As promised, Scar is going to show up in this chapter. However, he will be introduced by his "real" name, the version I created for Sons of the Desert.

Chapter 2

I slumped against the edge of the fountain. I had wandered into a quiet area of South Kanda. It was close to noon by now, and not that many people were out. I scooped a handful of water and sucked it painfully into my mouth, spitting it back into the fountain where the blood mingled and dissipated. I could just make out my reflection in the rippling surface of the water, and it wasn't a pleasant sight.

I had been dragged off my bed about an hour ago. I don't mean figuratively. A hand grabbed my leg and yanked me out. I was only barely awake enough to keep my face from bouncing off the floor. I had waited up until late for my dad to come home so we could get it over with, but I fell asleep before he showed up. I'd have thought he'd be too hung over the next morning to bother, but he must have gotten started with a hair of the dog.

He grabbed a handful of my shirt and hauled me to my feet, pulling my face close to his. Sure enough, the booze was on his breath.

"You miserable little turd!" he hissed. "Your little trick cost me and Vashto! How many times have I fucking told you, when we're working, you don't talk, you don't step out of line, you don't fucking think unless I tell you!" He shoved me back on the bed. "The place cleared out pretty damn quick after that. Vashto lost a shitload of business, and he's probably gonna lose more! All because you don't have a piss ant's morsel of sense in that skull of yours!"

I jumped back onto my feet and spread my hands. "Dad, I'm sorry! When that bluecoat grabbed Katri—"

"You let me take care of Katri!" he bellowed back. "You let me take care of the bluecoats and the Ishvalans, quality or otherwise! Why do you think I tell you shit like that? Because I know you're gonna do something stupid!"

Maybe he needed to for his own reasons, but I didn't think he needed to be yelling that loud. "Calm down, Dad!" I begged. "I'll go back into town and I'll play and I'll work it off! I swear I will!"

"Oh, that's just great!" my dad drawled mockingly. "We'll all be old men before that happens!"

It was one thing to insult my intelligence. I'll admit what I did was dumb. It was another thing entirely to insult my talent. Now I was actually angry. "Get stuffed!" I shot back. "You just watch me! I'll pay Vashto back five times what he needs in less than a week! I'm good, and you know it!"

"Oh, please! It doesn't matter how damn good you think you are!" my dad sneered. "You're a dirty little desert rat! You'll always be a dirty little desert rat, and you're gonna die a dirty little desert rat! Just like me!"

"I am not gonna die a dirty little desert rat!" I cried back defiantly. "I'm gonna get the hell out of this shithole someday!"

My father laughed harshly. "Sure you are!"

"I am! And I'm gonna take Katri with me!" I think I realized what having your blood boil meant. It made you stupid. "I'd take you with me, too, but you're nothing but a stinkin' drunk!"

He gave me a hard shove. "You're a lousy little good for nothing piece o' shit!"

"Don't shove me!" I cried, shoving him back hard enough to get a look of surprise out of him. It gave me a burst of confidence, which ended up being a really bad thing. "Look at you!" I flung my arms out in a desperate gesture. "You think Mom woulda wanted you to turn out like this?"

I don't think I'd ever seen anything as scary as my dad's face at that moment. His features grew a mottled brick red and his eyes seemed to burn in their sockets. He'd hit me before, but usually only once and never as hard as he did just now. I'd never made him this mad before. I tried to fight back, but that only made him madder. He landed blow after blow and I just couldn't keep up. When he clipped my cheekbone with a stool he had thrown, I figured it was time to put some distance between us before I fell down and couldn't get back up.

I could see my purple, swollen eye. I could make out the dark line of the gash on my cheek, too. I cautiously splashed a little water on it, but that hurt like hell. I stood there for a moment, looking at the reflection of the kid with the messed up face, then I slapped the palm of my hand down on the surface of the water. I turned away and slouched down in the shadow of the fountain and pressed my hands against my forehead, only to find a lump rising there, too.

I stared at the ground and my vision started to blur. I couldn't live like this anymore, but I felt helpless to do anything about it. Tears started running down my face, stinging the hell out of my cuts. I sealed my lips against a sob, but it burst out, and then I couldn't stop crying. I wanted my mom. I wanted my dad. Not the one who had just beaten the crap out of me. The one who had put a lute into my hands and got me so excited about learning his craft. The one with the quick, wry smile. All my cuts, lumps, and bruises didn't hurt half as much as the pain in my heart.

