Chapter 1 - The sage's invitation

An old hunchbacked sage is addressing a large band of rebels that are preparing an attack on a small encampment of the hated kingdom ruler’s army. Knowing the juicy bait of a small patrol is too good to be true, the sage attempts to convince them to change their plans by presenting a motivational speech. Standing atop a small boulder, leaning on his simple oak staff, the sage speaks softly, “I used to think that the sword and axe were the most important tools for any man who seeks to defend all that he holds dear, but I have since discovered that there is something just as powerful which also takes into account a long-term vision for things. There may be a time for blades, but it should not be the first choice of a man who truly wants to defend! The enemy will turn to force of arms first to get what they want, but there is a better way for us who just want to live in peace and for us that are more simple kinds of folks.”

The sage notices that he has the entire band’s full attention so he musters as much strength as he can to present his invitation, “If any of you want to find this better path, then follow me instead of going on this attack. Follow me and I will guide you to a truly enlightening power that does not rely on physical strength but instead relies on influence and conviction. Who will join me?”

The sage looks down from his perch and surveys the stern faces of the rebel group before him in anticipation of new volunteers, but suddenly the whole lot bursts out laughing and shaking their heads they turn back to their armor and attack preparations.

The old sage sighs heavily and turns to leave, but a tug on his robes from below makes him turn his raggedly-hooded head towards a young and very skinny furrow-browed boy no older than eighteen. He will join the cause, but how will he be of much use as his tongue has already been removed by soldiers on what was probably one of the hundreds of recent farmstead invasions for supplies. The sage wonders if the removal of the tongue is a sign that the king is on to something about his new method of battle, but he quickly dismisses the idea as this power has never been in the open before, but has only been kept in secret from sage past to sage present, down the line to a time like the now, where things are so horrible that something must finally turn the tides of life back in the favor of the common man. The boy won't be useful for the artful skill that the sage wishes to pass on, but his spirit and willingness may come in handy for convincing future trainees to follow the cause.

The sage sighs again and he motions for the scrawny young man to follow him, which he does with a slight grin beneath his long oily black hair. Shouldering large bags of supplies the sage and the boy begin on a trek in the opposite direction of the rebel’s attack which, mentioned by the sage in no more than a few words, would most certainly end in failure due to the long line of marching soldiers that were headed in the encamped patrols direction only hours before. Unknown to the sage or the greasy-haired chicken-fed boy, however, is that this was the start of a new administration of defenders that would change their world, one conversation at a time.

#6 After walking for hours and hours through the night, the morning finally arrived and the rays of sun began to peek over the mountain ridges that bordered the countryside to the left of the small marching band of black-haired boys, one orange-haired boy, and the leader with a giant pack.
Our boy's legs were sore and his feet ached and still they marched onward without mention of food or rest from anyone.
At last he decided he must find an end and a meal or else he might die while marching as these other boys seemed to already have done. He left his place in the ranks and urged his legs to carry him in a swift jog to the front of the group where the gruff leader marched resolutely.
"E-excuse me sir..." The orange-haired boy had begun, but he was quickly silenced by the mean glare that the man shot at him.
"What is it now, boy?" He shot in question as meanly as his look. "Have you lost your spine for battle after only a single night of marching? My company will not tolerate deserters!"
Barely giving so much as a glance, the gruff man tossed a loaf of bread to the boy and continued his speech. "No...we wont have to worry about you leaving our group now, will we? You were meant for great things son, as is obvious by the color of your head.
Our boy's ears perked up at the mention of hair color. He still wanted to find out how to change his to hair to be the color white so he could smile and be happy like that dying man back home.
"No sir..." the gruff man continued. "We would be well on our way to a swift victory, if only all my lads had bright orange hair. As it is though, plain black-headed soldiers will have to do."
The boy munched away hungrily on the loaf of bread as he watched the road pass beneath his feet. He waited to hear more about what his hair color might have to do with his future, but when the gruff leader didn't say anything else for a long while the boy looked up only to see him squinting fiercely into the distance. He followed his gaze on down the road at something that was moving in the morning light. It was an old lady with white hair.

(To Be Continued...)

