The town of M'ri Kassia has been living a life of misfortune after the Kurim, the stone given by their god, Kassia, was stolen and lost by the witches who pretended to be pirates. Reeve, the son of the town leader, travels far and wide to search for it until he finds an unexpected treasure that will change everything he knows about his life and his people.
View MoreThe Habi Superior superior looks a worried gaze at me with no words coming out of her mouth. She leads me to her room with all the silence wafting throughout the room. There she is – mom is lying down on her bed sleeping like a still river. Her skin has turned pale, with her lips colored white. She forcefully coughs and a thick blood squirts from her mouth staining her pillow. I rush to get a clean cloth to wipe the blood on the edges her lips. She then grips the blanket that is covering her body. I can feel her fingers holding tight to its cloth from where I stand. The Habi Superior approaches a metal bowl filled with water. She soaks a dry cloth into it and squeezes it tightly until all the water exits the cloth. She wipes the cloth from my mother’s forehead, then to her eyes and neck. My mom shivers in the cold.I cannot think of a single thing as I look at my mother’s face. My mother woke up with tons of energy this morning and she seemed fine when I vis
I fold the sleeves of my shirts up to my elbow so some air can cool down my skin. I feel the running of sweat from the pores of my skin seep through the cotton of my clothes. Our helper hands me a mug of water and offers me to drink. I’ve been parching for it earlier. The water runs smooth to my through, mending the discomfort of heat passing from the sun above. I wear my hat and I go down of the chariot.I see people flock to the town hall, lining up in front of a table as they wait to be accommodated by a woman sitting behind it. Each person patiently waits in a line until they get to be allowed to enter the hall.“Ma’am, I would like to hand this letters to my mom. This letter must have been delivered here but it was brought to our house.” I approached the woman.Her eyes lights up and postures her back straightly. “Oh, you must be her son!” She then stops talking to the middle-aged man in front of her table.“
My mother and I still go to the house of Habi. But as weeks fly, I can see mother lessen the wine she drinks before sleeping. However, the Habi Superior says I should remain as a companion on her side.A helper hands me envelopes of letters. All are addressed to my mom and I think these letters are not meant to be sent here in our house.The first letter tells of an elderly seeking assistance to carry his wife’s dead body to a tombstone in the community cemetery. The woman died in her sleep after being fatally ill for a week. Another letter tells about asking the town hall to build more houses of Habi to accommodate other people found with the sickness. Another letter tells of a farmer who had nothing more crop to harvest and they recommend importing goods from the town nearby so the food can be distributed to everyone. At the end of the letter, it says, “Kassia must be angry.” The remaining letters tell about the same thing.However, one of th
The wind blowing on my face feels like sweet wine rushing down to my throat – and it tells me I’m ready to leave. But before I seek this long journey, I would like to savor the sweet drops of this wine parching my mouth and my chest after aging this for so long. My mother tells me that a wine becomes tastier as old as it ages – and with its taste comes together with its smell. The fresh ripe grapes harvested from its tree makes an aroma so rich it that all pirates who lived in this town never left the seats of our bars.Oh, those pirates. They must have gotten so well to the minds of our town, M’ri Kassia. There’s an old legend going around in this town saying that if in your sleep, you see a pirate endlessly breaking the wine bottles in your wine cellar, it’s a good luck for your business. Because they’re there to consume your wine for as many as they want. Many have testified for it but many had said it false.But if there is
The wind blowing on my face feels like sweet wine rushing down to my throat – and it tells me I’m ready to leave. But before I seek this long journey, I would like to savor the sweet drops of this wine parching my mouth and my chest after aging this for so long. My mother tells me that a wine becomes tastier as old as it ages – and with its taste comes together with its smell. The fresh ripe grapes harvested from its tree makes an aroma so rich it that all pirates who lived in this town never left the seats of our bars.Oh, those pirates. They must have gotten so well to the minds of our town, M’ri Kassia. There’s an old legend going around in this town saying that if in your sleep, you see a pirate endlessly breaking the wine bottles in your wine cellar, it’s a good luck for your business. Because they’re there to consume your wine for as many as they want. Many have testified for it but many had said it false.But if there is
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