The Rising Dawn

Chapter Twenty-Three - The Boy From Out Of Town

The square was silent, the streets empty. It was that early part of the evening where everybody is busy pretending to be busy and has no time to be near an unimportant joining of streets. They had better things to be doing.

 Fuya liked the quiet. She liked knowing that nobody was watching. One of the buildings was an orphanage and already closeted up by this time. Another was a shop that was never open. Another was a school.

 There were chalk drawings on the cobbles: rough depictions of faces, scribbled insults, hopscotch squares, markers for races and games of football. Fuya liked to step over them. In squares like these, when you couldn’t see the people and couldn’t see the neglect, you could almost believe that life wasn’t so bad after all.

 There was a fountain in the middle of the square, a bowl about as high as her waist filled with stale water. She knew better than to drink it but she threw a coin in anyway, with a wish. She wouldn’t have money spare for any wishing well but she knew that somebody would get a decent meal from that coin.

 She stopped short. There was a boy in the square. A boy about her age, dressed oddly, sword by his side.

“Who are you?” he demanded, in a stage-whisper.

“I could ask you the same question,” Fuya drew a sword short from beneath her coat. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for someone,” the boy said, evasively.

“You from the orphanage?” Fuya asked, suspiciously. “Are you escaping? Running away?”

The boy laughed mockingly. “Go home, little girl. I have business here.”

Fuya held out her sword. “Do you want to fight or do you want me to stab you now?”

The boy blinked. Fuya leapt into attack. To her surprise, the boy had his sword ready to parry the blow before she could hit him. Her eyes narrowed.

 She kept on the attack but the boy was good. Almost too good, she felt. He blocked every strike and forced her back, making her dance to stay alive. His face was lined with concentration, his eyes blazing.

“Surrender,” she panted.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he laughed, tightly. “I’m winning.”

He meshed the two swords together and twisted. Fuya gasped as her sword flew from her grip and skittered across the floor. The boy raised an eyebrow.

“I win,” he said, triumphantly.

“It would appear so,” Fuya sighed.

“Now,” he twisted the sword round and round. “Who are you?”

“My name is Lilia. I live nearby. I clean the school for a living, once everyone has gone home.”

“Alright, Lilia,” the boy nodded, “where did you get your sword?”

“It belonged to my brother,” Fuya forced tears into her eyes. “He left it behind the day they got to him.”

“Don’t cry,” the boy begged. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, you meant to kill me!” Fuya threw in a hiccup for good measure. “You were going to…to…to stab me!”

“I won’t hurt you,” the boy promised. “Honestly, I won’t. I just need your help. Anyway, you were good with that sword.”

Fuya sat down on the floor and curled up with her knees under her chin, drawing a knife surreptitiously out of her boot. The boy crouched in front of her.