Chapter 16: Higher Matters


    James woke to someone pounding on an anvil inside his skull. At least, that''s what it felt like until he realized the pounding was just Dayne moving around the room. The morning light stabbed through his eyelids with a vindictive precision.


    "Time to move," Dayne said, his normal speaking voice somehow louder than a Sarrith''s screech. "Market waits for no one''s hangover."


    James tried to respond but his tongue felt like dried leather. He cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it as the room performed a lazy spin. The healer''s remedy had worked wonders on his face but apparently had no effect on whatever that northern spirit was doing to his head.


    "Drink this," Dayne said, shoving a cup of something into James''s hands. "Hangover cure. Tastes worse than it smells."


    The liquid in the cup was an alarming shade of green and smelled like something had died in a herb garden. James hesitated until another wave of nausea convinced him that nothing could actually make him feel worse.


    He was wrong about that.


    "Gods," he choked out after swallowing, "what''s in this?"


    "Better not to ask." Dayne was already fully dressed, looking frustratingly unaffected by their shared drinks from the night before. "Got two Shellbacks left to sell. Need you functional."


    By the time they made it downstairs, James''s head had downgraded from ''active construction site'' to merely a ''persistent throb.'' The common room was mostly empty, just a few early risers breaking their fast. Once again Serra was nowhere to be seen in the early morning.


    Dayne was back to his usual self, with no trace of last night''s revelations in his demeanor. The Thulmarks on his arms were perfectly still, looking like ordinary tattoos in the morning light. If James hadn''t seen them move himself, hadn''t heard Dayne''s whispered explanations about power bound in flesh, he might have thought he''d imagined the whole thing.


    They ate quickly, some kind of porridge that James''s stomach reluctantly accepted as food. Dayne spoke little, but that wasn''t unusual. What was unusual was his next comment, delivered between spoonfuls.


    "Found someone who might help. With your memory trouble."


    James looked up sharply, immediately regretting the sudden movement. "What kind of someone?"


    The words took a moment to fully register. Memory trouble. In all the chaos and excitement, he''d almost forgotten his original desperate question: how had he gotten here? Why? The possibility of answers had gotten buried under the daily work of simply existing in this world.


    "Woman in the lower market. Deals in old knowledge." Dayne''s tone was casual, but his eyes weren''t. "After we sell the last Shellbacks."


    The words hung between them like smoke. James wanted to ask more, but Dayne had already shifted back to practical matters.


    "Need to move soon," he said, pushing his empty bowl away. "Early buyers are the most interested."


    The walk to the market gave James too much time to think. How exactly do you ask someone about interdimensional travel without sounding completely mad? ''Excuse me, but I was crossing a street in another world and somehow ended up here'' didn''t seem like a promising opener. Neither did ''Any idea how to get back to a place with one moon and no color-shifting animals?''


    The existence of Thulmarks suggested this world had more to it than just strange creatures and two moons. But there was probably a huge leap between magical tattoos and whatever had brought him here. Still, he needed to try something. Maybe he could approach it sideways, ask about people appearing mysteriously, or about strange occurrences in the grasslands where he''d first awakened.


    The morning market crowd parted around them as they walked, giving Dayne''s arms a respectful distance. At least James wasn''t the only one who''d noticed something different about those markings.


    The market was already in full swing, perhaps even busier than yesterday. Traders who''d waited out the storm were making up for lost time, their voices creating a constant buzz of negotiation and bartering.


    They spotted Venna at her grain stall, her sons arranging sacks in neat rows. Her eyebrows rose slightly when she saw James still following Dayne.


    "Still here then?" she called out as they passed.


    "Two more to sell," Dayne replied, nodding toward their platform.


    "Six already gone?" Venna let out a low whistle. "Good price, I hope?" When Dayne just smiled slightly, she shook her head. "Course it was. Mountain stock always sells well." Her eyes moved to James. "And you''re learning the trade, are you?"


    Something in her tone suggested she didn''t quite believe that was all he was doing there, but like everyone else in the market, she seemed to trust Dayne''s judgment. If he wanted to keep a mysterious helper around, that was his business.


    "Learning something," James managed, his head still throbbing enough to make conversation difficult.