"What's wrong? What happened to you?"

My head jerked up with a start. I had closed myself to the world around me and its intrusion came as a shock. I was able to open one eye. Crouching in front of me was a young man, older than me, maybe eighteen, maybe nineteen. He considered me with an intense, solemn gaze that I would have found a little disconcerting at the best of times. He had strong, angular features, and he smelled clean. When I got over my initial surprise, I felt embarrassed. I dragged my sleeve across my nose.

"I'm okay," I mumbled, hoping he would go away. He didn't.

"You look far from okay," he replied, a little drily. His voice was surprisingly deep. "Do you need help?"

I got stiffly to my feet and turned away from him. I splashed more water on my face. "I can handle it."

He had risen along with me. His shadow fell longer than mine. "That's a deep cut on your face. You should see a doctor."

That was a ridiculous notion. "I don't have any money."

"That doesn't matter. I can take care of that."

"Look," I said without turning around. My lip was swollen and talking was becoming an effort. "I don't know you from Ishvala's ass so how about you piss off and leave me alone."

He didn't reply at first. I thought perhaps I had offended him enough to make him leave, which was my intention. But then he said, rather matter-of-factly, "I have committed myself to God and to a life of prayer and charitable works. If I ever hear you blaspheme like that again, I'll smack you harder than whoever smacked you first."

I slowly looked over my shoulder and considered him a little more carefully. He was bigger than me, so I was pretty sure that if he wanted to, he could easily carry out his threat. Not surprisingly, his clothes were better than mine. Not just clean, but high quality. Maybe even linen. And of course, he wore a chuva, the striped sash, over his shoulder and around his waist. It was one of those things that made Ishvalans stand out. I didn't have one, which was a sign that my parents weren't married, which made me stand out even more. Then I recalled what he had said.

"So…you're a priest?" I asked warily.

He gave a slight inclination of his head. "I'm currently in my novitiate, which I'll complete in another year and a half."

I nodded. He might as well have been from another world, his life was so different from mine. "Well, good luck with that."

He seemed to accept my mild sarcasm with a good grace. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Dejan," I replied. He watched me, waiting for me to add my family name. I didn't have one. "Just Dejan."

"I am Andakar Ruhad."

Well, that was a mouthful. "Nice to meet you," I mumbled.

He eyed my swollen face critically. "Who did this to you?"

I hesitated. I was ashamed, but I wasn't a liar. "My dad."

He looked shocked, but then he didn't know my dad. Then he looked at me not so much with pity, but with a kind of understanding, which was kind of funny, considering how his father was probably a prominent member of society and a great guy. Maybe it was because of how he found me bawling. Maybe it was the defeat in my voice when I answered him. "I'm sorry," he said.

I shrugged. "Nothing you can do about it."

"That depends," Andakar replied. "Let me take you to get that cut looked at."

"Look, that's real decent, but I don't—"

"Dejan!" he said with sudden firmness. "Pride is an illusion which you can neither eat nor drink. Charity, however, is a gift to both the receiver and the giver."

That was just a little too much to take in at the moment. "Huh?"

Andakar laughed and put his hand on my shoulder, steering me away from the fountain. "Come on!"

I let him lead me along the streets of Kanda, heading further north. We elicited a few odd looks from passersby, this tall, broad-shouldered young aristocrat and this reedy, bloody, battered, bruised nobody. I felt severely out of place beside him, but he didn't seem to feel the same way about me. People greeted him with respect as they walked by. I was impressed.

We were walking along a row of shops, and Andakar slowed down. Among the people walking toward us was a man who looked to be in his early twenties. He wore glasses and had a bunch of books under one arm.

"Mattas!" Andakar called to him.

The other man grinned as they stopped in the street. "Hey, little brother!" He glanced at me. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Dejan," Andakar replied. "I'm taking him to the temple physician."

Whoa. I didn't realize that.

Mattas looked at me questioningly, but I didn't quite feel like telling everybody in Ishval my life story.

"He's had a little misfortune," Andakar said simply.

Mattas just nodded, accepting the explanation without much effort. "Well, I hope fortune is a little kinder to you, Dejan."

"Uh…thanks."

