Three Birds.

Jacinth Kessler sat at the old wooden table in his home, swinging his legs. Where’re mom and dad? He was hungry, and bored. He had nothing to play with, and he’d finished reading the books that he had been left with.

This wasn’t unusual. Both his parents worked in the deep, mineral-rich mines of the Eastern kingdom. They had to, to get the money that they needed. Still, they lived in a small house on the outskirts of their town, and could never afford more than they needed.

If I was born somewhere else, this wouldn’t happen, Jacinth thought bitterly.

This was something he thought about a lot, and with his parents late that evening, he finally acted on it. Scooping a handful of copper coins into a leather pouch at his side, he slipped out of the house.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to find. A richer household, willing to take him in? Or maybe the forests his storybooks told of. Surely anything would be better than where he was now.

Instead, he saw several other households poorer even than his, who all shut their doors when he approached. He tried to go back to the home he had come from, but as night began to descend, he found himself in a dead-end alley along with a pair of thugs who hoped he would be worth money if they sold him. Desperate, he emptied his pouch of coins and promised not to report them, in exchange for his life and freedom.

Once they were a safe distance away, Jacinth stumbled onto the darkened road, no longer sure what he was looking for. His foot caught on an unseen stone, and he fell, barely catching himself with his hands. Should I get up? he wondered, lying on the street. What’s the point?

A small flame leapt up nearby, making him flinch. A candle illuminated the grubby face of a girl, younger than him. She was actually smiling, and there was something there that made him pause, something he hadn’t seen in a long time. The smile held real joy.

“You look kinda like me,” she said, which made no sense to him. He had short blonde hair, while hers was raven dark and fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were warm hazel, his a cold grey-blue. He was a boy, she was a girl. Yet something about the way she had said it made him stand up.

“It’s gonna get cold. I have blankets,” she announced, lifting the corner of the old, dirty rags. “If you wanna sit with me, you gotta come quickly. I ain’t got any more candles. A nice man gave it to me, but I think it’ll burn out too.” He agreed, and quickly joined her, the two pressed together for warmth.

“I’m Lauren. What’s your name?” the girl asked once she’d blown out the candle.

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Jacinth.” he replied. It felt strange, to be talking with a stranger, in the dark as they were.

She giggled. “I like your name too. It’s like the gemstone.” They continued like this before falling asleep, exchanging questions and answers and just chatting. It felt good, to both the kids. Jacinth never found out why the young girl was on the streets, though. But she’d asked him, and when she heard what he’d said, she nodded, though he couldn’t see her.

“That sounds like a good plan. Maybe we can try to find a family tomorrow.” Yes. That sounds good. Then she asked another question. “Did you have any siblings? I don’t remember having any.”

“No, I don’t have any.” There was a pause, and for a moment he thought she’d fallen asleep. Then:

“Will you be my brother?”

“Only if you’ll be my sister,” he shot back, laughing. She laughed too.

“I like you, brother. You’re funny. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as today.” It was a harmless observation, but it made Jacinth feel both happy and sad at the same time. I’ll get you to laugh even more, Lauren. I promise.

---

The next morning, Lauren gathered up all their things in the blankets, which was easy, considering how little they had between them. Jay gave her his pouch to put the candle stub in, and she did, the drawstrings tied around one wrist like it was the best treasure she had. They wandered around for a while, drawing strange looks from passers-by.

“You lost?” said a gruff voice from behind them. The two turned to see a tall man with a satchel slung over one shoulder, looming over them. They nodded, meekly, not knowing what else to do.

Without another word, he steered them by their shoulders. His grip was gentle but firm, and he didn’t let go until they reached a house. Both children were awed: all the houses in this neighbourhood had two levels, something rarely seen where they had come from. Before they had taken it all in, they were ushered into what seemed to be his house.

He nodded to a worn couch, then sat on the one across from it, separated by a table. They sat, and straightaway he began to ask them questions: Their names, ages, how long they’d been out on the streets, and if they were hungry. All in an objective, unyielding manner that made them answer truthfully. Then he disappeared through a doorway.

He returned a few moments later, a few pieces of bread in each hand. Too young to suspect anything and too terrified to refuse, the children ate, wordlessly.

The moment they looked up, he laughed. Guffawed, even. It was the look on their faces: barely concealed delight, awe, worship, and at the same time fear, distrust. Well, he’d fix those last ones later. And fix them he did.

He trained them, teaching Lauren how to perform, how to put on that innocent charm that provided for them just as much as work did.

As for Jacinth, the day after that fateful meeting, Falk tossed him a leather satchel much like his own.

