"Can you stand up?
I do believe it's working, good
That'll keep you going through the show
Come on. It's time to go."

"Comfortably Numb" - Pink Floyd

22 August 1999
Stone Mountain, Georgia
Pine Lake Beach

Sunday for Jonathan Fairbanks was typically a divided day. Half of it was training time and the other half was play time. Since David Ashton observed Saturdays as a day of rest, Fairbanks did the same whenever he lived with the Minoan. However, while Ashton usually spent the whole of the next day working, Fairbanks was free to do as he wished.

Rising as his usual four-thirty like Ashton did, he completed a series of calisthenics and went for a twenty-five kilometer run. He followed this with several short and long sprints and then walked another three kilometers back to the house to cool down.

Throwing his sweat-drenched clothing into the laundry chute, he took a ten-minute shower, dressed in fresh, loose clothing, and relaxed for half an hour reading a nonfiction book he had borrowed from the public library a week ago. At nine fifteen, he met Bryce downstairs for a casual late breakfast. This morning he decided to change up his usual meal and have a large spinach and mushroom omelette, several pieces of duck bacon (there was no pork in Ashton's house), a banana, two pieces of buttered toast, a pitcher of filtered water, and a glass of mango juice.

How far I've strayed from the full English breakfast, he thought. That meal, which Fairbanks used to wolf down whenever he lived with a British family, typically consisted of two poached or scrambled eggs, grilled back bacon, one grilled sausage, hash browns, black pudding, mushrooms and tomatoes, two spoons of baked beans, and toast. Naturally, with David Ashton's mostly kosher way of eating, such fare was out of the question.

"Hey, Bryce, I'd like just a sandwich or something light for lunch, okay? I'm going to bike down to Pine Lake later on and hang out at the beach for a while."

"Bike down?" repeated McFarland. "That's quite a ride. Wouldn't you like for someone to drive you instead?"

"Nah, I can make it there in about ninety minutes. It will be a good way to loosen up for the water."

"Alright. I'll also fix a snack for you to have on your way back, then."

"Thanks, Bryce."

Fairbanks spent another half hour after breakfast with his book and then the next ninety minutes in the house's gym working on his various martial arts katas and sword techniques. When noon o'clock struck, he was again completely soaked with sweat. He debated whether to shower again or, since he was going to spend an hour and a half on a bike and just get sweaty again, just change clothes and let the swim cleanse him. He chose the shower. Fifteen minutes later, sunglasses over his brown eyes and a blue ball cap on his head, he was on his bike and munching on his reuben on rye sandwich, McFarland's bagged snack, two canteens of water, his cell phone, two towels, and his wakizashi in his backpack. A Walkman CD player set on repeat was nestled in an outer pocket of the pack with headphones running out and underneath his cap for entertainment. The soft rock melodies of Gil Ofarim, an artist Fairbanks had discovered two years before, played while he rode.

He arrived just before two in the afternoon. As he had expected, there were lots of other people in attendance, including, as he had hoped, lots of eye candy or, as their parents would have called them, teenage girls. Fairbanks dismounted his bike near the beach house and used a bike chain to lock it onto a nearby bar. Not really caring who saw him disrobe, he was a boy after all, he sat at a picnic table and shucked his denim shorts and t-shirt. He stowed them along with his shoes and socks in his pack, exchanging them for the towels. The cap and sunglasses, he kept, at least for now.

Fairbanks spread one of the towels out in a vacant spot and sat. For a while, he was content just to observe the scenery a bit, getting the feel of the place. He leaned back on his elbows and let his eyes roam around the beach, sometimes just staring out in front of him, sometimes following a comely girl walking this way or that. With his sunglasses on, no one could tell the difference.

"Wow! You don't have to work on a tan much, do you?" asked a nearby voice.

Fairbanks looked up to see a boy with shoulder-length blond hair of about thirteen smiling down at him. The boy was wearing a white and gold t-shirt and black, knee-length shorts. The child Immortal smiled back.

"Not really," he replied. He gestured across his torso. "I pretty much stay like this all the time. Sometimes I get a little darker, but that's all. I don't know what was in my bloodline somewhere in the past, but there you have it."

The boy's eyes widened upon hearing Fairbanks speak. "That's a cool accent you have. Where're you from?"

"England originally," said Fairbanks as he stood, but I've travelled around so much and learned so many languages that I have this crazy mutt of an accent. I'm Jonny, by the way." Fairbanks extended his hand.

"Tanner." The boy shook his hand.

"Oh, Tanner, sorry, buddy, I have to teach you how to shake hands. If my friend, David, ever met you, he'd deduct "good boy" points from you right away with a weak shake like that."

"Really?" The boy's smiled slackend a notch in concern. Jonny made a mental note. This one really cares what others think of him.

"Show me. Show me," said Tanner.

"Okay. Start by taking my hand with a good grip. Like this. Alright. That's good. Now, give it a good first shake and don't let go. Don't be afraid. It's not going to bite. Just one shake is good. Sometimes the guy will go for another, but usually not. Sometimes they'll hang on for another second or two and look into your eyes, too." Fairbanks took off his glasses and looked into the boy's blue eyes. "Like this. It's all a judge of character. You should always look into the person's eyes when you shake hands. Don't pull away, but when they let go, you let go. See? It's easy."

"Cool! Thanks. Can we try that one more time?"

"Sure. Hi, I'm Jonny Fairbanks."

"And I'm Tanner Doron." The boys shook hands again.

"Much better, Tanner. David would definitely give you "good boy" points for that shake."

"And what do "good boy" points mean to your friend?"

"It means he treats you like a normal boy rather than a little baby. After a while, he even stops treating you like a boy. You become a man in his eyes."

"That's cool. Is he here? Can I meet him?"

"No, he's not here. He lives about thirty minutes away by car, ninety or so by bike. That's how I got here today. You're welcome to come visit, though, if your parents agree."

"That would be awesome!"

"Are you making new friends already, Tanner?"

Both boys turned to behold two tall blonde girls in bikinis, one in red and one blue. Fairbanks slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes so he could take a better look at the two while hiding his lascivious. The two teens were obviously twins and spectacularly fit. Fairbanks assumed they were, aside from being naturally gifted physically, also high school athletes. He guessed their ages to be around sixteen. Based on Tanner's nonchalance around them rather than the usual teenage nervousness one would expect around such beauties, they were clearly his sisters.

"And cute new friends at that," said the girl in the blue bikini.

"Ah, can it, Trisha," blustered Tanner. "This is Jonny. Don't go hitting on him already. You just got here."

"Come on, little brother. Let a girl have a little fun," said the other sister, stepping over and putting an arm around her brother's shoulder. "She won't break him."

"Not you, too, Traci. Jeez. Can't we even have lunch before you two go touching up every boy you see?"

"Well," suggested Trisha, walking around behind Fairbanks and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Why don't you invite your new friend to lunch, too, and we can all enjoy his company."

Tanner rolled his eyes and looked over at Fairbanks. "Hungry?" he asked.

"I could eat something," agreed Fairbanks, covertly reaching back and patting Trisha once on the thigh. She grinned at his cheekiness and squeezed his shoulders. "A little snack would be nice."

Fairbanks met Tanner's parents, Theodore and Tabitha, whom he found to be completely, through and through, boring people. They were consummate yuppies and full of themselves, without any concept of the real world. He did not let this show in the slightest, however. Tanner, and perhaps his little brother, Timothy, Fairbanks thought, had a chance to become decent when they grew up. He accepted their food and company gratefully and put on a good face while he was with them, but only truly enjoyed talking with Tanner. Playing with nine-year old Timothy was fun, as well. The girls, while hot as hell, he had decided were at risk of growing up to become nothing more than mirror-images of how he sized up their mother - as he called them, "worthless sperm dumpsters in search of a sugar daddy to support them; only happy as long as they're pretty." At least that was his read on Tabitha. Traci was well on the road to the same destination. Trisha, by far the smarter of the twins by his judgment, could possibly escape that cookie cutter.

