CHAPTER 1

Ezekiel

Umaric. The one word that must mean joy and happiness in my life whether I like it or not. Umaric — the bane of my existence — the destruction of my youth. The ongoing propaganda that is being shoved down our throats, into our ears.

Ezekiel tried his hardest to keep his sixteen year old sister, Charity, safe. Safe from them. From the ones who ended their happiness.

The ones who never gave Charity a chance to know their parents.

The ones who had stolen their lives away.

They were only children when the Council of Justice ransacked their home and sold it all within the span of forty-eight hours. Charity had been four years old. Ezekiel had been eight. They struggled in the streets of Umaric for two weeks without anyone giving them a second glance. Charity had almost died — something Ezekiel will never forget.

The harsh faces of the Officers as they marched passed them on the streets never left his mind. Anger and rage clouded his judgment. Umaric never had a chance with Ezekiel: he escaped its grasp like smoke eluding the bare hands of greedy humans. He knew that underneath the polished side of the diamond held corruption and abuse.

His parents were right. Umaric was a once-upon-a-time beauty that was slowly fading.

He'll never forget the Poor House that Charity had to grow up in. The way the older men would leer at her when she was forced to sleep in the main room. Protecting her was all he had left. If he lost Charity, his life would become meaningless — empty.

By law Charity should have been adopted into an occupation, just as Ezekiel had been. The truth was that jobs were becoming scarce for women in the Poor District. It wasn't what it once was.

A few of the Officers had their eyes on her.

If she wasn't careful, the Umaric Council would force her into a lifetime of servitude. These are dire times. Men want what is hard to come by. Women are not safe walking alone.

Ezekiel is grateful for the marriage laws even if it means his time is almost up. It still gives Charity a chance at happiness.

A Umaric citizen has a chance to fall in love and marry until the age of twenty-one. At that age, if unmarried, the Umaric Council will assign a spouse to the unmarried person. Ezekiel is almost twenty-one.

Ding — ding — ding. Ding — ding — ding.

The sound of metal on metal. The destruction of an object so in harmony with the blacksmith's forge. The one who can manipulate something into existence just by a small tilt of the hand.

Ding — ding — ding. Ding — ding — ding.

Ding — ding — ding. Ding — ding — ding.

"Ezekiel!" a rough voice shouted over the roaring flames and harsh winds.

Ezekiel Thoris set his hammer down and turned to face his superior. He had forgotten how much he could lose himself in his work.

Ezekiel's superior was a stout and robust man. His face was crude and rough from years of working as a blacksmith and from the hard conditions that came hand-in-hand with living in the Poor District. "These were supposed to be delivered an hour ago. To the Manor." His voice was rough and scratchy.

Ezekiel shrugged, "It wasn't my job, sir. I'm still working on the sword order for the Officers." His voice was lazy and arrogant as he responded.

"Hold your tongue, mar! There'll not be any smart mouths today. The Council of Justice keeps us in work, boy. Learn that and your head won't be as thick as it is."

A sour taste filled Ezekiel's mouth at the mere mention of the Council of Justice and at the fact that his superior had used the word mar. It was one thing for a wealthy to use that term. But for one of his fellow members of the Poor District to use it ... despicable and disrespectful. His superior should know better than to use the derogatory word of the Wealthy District.

He would never use that word to describe anyone.

As he watched his superior vanish into the dark smoke and confusing marble streets, a shiver ran down his spine. It was his job to deliver those boxes.

He picked up the sword he had been working on and plunged it into the cold, icy water. Charity was the only thing keeping his emotions in check. Without her delicate mind around, he would go mad with Umaric and its never ending rules.

Pity and sadness emerged from his deep green eyes as he watched the people of the Poor District walk to their morning duties. His dark brown hair, almost black, blew freely in the early morning breeze. Ezekiel couldn't wrap his mind around all of the injustice in his sad, unyielding world.

The wall surrounding the entire country of Umaric always held his attention. It was a never ending reminder of his parents' tragic deaths and of Umaric's tyrannical control over himself and his fellow citizens. They were put in charge of building a bridge that connected the outer wall to the main government's headquarters. Towards the end of its completion, the bridge collapsed, taking with it Kiel and Larissa Thoris.

The main government thought that Ezekiel's parents had committed treason.

The bridge was never completed.

Instead of taking care of the children, like the law stated, the government had ransacked the house. In an act of defiance for not finding any binding evidence, the house and all its contents were sold. Ezekiel and Charity suffered from Umaric's rage.

Ezekiel will never forget.