"Look what I managed to find!" Mattas pulled out one of his books and handed it to Andakar. "A Xingese lexicon!"

Andakar opened up the book and turned a few pages. I couldn't read Ishvalan or Amestrian, let alone Xingese. "Challenging," Andakar remarked, handing the book back.

"My kind of challenge," Mattas said, tucking it back under his arm. "Mother was wondering when you'd be by."

Andakar shrugged. "I don't know for certain. It depends on what tasks are set for me. I answer to Saahad Bozidar and he answers to Saahad Logue."

"In other words, the priests have you novices doing all their donkey work," Mattas remarked with an impish half grin.

"It's part of the learning process," Andakar replied calmly.

"Right. Well, I won't keep you. You probably want to get your friend patched up before he bleeds to death."

I didn't think that was likely, but it was decent of him to remember that I was standing there.

Mattas grabbed his brother in a quick hug. "Seriously. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't, Brother," Andakar assured him.

They parted and we continued on our way. "Do you have any siblings?" Andakar asked me.

"No," I said. Katri didn't count, and I didn't want to go into an explanation right now. My face was starting to stiffen up.

Andakar seemed to sense my discomfort. "We're nearly there," he said.

True to his word, in a few more minutes we stopped at the gate of a small domed temple. This wasn't the Great Temple that stood in the middle of Ishval. That would have been a hell of a long walk. This was a lesser temple that served this area, Andakar explained to me as we walked along a colonnade. Lesser it might be; I was certainly impressed.

Andakar stopped at an open door and knocked on the doorframe. "Saahad Uvar? May I enter?"

"Yes, yes. Come in!"

Andakar motioned me inside, and we stepped into a room lined with shelves crammed from floor to ceiling with books and jars and bottles. Despite this, it was tidy and clean and I felt embarrassed being there, grubby as I was. There was a low table in the middle of the room and at this sat an older man with glasses perched on the end of his nose. There was a fat book opened on the table in front of him, and he looked up from it as we entered. He smiled.

"Young Andakar! It's a pleasure to see you!"

"The pleasure is mine, Saahad." Andakar knelt down and brought the old man's hand to his forehead. "May I ask a favor of you?"

The old man peered over his glasses at me where I hung back by the door. "Hmm. Yes." He pushed himself to his feet and beckoned to me. "Come here, my boy."

I moved closer to him, and he stood in front of me. He gazed critically at my face for a moment, then took my chin and turned my head to frown at the gash on my cheek. "Been brawling, have you?"

"No…Saahad," I replied. "Not exactly."

"Well, someone did this to you. These wounds were not self-inflicted." The old man frowned and spoke in a quiet, grave voice. "The soldiers had no hand in this?"

Not directly. "No, Saahad." I glanced at Andakar, who remained silent, for which I was grateful.

"Hmm. Well, if you are unwilling to tell me, I suppose it is of no consequence." He took another look at my cheek. "Hmm. Yes. That will need a few stitches. But first we'll need to clean it out properly." He pointed to a tall stool over by a window. "Sit down there."

I sat down, my stomach starting to turn the moment he said stitches. Master Uvar went over to his shelves and gathered up a number of things from them, handing some of them to Andakar. Then they came over to me.

Uvar set a wad of white cloth, a little ceramic dish, and a little leather case down on a nearby table. He went off to wash his hands in a big bowl on a stand in the corner, then came back and opened the leather case. He took out a spool of thread and a needle. I swallowed. He clipped off a length of thread, poked it through the eye of the needle, then laid it into the little bowl. He took a large bottle of clear liquid that Andakar was holding and poured some of it into the bowl.

"Hold that basin under his chin," Uvar said quietly to Andakar, who tucked the edge of a metal basin under my jaw. He tilted my head a little to one side and said, "This might sting."

I jumped about a foot off the stool as he poured the liquid from the bottle over my cheek. The aw, fuck that I shrieked rang through the temple precincts.

Uvar just tutted at me with mild disapproval. "Don't be such a baby."

This went on for a lot longer than I felt it needed to, the searing, burning liquid sluicing through my wound and dripping into the basin, mixed with my blood. Then Uvar set the bottle down and picked up the needle and thread. He turned back and regarded me sternly. "Now, you're going to have to stop squirming. I don't want to poke you in the eye."

