Something to Remember You by

Chapter 1

Spring, 1944
A village in Italy

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"Why? Why is this worth it?"

Feliciano answered immediately, without thinking. "Because I love him."

The Turk looked vaguely amused. "This war just don't make sense anymore. But hey. Gold is worth the same whoever you get it from." The Turk stood to leave.

"And you?" asked Feliciano suddenly, surprising himself that he asked. "Why is what you do worth it? Is that gold in your pocket the only thing that matters?" Feliciano felt suddenly afraid as the Turk smirked down at him, one dark eyebrow raised in amusement. Feliciano shrank back into his chair.

"It's the only thing that lasts, little Resistenza. You'll learn that soon enough."

Feliciano didn't believe him. There were things worth more than gold. Things that lasted longer. Things like flowers, and winter afternoons, and photographs with goodbyes scrawled on the back. "Love lasts."

"Nice sentiment, kid." And for the briefest second, a flash of bitter memory seemed to pass over the Turk's face; as if he knew what Feliciano meant, as if he understood. But it was gone before Feliciano could be sure he had seen it. "But it's not true."

Summer, 1914
Constantinople, Turkey

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Sadik passed his years and sought his fortune on the hot, harsh streets of Constantinople. At sixteen, he'd seen more of life and known more of hardship than most many times his age. He never had a family he remembered, or a friend who cared. He never had a room his own, or a coin he earned. But Sadik needed none of that. Sadik survived on his wits and his instinct. The world thought Sadik nothing, but he knew otherwise. He knew he was smarter. He knew he was stronger. Sadik was a Sultan of the streets, and he made his own way in this world. Sure, his own way included lying and cheating and downright stealing, but hey – life was only worth what you took from it.

The sun was high and the wind dry on the afternoon Sadik sought shelter in the lush gardens of the city mosque. He refused to enter the building - Sadik was no man of God. Instead, he liked to take off his shoes and feel the cool grass on his feet. He liked to rest beneath the shady trees, safe from the burning sun. He liked to drink from the tall, stone fountain, and wash his filthy hands beneath its long, carved column of cascading water. These gardens were a little patch of green in the raucous city, a small oasis that reminded Sadik there existed more than just harsh, dusty streets; more than starving days and freezing nights and men willing to cut your throat for the stolen coin in your pocket. This was a place Sadik took respite from his bitter fight for survival, even if only for a few hours. This was another world.

And it was on this day in early July, as Sadik approached the fountain for its clean, fresh water, that he first saw him.

The boy sat on the fountain's edge: still and unmoving, straight-backed and noble. Like an Egyptian Pharaoh of old; like something from another world. As he sat reading a book on his lap, a stream of sunlight fell upon him, and a light breeze rustled the cloth of his robe. For a moment, the blaring noise and heat of the world fell silent. This boy was the very image of serenity and peace. But more than that – he looked rich. Sadik collected his thoughts, and approached through the ring of trees.

"I bet I can guess what passage you're reading."

The boy raised his eyes slowly. He did not appear startled. He simply closed the book calmly on his lap and regarded Sadik carefully. When he spoke his voice was smooth and quiet. "Why would you bet on such a thing?"

Sadik shrugged defiantly. "Fun."

A slight movement at the corner of his lip. "What a strange sense of amusement you have."