holy smokes! Didn't I tell you to push the coals around, boy?"
Madares filled a bucket full of water, and doused the flames with it. As the glowing embers glared at him, he sighed.
"You're going to lose your job sooner or later, boyo."
Madares was wrong.
Daladin learned how to tend the flames quite well, in fact. He could now do the job rather fine.
Two weeks had passed since he first got himself a job at Mohamed's Lithium Refinery. Now that he was self-sufficient, he had cut off all ties with Nabaria.
He walked down the same old street he used to beg in, no longer a poor waif, but a well-to-do citizen of Ariant. He marvelled at the past few weeks that had changed his life, and unconsciously turned around to face his newfound friend.
Resa. She helped him to become what he is now. She had created a new life for him, and he was extremely grateful for that. And, and…
He had feelings for her.
She was a star in his life, shining ever so bright. She brought him joy, hope, and life. Yet there was a barrier between them; he was a mere street urchin, while she was the wealthy heiress to a lithium refinery.
"Yes?"
Shocked, Daladin realised that he was staring at her. He glanced away embarrassedly.
"Nothing."
Today was one of his free days. Normally these were spent with Resa, for he had no other friend. Fortunately, neither did she, so they longed for each other's companionship.
Dusk gradually cascaded between the towering buildings, and the breathtaking nightscape seemed all the more beautiful with Resa around. There they sat, amidst the glowing stars and flowing sand, to any eye a pair of young lovers.
"There, that's Eridanus! And Aquila here, Cassiopeia there…" Resa whispered. As she gazed, entranced, by the constellations winking in the moonlit sky, Daladin, on impulse, grabbed her silk-smooth hand.
Surprised, Resa turned her gaze away from the night sky, and as they stared into each others' eyes, somehow, somehow, there they shared a brief, stolen kiss.
Time blurred through the days following, when their newfound friendship escalated into something more. Yet one day, as he went out on one of his walks alone, someone grabbed him by the neck, and struggling, he was brought into a dark, dank building.
"So, I heard you're now working at the gem-refiner's," a voice softly whispered. Nabaria's. Daladin, now free from his grasp, nodded sharply, his firm stare penetrating into Nabaria's unwavering eyes.
"All high and mighty are we now, no? What say you help me make some quick money outta that? Grab some greenbacks for your old friend?"
"Am I your dog? I once was, but now am no longer."
"Perhaps with a little persuasion? You get some of the profits?"
"I won't go so low."
"Well, I didn't want to do this, but…" Nabaria gave a mock sigh. "Crene!"
A tall, lanky boy walked over, something, no, someone in his hands. No, no, Daladin thought.
"As you can see, that is your sister there. If you value her life, why not you bring me those gems? Or else, who knows what will happen; an accident with a cooking knife? A little something in her milk?"
"I could tell the police about this."
"And I could slit her pretty little throat."
"You're sick," Daladin replied, rage and hatred burning in his eyes.
"Thank you. Hundred thousand mesos, by this weekend, would you?"
As he walked out of the building, fists clenched, he knew that he would have to save his sister no matter what.
His gaze rested solemnly on the empty cradle, the pliant woods so carefully intertwined by his mother. The only served to feed the raging flame of anger and grief within him.
He caressed the soft, empty pillow, fear making him suddenly clench his fists around the white cushion.
A soft, almost silent hand knocked at his door. Without looking, he knew that would be Resa. As soon as he had come home from his walk, he hardly murmured a word, and she knew that something was wrong. But what he needed now was peace, silence and thought, not love or concern.
"I'm tired, Resa. Let me rest for a while."
And as her footsteps left slowly, reluctantly, he lay on his undone bed, sprawled upon the messy covers, staring bleakly into empty space.
And eventually, he decided that he would tell Mohamed.
Nervously, Daladin knocked upon the mansion door. As Resa opened the door, her eyes shined with delight as they saw it was him. But he had to talk to Mohamed first.
As she guided him to her father's room, he noticed three long, writhing scars upon her forearm. Shocked, he pursued her for the reason, but she refused to reply, only staring stonily at the floor before her. At last, when Resa opened her father's door, a strong stench of alcohol wafted out.
"Is this a business customer?"
"No, Father, it's Daladin."
Mohamed gave a long sigh, let his beer bottle fall to the floor with a clang, and folded his arms exasperatedly.
"What do you want?"
"Well, I… my sister… I would like to borrow some money from you."
"Again." Daladin didn't know how to respond. "What do you need it for?"
"To pay my old master. He has…"
"I thought you cut off all contact with him?"
"He kidnapped my sister!"
"And how am I supposed to know, you greedy, impudent whelp, that you aren't hand in glove with this gang I keep hearing about?"
"Father!" Resa whispered.
"Resa, since this waif has come at our doorstep, all this trouble has befallen us. Who knows, he might even have given out my trade secrets to this rival lithium refinery which popped out of nowhere!"
Mohamed was clearly working up a rage. Daladin looked frantically at Resa, who shrugged her shoulders.
"Get out of my house this instant, you penniless beggar!" And as Daladin left silently, the man opened another bottle, drowning his sorrow in the devil's drink.
When the next morning came, Resa came over to the worker's quarters and helped Mohamed apologize.
"He was drunk. And worried."
"And he caned you," Daladin stared at the fingers which had leapt to rub the wound. Resa had nothing to say to that.
"So… Talim… she was kidnapped?"
Daladin glanced pointedly at the cradle, and Resa nodded sadly. "Is there any way you can get her back?"
"A hundred thousand."
At the mention of such a huge sum, Resa looked horrified. "Surely they can't expect you to get so much money!"
"They want me to steal from your father, Resa."
"But his business is going down! Surely you can tell them that?"