    "Northern spirits last night, by the look of you," she said with a knowing smile. "Careful with that stuff. Makes even veteran traders speak more truth than they mean to."


    Their platform looked smaller with only two Shellbacks remaining. Dayne arranged them carefully, positioning them so the morning light caught their spiral patterns to their best advantage. The creatures seemed calmer today, perhaps growing used to the market''s noise and movement.


    The metalworker from yesterday was already set up next door, her tools gleaming in neat rows. She gave them a slight nod.


    "These two are brothers," Dayne said as they worked, his voice pitched for passing traders to overhear. James recognized the shift in his demeanor, the salesman persona emerging. "Same clutch, same markings. Strong breeding pair."


    James noticed how different buyers moved through the market compared to yesterday. The early morning crowd seemed more serious, less interested in browsing. These were traders who knew exactly what they were looking for.


    The first potential buyer wore expensive clothes that had seen better days. James watched in amazement as Dayne transformed once again into the charismatic seller, gesturing enthusiastically about bloodlines and breeding potential. It was like watching someone put on a mask, the quiet, stoic man replaced by an engaging merchant who could probably sell ice to winter tribes. The buyer eventually moved on, but James was still shaking his head at the performance.


    The second buyer was more promising, a large man with practical clothes and calloused hands. He studied the Shellbacks with obvious knowledge, nodding at their markings.


    "Need four," he said finally. "For a new breeding program."


    "Sold six yesterday," Dayne replied. "Only these two remain."


    The man grunted in disappointment and moved on, leaving James to marvel at how Dayne could switch his sales persona on and off like a lamp.


    The third buyer was dressed simply but carried himself with authority. He focused on one of the Shellbacks, examining its shell patterns carefully.


    "This one," he said. "How many marks?"


    Dayne began his pitch, but James spoke before he could stop himself. "They''re brothers," he said, forcing himself to continue despite everyone''s eyes turning to him. "Same clutch, same breeding lines. Splitting them would waste their potential. Together, they could start a whole new bloodline."


    The buyer''s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, looking between the two creatures. "Brothers, you say?"


    James pointed to the spiral patterns, just as Dayne had shown him. "See how the markings mirror each other? That''s matching bloodline could be passed down for generations."


    The buyer studied the patterns again, then nodded slowly. "Both then. Your price?"


    After the sale was completed and the buyer had arranged transport, Dayne turned to James. "Just earned your drinks from last night," he said, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "And tonight''s too."


    James felt a surge of pride as they collected their payment. He''d actually contributed something real, not just lifted boxes or cleaned pens, but understood the true value of what they were selling. His hangover even felt more manageable with that small victory under his belt. Now they could seek out this woman who dealt in old knowledge. Maybe she''d have some answers about how he''d ended up here, or better yet, how he might get back. Though that last thought didn''t carry the same desperate urgency it once had.


    They had just started toward the lower market when three city guards stepped into their path. Their blue leather armor marked them as higher-ranked than the regular patrols, and they carried themselves with the careful precision of men who knew exactly who they were stopping.


    "Dayne," the lead guard said, not quite a greeting. "You''ll need to come with us."


    James felt Dayne tense beside him, the Thulmarks on his arms darkening slightly. "Why?"


    "Not our place to say." The guard''s hand wasn''t on his weapon, but it wasn''t far from it either. "Just following orders."


    The market crowd flowed around them like a stream around stones, traders and customers giving their group a wide berth. James noticed how the guards positioned themselves, two slightly behind their leader, creating a triangle formation that looked casual but wasn''t.


    "My friend here," Dayne said, nodding toward James, "has business to attend to."


    "He can come too." The guard''s tone suggested this wasn''t a request.


    Dayne studied them for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a slight nod. "Lead on then."


    As they followed the guards through the market, James noticed how people reacted to their presence, not with the usual deference given to city guards, but with the kind of attention reserved for something more significant. Whatever was happening, it was clear this wasn''t a routine matter.


    The Thulmarks remained dark against Dayne''s skin, a silent warning that their morning had just become considerably more complicated.


    The guards led them up through Storhold''s levels, each tier marking a visible shift in both architecture and inhabitants. The crowded market streets with their wooden awnings and pressing crowds gave way to broader thoroughfares paved with fitted stone. The buildings grew taller, their walls showing less wear, the windows larger and set with actual glass rather than oiled paper.


