Jaspen

It was a few days later the King served out judgment on the few that had murdered Omand and two others in the temple. Word had spread that perhaps the Gods sided with the purists due to the murder of Omand, a Raksheesh bringing forth the mighty rains to help the crops. It made the few Raksheesh be fearful that the king would pardon them and perhaps revoke our rights. He had all the purists brought to the front of the palace in chains as he gave them their sentence.

"I hereby order that the leader of this group, and all of his accomplices shall be exiled from our tribe and become enemies to our tribe. They are never to return to the land of their birth and if seen- whether here or anywhere, to be killed."

Banishment was almost as grave as being beheaded. To be stripped from the land of your birth and seen as a wanderer with no home was to be blackened from our records. The king had stripped them of their identity and for some, that was worse than death.

A murmur went through the crowd. Some calling it cowardliness, or being too lenient and some saying it was the right choice.

"Take them away. As king, I claim their housing and all their belongings."

Another murmur was heard through the crowds. When banished, which didn't happen often, the king usually allowed for them to at least take some things with them. I felt no pity for these men and was happy with this choice. Whoever killed Omand would suffer.

The crowd cleared a path watching in awe as six of high esteemed members of our tribe were led on a combined chain out of our city to never be spoke of again. One of them being Raj. I pushed myself through the crowd by the outer city wall and waited for him to pass by me. Had he been the one that had taken my only friend from this world?

The six were led by five men that included Hassan. Raj was the last one in line right behind his father. As he finally passed by me, our eyes locked and a look of disgust crossed his face as he spit in my direction.

"Raksheesh scum! You were supposed to die with him! Coward!" he roared as he was dragged out of the city.

His words cut through me as I watched him leave. I knew he meant Omand. Who else could he have meant?

It wasn't until my father touched my shoulder that I realized my fists were clenched and that they had already became a faint outline on the desert. I had never felt the rage that boiled within me as it did now.

"Let's get back to work, son," he said gently. "Come. This is all behind us."

I followed half heatedly back to his forge. It was easy for him to say it was all behind us when he hadn't lost anyone in the massacre as I had. Something deep within me hoped I would one day be able to avenge Omand, but for now, I would focus on my duties as an apprentice.

I would rise above being a blacksmith. I thirsted for more- to be a Scortha. I would find a way to become someone of worth and to rise above my status as a scorn to our people.