I stared at the needle in his hand. "You know, I think I'm good—"

"Don't be ridiculous." Uvar leaned closer to me and I backed away, nearly falling off the stool. He straightened up with an annoyed look and turned to Andakar. "You'll have to hold him."

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Andakar set the basin on the floor and moved around behind me. He gripped my chin in one hand and clamped down on the top of my head with the other hand. And here I was thinking what a decent fellow he was.

Uvar leaned in again, "Just close your eyes," he suggested. He didn't have to tell me twice.

I felt a sharp stab on my cheek and I could feel the thread being pulled through my skin. Gritting my teeth and whimpering, I braced myself hard against Andakar as he held my head in an iron grip. After what seemed like an eternity of torment, Uvar finally clipped off the last bit of thread and stepped back. He sloshed a little more of the liquid over my cheek, but by this time I figured the worst of it was over. I cracked open one eye to see him frowning appraisingly at his handiwork.

"Hmm…" he mused, apparently satisfied. Then he picked up a small square of a mirror and handed it to me. "What do you think?"

I'm not sure he really wanted me to tell him that at the moment, but I took a look at myself. It was a little startling at first, but I had to admit, it was neatly done.

"You'll be left with a small scar," Uvar said. "But perhaps it will serve as a lesson to you."

"Yeah, to keep my mouth shut, I guess," I muttered to myself.

Uvar raised an eyebrow. "The bruising will fade eventually." He said. He clasped his hands behind his back and regarded me thoughtfully. "Are you sure there isn't something you'd like to tell me? Something that's troubling you?" I hesitated, and he added, "Where are your parents? Do they know you're here?"

I didn't think I had shown that much of a reaction, but maybe Uvar was a lot more attentive to the pain in people's faces than I thought he was. He frowned slightly and looked over my head at Andakar where he stood behind me, but he apparently got little to no response. He shrugged and went over to the table to gather up his stuff.

"Come back in about two weeks so I can remove those stitches," he said. "In the meantime, keep that wound clean. And try to avoid any further damage to yourself."

I was all for that, but it might be something of an effort. But now something else was troubling me. "Saahad, I probably should have told you up front, but I…uh…can't pay you. Not yet, anyway." I was already in hock to Vashto.

Uvar looked at me with some surprise. "I was under the impression that Andakar brought you as an act of charity. Is this not the case?" He gave Andakar a questioning glance.

"Yes, Saahad," he replied.

I sighed. "I can't do that," I said. "Call it pride if you want, but I can't accept your charity. I can't do it right away, but I'll pay you back."

Uvar nodded slowly. He took off his glasses and polished them with the edge of his tunic. "Very well, young man, if you insist." He put his glasses on and smiled. "Andakar will have to accumulate his works of mercy elsewhere."

My cut still throbbed, but it was already starting to dull. I was kind of tempted to touch it, I was so impressed with Uvar's needlework. But he'd warned me about getting it dirty, and it was probably the cleanest part of my body.

"You really don't have to pay the temple," Andakar said. I wasn't sure if he was disappointed. Maybe he just didn't get it.

"You don't know my dad," I replied. "He refuses to be beholden to anybody, and he doesn't trust anyone offering charity. We're not beggars," I added. I had my pride, too.

"I never said you were." Andakar considered me. "Will your father be angry with you for this?"

"You mean, will he split my face open again?" I shrugged. "Depends on what kind of mood he's in when I get back."

Andakar made a slight nod. "Then I'm going with you."

I froze. "Oh, shit, no, Andakar! That'd be a real bad idea!"

"Why?"

"Because my dad, he doesn't…he doesn't like people like you! He doesn't like priests, he doesn't like the quality—"

"Quality?" Andakar gave a smirk.

"Well, look at you!" I gestured to the fine fabric of his clothing. "Then look at me."

"Quality comes from within." Andakar spread his arms. "A man can dress as immaculately as he likes. He can dress in spotless white, but his soul can be a black pit." He held me in a frank gaze. "When I look at you, I see quality."

Well, that took me a minute. "Uh…that's…that's a really grand thing to say," I murmured.

"And no one's ever said that to you before, have they?"

I gave a self-conscious shrug. "Not exactly."

"Your father needs to see it in you, too," Andakar said. He started moving, beckoning me with a jerk of his head. "Come on. Show me where you live."

Oh, dear God, I thought. This would not end well.