He set down the sword and picked up the boxes that were supposed to have been delivered an hour ago to the Manor House. As he made his way through the dirty, smoky, and crowded marble streets, his thoughts turned toward the things his parents had told him as a child:

* * *

Larissa Thoris was a rare person to find amid the streets of Umaric. With deep black hair and intense, cloudy gray eyes, she was the object of everyone's attention. Raised strictly in the Poor District, the Wealthy District wanted her and her exotic looks to help campaign for the rebuilding of the Manor House which housed all of Umaric's councils and official business.

When she married Kiel, a strong, fierce and determined man with sandy blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and also from the Poor District; the Wealthy District wanted nothing more to do with her regardless of the fact that she was forced to marry in the first place.

At the age of twenty-one, Kiel already had a bad reputation amongst the Umaric Council. There were rumors of conspiracy with his name plastered right in the middle of it.

Ezekiel was born the day Kiel turned twenty-six. Larissa and Kiel were determined to make sure Ezekiel knew the truth behind Umaric. Both his parents knew things that would shake the very foundations of Umaric if they decided to let something leak.

On Ezekiel's fifth birthday, Kiel gave him his necklace. Connected to a simple silver chain was a key of sorts. In the middle was a tiny silver ball. Surrounding it were four metal oval circles that created an almost star-like shape.

Larissa didn't allow Kiel to tell Ezekiel what is was for.

Instead, Larissa told him, "Remember, Ezekiel, that these walls are a prison. They are meant to keep us in, not keep others out. The rules that are in place must be followed or else they will kill us. It has been done before, my son. Umaric is a ruthless place. Look at me, Ezekiel. " Larissa gently turned his head toward hers. Locking her eyes on her son's she said, "Listen to me very carefully. There will come a time when you are asked to do things you do not want to do but you must, Ezekiel. You must or else bad things will happen. Do you understand?"

Ezekiel nodded his head.

"There's a good lad. Now, go read your book for tonight's lesson. "

Kissing his mother on the cheek, Ezekiel hurried to his room and opened his book:

I remember when the wall was built. To be five-and-twenty and ignorant again would be all right with me — we did not see it coming. The wall I mean. Umaric was peaceful and prosperous until the propaganda began: Oboedientia Key Prospere. Obedience is the key to success. That is Umaric's new motto. The wall was meant to unify everyone. It took ten years to build; ten long, sad years. The lucky ones escaped and created a difficult but freer life. I watched in horror as the occupations were enforced and marriage became a necessity — not a luxury. I helped build the wall in my ignorance. Soon after its completion I wanted it gone. I created a key that moved. The key to leaving Umaric — forever —

"Alright son, that's enough for tonight." Kiel's rich, thick voice traveled to Ezekiel from the doorframe.

"But Daddy," Ezekiel started, "I just got to the key!" His voice rose in happiness.

Kiel's eyes were shadowed but they nonetheless expressed a loving happiness toward his son. "I know, son. Here," crossing the room, he scooped Ezekiel up and set him on his lap. "This necklace I gave you is very important. One day your mother and I will no longer be here to teach you your lessons. Hold on to this for us ..." Kiel touched Ezekiel's necklace, "for me, and you will always hear us, son —"

* * *

Ezekiel was startled out of his reverie when he heard a clay pot breaking. Glancing a few yards ahead of him, he saw one of the Officers pull a young woman from a bakery shop — her clothes torn to ribbons.

He made to intervene but an old, wrinkled hand shot out and stopped him. "Don't, lad. You will only make matters worse for the child." The old man's voice was hollow and empty but when Ezekiel looked at his shrunken face; his eyes were full of shameful regret, rage, and self-loathing.

"We cannot just stand here and do nothing." Ezekiel's voice rang with a sharp clarity.

The old man sighed and pulled his hand back. "They stated that she does not have the proper papers ..."

"So they've decided to take immediate action." Disgust dripped from his voice as he watched one of the Officers bare the poor girl's shoulders. He could hear her pitiful pleading.

His parents often told him to never meddle in other people's affairs. Well, he thought, this would not be the first time I disobeyed your wishes.

Looking around the slightly narrow street, he saw his fellow citizens cast frightful looks at the terrifying scene before them. Most were minding their own business at the many different shops that lined the streets. Turning his attention back to the Officers, he saw one of them strike the young woman across her face.

Without realizing what he was doing, Ezekiel strode to the piteous and offensive scene. "May I ask what is going on?" His voice was crystal clear and loud as he addressed the Officer who had struck the young lady. It had gotten unnervingly quiet.

"She refuses to come with us," the Officer replied. "She has broken the law."

"How?" Ezekiel's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"She is pregnant and without papers." The Officer replied in a smug voice.

Ezekiel glanced at the now bloodied and frightened woman. "Surely, Officer, there has been some kind of mistake. Have you given the young woman time to find the proper papers or did you see her swollen belly and decide to act on instinct?" His voice was none too kind.

The Officer's eyes were blazing, but Umaric law kept Ezekiel safe.

