Birthrights - 2. Chapter 2

13 Years Later...

The boy awoke once again to the sound of metal grinding against metal. It was the same way he had woken up for as long as he could remember. He was, however, somewhat annoyed by it this morning, as he had once again dreamed about them. Although he truthfully had no real memories of them, and he had no pictures to confirm his beliefs, he somehow knew that he had once again seen his parents. He couldn’t explain how he knew; it was just a feeling he had. And whenever the dream ended, he could feel a dull ache creep up to his heart, like a old wound that would flare up every so often.

He looked down at his right hand to see the tattoo, now slightly glowing, as it did every so often and usually at the worst possible times. The Almoran crest had been banned years ago and anyone caught even drawing it was subject to be punished by years of imprisonment. He had asked about it once. But Thatcher just got a serious look on his face and told him it was given to him by his parents, who were probably trying to make a statement after Voran had taken over.

“It’s a cruel thing to do to a child, if you ask me, especially when you know what kind of trouble it could get ‘em into.”

Thatcher had longed for years to tell the boy the truth, but he had made a promise and it was one he intended to keep, and deep down inside he knew it was still for the best that the boy not know until he was old enough and the time was right. The problem with this was knowing when that would be. So he continued on, day after day with their normal routine, feeling that when the time came it would present itself.

His eyes still slightly heavy with sleep, he crawled his way out of bed and got dressed. He stood there for a moment looking in the mirror that hung on the door of his room. He was considered by most to be small for his age, at least compared to many of the other kids he had seen. He was about five feet tall and around ninety three pounds last time he had actually bothered to weigh himself. On top of his head sat a short mess of light brown hair, just another plain feature of his. In fact everything about him could be described as completely ordinary except for his eyes, which never failed to get him attention, whether it was wanted or not. And of course the tattoo, which he had done his best to hide. He looked in the mirror just a second longer. His left eye was a beautiful deep shade of azure blue while his right eye was a bright and clear emerald color. Often people would stop and tell him how much they reminded them of the earth and the sky, a comparison that often annoyed him more than anything.

Now feeling more awake, he got himself dressed and headed down the stairs. About three steps from the bottom of the stairwell, he could hear Thatcher humming to himself methodically as he worked away tinkering with a small bot engine he had been trying to repair for a week. The boy knew he would be more than distracted enough for him to sneak out the front of the shop without the man noticing. Thatcher got this way every time a new job came up for him. Over the years he had gained quite a reputation for being one of the best repairman in the theatre district, which had, since Voran's takeover, become the poorest part of the city.

The boy took the last three steps as quietly as possible, hoping to avoid any unnecessary noise. ‘Just a few steps farther...’ he thought to himself, as the front door was now within sight. He looked over to see Thatcher still at his workbench, removing a chain from the motor and looking over each link to make sure they were all in order. And with this slight distraction, he took the opportunity to take the final steps between him and the door. He had done it! He had reached his target! With a feeling of joy at his small victory, he smiled and grabbed the door handle.

“Before you leave, Milo, I need you to deliver a few letters for me, and let Mr. Harrison know that his Motorcycle is ready to be picked up.”

Milo looked over in disbelief! Thatcher hadn’t even taken his eyes off of the chain that was still in his hands, yet somehow he still got caught.

“How did you see me?” he asked perplexed. He had made absolutely sure that Thatcher wasn’t looking when he made his move, and he demanded to know how it was that his master plan was foiled yet again.

“Don’t need to see ya. Hehehe,” he chuckled to himself. “I suppose I just got years of practice.” He nodded towards the canvas messenger bag hanging by the door. Reluctantly Milo slumped his way over and took the bag. He slung it over his shoulder and now, disappointed at his failed escape, headed for the door. He barely got it open when, once again, Thatcher called out from his desk.

“Milo, ain’t you forgetting something?” he said, holding up a leather work glove. Looking down at his hand and remembering the mark, he quickly retrieved it and slipped it over his right hand. He got only a few steps when he heard Thatcher clear his throat in an obvious attempt to get his attention.

