Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 2 of 22

Ten years later, Draxin Alistair tore down a dusty lane between crooked wooden homes, a stolen red fruit clenched in his teeth and a merchant bellowing behind him. His bare torso caught the sun. A long diagonal scar cut across his chest. Yellow hair faded to red at the tips, bouncing as he ran. His wide orange eyes with white star pupils were fixed straight ahead, and he was grinning around the fruit like the chase was the best part. A small mushroom person clung to his shoulder for dear life. Its green cap, speckled with purple dots, wobbled with every stride. Stubby hands gripped a fistful of Draxin's hair. Its eyes were squeezed shut in a permanent, contented smile. This is Draxin Alistair. And this is his trusty old pal, Zag. They kept running. "Thief! Get back here, you yellow-haired rat!" The merchant was a broad man in a stained apron, waving a wooden ladle like it was a sword. His slippers slapped the sand behind them. "That's my last crate!" Draxin took the fruit out of his mouth long enough to shout back. "You had ten! I counted!" "That's why it's my last one!" Zag squeaked. Draxin laughed, cut hard around a rain barrel, and nearly bowled over a woman carrying laundry. He ducked under a hanging line of drying fish. The village of Grants Lake was waking up around them. Chickens that were not quite chickens, all beak and no feathers, scattered underfoot with angry chirps. A tall six-legged pack beast tied to a post brayed as Draxin skidded past its hooves. "Alley," Zag whispered, pointing a stubby hand. Draxin saw it and turned. He slid between two houses, back flat against the wood, and clamped a hand over Zag's mouth. The merchant thundered past the gap without looking. His shouting faded down the lane. Draxin waited three breaths. Then he slid down the wall and sat in the sand, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. He tore the fruit in half and gave the bigger piece to Zag. "See? Told you I'd get one." Zag chewed with both cheeks full. "He knows your face now." "He knew it yesterday." "He'll tell the others." Draxin's grin thinned a little. He looked down the alley toward the main square. His mother's scarf, faded now, was still tied around his wrist. He touched it without thinking. "Then we eat fast and move on," he said. He bit into the fruit. Juice ran down his chin. "We were leaving anyway." He stood, brushed sand off his baggy pants, and hoisted Zag back onto his shoulder. At the end of the alley, past the last row of houses, the desert opened flat and pale toward the horizon. Somewhere out there, ten years of tracks had gone cold. He meant to find them warm again. He took the first step out of Grants Lake before the merchant could round the block.