Prelude.

Hawke stood beside his friend, in the clearing. The sun beamed down on his skin, and yellow leaves fell from the forest around them. He looked at the oldest boy with the light eyes. “The stone, son,” he said. “Where’s the stone?”

One of the twins spat at his feet.

Dinon cuffed him in the head.

“Don’t disrespect,” Manus said, sighing. “If you were innocent you’d have nothing to fear. You knew before you stole the Bloodstone that this was law.”

“We didn’t steal any stone,” the eldest said.

Manus shook his head. “I’m here because I know you did. Look. I get it kid—“

“Aleem.”

“I get it, Aleem.” Manus laughed. “I’m from the Bottoms myself. When money’s short, theft seems like a good option, but you’ve been caught. You rolled the die and missed. Face the effect.”

“Lieutenant,” Aleem looked at Hawke. “We stole nothing. We’re just smiths.” The boy’s eyes had an honest greenish-brown glint to them, and Hawke believed him completely.

Manus roared in laughter.

“myron?”

Every eye flickered down to the dark-skinned man sitting in the dirt. He touched the brand on his cheek lightly, as though waking from a strange dream, and rubbed at the drool on his cheek. “Sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I just… go… Aleem, get the rings.”

“they’re not—“

Myron flashed a look and his son shuffled over to the forge. “He’s… they’re all still young,” the man said sleepily. “But given time, Al will be the best at his craft. They all will. It’s in the blood.”

Hawke looked off after Aleem. The boy had donned thick gray gloves, and pulled open a heavy, metal furnace door. Reddish smoke poured out with a creak, and on the center rack sat a smooth, red ring.

“That’s it?” Manus asked.

Aleem nodded, placing the ring in his father’s palm.

Hawke couldn’t tear his eyes away. The band pulsed like life.

“It’s nice,” Manus said, taking the glowing metal between his fingers.

“I take full responsibility for stealing the stone,” Myron said.

“What—”

“The children knew nothing about the theft,” he continued, talking over his son. “My name is Myron Gibran and I mined it myself. We’re the only ones left that know how to mold it.” He sneezed and wiped his nose. “I’ll serve whatever sentence is just, but my family is innocent.”

Manus chuckled.

“There is real money in this for the city, captain. It’s taken centuries to develop our method.”

Manus studied the ring. “Six shards were stolen, you realize? You’d have to serve each sentence, yourself. Six half-lives.”

“I’m Ageless, captain. And fading as we speak. With this, my children may have futures… when I am truly gone.”

“300 years for the man that can’t die…” Manus scratched his beard.

“Dad but—”

Myron stifled a cough. “You’ll be fine. Listen to Al and Artemis.” He moved to grasp Manus’ hand, when his body shuddered.

“Dad?”

Myron brought his palm back from his mouth bloody. And then he began to hack; dry barks failing to gasps for air—standing there gasping and wheezing. Then kneeling; saliva dribbling from his open mouth. He collapsed to his side.

Hawke took a nervous step back, looking at Manus with his blue eyes narrowed. The twins staring at their father, unblinking.

And Aleem went hysterical. “I dont—Did we do it wrong? What’s going on?” His fingers went to his trousers and he pulled out a small journal. “This is what he said to—"

Myron’s skin started to wrinkle. Crows-feet cracked and fissured beside his eyes and brow, and he began to crumble. First to bone, and then into tiny bits and pieces that broke off and scattered to the wind. He was a gritty red powder.

Then the wind blew, and he was gone. As though he’d never existed. For a moment, everyone stared at his pile of clothes. Hawke wondering whether his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe Manus was messing with him?

“D—Dad?…” Aleem stammered, falling to his knees, journal forgotten.

It seemed to snap everyone out of it. The soldiers looked at Hawke. Hawke looked at Manus. And Manus looked at the kids, regretful. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Kill them,” he whispered.

Hawke blinked and wheeled. “What?” he said. He could see glances from the other lieutenants in his peripheral.

Manus straightened his back and frowned. “I said, kill them, Hawke.” He looked at the other guards and nodded. “Trust in me.”

“They’re only kids?” Hawke’s panic ballooned. “And you already have the ring and the journal. We can just take the book and go?”

Manus looked past him, stern. “These are orders, lieutenant.”

“But they’re just—"

Lieutenant Decius grabbed Aleem by the hair and sliced a small geyser beneath his chin.

It had happened so quick: boy to corpse.

Manus was talking to him. “It had to be done, Hawke,” he was saying. “For the greater good.” He took his hand off Hawke’s shoulder and turned to the other two guards.

“Remember your Oaths.” Lieutenant Juda passed Aleem’s journal to Manus; smearing red fingerprints across the worn, navy leather.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” Manus said. “If things could’ve been different, they would’ve. This will...”

Hawke deflated, nodding slowly. Manus was still talking—his mouth was moving, but the words coming from him… They were all underwater. And the fog of his mind was pure, nothing, white noise. He glanced down at the puddle of red mud beneath Aleem.

~

Title: "Six Gifts of Stone"

Genre: Fantasy

Age Range: 15+

Work Count: 70k

Author Name: Michael Spears

Good Fit: Medieval dark-fantasy with elements of magic, in an American socio-political microcosm.

Synopsis: In the aftermath of a mysterious murder by the Vesper city guards, "Six Gifts of Stone" follows a tired soldier, a child refugee, and a girl that wants justice.

Target Audience: Fans of fantasy, adventure, history, spirituality, and philosophy.

Bio: Black man that wants to make enough off his art to enjoy life.

Platform: @stringbeanspearzzz ?

Education: B.S. UNC-Chapel Hill

Personality: Luffy, Marcus Aurelius, and James Baldwin listening to Isaiah Rashad in Hayao Miyazaki's house.

Hometown: Durham, NC