“Oh sorry,” Milo said, as he ran over and wrapped his arms around the man’s thick neck.

“All right, all right, you go on and get outta here before I find more work to be done, and remember, keep outta trouble,” he said, shooting a very serious look at the boy. Heeding his warning, Milo made his way out of the shop and into the busy street.

Once out on the street he figured it best to wait until later to make his deliveries. He was already late and had more important things to attend to. He began running down the street when he heard a low rumbling sounding in the distance and getting closer. He had heard this many times before and although most people took no real notice to it and just continued on their way, Milo, who would feel his heart give a slight jump every time, would still stop to look up at the sky. He had become very adept at listening to the sound of the engine. With only the sound he could tell how big or small and fast it was moving and in which direction. With this talent he began to play a game with himself. He would try and identify what kind of aircraft it was by the sound of the engine, and see if he could guess it before it came into sight.

‘Small single engine, so it’s not an Airship.’ This news caused a small sadness to come over him. He had longed to see an airship in real life. From the roof of his house he had seen the Voranian Airships come into the port, but it was so far away that he could barely make out the flags on them. His dream was to see one up close. He grew up hearing Thatcher’s stories about how massive they were and how people would just stop in the streets and watch as they came in. It was like a flying castle, casting a shadow over entire city blocks. And for so long, Milo had longed to see something that amazing. But after Voran had taken over he banned any and all public use of airships. Just one more way to ensure those who are here are stuck here. So he would have to continue watching the Voran Sky Navy ships from afar.

'It’s moving way too slow and in the wrong direction to be a fighter craft. It has to be a messenger.' These were the most common engines he heard and had for a moment considered checking to see if his answer was true. But as he went to take his eyes off the sky, it appeared just over the tops of some buildings heading in a direct line for the castle. ‘Its flag is different,’ Milo thought to himself. Rather than having the black flag with the golden phoenix on it, it instead bore a bright blue flag with a silver lion’s head embroider onto it. Beneath it a sword and a rifle where crossed. Milo had seen these flags only in books before. He could hear a few people on the streets stop and point up at it; they had now noticed the difference as well.

“What on earth would an Evalin messenger be doing here?” an old man said, stopping dead in the middle of the street. For once Milo didn’t feel like the only fool who was looking. The crowd watched as, after a few moments, it disappeared just as fast as it had appeared.

While the people began to return to their normal daily routines Milo continued to stare for a few minutes longer. His mouth left slightly open as he went over in his head every possible reason Evalin would be contacting Voran.

Before he had a chance to form another scenario, he felt two hands clasp themselves over his eyes. His first reaction was to yank them down from his vision, but as soon as his hands reached their targets he felt soft lips press themselves against his neck, and a smile was brought to his lips.

“Tell me, what’s so interesting up there today? Especially when there is so much more happening down here?” he heard the voice belonging to the hands speak up.

“Lots of things really, for one, the view up there is way better,” he said, leaning his head to one side as the lips gave another kiss on the now-exposed portion. The hands, however, remained over his eyes, still not allowing him to see.

“What if it were me you were looking at. Would you still think so then?” Milo's captor awaited a response only to find him stroking his chin as if he were thinking about the answer. “Well don’t take too long to figure it out,” he said, removing his hands from over Milo's eyes.

“Well now that I can see again, I’m definitely going to have say I prefer watching you, Lucas,” Milo said, giving a slight grin to his boyfriend. Lucas was a tall thin boy with a mess of curly blond hair and with dark forest green eyes that had a true gentleness to them. He was the kind of person who would just instantly make you feel at ease and comfortable, regardless of the situation. It was one of the things that drew Milo to him more than anything.

“You’re late. You we suppose to meet me a half hour ago. Remember?” he said as he reached out and playfully tapped the side of Milo’s head. Lucas was about year older than Milo making him around 14 or so. He wasn’t fully sure, as he had been dropped off on the door step of an orphanage a few days after Voran's takeover. As best as anyone could guess, his parents were killed and he was found later. For the greater part of his childhood, he would be moved from one home to another until around his 11^th birthday he grew tired of it and ran away to find his own path in life. Now he spent most of his nights sleeping in different abandon buildings throughout the city, and made most of his money for food utilizing the one skill he had picked up: pick pocketing nobles who would sometimes make appearances in the slums. “I’m glad you’re here. I was running out of room in my pockets. He said as he pulled out several long golden chains. Attached to the end of each of them were golden pocket watches. Milo counted at least nine of them in all.