    The people changed too. Gone were the practical clothes of traders and craftsmen, replaced by carefully tailored garments in richer colors. Even their way of moving was different as if rushing anywhere would be beneath their dignity.


    Higher still, the buildings took on a different character entirely. The stone blocks fit together with impossible precision, carved reliefs depicting scenes of battle and commerce. The history of storhold told in each stone. Gardens appeared, carefully maintained patches of green rising in terraces above the dusty markets below.


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    The air felt different up here, cleaner, carrying the scent of flowering plants instead of market crowds. The noise of commerce became a distant murmur, replaced by the sound of fountains and wind chimes crafted from what looked like crystal.


    Dayne moved through it all with the stiff posture of someone returning to a place they''d hoped to avoid. His eyes tracked every guard post, every doorway, marking entries and exits with practiced attention. The Thulmarks remained dark against his skin, a constant reminder that this wasn''t just a social call.


    The chieftain''s quarters occupied an entire level of the highest tower. Guards stood at every approach, not the regular city watch, but warriors wearing armor that bore the marks of actual combat.


    The chamber itself spoke of power earned rather than inherited. Weapons lined the walls, not ceremonial pieces but well-used tools of war, each bearing signs of real battle. Maps covered a massive table, weighted down with metal markers showing troop movements and trade routes. The furniture was solid and practical, built for warriors rather than courtiers.


    Thorgrim, Chieftain of Storhold, stood studying one of the maps. Thorgrim was a bear of a man, his frame suggesting he could still swing the war hammer mounted behind his chair. But it was the Thulmarks that caught James''s attention. They covered both arms completely and disappeared under his collar. They shifted with each movement, not just darkening like Dayne''s but seeming to ripple with barely contained power.


    James wondered what abilities those extensive markings granted their bearer.


    A tall woman with close-cropped gray hair stood opposite him, pointing to something on the map with a weathered hand. Thulmarks crawled up her neck, different from Dayne''s arm markings. James wondered if their placement had meaning, hers wrapping her throat while Dayne''s spiraled his forearms.


    Looking to be in his fifties but still hardened by combat rather than softened by leadership, Thorgrim looked up as they entered. His eyes went straight to Dayne, ignoring the guards entirely.


    "My Chieftain," Dayne said, bowing his head slightly. The formal address carried genuine respect rather than mere protocol.


    Thorgrim''s stern expression broke into a broad smile. He moved with surprising speed for his size, crossing the room to embrace Dayne like a long-lost son. The Thulmarks on both men rippled at the contact, creating patterns that seemed to respond to each other.


    "Too long," Thorgrim said, clapping Dayne on the shoulder. "Far too long." He gestured to a servant who appeared silently with a pitcher and cups. The ale that poured out was dark and rich, nothing like the tavern''s regular fare.


    James stood near the entrance, feeling simultaneously invisible and extremely out of place. The guards had positioned themselves by the doors, leaving the center of the room to these two marked warriors. The woman with the neck Thulmarks nodded at something Thorgrim said, then moved to join the other guards, her posture shifting from advisor to protector as she took up position with a clear view of both entrances and windows.


    "Sit," Thorgrim commanded, indicating a massive table that dominated one side of the chamber. The wood was dark with age, its surface marked by years of maps and weapons being laid across it. Servants appeared again, this time bearing platters of food, roasted meats still steaming, fruits both familiar and strange, vegetables prepared in ways that made the tavern''s fare seem plain.


    Dayne sat but didn''t reach for the food, though he lifted his cup in acknowledgment when Thorgrim raised his. James remained standing until Thorgrim finally seemed to notice him, gesturing casually toward another chair.


    "You''ve seen them, I''m sure," Thorgrim said, his voice hardening as he turned back to Dayne. "Bjornulf''s raiders, strutting through our streets like they own them."


    The name dropped into the conversation like a stone in still water. James had heard plenty of fearful whispers about Northlanders in the market, but this was the first time he''d heard an actual name associated with their raiders.


    "They claim peace talks," Thorgrim continued, setting his cup down with controlled force. "While their raids push further south each season. Three settlements hit in the past month. Families torn apart, craftsmen vanishing in the night." His Thulmarks darkened visibly. "And now they walk through my gates, speaking of treaties while his men size up our defenses."


