Curious, Ule strolled toward the nearest clump of evening campfires, ignoring the growling in her belly as the bouquet of unusual smells tickled her nostrils: spiced stews, smoked meats, pungent herbs, and tobacco.

The campfire light flickered against wooden makeshift lean- to's , casting shadows and silhouettes on the yellow fabric of pavilions and tents.

Intrigued by whispers emanating from a nearby tent, she leaned in closer to listen and discovered soft moans of pleasure. Her face flushed as she flung herself away and kept to the makeshift paths lit by lanterns.

She skirted the perimeter of tiny camps clustered together, where she discovered a boy with dark dishevelled hair and a red mark on his right cheek. No more than ten or eleven years old, he sat alone before a small fire turning a long stick over the flames. He gazed intently at the few bits of oddly shaped meat curled around the tip of the stick.

Whatever he roasted smelled spicy and wonderful. She inhaled deeply and moaned.

The boy glanced at her. “Oh, hello,” he said.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Na have one,” he replied. “Sometimes I find a soft, pretty bes and sleep next to her during the night, if she’ll let me.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by the word bes , but he spoke it kindly. The world was full of odd new words. She knew instinctively what some of them meant and others required a bit of time to figure out, especially if they were born out of a new culture within the world that she wasn’t yet familiar with.

A long silence ensued between them before the boy spoke again. “Has anyone said you be pretty?”

“ Oh yes!” She flopped onto the ground in front of him, letting out a huge sigh. “Back home, not so much. Here, a long time ago, all the time. They’d shower me in beautiful flowers from the gardens and cook delicious feasts and bathe my feet and style my hair.” Pulling at the ends of her dulled blond hair, her fingers brushed out tiny bits of sand.

“Well, I would na go that far,” the boy snorted. “You be pretty, just saying. Na many girls wear their hair so long and loose. And your face be nice and rosy now, na pale like before.”

She touched her face and winced. Heat rose from her cheeks and she imagined her skin had burned from lying in the sun unconscious for half the day.

“But you talk funny,” he said.

Ignoring him, she stared at the rippling fire. “What do you know of this place?”

“I know plenty stories.” He laughed. “But let me tell you the true story.”

She blinked as the boy immediately rambled on with ‘A very, very long time ago’ followed by ‘There once be.’ She let out a long sigh.

The boy stopped. “What?”

“Which is it?”

“Which be what?”

Ule huffed. “Either it’s ‘A very, very long time ago’ or ‘There once was.’ It can’t be both.”

The boy laughed. “You be one of those.”

“What do you mean?”

“You be all about the rules,” the boy explained, glancing at the charred meat at the end of the stick. “Making them. Following them.” He leaned forward a little, eyes growing wide. “Making others follow them.”

Breaking them too, Ule mentally added. She was exceptional at that.

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The Forgotten Gemstone, Book One in A Xiinisi Trilogy

© Kit Daven & Eager Eye Books, 2013.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any matter whatsoever  without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review or critical article.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, situations, and references portrayed in this story either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Cover art by Sean Chappell, RedFracture .com.