Tricks and Thieves

== A Note ==
Just in case, this story has nothing to do with religion. It is purely fictional.
== Chapter One - Vera ==
Vera ducked under a table as she snuck another peach into her pocket. 
Behind her, she heard a man's voice call out, "Stop!" But she didn't. She kept going, dodging vendors as they stared after her in shock. 
A new voice rose above the fray. "Stop her! She stole my peaches!" Vera saw a furious man with a hooked beard pushing his way through the crowd, and she ran faster. 
She made her way into the forest. She would be safe here, she knew - the townspeople never ventured this far. Vera slipped behind a tree, catching her breath. 
She leapt over a log as she heard footsteps, skidding in the wet leaves from last night's rainfall. Dewdrops glistened on every leaf, creating a majestic effect, but she didn't stop to admire it. She kept going, her heart hammering. 
The footsteps slowly died down, and Vera did too. She sat down on a rotten log and took out her peaches, then started to peel them cautiously. 
She ripped down the pink-and-red skin and bit into the ripe fruit, feeling thee satisfactory taste. She sunk her teeth into it a second time, and paused to finish the peach before she continued on her way. 
Vera tossed the peach pit into a patch of dead leaves and kept walking, enjoying the scenery. Now that she was free of people chasing her and other...unpleasant encounters, she felt carefree and careless. 
She lifted her head to the sky and let the warm sunlight soak her face. So many years of living under the sun had deepened her skin to a rich bronze color, and freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. 
She'd gotten her cropped black hair from her late mother, with her sparkling smiles, and her high cheekbones were a gift from her father, who'd moved out of the country years ago and never come back. And as far as she was concerned, he didn't exist. 
She finished off her second peach and finally found her way to a small home in the treetops, so well camouflaged with the mud and foliage that she almost didn't find it. But when she rapped three times on the trunk, there was a voice: 
"Waking me up in the middle of the afternoon, will you? What are those youngsters up to now?" 
As soon as the voice spoke, a ladder was lowered from the house. Vera knocked two more times, then started up the ladder. 
She reached the platform which held the tree house and felt a hand lift her up. 
Vera looked into her rescuer's eyes, which were as green as the summer meadows. She had pale skin and a barely there smattering of freckles, backdropped against dark chestnut curls. She seemed about Vera's age, fifteen, but slightly taller.
"Who are you?" Vera frowned. "You're new."
This was the wrong thing to say, she realized, because the girl's mouthed curved into a frown. "Not sure why Great-grandmother wants to take you in," she muttered, then trudged back to the house with Vera at her heels. 
Vera opened the door just before it could bang in her face and entered into a warm little scene. A woman with thick gray hair sat in a wooden chair, knitting something out of salmon-colored yarn. As soon as she saw Vera, she threw aside her knitting and rose from the chair to greet her. 
"Aunt Julieta!" Vera said, recognizing her instantly. 
They weren’t family by relation, but Julieta had saved Vera many times from the townspeople. She was indebted to her. 
Julieta smirked. "Didn't recognize me?" She embraced Vera tightly, then released her and frowned. "Vera, dear, what have you been up to now?" 
"I got us fresh fruit," Vera said innocently, holding up the stolen peaches. 
Julieta heaved a sigh. "Vera, Vera, what are we going to do with you?" she muttered, but there was the hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. "Come in farther, sweetie, and we can properly enjoy them."
"Gran, who is she?" The girl from earlier asked rudely, jabbing her thumb in Vera's direction. 
Julieta bustled over to her granddaughter and held her hands in a tight grip. "Sheila, that's Vera. She's about your age, I believe? You two have much in common. You could be great friends." 
At the mention of friends, Sheila's face shuttered immediately. "I don't have friends," she said angrily, storming to the back of the tree house. Julieta followed her with an apologetic glance at Vera, then she was gone. 
Vera watched them go, curiosity knotting in the back of her mind. 
What had that been about?
== Chapter Two - Lukaas ==
Lukaas hopped onto the table as he listened to Father Thistle lecture. 
“...and the seas shall rise,” he droned. “Every natural state shall fall. It is only a matter of fact.” 
Many of the others perched around them looked like they were going to fall asleep as the man continued, but Lukaas cocked his head. He’d been here since he was young, and he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself now. 
“Lukaas,” a voice hissed beside him. He looked down to see his friend Somkit, looking so bored that his eyes were about to roll out of his head. “How are you even standing this?” 
“I have my reasons,” Lukaas muttered back, then turned his attention to Father Thistle once more. 
Somkit sighed dramatically. 
The Institute of Cleansing for Young Men was a notorious school for thieves, assassins, and general criminals. Lukaas hadn’t been stealing, exactly, but he’d taken a roll of bread without permission, so he supposed in a way he was a thief to the rest of them. 
Once Father Thistle had finished his one-hour long talk, they headed in a silent line to the wooden doors at the end of the room. Lukaas trailed quietly behind Somkit, who was chatting a young man’s ears off as they ventured deeper into the complex. 
When they reached the dining hall - a long room with splintered tables and chairs set up all along it - the men sat down in unison, their faces set in a blank expression. Even Somkit. 
They chanted their usual prayer to the gods, then the men returned joyful or disgusted expressions at each other as they ate, talking about all of the latest news from the mainland or everything that didn’t have to do with lessons. Father Thistle was the only one silent, watching everyone with his beady black eyes. 
Once they finished that up, they all stood simultaneously and walked in perfect unison to the back door. It was time for post-lunch prayers. 
They gathered in front of the marble statue of a goddess, her hands outstretched as if welcoming the world. Her eyes were painted lush green, and her golden eyes twinkled merrily. Her cherry-red lips curved into a smile, and her robes were colored a swirl of gold and caramel. A swift (the bird) perched on her shoulder, and an owl flew above her. It was like a Disney cartoon. 
“The Goddess,” Father Thistle murmured. “Bow to her.” 
They did as he said. Father Thistle bent and touched the statue’s hands to his forehead reverently, then lowered himself. 
The rest intoned, “O Great Goddess,
No one who lives is greater than you, 
Keep our lives in your mind.”
It wasn’t the best prayer, Lukaas supposed, but Father Thistle had only had three minutes to make it. (They said a new prayer every day.) But it would have to do. 
Just before they started to walk back, Lukaas caught a flutter of movement. A girl slipping through the branches, her hair as black as a shadow and her eyes golden like a sunset. She spotted him and fled in alarm. 
Lukaas frowned. “No one else is supposed to be in the Institute but us,” he muttered, then, casting one look at the obedient young men behind him, he ran after the girl.
Category:Original Stories
Category:Original Stories (Unfinished)
Category:Fantasy
Category:Literature