“Dammit, Lucas! It’s not even noon yet and you’ve already robbed half of the upper class.” Milo had expressed over and over again his disliking for Lucas's hobby, but nonetheless, he understood why he did it and he knew, had he been in the same position, he might resort to the same means of survival.

“Think of it this way,” Lucas said, as he strode next to Milo and the two began walking down the road together. “The Rich and the Noble of this fine city are simply unknowingly donating to a charitable cause.”

“Yeah, exactly what charity is that, ‘The Future Thieves Of The World Foundation’?” Milo said as he took the watches and stuffed them into the messenger bag.

“’The Forgotten And Downtrodden Youth Of The City’, namely me, myself and I,” Lucas said as he reached into his shirt pocket. He fumbled around for a few minutes before finally pulling out a small brass orb about the size of a golf ball. He brought the orb up to his face and let it rest in the palm of his hand a few inches from his eyes, and almost as if by silent command, eight thin, tiny, mechanical legs unwrapped themselves from around the ball before finally standing up. From the centre of the ball a small camera-lens-like eye was revealed, giving it almost the appearance of a one-eyed mechanical spider. “About time you woke, you cheap piece o’ junk. You made me do all the work myself this morning.” Milo could hear the tiny gears turning as the small Mech creature crawled around Lucas’ hand. Lucas had won this unique little invention that he had name Scouter in a card game about a year ago from a noble man who owned a Mech business. Lucas had almost completely cleaned the man out and out of desperation had placed the bot on the table for his last bet. A bad move on his part, considering it was worth almost 3 times more than what he had already lost. Lucas gladly accepted the man’s bet and by the end of that hand walked away a hundred marks richer and with a nice little piece of equipment. The man swore up and down that the game had been rigged, and he was, of course, right, but had no way to prove it. Lucas had made absolutely sure of that.

“You know you could make enough money to feed you for a month if you sold that thing” Milo said, pointing at Scouter, who had now crawled his way up to Lucas’ head.

“Sell him? Are you crazy? This right here is my partner in crime! My inventory has doubled since he joined the team,” he said. As he opened his shirt pocket again, Scouter ran down his shoulder and arm, and back into the pocket, almost as if it were trying to hide from Milo’s suggestion. “For instance, I see that you got a letter to deliver to Harrison,” he said holding up Thatcher’s letter.

“Gimme that!” Milo said, as he snatched it out of his hand and returned it to the messenger bag.

“You see this benefits both of us; you have a letter for Harrison and I have some inventory I wish to rid myself of,” he said, walking past Milo. Milo couldn’t help but smile and just shake his head as he followed.

The market district was all but empty as usual; most of the shops had been forced to close in the last 13 years, as all businesses were required to pay a tribute to Voran's home kingdom, even to the dismay of his son Ivan, who had been placed as ruler of Almora. And through the years, as the price of the tribute was raised higher and higher, most shop owners couldn’t afford to stay open and eventually closed, and even if they could afford to pay Voran, most of the business was lost when he destroyed the city docks and forbad any airships from entering or leaving the city. Thatcher had told Milo how there would be people from all over the world roaming the market and that anything you could imagine you could find there. But now Thatcher’s Machine shop and Harrison’s were among the last remaining places still open.

Up ahead on the road, Milo saw a man with a fairly large group of people crowded around him, which was unusual, considering public gatherings were not met with much acceptance from the guards, unless it was another public execution they themselves were putting on. That always managed to draw a crowd. He had actually seen them run a patrol truck straight through a crowed, hitting an old lady.

