Garland escorted me out. "I know you had nothing to do with the old man's state," he told me, apologetic. His large jaw muscles bulged out the side of his face. He shot a quick look at Agatha's place then turned to me. He was looking down, dejected. "His daughter in there seems to think the opposite. Why don't you take a walk, huh? I'll come find you if there are any news." 

I absentmindedly nodded. "What happened to him out there?" I found myself asking. "He didn't lose just a leg, he was hysterical." 

"It's that beast we fought," Garland said. "If it as much as breathes on you, your mind will wander in the depths of your soul. You'll start seeing things that aren't there – things you wanted to keep buried." He shuddered. "I'm sorry Darkstar, I don't think I can be of much help to you today. I'm afraid I must remain here until Agatha comes out with news." 

"I understand," I mumbled. "How do I reach the hunters' headquarters? I believe they accept guests into their common room." 

Garland nodded. "Take the first street to the left. You'll wind up in the market. Head straight from there till you reach a big, ugly statue, you can't miss it really. Just follow the towers from there on." 

I thanked the man for his useless advice then went on my way. In truth, I knew these slums like the back of my hand. Sam and I used to wander in the narrow, suffocating streets, playing hunters as we hid in the shadows or underneath carts. We were truly happy then, oblivious to life's real dangers. 

I took Namira Street and wound up in our favorite childhood spot. Namira street led to the only pseudo square in the slums. Every day before sunset, the uppity n.o.bles in the Financial District would grace us with the gift of water. In the desert, he who controls water controls the gold. 

For us lowly people, water was a luxury. We'd desperately wait for the time when the water gate would open. The old, cracked aqueducts in the slums would hiss as cold water finally pa.s.sed through them. It was dirty water to tell you the truth, remains of what the ladies and lords upstairs had after they washed their bodies of their filth. 

Women were the first to get there. They lay all the laundry for the day and got busy was.h.i.+ng as soon as the water flowed. Old men and the kids were next in line. We'd fill buckets and pour them over each other. The day's sweat and sticky dirt would wash away. Then the gates would close immediately after sunset, and we'd all be expecting the next day.

I sat in our favorite spot, a bundle of old clothes n.o.body ever cared to clear away. They were either too torn to be repaired, or they were so b.l.o.o.d.y that n.o.body dared claim they were yours. Apart from water shortage, our biggest fear in the slums was the Custodians. If they ever came down our way, it was either to kill, or bloodily arrest someone.

So n.o.body claimed those clothes. It became known that whoever wanted to get rid of something, they should throw it in the soft rock. A bundle of torn and b.l.o.o.d.y clothes and old junk had stayed out in the open, through the occasional rain and under the blazing sun, until it solidified. The soft rock, we used to call it. I chuckled as I heaved myself up and onto the rock. 

There was still no sign of the wraiths. I didn't think they'd forget about me. Only as time went by, I began wondering if I'd ever see that sliver of light again. I wished the wraiths would find me then. I'd face a thousand of them before I looked my sister in the eyes again. 

"Nice sword you got there mister," a squeaky, childish voice called out to me. 

I looked up, startled, and lo and behold, Sam Avourel was standing at the foot of the soft rock. He had one hand in his pocket as was his custom. His skin had darkened due to long exposure to the Kozagan sun. He had that all-knowing smirk on his face. G.o.ds, I hated when he did that. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be at home, like all the other kids?" 

"I'm not all the other kids," Sam defiantly replied. "Besides, you're the one in my place. What are you doing up there?" 

I scoffed. "I don't see your name on it," I said. 

"And I don't see yours either," he shot back. His eyeb.a.l.l.s were so clear they contrasted with his dark skin tone. "Wait a minute!" he gasped. "I know you. You're the one who hurt uncle Thibault!" 

He squeaked, a poor imitation of a warrior's cry. Then hurled his tiny body at me, hand outstretched in the air and brows heavily frowning. I kicked him in the nose as he approached. I was relieved I didn't break it, I'd become even more unpopular.

"Ow! What'd you do that for? Are you mad?" he asked, offended and a little scared. 

"Right back at ya," I said. "You're the one who tried to attack a man three times – no, four times your size. What did you expect, a tap on your shoulder?" 

"Are you a hunter too?" he asked, still rubbing his nose. He must have been seven or eight, I couldn't remember. Who would have thought this little devil capable of treason? 

"I'm not," I said. "I'm only pa.s.sing through." 

"Can I see your sword?" he asked. "Garland and the others would never let me touch theirs." 

I smiled at the boy although my heart wasn't in it. "Why the h.e.l.l not?!" 

"Really?!" he asked, eyes twinkling. His lips would have extended all the way back to his ears if they could. He immediately recollected himself and frowned. "You're not playing games with me like the others, are you?" 

I jumped down beside the boy. "Place your palms forward," I said. "If you're to hold a sword, you'd better learn to respect it." 

Oh how I wished to shove down his tiny throat right there and then. Would I be a child murderer then? Or would I be my family's savior? I couldn't decide just yet. The innocent boy who spoke to me right then and there had nothing to do with the future. 

Then again, it was him who sold us off. It was because I befriended him, learned to trust him as we grew up together. I held my sword tightly around the hilt as I looked at the boy. What to do?