After forty-five long minutes of playing the good guest with the Dorons, Fairbanks suggested to Tanner that they hit the water. Tanner eagerly agreed and shed his t-shirt. Timothy wanted to accompany them but his parents told him to stay with them in the shallower water. He grudgingly stayed behind.

Fairbanks jogged over to his abandoned towel and dropped his cap and sunglasses on it. As an extra precaution, he removed the silver necklace he wore around his neck, as well. He looked at it briefly. Suspended from the thin chain was a ring David Ashton had given him nearly eight centuries ago, one originally worn by Ashton's younger brother, Thekris. Fairbanks rarely went without it. He certainly did not want to lose it in the water, though. He rolled the necklace and ring together and placed them underneath the towel on which he had been laying before dashing into the water. He quickly caught up to Tanner and the girls. Trisha, whom he had noticed had freckles on her nose while Traci did not, immediately pounced on him and tried to dunk him under the water. He twisted in her grasp and slid out of her arms, allowing a hand to not-so-innocently slide across her chest as he did so. She gave no reaction to his fondle other than a laugh. The others took it all in fun.

They continued with their horse play for half an hour before deciding to take a breather. Emerging from the water, they made way for Fairbanks' large towel and laid themselves across its breadth. Lying close to each other, there was just barely enough room for them. The proximity, maybe it was the skin-to-skin contact, for some reason, they found humorous and they found themselves breaking into laughter every half minute or so.

Fairbanks sat up on an elbow first and glanced about the beach. He walked his fingers slowly across Trisha's flat stomach, eliciting a giggle from the girl, then from her navel to her neck, making her sigh contentedly, before reaching across her and tapping Tanner on the arm. The boy opened his eyes and looked at him. Fairbanks pointed behind them. Tanner arched his neck to peer in that direction.

"Look," said Fairbanks. "That guy has set up a tightrope and is holding a competition. Let's join in."

Tanner grinned at first, but then said, "I've never walked a tightrope before."

"Come on," urged Fairbanks. "I'll show you how."

The four of them stood and joined the line of children and teens waiting their turn to try the tightrope. Fairbanks noticed there was one rope off to the side for practice which no one was using. He motioned for the others to follow.

"Okay, boy and girls, here's how you do it. When you're standing on the ground, as you see me doing right now," Fairbanks shifted his body to the left and right and then began to walk, "you can see that my center of gravity goes out to the sides when I move my feet." He shifted his feet in front of each other and slowly alternated one foot in front of the other. "But when you're on the rope, your balance is shifted directly over the rope and has to move forward, not side to side. You become infinitely aware of your balance. If it shifts too far to either side, you fall. If it stays in your center, you're fine."

"Sounds like karate," said Tanner.

"Kind of," replied Fairbanks. "The concept of constant balance is the same."

Traci piped in, "Tanner is a second degree black belt in Shorin-Ryu karate. He should be able to do this no problem, then."

Fairbanks eyes flashed at the blond boy. "Really? Well, let's see it, then. Hop up here, Tanner."

Tanner climbed up onto the supporting post and looked down at the rope with suspicion. He shifted his gaze back to Fairbanks.

"Should I put my feet longways or across the rope?"

"Whatever works for you. I do better going lengthwise and looking at my destination rather than trying to go sideways."

Tanner nodded and took a breath. He held out a trembling foot and brought it down slowly.

"That's it, Tanner. Nice and steady," encouraged Traci as his toes made contact with the rope.

"Shh," rebuked Fairbanks quietly. "Don't distract him." He watched the boy lower his weight with gentle patience, testing his balance the whole time. Fairbanks nodded. He felt a feathery touch along his back and looked to his side. Trisha was stroking his back rather than cheering her brother. Fairbanks let her continue and, when he saw that Traci's eyes were fixed on Tanner, began to reciprocate the girl's actions near the small of her back with his fingertips. She gave a slight shudder but made no sound.

Tanner had one foot fully on the rope and began to shift his other onto it. His body began to wobble. Fairbanks tensed. So did Trisha, but for a wholly different reason. Fairbanks' fingers were at the base of her spine and stroking upward. The boy Immortal glanced toward the teenage girl. She was flushed and slightly trembling. She was biting her lower lip, as well. She did not stop rubbing his back. Fairbanks returned his gaze to Tanner.

The blond boy had managed to regain control of himself and had his left foot beside his right, slowly moving it to the front. His eyes shifted constantly from the rope in front of him to the far post, using it as a balancing point. He held his arms out to his sides like wings. His lips were pressed tightly together in concentration. For a second, he almost forgot to breathe and wobbled again. He inhaled through his nose and let it out slowly through barely open lips. His left foot finally made contact with the rope and began to take some of his body weight. He allowed himself a small grin. He stood still, making sure of his balance.

"Okay," Tanner whispered to the others. "That was tough, but I think I've got mounting the rope down. Now I just have to start moving. Let's see if I can make three steps."

"Before you move," offered Fairbanks, "remember to keep your knees flexed slightly. Don't keep them locked or your balance will be shot and your legs will give out."

"Alright," answered Tanner with the slightest of nods. "Here goes."

At first, the boy did not move at all, only stood there swaying back and forth. Then his right foot shifted with glacial slowness off the rope and began to move forward. Traci audibly held her breath, clasping her hands under her chin. Trisha shuddered again and beads of sweat began to form on her brow. She licked her lips and bit her lower lip once more. Tanner's foot eased onto the rope and he paused. Traci began to breathe again.

It took Tanner a full minute to bring his left foot in front of his right. After doing so, he began to wobble again and had to lower his body by his knees in a fight for balance. He swayed to one side ever so slightly before righting himself. With an effort, he pushed himself back up to a full stand. Sweat was now pouring down his face. He took another breath and lifted his right foot. One more step. Then his left leg quivered and gave out. He toppled from the rope into the sand.

"Oh!" moaned Traci. "And you were doing so well."

"I'd say he did magnificently," said Fairbanks. "That was an incredible first time." His hand was now back at his side. "Who's next?"

"I'll try," volunteered Traci, stepping up to the post.

"Good," whispered Trisha. "I can barely breathe right now."

Fairbanks grinned but said nothing. He walked up to the post and waited for Traci to mount the rope. Tanner, sensing Fairbanks' intent, moved to the other side. Traci smiled down at them.

"Are you boys expecting that I'll fall off right away and trying to be heroic?"

"Just being prepared. You know, just in case," Fairbanks replied, flashing her his most charming smile in return. Traci laughed.

"Alright. Here I go."

Her confident smile faded as her foot extended over the rope. Fairbanks watched her intently, ready for the first sign of imbalance. So far, at least, she was fine. Her left foot came down on the rope and was supporting her weight. She began to shift her right. That was when it happened. Her body twisted in Tanner's direction and she plummeted downward.

She only had a meter or so to fall but she still gave out a little squeal as she did so. Tanner moved to his right to try catching her or, since she was three years older and twelve centimeters taller, at least keep her from toppling over. The fall was more like a long hop, but Traci still crashed into her brother and brought them both down to the sand, she on top of him.

"Ugh, get your boobs outta my face, Trace," sputtered Tanner, struggling beneath the giggling girl.

"One day you won't be complaining about when a girl does that, you know?" Traci reminded him with a mischievous grin.

"Maybe," Tanner grumbled, turning his head to the side, "but she won't be my sister."

"Oh, I don't know," whispered Fairbanks so only Trisha could hear. "I rather like the idea of putting my face in your sister's boobs."