#5 The march continued for hours without an end in sight. The sun set with only a half-moon to take its place, leaving the surrounding land in darkness and nothing but the long dirt path stretching on forever ahead of them. Several times the orange-haired boy felt himself falling asleep as they walked but when he almost tripped and fell and only stayed aright by chance he felt more awake. The other boys seemed not to notice the change from day to night, nor did they seem to notice much of anything. The whole time he had been with the company none of them mentioned a word of welcome and he saw that their eyes never moved from their glassy focus on the gruff leader in the front. The leader, that is the big man with the enormous clanking pack, didn't say much of anything either, aside from an occasional snarl or cough. The orange-haired boy did not like the feeling that the eternal quiet march gave him, that feeling like he was among a troop of unsuspecting animals being led to their death at the orders of a crazed chef.

(To Be Continued...)

#4. It was a few hours later that the orange-haired boy decided to try and get back up after his rough sprint. Besides, he thought, the ground began to grow cold as the light faded from the sky bringing the evening closer and he knew he must find shelter. As he placed his hands on the ground in preparation to push himself up, he felt the ground shudder beneath his fingertips and looking up he saw he had been lying all this time right next to a winding dirt road, and that now, coming up the way was a long line of people marching fiercely towards him. As they began to draw closer he noticed that the people were all boys about his age with their eyes straight ahead of them marching to the command of a large gruff man who wore a pack the size of house on his back that clanked loudly as his feet fell in unison with the boys stiff march. When the gruff man reached the place where the orange-haired boy lay near the road, he called out loudly at his company in the loudest voice the boy had ever heard, "HALT!".
"What are you doing lying there on the ground, boy?" The gruff leader spoke harshly in the tone of a statement more than any question he had heard before.
"Up with you and march with us! Don't you know there's a war coming?" Again the man only seemed to have statements to say.
Not wishing to be trodden on or forgotten at all, the orange-haired boy rose and took a place among the other people in line.
"RESUME MARCH!" The gruff man said and they were off again marching louder than ever.
It was at this moment that our boy looked up to see a sight that interested him greatly.
None of the boy's hair was bright orange like his. Some had wiry black hair and some had unkempt black hair and some even had curly black hair, and none had hair bright or orange as his own. He was in fact so pleased and busy looking at all their different hair that he did not notice the single peacekeeper at the top of the steep hill watching them march away.

(To Be Continued...)

#3. Again a loud bang rang out loud and clear and the boy heard the round sink into the ground near where he lay. Now he felt like getting as far away as he could. He wanted to live and find out how to get a different hair color not die here in the field just outside his home town.  Before another shot could be loaded and fired he grabbed at the shiny object that had caught his attention and stuffing it into one of his many pockets he took off running. At first he ran alongside the field he had been standing in, but then he took a turn down a hill over a small creek and then up the side of a more steep hill. He ran and he ran until his heart hurt and his face grew brighter than his hair as he huffed and puffed. The world started to dance around his eyes since he had never run for such a long distance before. He thought he felt his foot-falls land unsteadily and finally he tripped near the bottom of another steep hill and fell forward hard into the ground and knocking out the wind in his lungs he lay still for quite a while.

(To Be Continued...)

#2. At that moment he noticed something on the ground shining when the sun flashed over head. Bending down to pick it up he heard a loud echoing "bang!" and a whoosh of air past his ear. He knelt closer to the soft field ground, not in fear, but in concern for his safety. He had heard that loud sound once before from the side-arm of his city's peacekeeper who shot down a man with white hair. In fact it was around that time that the boy had begun to think about different colored hair and how cool it would look to be so different than everyone else. That white hair seemed to shine like the sun on the man that day, and when the boy had walked closer he noticed a smile upon his face, even as he died. Another attractive oddity in his home city. Yes the boy could now think of that place as his home since he was out traveling to other places.

(To Be Continued...)

#1. One day there was a boy with orange hair who lived in a large city full of orange haired people. He didn't have any money to spend but he always thought it would be nice to have a different color of hair than his neighbors and friends.
On a particular day when it was both sunny and cloudy he left the city to find a place where he could get a different color of hair without paying money.
There had never been roads leading outside since the mayor of the city knew that the people would never want to go to a place where people didn't have orange hair like them so the boy had to find his own way.
Once he was clear of the city streets and buildings he climbed the fence that had always surrounded them and headed across a field.
While he was in the field he noticed that the sun kept blinking in and out of the quickly moving clouds, and that, while he stood there, the hair on his head changed colors from bright orange to dark orange, but he wanted his hair to be really different so he ventured further on.

(To Be Continued...)