“Come on its better if we don’t get involved,” Lucas said, trying to lead Milo around the crowd. The two we almost at Harrison's and away from the group. Catching a glimpse of what people were grabbing at, Milo recognized a newsstand. In the past years, Voran had taken complete control of any and all news that was spread through the city as part of his total isolation of Almora's citizens. And every so often a rebel newspaper would sprout up and bring news from outside of the city and with it came a crowd of people desperate to know what was happening beyond the walls of the city, as well as guards who loved nothing more than to make a public display of power. Normally Milo avoided these crowds, knowing the dangers the posed, but once the pair got a few steps past, Milo caught a name he had been hoping to hear for a long time now.

“Read it now only in the Almora Free Peoples’ Press, Notorious Sky Pirate and Freedom Fighter Comsie spotted outside the city as Voran guards fail to capture him yet again!” Milo’s attention was immediately drawn back to the newsstand vendor. It had been months since he heard any news of Comsie. Rumours were even being spread that he had been killed, but Milo ignored them, telling himself time and time again that he wouldn’t be taken down that easily. For the past 10 years Comsie had become known worldwide as not only one of the most infamous pirates in the world, but also the last remaining freedom fighter for the people of Almora. And for that, Milo had come to admire him. It seemed like the rest of the world had given up and written them off as a lost cause, but for some reason, he remained.

Hearing the news of his hero, Milo dashed for the newsstand and began trying to push his way past the mob. It took a great amount of effort pushing, crawling and dragging himself forward, but finally he found himself at the front of the stand.

“Please, can I get one of those?” Milo said reaching out.

“Sure thing pal, that'll be just 10 marks,” the man said, holding his hand out his hand. Milo couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“10 marks, that’s ridiculous!” But the man was already ignoring him and on to the next bystander. He wasn’t going to bother with some slum kid. But Milo wasn’t putting up with this today and he reached out and grabbed the man to try and get his attention. He realized this was a mistake instantly as the man grabbed Milo by the arms and began to force him back out of the crowd.

“Hey look, kid, I’m sorry, but information is a commodity and has a price. Now if you ain’t got the marks then you’re wasting my time.” And with that the man shoved Milo backwards away from the mob. He stumbled back a few feet before falling flat on his back.

“Ya know, I really don’t know what you see in this guy.” Milo looked up to see Lucas reading one of the very same papers he had failed to obtain.

“Wait how did you...?” But he knew better than to even bother asking. He had no idea how Lucas managed half the things he did, but nevertheless, this time he was grateful for it. He jumped to his feet and without words, wrapped his arms around Lucas's neck and pressed his lips firmly against his. The two stayed there for a few moments embracing each other ignoring the rowdy crowd next to them. It was then that a loud siren broke through all the other noise and brought everyone’s attention away from the newsstand.

The familiar sound of a guard truck came screaming from down the road as the flock of people scattered like pigeons. The owner of the stand made a dash for a nearby alley, but was blocked off by another guard who must have been waiting for him. Before he had a chance to change directions, he was tackled and drug down to the ground. He put up a fight trying to crawl away from his oppressor, but was soon overrun by more men in gray as the squad hoped out of the truck.

“C'mon, we should get out of here,” Lucas said, grabbing Milo by the arm and pulling him off the main road and into an alley a few yards from the scene. The two of them stayed there, knowing what was coming next, neither one of them able to speak. Milo peered around the corner, afraid to move from where they were hidden. The street was now completely empty, as if it had become a stage for the show that was now being put on by the guards. He could see people inside of buildings hiding, but still playing the role of spectators. Two larger guards final managed to wrestle the man to his feet each of them gripping one of his arms. Kicking, the man was drug to the passenger-side door of the patrol truck. From inside of it, a tall thin bald man stepped out and stood in front of the now trembling man. With a swift movement he was forced down onto his knees. He looked up into the cold black eyes of the guard captain, fear now shining in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn he was staring down the Grim Reaper himself... and as far as he was concerned, he might as well have been.