Trisha giggled softly and pulled the boy closer to her so his cheek was firmly pressed against the side of her right breast. She kept him that way until her siblings regained their footing. Then, replacing her breast with a quick touch of her lips, she dashed to the post for her turn on the rope.

Trisha lasted just as long as her sister had only this time she fell toward Fairbanks. He had somewhat better luck in breaking her fall. It had nothing to do with differences in height since he and Tanner were essentially the same in that area, but in technique. Fairbanks did not stand in front of Trisha when her feet hit the ground. As she staggered forward, he put an arm high around her midsection and walked along with her at a fast backstep until she could manage herself.

"Thank you," said Trisha, putting a hand on his shoulder for support as she looked into his upturned face. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful brown eyes? They're like big puppy eyes." She stroked his black hair with her free hand as she spoke.

Fairbanks blinked once and smiled. "Today?" he said with even more of an air of mischief than Traci had earlier. "Only gorgeous bikini-clad blonde girls in distress. But if we're not careful the others will notice."

Trisha stuck out her bottom lip for the briefest of moments before nodding in agreement and dropping her hands. Fairbanks took a step back from her and looked to the other two. They did not appear to have noticed the exchange.

"So," he continued, "enough practice? Should we try the real thing?"

"Yeah, let's go," beamed Tanner.

They only had to take forty steps or so to get to the actual competition. By now, the line was considerably shorter. Fairbanks brought a hand up to his forehead in the classical facepalm as they approached.

"Oh, shit," he hissed. "I forgot."

"Forgot what?" asked Tanner, turning back to look at him.

Fairbanks pointed at the sign near the front of the line. "There's a five dollar entry fee for the competition." Fairbanks shrugged. "They have to pay for the prizes and the employees manning this thing somehow. Hold on. I'll be right back."

In less than a minute, he had dashed back to his bike and found it completely unmolested. He opened a hidden compartment in its side where he kept a bus pass, a spare passport (although it and the bus pass bore a different name than the one he currently used), a debit card, and fifty twenty-dollar bills. Pulling one note out of the stack, he stowed the rest back in the compartment and sealed it away again, making a mental note to replenish the cash when he got home. He ran back to the waiting teenagers.

"Here we go," Fairbanks announced upon his return. "We're good now."

"Wow! Thanks, Jonny," exclaimed Tanner, putting an arm around his friend's shoulder. "You didn't have to do that."

Mirroring Tanner's arm gesture, Fairbanks replied, "And that's why I did it. Gifts are fun exactly because you don't have to give them." Pulling the boy a little closer, Fairbanks whispered into his ear as they walked, "Besides, don't you want to see your sisters topple off that line a few times and watch those guys over there fall over themselves trying to catch them?"

Tanner put a hand to his mouth and giggled. "Oh, yeah. That will be funny."

"What will be funny?" asked Traci, turning around.

"Nothing," yelped Tanner, his arms dropping to his sides.

"Why don't I believe you?" Traci glanced to her sister. "What do you think?"

Trisha, standing by Traci and looking down at both boys, wiggled her nose in suspicion. "They do look like they're scheming something."

"Okay, you've broken me. I confess." Fairbanks spread his arms wide in surrender. "I was telling him how I was going to pull the ties on one of your tops while you were on the line and expose you to everyone."

Traci's eyes widened almost as much as her jaw dropped. Trisha smirked. "Which one of us?" Traci asked.

"I hadn't decided yet."

"Why, you little imp." Traci's shock was turning back into a grin now. "But you're still adorable. And, yes, that would have been funny."

Fairbanks stepped up to the twenty-something man at the front of the line and explained he was paying for the four of them. The man seemed far more interested in Traci's smile than the British boy's money. Fairbanks finally had to take the gawking gent by the wrist and gently tug to get his attention. Even then, the man gave him ten dollars change. Rolling his eyes, Fairbanks slipped the ten-dollar bill into the man's cash box while he was still gazing at Traci. He had no interest in petty larceny right now. He was here to have fun. Thirty meters away, unnoticed by Fairbanks, Glen Simonetti, the boy's Watcher, smiled and snapped another picture.

"Okay," said Fairbanks as he led the other three to the post. "Who wants to go first?"

"We still haven't seen you go, Jonny," stated Tanner with a grin. "Why don't you go first?"

Fairbanks chuckled. "Are you sure? I was thinking of going last. You know, so I don't embarrass you."

"Oh, honey," cooed Trisha. "Don't you worry about embarrassing us. Now you get your cute little behind on that rope."

"Hey, a lot of work goes into that butt," Fairbanks declared as he climbed the post. "You'd better appreciate it."

"Oh, believe me. I am," assured Trisha.

"Oh, God," groaned Tanner. Traci giggled and patted her brother's shoulder.

"I presume only those who make it all the way across are considered for the prize," stated Fairbanks to the judge next to him.

"That's right. So far," he indicated the far post, "we've had a lot of kids try, some of them several times, but only two have made it all the way."

Fairbanks looked at the other post. He saw two children maybe a year younger than Tanner. Something about them made him think they were siblings. Maybe it was the similar shade of brown hair. Seeing the boy's t-shirt, he had an idea. He waved at the boy to get his attention and then to bring him over. With a quizzical expression on his face, the boy approached.

"Hi," Fairbanks said when the boy was within a comfortable speaking distance. "Would you mind if I borrowed your t-shirt for a minute or two?"

The boy grinned up at him. "What for?"

"You'll see. I think you'll like it."

Still grinning, the boy shrugged and pulled the shirt over his head. He handed it up to Fairbanks.

"Thanks," said the child Immortal, taking the shirt and rolling it up. He then wrapped the fabric around his eyes.

"You're going to do it blindfolded?" asked Tanner.

"No way!" breathed the now shirtless younger boy beside him.

"Sure," said Fairbanks, standing up straight. "Look at the line. It's ten meters long and it's not even rope like you guys were using for practice. It's flat five-centimeter wide tension straps like you'd use to tie down cargo on a truck. Now, the big question," he held one foot out and touched the strap, "is just how much tension is in the strap. That will make all the difference in the world." He grinned. "Oh, yeah. No problem."

Fairbanks began to move down the line. To the observers, it probably looked very much like more of a slow walk. He was, in fact, being extremely careful, especially as he neared the center of the line. He had simply done this sort of thing many times before so it looked far easier than it actually was. Each step was actually its own little experiment in the shifting of balance, readjusting a completely mental image of his location on the line, and finding the line in front of him. In truth, even without the myriad of other distractions that could have been there - like a handful of burning coals at one point in his history, this was quite a test in concentration, even when only crossing a ten meter span.

The tension on the line increased slightly as Fairbanks neared the far post. Even without his mental idea of his position, he knew he was close to the termination point simply from the sudden silence of those around him. He eased his left foot down and allowed his weight to settle onto the line. He felt his toe just barely graze the far post as it came down. Recalling the dimensions of the beginning post, he knew there would be just enough room for his feet if they were perfectly positioned. This meant the hardest part of his little trick would be the dismount, at least in appearance. He had done that before, too, of course.

Swinging his right foot around in front of him, he positioned it on top of the post and pushed up, taking as much of his body weight as he could onto it. This took virtually all the weight off of his left foot and he simply lifted it off the line and put it on top of his right. He paused there for two seconds. Whipping the borrowed shirt off his eyes, Jonny Fairbanks then jumped off the post and landed in the sand on both feet. All the people around him, from children to adults, even the judges, applauded him. He bowed, gave everyone a huge grin and a wave, returned the shirt to the wide-eyed boy who'd loaned it to him, and returned to his friends.