“You want to stay, you earn your keep. People pay errand runners like us, and I’ll teach you the trade. Lesson one? Never lose that satchel.”

He taught things to keep them alive. And almost each lesson came with a mnemonic to make sure they would never forget.

“If the birds don’t sing, don’t talk. If the enemy stops, don’t walk.” That was how he’d taught them to avoid traps, to stay hidden, to notice things. “Now, repeat them back. All of them.”

And he renamed them. He said their names were too formal, too long. Who would think of a pair of kids they couldn’t even remember? 

---

As the years passed, things only got better. No longer called Lauren, Wren frequently improved her techniques, adding performances and occasionally selling things, instead of just begging. Jacinth took more deliveries and errands as Jay- although Wren called him Jace, since she found “Jay” too common.

One day, taking a break, the two kids walked side by side. Suddenly, Wren was pulling Jay with her.

“Jace! Oh, Jace, look. It’s a candy stand!” And it was. They both slowed to a walk when they reached it. “Can we have some? Please,” Wren asked, looking up at Jay. He couldn’t say no. He never could, not to her. So he nodded. He pointed to a bag of boiled sweets, the cheapest thing there.

“How much?” he asked. The shopkeeper glanced at the list tacked to the stall. Following his gaze, Jay’s heart sank. 10 Coopers. They couldn’t afford that.

“5 Coopers,” the shopkeeper replied. Beaming, Jay dropped the copper coins into the waiting hand, then took the bag.

The two grinned at each other, sitting in their room back home. Wren was sorting through the candies.

“We should save the pretty ones for when we’re sad. Or for an emergency, maybe?” she said, putting aside a yellow one with bubbles in it, then a dark blue one. They shared the rest, making them last as long as they could.

The next time they had those candies, Jay had brought them back. They were low on money, but Wren never asked how he’d gotten them.

He never told her that he’d stolen them to see her smile like she had.

---

One day, they woke up and Falk wasn’t there. Which was normal, since he sometimes left early. But when he didn’t return that day, or the next, they worried something had happened to him.

Then they noticed that some of the things in the house had been pushed aside, others missing entirely. Falk’s things.

He had left and chosen not to return. Jay took over, equally heartbroken as Wren was, but knowing they couldn’t afford to stop. We have to keep ourselves alive. That was what Falk had taught them to do, after all.

Wren cried herself to sleep that night, Jay holding her tight. At least we’re together in this, he wanted to say. But all he could feel was numb. Was this the consequence of abandoning his own family?

It couldn’t be. But whether it was his fault or not, he had made a promise to Wren. She would see happier days. He would get her to laugh more.

That was what finally drew a tear from him.

---

Jay was watching Wren dance that day.

There were guards there, as always. They paid well. But today, they weren’t the usual Eastern guards. These were Northern, and they were holding sheafs of paper, with pictures of people on them. When they saw him, they seized him.

The guards placed him in a hall filled with other people, from kids his age to old men and women. He was given a table, and they dumped a stack of parchment in front of him. They were covered in numbers, words, symbols. Codes. They ordered him to solve them. If he did enough, maybe they’d let him go.

So he worked fervently, decoding more pages as familiar codes appeared. He would stay up some nights, working by candlelight, holding onto the hope of freedom. Too innocent to realize he knew too much to be released.

Realising his determination, the guards moved Jay. He thought he was finally going to be freed, but they put him in a small room. There was nothing except a desk, chair, bed, and shelves, stacked high with papers and inkpots. Someone would regularly give him food, becoming his only way of telling the time of day. He knew he was probably being treated better than any criminal on the continent, but every day the walls seemed to close in a little, threatening to crush him as weeks turned to months.

One cold winter’s day, unable to stand it anymore, he pounded on the door, no idea how long he kept it up. When it opened, he expected a furious guard. Instead, it was a girl with flame orange hair.

“What’s your name?” she asked. He didn’t want to remember. So he asked back instead. “Betty. My name is Betty.” she giggled. He nodded numbly, then fled, leaving her staring after him in surprise.

---

It had taken weeks, but he’d found his way back to Falk’s house. Dust covered everything. Where’s Wren? Is she okay?

On the table was his satchel, packed and patched. On it was a sketch from Wren, and a note:

Falk came back. If you ever see this, Jace, come find us.

So both of them had left. He would never find them, not without a clue of where they’d be.

No. He would start over, with his skills as an errand runner.

“Lesson one. Never lose that satchel.”

-By Karen Chew Thong Yan

Note: The dashes mark timeskips.