sparrow and lion

Prologue: running from someone

Everyone runs away sometimes. Everyone has things they don't want to face or situations they don't want to deal with. Life is hard for everyone. Princes and paupers and bandits and merchants. The violent drunk has his own tragic tale and the conniving politician is not without a sob story either.

And that's why they met that day. The two children. One big and one tiny. One wealthy, one poor. Both filthy and panting for breath as they eluded their pursuers with the agility you only have when you're too young not to take it for granted.

The young noble was tiny, too tiny, and had just learned about that petty political game older nobles play with their young children's lives. Moved like a pawn across a chessboard. Sacrifice this for that. This person for that land. That child for this title. A marriage of convenience for a stake in a less-than-reputable merchant's fortunes. One family would gain money. The other would gain a foothold in polite society. And all they had to sell were the children.

Five is far too young to be sold off in a marriage vow to someone four times your age.

And so the young noble was now racing through the throngs that clogged the stinking streets. The family's guards chased the child, of course, but, for once, being tiny - too tiny - lent the child the advantage of being able to weave effortlessly between legs and duck nimbly beneath tables and lumbering wagons while the soldiers were slowed by crowds like waders by ocean currents. Hurry and then slow. Fast and then be held up. Fighting the current. Losing the race.

So many people who would have helped, but too many for them to actually do so.

The orphan was also running. Bare feet slapped flagstones on the far emptier streets of the old district. The people here watched the child run by and then turned towards the sounds of angry boots stamping against the ground in pursuit.

So many people who would have helped, but too few for them to actually do so.

People always would if they could, but they never can.

This was the old city and only forgotten things were still here. Forgotten people.

New cities spring up from old cities at the drop of a hat. The decades spent laying stone and mortaring brick become memories and then not even that as hastily built buildings and bumpy dirt roads take over until the old city itself becomes nothing but a ghost. New is better. New is bigger. New will not withstand the tests of time but that matters to no one at all, because by then it won't be new anymore.

The orphan eyed the side streets, breath coming in desperate pants. Not afraid. Just tired of running. Rich people and soldiers, the child had heard, ran just in case. Just in case they had to chase someone. Just in case they ate too much at the feast. Just in case they had to run to get to the person whose life they wanted to destroy. This was something the child could not understand:

The child had never run "just in case." The child ran "because."

Running was existence. It was survival. If you didn't run, you didn't eat. If you didn't run, you couldn't hide. If you didn't run, they'd hurt you.

And you couldn't practice that kind of running.

Another angry man, drawn by the bellowing of the others, appeared in front of the child as if from nowhere, a thick wooden broom clenched in his fist. The orphan slammed down one foot and spun, throwing their whole body towards the maze of alleyways and just managing to dodge the broom handle as it slammed against the stone with a clatter.

The alleys were darker and narrower, more cluttered with trash and noontime alcoholics than the wider streets the orphan had just abandoned. The men in pursuit of the child would have a harder time keeping up in here. But that didn't make it safer. Because everyone knows that a maze can be a puzzle, but it can also be a trap.