"That was incredible," gushed Tanner. Unable to resist himself in his enthusiasm, he bounded over to Fairbanks and clamped his arms around him. The grinning Englishboy made no attempt to impede him - in fact, he enjoyed hugs - and returned it just as happily. Tanner's sisters each did the same, Trisha a little longer and with a bit more pressing into her chest than Traci.

"Okay, I take back the part about being embarrassed," Trisha admitted, smiling. "There's no way I can beat that."

Fairbanks patted her arm. "Just make it across the line and you'll be fine."

"Want to go next, Trish?" asked Traci.

"Sure. Just don't expect me to be as cool as Jonny was."

"Oh, no. That was truly stupendous," said Tanner. "I don't think any of us could do that if we tried a hundred times."

Fairbanks laughed. "Try a thousand times and it will be easy. Well, easier."

Tanner gawked. "You've done that a thousand times?"

Fairbanks held out a hand, palm down, and wiggled it. "More or less."

"How do you have time for all of that?" he asked.

"I'm home schooled," Fairbanks replied. "I also spend a lot of time with exercise and martial arts. That friend of mine, David, believes in an all-around education, body and mind."

"So that's why you're such a hottie," Trisha called out from atop the post.

"Don't worry about my body," laughed Fairbanks. "Pay attention to yours while you're up there." Leaning back to whisper to Tanner, he added, "Everyone else is." Tanner giggled.

Trisha stepped out and placed a foot on the line. Her expression indicated her surprise at the simplicity of balancing on this line compared to the rope. It took her only thirty seconds to have both feet off the post. With both arms extended, she began to slowly traverse the narrow strip. She had clearly paid attention during Fairbanks' attempt and slowed herself as she neared the center where it began to noticeably bow. With small, persistent steps, she continued to move toward the far post.

She stopped two meters from it, her growing exhaustion becoming apparent, but did not tarry long. She focused her eyes on the far post, now only centimeters from it, and extended a foot. Trish placed her foot onto post and leaned forward. Too far. The overcorrection cost her and she fell from the post into the sand. The crowd around her let out its pent up breath and a groan of disappointment. A slow clap of approval for her effort then followed as she slowly stood.

Traci mounted the post next without prompting. Like her sister, all the hormone-charged males in the audience fixed their eyes upon her. She started well, making her way to the middle of the line slowly but with good balance. She frowned as the line sagged, though.

"It's okay, Trace," said Trisha softly. "Just keep going, slow and steady."

Traci nodded and eased a foot around. The line swayed as she placed it in front of her. She leaned into it and waited for the swaying to stop. Now she was overbalanced to the front and had to fight to correct herself, slowly raising herself back up. The crowd breathed along with her as she sighed in relief. She placed another foot in front of her. It was slightly off to the side and it slipped off the line as she put her weight onto it. She toppled to the right and fell off the line. There was another audible groan from the audience and more clapping.

"It's all on you now, Tanner. Do us proud," said Trisha, running her hand along her brother's back for encouragement.

Tanner nodded and took a deep breath. He mounted the post and stood there for several long seconds, taking survey of the obstacle. Fairbanks stood near him.

"Take a close look," he said to the boy. "It's flat and a little wider than the rope was. It's even a slight bit tighter in its tension. As you saw, you just have to watch out for that sag in the middle. You can do this."

"Okay," replied Tanner, nodding again. He took another breath and patted his chest lightly. Closing his eyes for one more breath, he opened them and looked back at the line. He extended a foot, placing it carefully on the fabric. Before placing any weight on the foot, he just felt it, getting used to the sensation, his head cocked to the side like a puppy. He spread his arms and leaned forward slowly. The line took his weight easily.

Tanner swung his left foot around to his front and set it on the line. He realized his movement was a little too fast as he wobbled. He froze. He flexed his knees slightly and waited. The line steadied. He moved again, another foot forward. Then another. Two more steps and he was at the center. Like Trisha and Fairbanks, he took smaller steps to get out of the danger zone. He had only three meters of line left to go once he was clear of the sag. Another slow, but slightly longer step forward. He wobbled again and swayed to his left to correct it. Just enough. He stood and took another stop. Two more would bring him to the post.

Deciding to be more careful now, Tanner took smaller steps, placing them almost heel to toe. This doubled the number of steps he needed but still brought him safely to the post. He eyed it carefully. His right foot was behind his left. He swung it around with infinite patience, finally touching the flat wood after ten seconds. He pressed carefully upon it to take weight off the line and stepped up, setting his other foot next to the other. He paused in place and smiled. The crowd erupted in applause like it had for Fairbanks. With a whoop of triumph, Tanner jumped off the post.

"That was awesome, little brother," crowed Trisha as he returned to the group to receive hugs from all around.

"It sure was," agreed Fairbanks, "especially for a first try."

"That was your first time doing this?" asked one of the judges.

"Yes, sir," admitted Tanner. "Jonny showed me how to do it on the practice line over there a few minutes ago, but that's all."

"Well," said the man to his assistant. "I think it's time to declare the winners, then. That's the end of the line and our time is about up anyway." He motioned for Tanner and Fairbanks to step forward. With a glance at his clipboard, he lifted a hand toward one of the other nearby children.

"Not me," declared Fairbanks, shaking his head. "I just did it for fun."

The judge's jaw dropped. "Are you sure? But you paid admission and had the best crossing of them all."

"Yep. I'm fine with it." Fairbanks grinned up at the man.

Nodding his head, the judge motioned to his assistant as he replied, "Well, at least let us give you a t-shirt, then."

"Now, that, I will accept. Thanks."

The judges quickly took the names of Tanner, the brown-haired boy, and his sister. They then announced the winners of the competition: Tanner, the girl, and then the boy for third place. As prizes, they each received a t-shirt, a certificate, and twenty-five, twenty, and ten dollars, respectively. Tanner was beaming.

"That was incredible. Thank you, Jonny. I never would have done this on my own."

"Neither would we," admitted Traci. "It was so much fun."

Watching the two younger siblings run up to their exuberant parents, Tanner turned to his sisters. "We have to tell Mom and Dad about this." Without waiting for their reply, he bounded off toward the picnic table they had used earlier. Traci laughed and jogged after him.

Trisha glanced down at Fairbanks, a grin on her face. "I guess we should go after them."

"I suppose so," the boy Immortal agreed.

It took the two teens a few minutes longer to catch up to Tanner than it did Traci. It was long enough to arrange a clandestine rendezvous elsewhere once Trisha had established the pretext of lusting after another boy. Theodore and Tabitha were visibly proud of their son's achievement and showered thanks on Fairbanks for prodding him into attempting it. Timothy was also proud of his big brother but also expressed his wish that he could have tried it himself. Traci mussed the boy's hair and hugged him, instead. He pretended to sulk but soon smiled at the affection. Fairbanks then thanked the Dorons for allowing him to spend time with them and said that, with it nearing six o'clock, he needed to be heading home. He made a point of getting Tanner's phone number and reemphasizing the invitation for the boy to come visit anytime. The Dorons waved him off and Fairbanks gathered his things. He was on his bike and out of sight minutes later.

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Fairbanks did not actually leave Pine Lake until well over an hour after he left the picnic table. He did, after all, have an appointment with a blonde bombshell to keep. Rubbing his shoulder as he rode home, he let the memory of that pleasant interlude wash over him. Their playtime with each other had riled the girl up considerably beforehand. So much, in fact, that during her third climactic high, she had bitten his shoulder hard enough to almost draw blood. The wound had long since healed, of course, but the memory was still there. Fairbanks grinned. It had been a good day. He had been able to get in some decent play time, meet a possible new friend, and seduce a hot girl. Oh, and he had food in his bag to top it off.