He gazed at her beautiful eyes, longing to believe that the world was so simple.
But deep inside, he knew Nabaria wouldn't listen to reason.
Life went on as normal for the next few days. Yet there was a nagging sense of doubt and worry in a small corner of Daladin's mind. He knew Nabaria could, and would carry out his threat if Daladin did not fulfil his side of the prejudiced deal.
He wondered if he could try asking Resa's father again. Yet after that acidic dismissal, he doubted that he could go along that path.
Of course, he could attempt to rescue Talim, but that, too, would probably not come into fruition. Nabaria would expect him to do something of the sort, and if he did try, both he and his sister would be gotten rid of.
An answer, so simple, so straightforward, stayed at the forefront of his mind. He had to steal the money from his employer. But how could he? It would be a downright betrayal to Mohamed, who took him in when he was but an orphan, and not to mention Resa…
Still, the choice was between Mohamed and Talim. And the latter definitely mattered far more to him…
Clad in dark brown clothing, he swept through the darkness like the night wind: sharp, silent and swift.
Tonight was a nigh on perfect chance for him. A sandstorm seemed to be brewing at the far west, and no one would venture out in that weather. Not only would he gain an extra cloak, but also would be able to get rid of any watchers.
Under the cover of shadows, he managed to creep towards Mohamed's mansion. As he surveyed the large estate, he finally decided upon a certain window, located close to the vault, but poorly lit and deserted.
Nimbly, he vaulted over the windowsill. Now, entering Resa's house, he felt another sharp twinge of guilt. He winced, but pushed on. Talim's life was at stake. Family over friend. Family over friend.
Round the bend, he heard two maids whispering to each other. He ducked into the shadows, keeping his every muscle still. Any movement would catch the steadily approaching servants' eyes, and he had to remain absolutely motionless. Fortunately for him, they hardly even glanced into the corridor as they walked past.
His footsteps light, Daladin stole over to the large safe. The number combination wouldn't be a problem, for he had overheard a conversation between Mohamed and his second-in-command regarding the vault.
The second lock, however, would require his highly-honed lock-picking skills. After punching in the required numbers, he withdrew a thin piece of metal from his pocket, and began the slow task of unlocking the safe. There! He felt a sudden tightness and knew that he had snagged something. With a certain guilty pleasure, he opened the vault, only to be greeted with a ear-piercingly loud beep.
"What was that?" "Where's the master?" "Who could it be?" "How…"
Numerous voices from the servants echoed down towards him. As he hurriedly stuffed the mesos into his many pockets, he turned around only to see a few servants shouting out and raising the alarm.
He barged directly towards the servants, trusting that they would dodge to either side. He was proved right. As their cowardly action saved them, it allowed Daladin to exit via the front door.
"Guards! Freeze now!"
A cold chill crept up his spine. It wasn't just fear, but was also due to the sandstorm's arrival. He entered the raging, howling storm and placed a wet cloth over his nose and mouth.
Time was running out. He knew the storm would sweep past and disappear in a matter of minutes. The guards would be waiting, and he would be caught. Talim would die.
That thought spurred him on again.
His innate sense of direction guided him on through the monstrous wind. As the sand pelted his partially-covered face, he forced his way towards the general direction of Nabaria's cul-de-sac. Soon, he reached the series of alleys, and with the confidence of one who has traversed these passages for countless times, he moved on towards the hideout.
Not long after, he reached the entrance, and entered the room under the watchful eyes of Nabaria's henchmen. Motioned to sit opposite Nabaria, he reluctantly planted himself upon the wooden stool.
"I presume you have the money."
"Yes. Now let my sister go."
Daladin emptied his pockets upon the wooden table, the coins clattering noisily upon it. Then, he waited patiently for his sister, face solemn, only belying the faintest trace of regret.
And a bang went off and he clutched his chest.
"I have no need for you now. There is no place for a traitorous dog here, or anywhere."
And an empty shell clattered to the ground
Daladin's mouth opened, as if to speak, but blood choked his throat, denying him his words.
And a strangled, tortured scream burst
He was somehow beyond pain, yet had full consciousness. Hovering between the clutches of life and death, his vision swam momentarily, bursting into a colourful myriad of colours.
And another shell emptied
Brought all the way here to die, a guilty traitor to everyone around him. Made use of and gotten rid of.
And a bloodstained table
But it seemed… but it seemed…
so unjust so unfair so
pointless a way to die…
-NEWSFLASH-
A boy and his sister were found murdered in an alley, shot to death by an unknown killer. Please do inform the Ariant Police if you do happen to notice any suspicious-looking people. We would appreciate all efforts to track down this mysterious killer with such a strange agenda.
Moving on the next headline-maker:
Mohamed's Lithium Refinery, a major business in town, has been closed down. This is not only because of a rising rival, but is, allegedly, due to a case of robbery. It is still unknown whether the thief was sent by the crashed company's opponent, or an isolated bandit. Once again, we would like the public to stay on your guard, and secure your valuables and possessions.
The owner of said company has turned upon his daughter in a fit of rage. Resa Mohamed, 13 years old, was stabbed in the heart by her father, who then committed suicide. We believe here at Arian Newscorp that pressure may have led him to commit such evil deeds.
That's all for our headlines today, be sure to watch out for more local events tomorrow. Thank you, and do have a good day ahead.
A/N: Firstly, I know the ending was pretty lame, but I didn't know how to close it properly.
Anyway, this fanfic was actually based upon some compo I had to write for school, just that the plot was horribly changed in the process. I really procrastinated for this one. I planned to finish this before Term 2 even ended, but now… D:
I was inactive from FF for god-knows-how-long, and I'm pretty glad I ended that inactivity. Do review, even though this fic is kinda weird and all.