The Thieves of Otar

The Visitor

Arch Reems sighed as he walked through the door of his little house. The door squealed loudly on its hinges. It was only one of the many things Arch hadn't gotten to fixing yet. The stove was too small to hold much more than one small log at a time, and many of the house's small windows were shattered and broken to shards. The sofa was small and lumpy, and covered with dust and hair from the people and animals that had sat on it in times past. There were loose boards and nails on the floor, and you had to watch your step to avoid falling over. The ceiling was too low for Arch to stand up straight in, so he always had to crouch. The dining room table had a missing leg, and was useless for eating on.

The stairs screeched loudly and Arch smiled as his little boy came running into his waiting arms.

Ike embraced his father tightly, as if he hadn't seen him for years. Then he released him as he looked up at his father with big eyes and said, "Pa! You've been gone for hours! Did you get that new cloth to patch up your trousers?" His energetic son looked about, as if looking for the hidden fabric.

"No, Ike, I didn't," Arch replied. He looked into his pride and joy's big, cow-like brown eyes, and saw them hold disappointment. Ike was obviously disappointed that his father would be cold again this coming winter. It was getting cold already, and Arch could his son could hear him shivering at night.

"Why not?" Ike wanted to know.

"I gave the money away," Arch said.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because she needed it more," Arch said simply.

"Who's 'she'?"

"A girl I met at the market," Arch told him. "She's about your age."

"But why'd you give her your money, Pa?" Ike persisted. "You worked for that gold for four months!"

"Calm down, Ike," Arch said gently. Ike did, and he blew a piece of his untidy brown hair out of his eyes so he could look his pa in the face. "She's the daughter of Daxtor Myrna."

Ike had heard his father talk about Myrna in a bitter tone sometimes when he came back from a hard day in the fields or business in town. He knew that he was a mean old drunk, but he hadn't heard of his daughter. Her life must have been awful, living with a jerk like that.

"I didn't know he had a girl," Ike said.

"I didn't either," Arch admitted. "Until today, at least."

"But why did you give her your coin, Pa?"

"She ran away from home," Arch said sadly, remembering the poor little girl. "Finally had enough of her father, I suppose. Anyway, she needed the money if she was ever going to survive in the world."

"You mean she was living on the streets?" Ike asked with wide eyes.

Arch nodded sadly. "No one should be condemned to that fate."

Ike agreed. Even if his dad would be cold during the winter, a little girl his age, who would have had no place to stay or any shelter from the cold, would have some money to buy herself a blanket. She could maybe even buy a decent meal with what his father had given her.

"What was her name?" Ike wondered out loud.

"Zia," Arch said. "Beautiful girl. Most peculiar eyes though."

"Pic-mule-clear?" Ike tried to say. "What does that mean, and why did her eyes had pic-mule-clear in them?"

Arch laughed lightly. "Peculiar. It means rather strange or odd. Her eyes were the strangest color I've ever seen in my life."