Since he was riding along a flat piece of road, he swung the pack around and unzipped it. Reaching inside while steering with his knees, he fished out the Tupperware container McFarland had given him before he had left. He was pleased to see that the chef had predicted he might try to eat while biking and had prepared accordingly. It was a chicken sandwich on wheat bread with mustard. Nice and simple. Holding the sandwich in his mouth, Fairbanks zipped up the pack and put his arms back through the straps. He had already slipped one of the canteens into the holder on the handlebars. He was good to go now.

As he ate, he found himself thinking about Tanner. He did want the boy to come visit sometime and to meet David Ashton. There was certainly a great deal he could learn from the Minoan which would benefit him.

Maybe Timothy, too. Hell, it would be good for David, too, for that matter. He's such a workaholic and having kids in the house gives him an excuse to take a break. Well, I do a lot of that myself, but other kids help, too.

As far as helping either of them, David would be able to teach them more knowledge and skills in a weekend, all in the form of play, than they could ever learn from school or those boring parents of theirs. That's what he did with me when I first met him. I never even knew I was learning anything useful, at first. I thought it was all in fun. But before the fun was so much hell…

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Author's Note: The German used here is modern German, not the dialect that would have existed at the time this scene took place. The same is true for the Arabic.

The Middle English, though very similar to German, is a bit different.

22 September 1212
Algiers, Algeria
Palace of the warlord, Mahmoud Rahme

The seven starving boys shivered in their cell, clutching their ragged clothing, and each other, close to them for warmth. Steam rose from their shivering bodies and they tried to huddle even closer. One of the younger boys, barely eleven by now, his eyes red from crying though he had no more tears left, looked despairingly at his blond cellmate.

"Was ist mit uns passiert, Nikolas? Wie hat Gott das geschehen lassen?" (What happened to us, Nikolas? How did God let this happen?)

The blond boy, two years older than the crying boy, smiled despite his misery. He spoke German, the only language the boys had in common. "Hab Vertrauen, Hammond. Das ist nicht von Gott. Das ist der Teufel. Gott wird in unserem Namen eingreifen. Er wird uns retten." (Have faith. This is not of God. This is the Devil. God will intervene on our behalf. He will save us.)

The other boys nodded. How could it not be true? Didn't Scripture speak of the Lord saving those who believed in Him exactly when they were at their worst? Well, this was certainly it, at least for the seven of them.

They had begun as a force of thousands, perhaps even twenty thousand, spellbound by the story Nikolas had told of a vision of retaking the holy land of Palestine. Not by force, it was said, but by converting the Muslims there to Christianity, and not with an army of knights, but an army of children. Convinced of this truth, children from all around joined Nikolas and began to march en route to Genoa, Italy. Along the way Nikolas promised they would find either transportation to Palestine or a miraculous parting of the waters of the Mediterranean. During the journey, the children were constantly attacked - and many were killed or kidnapped - by marauders and slave merchants. Desertion became commonplace. Sleeping in huddled piles as they traversed the hazardous passes of the Alps, untold numbers of German youngsters became casualties of the weather - falling asleep never to wake again - or plummeted down the mountain sides as they walked the narrow paths. Finally, upon reaching Genoa, the five thousand remaining children found they had no transportation at all. The waters had not parted for them to pass. Disillusioned, many reluctantly began the arduous return march back to their homes - less than a third of their original number ever returned home. A few accepted residence in Genoa or, lost, settled somewhere along the way back home..

Seven of the remaining children, one of them, the dark-haired one, being particularly skilled with languages and also quite charismatic, talked a sailor into taking them to Palestine. Their enthusiasm restored, they set sail a week after arriving in Genoa, still fervent in their belief that their faith could conquer all. As the African coast came into view, the boys soon realized they had not been taken to Palestine but to Algiers. The full nature of their betrayal did not become clear until they were dragged from the boat and promptly sold to a Muslim slave master.

Life instantly became immeasurably cruel for the young crusaders. They were subjected to endless derision as infidels, the Arabic words, "'Ayn hdha al'ilh lak alana?" (Where is this mighty God of yours now?) being burned forever into their memories. Two weeks of this treatment had driven the boys to the brink. Now shadows of their former selves, they rocked slowly, repeating what had become a ritual for each of them. As a rejection of the Arabic names they had been given, they chanted their Christian names to themselves like a mantra.

One of the boys, a dark-haired, emaciated child of fourteen, though he appeared younger now, spoke softly in his native tongue, that of English, though to the others, it sounded much like their own native German. "Ich bien Jonatan Cristofre Fayrebancs. Ich bien nought Yahya. Ich bien Jonatan Cristofre Fayrebancs." (I am Jonatan Cristofre Fayrebancs. I am not Yahya. I am Jonatan Cristofre Fayrebancs.)

Ten minutes into their chanting, the boys stopped to pray together. Nikolas led them, beseeching God for salvation from their predicament. He had only been whispering his prayer for a few seconds when keys jingled in the cell door. The boys broke apart and, still on their knees, eyed the door as it was pushed open. Were they bringing food? Water? Or more torment?

Their captor - he would call himself their master - Mahmoud Rahme stepped through the doorway. In passable German, Rahme spoke to his prisoners. "Haben meine Sklaven schon ihre Lektion gelernt? Wirst du dem einen wahren Gott gestehen und dass Muhammad sein Prophet ist?" (Have my slaves learned their lesson yet? Will you confess to the one true God and that Muhammad is his Prophet?) Rahme stood, his hands on his hips, and awaited an answer.

Slowly, Nikolas tried to stand on shaky legs. He lacked the strength. Jonatan patted his shoulder and stood for him. Looking into the eyes of each boy, he received the answer he expected. He turned to glare into Rahme's dark face with, starving or not, fire in his eyes.

"Noch nie. Es gibt nur einen Gott und sein Name ist Jahwe, nicht Allah." (Never. There is only one God and his name is Yahweh, not Allah.)

Rahme's hands dropped to his sides, the shock of the boy's blasphemous statement apparent. His face darkened further with rage. His eyes flickered to the other children.

"Spricht dieser Junge auch für Sie alle?" (Does this boy speak for all of you, as well?)

"Ja, tut er," (Yes, he does,) said Nikolas immediately.

"Ja," (Yes,) agreed the other boys down the line, even Hammond.

His face reddening all the more, Rahme turned away and motioned for his guards. He stormed out without a word. The room was soon filled with large men. They each seized a child and dragged each of them, kicking and struggling, from the cell.

Rahme led them up a flight of stairs and into the courtyard of his palace. The guards threw the boys down to the ground. The children rose to their knees and covered their eyes. They had not seen sunlight in a fortnight. Before them was a large fountain spewing water high into the sky. The sight of it made the ache of their thirst worsen. Rahme stood between it and them. He addressed the boys with his arms spread wide.

"Sie wurden hierher gebracht und mir als Sklaven verkauft. Ich habe dir Freiheit durch den Islam angeboten, wenn du dich nur dem Islam unterwerfen würdest. Jetzt gebe ich dir durch meine Barmherzigkeit und die Barmherzigkeit des allmächtigen Allah diese letzte Chance. Trotz der Gotteslästerung, die Ihr Freund ausgesprochen hat, erlaube ich Ihnen, von diesem Brunnen zu trinken, wenn Sie gestehen, dass Allah der einzig wahre Gott und Mohammed sein Prophet ist. Sie werden dann keine Sklaven mehr sein, sondern freie Jungen im Dienst Allahs. Sprechen Sie jetzt, jeder von Ihnen." (You were brought here and sold to me as slaves. I have offered you freedom through Islam, if you would only submit to it. Now, through my mercy and the mercy of almighty Allah, I give you this one last chance. Despite the blasphemy spoken by your friend, if you confess that Allah is the one true God and Muhammad is his Prophet, I will allow you to drink from this fountain. You will then no longer be slaves but free boys in the service of Allah. Speak now, each of you.)