“Do you know what the penalty is for running and printing an unauthorized paper?” the captain asked in a deep raspy almost emotionless voice. The frightened man tried to open his mouth and speak, but he was so shaken with fear that he couldn’t bring himself to form the words. The captain watched this spectacle for a few minutes before finally pulling out a sliver revolver from his holster. A silent gasp came from the people, as they knew what was coming next. But the monster that was the captain was bored today and instead felt it necessary to toy with his prey first. “Answer me, you pathetic piece of filth!” he yelled, as he slammed the metal barrel of the gun into the side of the man’s head. A bright crimson stream began to form and run down the side of the man’s face.

The captain then crouched down until he was eye level with the man and pressed the end of the gun up to the side of the man’s mouth. “Since you can’t bring yourself to find the words, allow me to remind you. The penalty is death by any form of my choosing,” he said, as he pressed the gun harder and harder into his victim’s cheek. “But me being the understanding man that I am, I’m going to make you an offer, one that may just save your life. Do you understand me?” But once again the man found it impossible to speak. Now angry, the captain rose to his feet and quickly pulled the hammer back on his gun and placed the barrel back to its spot by his mouth. “ARE WE UNDERSTOOD!” he screamed, as the man trembled once again, but finally managed to nod his head ‘yes’. “Good. Now if you would be so kind as to tell me where you got your information?” he requested, crouching back beside the man.

“A- A De... De......” the newsman tried to speak, but he was too badly shaken and was now stuttering. Losing his patience, the captain pointed his gun down and the man’s knee and let off a shot with a loud BANG! The man screamed out so loud that his screams echoed all the way to the alley were Milo and Lucas had hidden themselves. The two boys scrunched their eyes shut; the scream struck such a nerve that they could almost swear they felt the bullet along with him.

“Ahhhh see? Look at that, you can make some noise after all, and here I was worried that I was trying to get information from a mute. Now in case you were not speaking because maybe you thought I was bluffing or that these bullets in this gun were somehow fake, maybe the hole in your knee will help to reassure you!” he said sneering, as he now placed the gun to the side of the man’s head rather than his mouth. “Now once again I’m going to ask. Where did you get your information from?”

“A Delivery man from one of the towns outside the city. He brings supplies in for the castle. We just talk is all,” the man said between sobs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard at all, was it? We could all get along better in this fine city if you could all just learn to cooperate a little,” he said, looking down into the eyes of the now crying newsman. But the sound of his crying was brought to a dead silence as another loud POP! sounded off. And with it, a stream of blood was sent flying a few feet down the road, and the man fell silent and lifeless to the ground.

“Oops, finger must have slipped,” the Captain said, as a twisted smile formed on his lips. “Well it has been a truly distinguished pleasure speaking with you this fine afternoon,” he said, looking down at the now still body of his latest victim. He reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small white cloth and quickly wiped the blood off that had found its way to his face. “Burn this smut stand! And its proprietor with it!” Without needing to hear it twice, the other guards quickly got to work smashing the stand into pieces, and dragging the body to add it to the pile. “Let this be a reminder to all of you,” the captain shouted loud enough for all to hear. “If you wish to read the news, please use one of our fine Ministry approved newspapers!” And with that he climbed his way back into the truck. A second later a large fire appeared in the middle of the road. As the truck sped off past Milo and Lucas, Milo caught a glimpse of the captain from inside the truck and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine, he couldn’t bring himself to look the murderer in the face.

“Come on, let’s go,” Lucas said, now with a much more sombre tone than earlier. And the two of them crossed the road to Harrison’s shop.

It was a small shabby building, but so were most of the buildings nowadays, as there hadn’t been any upkeep on them in quite some time. A small sign hung over the door that read “Harrison’s Rare Goods” Milo had always said the sign would better read as ‘stolen goods’, but Mr. Harrison never found his suggestion to be quiet as humorous. Lucas, wanting to get out of sight swiftly, found his way through the front door. Milo however couldn’t help but look back at the flames as they slowly erased the crime scene. And the newsman's words from earlier now came back to haunt him: ‘Information is a commodity and has a price.’ Milo felt a tear form in the corner of his eye as he gripped the paper Lucas had acquired for him. The paper that got an innocent man killed. ‘Hell of a price to pay,’ he thought to himself as he followed Lucas into the shop.