For now.

With a curt nod of his head, the Officer granted permission to the bleeding woman. Before she could register this turn of events, a strapping young man with cropped black hair raced outside, a stack of papers in his hands.

Another Officer stepped forward and read over the documents. With an indistinct sigh of relief, he handed the documents back. Turning to the Officer who had struck the young woman, he stated, "The next time you tell me someone has broken the law, make sure that they have actually broken the law. This will go on your report for today."

He gave Ezekiel a look of respect mingled with amusement. With a nod at the husband and wife, the Officers turned around and left.

Ezekiel, ignoring the incredulous stares and murmurs from the watching crowd, stepped forward to the young married couple.

"Thank you, sir." The woman stated in a timid voice. Blood was running freely from her arms and the right side of her face, and she was leaning heavily against her husband for support.

He nodded once and slipped some coins into her husband's hands. "For the medical cost." With that, Ezekiel left and continued down the road; his steps sure and strong.

It took a minute for talk to start up again. By the time he reached the sixth street over, rumors about him had already spread. Those that knew him stared and whispered behind their hands though none would hold his gaze.

"Good job, Ezekiel." a deep voice spoke from his left. "You managed to create more tension amongst us and the authorities, and it's only ten o'clock in the morning. That's quite a feat, mind you."

"Shut up, Rell. It wasn't my fault." Ezekiel cast an annoyed look at his best friend.

"No, of course not. You only showed up the Officers, saved a fair lady and her unborn child. You didn't do a thing."

"It was wrong." Ezekiel's voice was tight.

"You can't keep meddling like this, Ezekiel. Eventually they will find an excuse and kill you." Rell's voice had become entirely serious.

Ezekiel stopped walking and looked at his friend. "If I do not do it, who will? I have not forgotten what they have done to me and Charity. I will not let it happen again."

Rell let out a long sigh. "It is your choice —" "I know." Ezekiel snapped.

"Sorry. I'm just trying to look out for you."

With a sigh of his own Ezekiel said, "I know that, too."

In silence, they started walking again.

"What's in the box?" Rell's voice took on a lighter tone.

"I would rather not say. Besides, if I told you, you would not believe me." Ezekiel was extremely frustrated.

Rell's voice took on a somber tone. "I most likely would." Switching subjects he asked, "How is Charity?"

Ezekiel shook his head. "I'm worried for her. She has no job and there are too many Officers who have their eye on her. She will have to choose very soon."

"What choices have they offered a sixteen year old girl?" Rell's voice shook in suppressed anger. He had a few ideas.

"She can either let an Officer have her or become a ..." Disgust and defeat filled Ezekiel's voice.

"Someone like me." Rell finished for him. "What would be wrong with that? I could mentor her."

Ezekiel groaned in frustration. "I do not want her killing people, nor do I want her to go with an Officer!"

Rell opened his mouth to speak but remained silent. He knew there was no point in arguing with Ezekiel. Being an Assassin had taken its toll on Rell, but he only killed when and if he had to. He would rather Charity have this life than be a property of an Officer who would use her then kill her. But Rell knew that Ezekiel hated violence. Ezekiel was wicked with a sword, any kind of knife, and a bow and arrow. Rell never understood that about his friend. Why learn the art if he never expected to use it?

Rell glanced at his watch before saying, "Three streets more, and we'll be in the Wealthy District. Fun."

Ezekiel chuckled before saying, "I take it this is where you leave me?"

With a sly grin, Rell faded into the hustle and bustle of the streets.

It was unnervingly easy to see the very distinct difference between the Poor District and the Wealthy District. Instead of the marble streets falling into disrepair, these streets were immaculate perfection. The buildings were fancier and cleaner. It was an entirely different world. Men and women went from shop to shop that had items worth more than a month's pay for Ezekiel.

People, mostly the spoiled, rich women, glared at him as he made his way along the shiny marble streets. They avoided meeting his gaze as if his very presence was offensive.

None of them knew how lucky they were to live in a place devoid of poverty and depression. None of them would ever understand how the world could leech a person of their life. How the meaning of life could slowly fade and crumble into nothingness. Ezekiel envied them at times. He had everything to lose, while they had nothing to lose. Umaric law was not bent on destroying their lives.

Tension lined Ezekiel's shoulders and back. He took a deep breath and calmed his breathing while sliding a mask of disinterest on his face. If he stared too long, one of the annoying young men would start asking questions. Questions were best left unspoken in a world like this.

Keeping to himself, Ezekiel followed the familiar path to the Manor House. His face creased in disgust. That house was nothing more than control seeped in greed. Many good, young souls go into Government with good intentions, but corruption soon latches itself firmly in place, threatening the thin, bleak balance that Umaric sits on.