Rahme paused to let his words sink in. After thirty seconds, he approached Emil, the first boy in the line. Emil's eyes were downcast. Using the weighted end of his walking stick, Rahme tilted the boy's head up by the chin. "Sprechen," (Speak,) he ordered.

Emil gulped once, his eyes going to the flowing waters and the locking onto Rahme. He then firmly said, "Nein." (No.)

Rahme removed his stick from the boy's chin and moved on to Luka. "Nein." Nikolas was next. His answer was the same. Next came Hammond. The boy looked hungrily at the water for a few brief seconds before turning his eyes up to Rahme and giving the same answer as the others. Rahme continued down the line until he reached Jonatan. He received another negative reply.

Nodding, Rahme placed the end of his stick on Jonatan's shoulder. "Lays hdha wahid," (Not this one,) he said to the men behind the boys.

Wondering what had just been said, Jonatan glanced up at Rahme. "Was? Was ist los?" (What? What is happening?) he demanded.

Rahme's order became all too clear in seconds. Six men moved forward behind the other boys rapidly, each seizing a child under the arms and lifting him bodily from the ground. They began to walk toward the fountain.

As the men proceeded, Rahme bellowed to them, "Ich werde dir trotzdem was zu trinken geben. Seht, wie barmherzig ich bin." (I will give you a drink anyway. See how merciful I am.) The man's sizable belly shook with laughter.

"Nein!" (No!) begged Jonatan, rising to unsteady feet and taking Rahme's sleeve.

Rahme glared at his slave, his eyes dark. "Jetzt gestehen. Und sie leben." (Confess now. And they live.)

"Nein," (No,) screamed Nikolas. "Tu es nicht. Je." (Don't do it. Ever.)

Jonatan never heard another word from him or the other boys. The guards submerged half of their bodies into the fountain and held them there. Jonatan slumped back to his knees, sobbing, screaming, his enraged eyes transfixed on the kicking legs of his crusader compatriots…until they kicked no more.

"'Aeadah 'iilaa zinzanatih," (Take him back to his cell,) muttered Rahme, giving the crying boy a kick before walking away. "Ramy alakharin ealaa alhawiati." (Throw the others over the cliff.)

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02 October 1212
Algiers, Algeria
Palace of the warlord, Mamoud Rahme

The crude stone floor cut his bare legs and feet as Rahme dragged him across them. All the while he fought tenaciously, pleaded fervently, trying in vain to escape the tortures he knew awaited him. As his master threw him roughly to the floor and spoke to the blacksmith in Arabic, the young Christian raised himself painfully to his knees, bringing tentative fingers to his bleeding brow, the result of his latest resistance to Rahme's attempts to convert him to Islam. The infuriated man had thrown a dagger at him in his rage, the keen edge of the blade digging cruelly into his flesh above the left eye. All the starving boy saw was his own blood on his face, his hands, his arms, his ragged clothes. Surely, he was already dying. It would be a blessed relief after the hell he had already lived.

Rahme's blacksmith nodded to his master and began stroking his fire. He took something from his master's hand, grasping it in a set of long tongs. Jonatan could not see what the object was; the smith's massive back was to him. Rahme grinned malevolently at the boy. Jonatan, too weak to move, stared at the fire, his eyes wide with fear. The smith nodded at his master and reached for the tongs. Rahme touched his arm, speaking softly and gesturing toward Jonatan. With another nod, the large man waved to an assistant and then, with only a few steps, stood behind the boy. Placing powerful arms around his waist and right arm, the smith immobilized Jonatan with little effort. The wiry assistant grinned evilly as he knelt beside the tiny slave. He had seen this before...and enjoyed watching it. Taking the boy's left wrist roughly, he placed the hand palm up on a nearby anvil; his other hand keeping the child's fingers flat against the black metal. Chuckling to himself as the boy suddenly realized what was about to happen and began to struggle, to plead, the assistant pressed down harder on the outstretched digits, grinding them into the anvil. A knuckle snapped beneath the pressure, eliciting a yelping sob from the youth's lips.

Back at the smith's fire, Rahme took hold of the tongs and lifted them from the flame. Between the clamps, a small golden coin rested. The Arab slave master approached his stubborn captive, sadistic glee on his face. As he held the coin over Jonatan's helpless palm, he looked the boy in the eye. "Nun, junger Ungläubiger, wirst du die Hitze von Allahs Zorn spüren. die Strafe für Ihre Hartnäckigkeit." (Now, young infidel, you will feel the heat of Allah's wrath; the punishment for your stubbornness.)

With those words, he dropped the coin. The sizzle of burning flesh mingled with the maniacal laughter of three men and the white-hot screeching of a terrified boy. They released him after endless moments, allowing him to crumple to the floor in a moaning heap, cradling his mutilated hand.

The screaming child raised his hand, examining it as closely as his tear-filled eyes would allow. He could make out the impression of Satan's coin quite clearly, its damning markings burned forever into his palm. So deep was the impression that one versed in Arabic script could read the inscriptions on the coin. There were even tiny markings on a few of the pads of his fingertips where his fingers had involuntarily closed over the top over the coin. Jonatan shut his eyes again, fighting back the tears. His bleeding, moaning body twitched in agony on the floor.

The blacksmith's assistant took hold of him, pressing him down on his stomach as the larger man tore his threadbare clothing from his emaciated frame. Jonatan could smell Rahme's breath as the slave master laughingly and viciously raped his infidel property. Both of the other men then took their turns with the boy, as well; all three of them turning deaf ears to his pleas for mercy which would never come.

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12 October 1212
Algiers, Algeria
Palace of the warlord, Mamoud Rahme

Jonatan awoke to the sound of keys in the lock. He had lost track of the days but he desperately hoped it was the third - or was it the fourth - day when they typically gave him some manner of gruel to eat. Anything to alleviate the painful gnawing in his stomach.

Or it may have been a result from all of the rapes. That seemed to be Rahme's and the guards' favorite activity now. Rahme had given the men free access to the obstinate Christian boy in the hopes the constant abuse might break him. Though weak, he fought them every time. So much sometimes that they had to bring in others to hold him down.

Now, nude, freezing, and starving, Jonatan struggled to his feet and awaited what was to come through the door. It swung open slowly to reveal Rahme, a beaming smile on the man's fat face. He stepped into the cell and put his hands on his hips. He laughed at the boy in front of him.

"Heute ist ein guter Tag, kleine Ungläubige. Sie werden uns heute Morgen alle freuen," (Today is a good day, little infidel. You are going to pleasure all of us this morning,) he bellowed.

Jonatan frowned in confusion. Uns? (Us?) he thought. He soon got the answer to his barely formed question as nine other men entered the cell behind Rahme. From their manner of dress, they were not the typical rabbel with whom he had been shared before. Rahme began to speak in Arabic. Jonatan assumed he was explaining who he was to the men. They all grinned as they admired his slim form.

"Der Meister zuerst," (The master first,) declared Rahme, stepping forward and taking Jonatan's arm. Jonatan kicked at the man's shin, but the attack was evaded with a laugh. The boy was thrown to the floor and pinned by Rahme's body. Jonatan sobbed.

"Nein!" (No!)

Rahme ignored him. So did the other nine men as they each took their turns with him. Between some of the attacks came beatings, the most severe he could recall. Some of the men even went at him a second or a third time. All Jonatan knew was the pain and violation seemed to last for hours. When it finally ended, he was left bleeding and crying on the floor. Ten chuckling men stood over him.

Rahme spat at the boy, the saliva landing on Jonatan's neck. He followed up with a kick to Jonatan's ribs.

"Aufstehen," (Get up,) Rahme demanded. Jonatan slowly drew himself up to his knees. Rahme slapped him across the face. "Aufstehen," he repeated. The boy raised himself on weakened legs. Blood dripped down his slender legs, pooling on the stone floor.

Rahme turned to the other men and spoke at length in Arabic. Jonatan could only make out snatches of what he said, but he thought he could make out the basics of it. Based on the smiles and nods from the others, the man was going to demand a confession again.

Finally, Rahme faced Jonatan again, smiled, and began to speak in a kind voice. He spoke in German, as usual. "Nun, junger Ungläubiger, sicherlich haben Sie zu diesem Zeitpunkt den Fehler Ihrer Wege gesehen. Bekenne jetzt, dass es nur einen Gott gibt, dass sein Name Allah ist und dass sein einziger wahrer Prophet Mohammed ist, und all dies wird enden. Wir können einen Gläubigen nicht so behandeln. Dies ist nur das Leben der Ungläubigen, wie sie es verdienen, denn sie sind nur ein Hab und Gut im Vergleich zu den Gläubigen in den Augen Allahs. Also, gestehe jetzt und dein Schmerz wird enden. Komm jetzt als Gläubiger zu mir." (Now, young infidel, surely by this point you have seen the error of your ways. Confess now that there is only one God, that his name is Allah, and that his one true Prophet is Muhammad, and all this will end. We cannot treat a believer in such a way. Such is only the life of infidels, as they deserve, for they are but chattel compared to believers in the eyes of Allah. So, confess now and your pain will end. Come to me now, as a believer.)

Jonatan swayed on his weak limbs, not sure how much longer he could stand. He could feel blood oozing from practically everywhere on his body. His hair was caked with it. His right eye was swollen shut. He was fairly certain his left arm was broken below the elbow. His head and rectum were on fire. One of the men had even twisted his testicles so hard he thought they might no longer be there. He did not look down to check.

Jonatan squinted with his one working eye, looking to his left. He wasn't quite sure of it, but he thought he saw a kindly, bearded man in simple robes standing next to him. The man was smiling at him and resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Jonatan felt new strength surge through him. With great effort, he straightened himself and looked into Rahme's eyes. The boy smiled at his captor. Rahme smiled back, thinking he had finally broken his Christian slave.

"Noch nie," (Never,) uttered Jonatan through his swollen lips.

Rahme was incensed. "Du wirst es immer noch nicht glauben?" (Still you will not believe?) he screeched, lashing out with his walking stick. The weighted end of it smashed into Jonatan's left temple with a loud crack. The boy collapsed without fanfare. His body twitched once, twice, and was still.

Turning away in fury, Rahme motioned to a guard. "Ramiuh ealaa alhawiati. Daeah yandam 'iilaa 'asdiqayih." (Throw him over the cliff. Let him join his friends.)

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13 October 1212
Algiers, Algeria

Jonatan awoke again at the base of the cliff beneath Rahme's house. His confusion was paramount. How was he still alive? Or was he? The sight of vultures circling overhead indicated he might not be. He sat up slowly, the pain in his head still blaring. He put his left hand to his temple automatically, willing the pain to decrease.

He started, eyeing the limb. Hadn't it been broken earlier? He flexed his fingers. There was no pain there. He ran his right hand along the forearm. Still no pain. The arm had healed overnight. Feeling a bit self-conscious even though no one was around to see him do it, he reached back and felt his rectum and then his testicles. Nothing seemed torn or out of place. He was still crusted in his own blood and had sand all over him, but he seemed to be fine otherwise. He tilted his head up to peer at the cliff face above him. It was at least a two hundred meter drop. The boy grinned. This must be the work of God himself. What other reason could there be? How else could he have healed from all these horrible wounds and survived such a fall?

Laughing to himself, Jonatan stood shakily and made his way to the nearby surf. He doused himself in the water, washing away the filth of blood and other nasty fluids that permeated his body. He desperately wanted to drink from the water around him but knew that would only lead to greater thirst. His father had taught him about sailors making such mistakes.

Scrubbing his hair, he noticed the smell of bread as well as sea salt in the air. He stood in the waist-deep water and looked around. There was a village of mud-brick homes further up the coast, just barely visible from where he stood. Despite the Biblical injunction against it, he wondered if he could sneak into the place and steal some food. He was ravenous. His hunger, in fact, seemed tenfold what it had been when he was in his cell. Jonatan glanced down at his naked body and laughed again. Perhaps he should consider finding some clothes, as well.

Once he was satisfied with his bath, Jonatan made his way toward the village. He used the outcroppings of rocks for concealment as best he could along the way. They did not bring him very far. There was still a two hundred meter expanse of open ground he had to cover before he could even reach the first of the huts, let alone any of them that might have food. And what if one of the villagers saw him? What would they do to him then? He sat next to the rocks and thought. Should he wait until night fell? Could he wait that long? How long had it been since he had last eaten? From the grumbling in his stomach, he knew it had been many days.

A sound chilled Jonatan's bones. It was one that normally would have delighted him, except today. The laughter of other children. Placing his hands on the rocks above him, Jonatan eased his head up to peer over them. He dropped down quickly. Two boys were running in his direction.

"Sard!" (the Middle English equivalent of fuck), cursed Jonatan, squeezing himself into as small a form as he could among the stones.

One of the boys came bounding over the rocks mere heartbeats later. He immediately turned to call out to his friend, a bright smile on his face. The child's eyes, as if drawn there, fell instantly upon Jonatan. His smile faded only slightly as he discerned the terrified boy before him. He shouted out to his friend.

"Faysal , adhhab bieida. Hunak kawbirana huna." (Feisal, go away. There is a cobra here.)

Jonatan stared inquisitively at the young boy as he heard a squeal of fear just behind him and the sound of another child running away. The boy before him, who appeared to be about nine years old, smiled at him. He wore a long, slender, one-piece grey cotton shirt with long sleeves, to Jonatan it almost looked like a dress, that hung almost to his ankles. The garment, strangely, had pockets at the hips as if it were designed to be pants, as well. He also wore a short, rounded grey skullcap.

"'IIinah bikhayra. 'Anah yakhaf min althaeabina," (It's okay. He's afraid of snakes,) assured the child. He stepped closer. "La tukhf. Tueal 'iilaa huna. Ln 'awdhik. 'Iinaa Hani." (Don't be afraid. Come here. I won't hurt you. I'm Hani.) The boy held out his hand as he climbed the rocks.

Jonatan had learned far more Arabic than he had let on while he had been a prisoner. In fact, he had always had a penchant for picking up languages quickly. While Hani's words were fast and there were a few which Jonatan did not understand, he could make out most of what the boy had said. He took the boy's hand and slowly stood.

"'Iinaa Junatanin," (I am Jonatan,) he said by way of introduction.

"'Ayn hi malabisak?" (Where are your clothes?) Hani asked him innocently. He looked at Jonatan as if there was no shame in the act, just a curiosity.

"Lays laday 'ay," (I don't have any,) Jonatan replied simply.

Hani clicked his tongue twice. Jonatan took the sound to be the Arabic equivalent of a "tut tut."

Nodding, Hani said, "Thuma sa'ahsul ealaa bed laka. Hal 'ant juean?" (Then I will get some for you. Are you hungry?)

Jonatan nodded. "Na'am. Lilghayat. Lkn la yumkinuni alsamah li'ayi shakhs biruyati." (Yes. Very. But I cannot let anyone see me.)

Hani smiled again and patted Jonatan's arm. "La tuqaliq. Aintazar huna." (Don't worry. Wait here.)

"Shukraan," (Thank you,) said Jonatan, slipping back into his stony hiding place. Hani smiled again and scampered off on his sandaled feet.

Hani returned an hour later clutching a bundle under one arm and a pair of sandals in his other hand. His usual smile was still affixed to his lips. It may have even grown. He explained to Jonatan, twice since Jonatan had to ask him to slow down, that he had come back by way of a more circuitous route in order to avoid detection. He had brought back a thawb, which Jonatan learned was the name of the long shirt Hani wore, a taqiyah, the skullcap Hani wore, and alnaeal - sandals. In addition to those items, he had brought a shemagh cloth which Jonatan could wrap around his face, if he chose. Hani even offered to show him how to wrap it properly so it would appear normal to those in the village.

"Ln tahtajaha," (You won't need it,) assured Hani. "Bishartik muzlimatin. Sawf takun bikhayrin." (Your skin is dark. You will be fine.)

Jonatan looked at his arm. He grinned. He had always had a darker skin tone than others in his native England. Even when he and his parents had moved to Germany, with its slightly more diverse ethnicities, he had stood out for being as dark as he was. Now it would be useful. He was not as brown as Hani but he was nowhere near as pale as an Englishman. Just during his time as Rahme's prisoner, he had noticed a variety of skin tones. He nodded to Hani. He should be okay.

He put on the clothes. They felt odd but it was still nice to be wearing anything at all. The thawb was loose on his slim body, but Hani said it was supposed to be that way to let the air flow. It was a hot country, after all. The taqiyah was just the slightest bit tight on his head. He smiled. A haircut would take care of that. The sandals were a perfect fit. As a finale, Jonatan simply wrapped the shemagh once around his neck like he had seen some other men do. He stood for Hani's assessment. The boy smiled again.

"'Ant jayd." (You are good.) Hopping up from the sand and dusting off his backside, Hani grabbed Jonatan's hand and said, "Saena nahsul ealaa bed altaeam." (Let's get you some food.)

Hesitating, Jonatan asked, "'Iilaa 'ayn nahn dhahibun?" (Where are we going?)

Hani grinned again and pulled at his hand. "'Iilaa manzali. La tuqaliq." (To my house. Don't worry.)

They took the route Hani had used to approach the second time. It did take quite a bit more time than crossing the open ground, but it made Jonatan feel much better. Once they did enter the village, Jonatan realized his concerns were mostly unfounded. Dressed as he was and with a happily chattering Hani holding his hand, no one gave him a second glance.

Hani pulled him to a two-room mud brick home. They stopped to remove their sandals before entering. Once inside, Hani called out to his mother and father that he was home. Jonatan noted, thankfully, that he did not announce that he had brought company. A woman appeared first. Her face turned from exuberant over the return of her son to quizzical regarding her new guest.

"Sabahu al-khair," (Good morning,) she said politely. Since Jonatan was a child rather than an adult, she did not greet him with the more formal, "Alsalam ealaykum," (Peace be upon you,) like she would adult Muslims.

Hani immediately chirped back a rapid explanation of who Jonatan was. "Umi, qabalat hdha alsabia bijiwar almuhiti. Lm yakun ladayh mulabis wahu jayie lilghaya. Hal yumkinuna musaeadatah?" (Momma, I met this boy by the ocean. He had no clothes and he is very hungry. Can we help him?)

Hani's mother's face contorted in concern, partially for the state of the hungry boy, but also something else. She asked Hani where Jonatan got his clothes. Hani told her he got them from the neighbor boy, Ajmal. Hani assured her that Ajmal had given Hani the clothes. They were not stolen. Jonatan wondered how much Hani had told this boy, Ajmal, in order to obtain the clothes. Goosebumps sprouted all over his body as he listened. Perhaps sensing Jonatan's concern, Hani looked up at him and squeezed his hand.

"La tuqaliq. 'Ajmal ln yukhbir 'ahadanaan." (Don't worry. Ajmal won't tell anyone.)

A slender man entered the room, wiping his hands on a cloth. Hani repeated his tale for the man. Jonatan was beginning to feel like an object on display. The man listened to the entire account before simply asking his guest's name.

""'Iinaa Junatanin, sayidi almuhtaram." (I am Jonatan, sir.)

The man waved his hand at the formality. "'Atasil bi Hamid." (Call me Hamid.) He gestured to his wife. "Hadha hu 'Uwma." (This is Oma.) Indicating the pillows around the perimeter of the house, he added, "'Ajlis latafa." (Please sit.)

At this, Oma smiled and said she was already preparing lunch. She would let them know when it was ready. She left the room as Hamid sat against a side wall. Jonatan did the same; Hani plopped down next to him and took his hand again. Hamid regarded his youthful guest with a kind eye. After a brief silence, he spoke.

"'Ant last min huna. Hadathani ean nafsik." (You are not from here. Tell me about yourself.)

Jonatan blushed. He was not sure if his knowledge of the language would permit him to tell the full story of how he, an English child of Catholic missionaries in a German town, wound up sitting in an Arab's home. He apologized for this up front. Hamid smiled and asked him to try. Over the next twenty minutes, in his best pidgin Arabic, Jonatan informed Hamid and Hani of his travels over the last months. He kept the parts about his imprisonment with Rahme toned down for the sake of Hani. He could tell, though, from Hamid's expression that the man was completely familiar with the warlord's habits.

"Laqad faeal hdha li." (He did this to me.) Jonatan held out the palm of his left hand for the two of them to see. Hani gasped in horror at the sight.

"Rahmi hu hathalatun," (Rahme is scum,) uttered Hamid, his face reddening as he spit on the floor. "Radi Allah eanha." (May Allah damn him.)

Oma called to say it was time to eat. Jonatan made to move but noticed that only Hamid moved. Hani gripped Jonatan's hand and indicated he, as the guest, should sit. Hamid brought a small table from against the wall and set it in the middle of the room. He then gathered pillows and laid them around the table. Oma entered and began setting bowls and small plates on the table. Jonatan just watched. In minutes, there was vegetable and meat stew, a plate stacked high with some sort of round flat bread, and a bowl of something he couldn't identify. There was also a carafe of some kind of dark beverage as well as small cups next to each plate. Hamid called the boys to the table.

Jonatan sat and eyed each dish curiously. He also watched the family's pre-meal routine with interest. They held a prayer before their meal just like Christians did. He watched how they ate and imitated them, noticing that they only ate with their right hands. They also did not look at each other very often while eating.

Jonatan apologized for his lack of knowledge about the dishes, but Oma encouraged him to ask questions. The small steamed, gelatinous balls were called couscous. The hot drink she called chai and suggested drinking it with a lot of sugar. Jonatan had not tasted sugar before and found he enjoyed it immensely. The flatbread was called Khubz-ftir. Jonatan cleared his plate and asked if it was permissible to have more. Oma laughed and insisted that he eat until he was satisfied.

After the meal, Jonatan felt much better but somewhat apologetic for eating as much as he had. He expressed this to Hamid and Oma. He was sure they were a poor family, though he did not say this, and most likely could not afford to have fed him like that. Both of them waved him off with a smile and laughed, saying they were glad, as hosts, to have been able to do so.

Later, Hamid sat on stools with Jonatan behind the house with another small glass of sweetened chai each and, in slow Arabic, asked what he wanted to do next. Hani no longer wanted to play games inside and had gone to bed. Jonatan knew he could speak freer now. He looked at the older man and spoke truthfully. He wanted to go home. Hamid nodded, saying it was only natural. He then wondered how that could come to pass. Jonatan nodded and sipped his chai.

After a moment of silence, Hamid spoke. He had a friend who was the captain of a cargo ship which often went north. Hamid didn't know where the ships landed, though. It was a start, at least, Hamid thought. He said he would ask his friend, Ahmed, about obtaining passage for Jonatan on the ship. Jonatan expressed his concerns immediately. He had been betrayed once before by sailors. He did not want to face that possibility again. Hamid guaranteed him that neither Hamid nor anyone else on the crew were that type of man. He trusted Ahmed with his life, would trust him with Hani's life. Jonatan could do the same.