    Dayne nodded, his cup half-raised to his lips. "I''ve noticed."


    "Have you noticed how they watch our guard rotations? How they''ve mapped every entrance, every wall?" Thorgrim carved a piece of meat but didn''t eat it, using the knife to gesture. "They''re planning something. These peace talks are just smoke to blind us."


    The room fell quiet except for the sound of Thorgrim''s knife against his plate. Even the guards seemed to be holding their breath.


    "The raids are getting bolder," Dayne acknowledged. "Pushing closer to major routes."


    "Not just bolder, smarter. Coordinated." Thorgrim leaned forward. "They''re not just taking goods anymore. They''re taking people. Skilled workers, young ones strong enough to labor. Building something up there in the north." His voice dropped lower. "Some say they''ve found old ruins in the mountains. Places with power in their stones.


    Servants moved silently around them, refilling cups and removing untouched plates. The female guard had shifted her position slightly, giving her a better view of both the door and the windows. The tension in the room had grown thick enough to cut.


    "We need you back," Thorgrim said finally, his voice carrying the weight of command even in those simple words. "Not as a trader. Not as a wanderer. As what you were meant to be."


    "I have a family now." Dayne''s voice was quiet but firm. "I''m a trader. Nothing more."


    Thorgrim''s fist crashed down on the table, making cups jump and platters rattle. "A trader?" he roared, standing so suddenly his chair toppled backward. "You think being a trader will protect them? You think Bjornulf''s raiders care what you call yourself?"


    The Thulmarks across his chest and arms writhed like angry snakes. "They''re pushing further south. What happens when they reach your quiet little homestead? When they decide your Kira would make a fine prize? When they notice young Asha is strong enough to work their mines?"


    The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Dayne rose slowly, his own Thulmarks shifting with barely contained fury. The mention of his family had transformed him, gone was the respectful trader, replaced by something dangerous. James found himself unable to breathe, the air suddenly too heavy with tension. The hair on his arms stood on end as though lightning was about to strike.


    "You do not speak their names," Dayne said, each word carrying deadly weight. "Not like that. Not ever."


    The guards moved in, weapons half-drawn. The woman with the neck markings positioned herself between the two men, her own markings beginning to darken. James tried to press himself further into his chair, suddenly very aware of being in a room with multiple people who could probably tear him apart with their bare hands.


    Thorgrim raised his hand, stopping the guards'' advance. His expression shifted from anger to something like shame. The Thulmarks across his chest slowly stilled.


    "I apologize," he said, the words coming with obvious difficulty. "That was... poorly spoken. Your family should not be used as weapons in this discussion." He righted his chair but didn''t sit. "They are protected. You know I would never..."


    "But others would," Dayne finished for him, still standing but his posture losing some of its lethal tension. "That''s your point."


    The guards eased back to their positions, though the woman remained closer than before, her eyes moving between the two men. James noticed how her markings stayed dark, ready to respond if the situation ignited again.


    "You were more than just a soldier," Thorgrim said, his voice lowered but intense. "You were my best. The one I trusted most."


    Dayne''s jaw worked silently, the muscles tensing and relaxing as he stared at the maps. His Thulmarks had settled but remained darker than usual, like storm clouds threatening rain.


    "I chose a different path," he said finally.


    "You chose love," Thorgrim corrected. "There''s no shame in that. But sometimes..." He paused, choosing his words more carefully this time. "Sometimes protecting what we love means becoming again what we tried to leave behind."


    The silence that followed felt heavy with shared history. James could see the weight of it in both men''s postures, the chieftain who had lost his best warrior to peace, and the warrior who had chosen family over duty. Neither entirely wrong, neither entirely right.


    He gestured at the maps spread across nearby tables. "Look at these reports. Settlements vanishing. Trading posts found empty. This isn''t just raiding anymore. This is methodical. Planned. At least read them. See for yourself what''s coming. Then decide if a trader''s life will be enough to keep your family safe when Bjornulf shows his true intentions."


    Dayne stared at the reports for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I''ll read them."


    The tension in the room seemed to ease with those three words. Thorgrim''s shoulders relaxed slightly, and the Thulmarks across his chest settled.


    "Good," he said, then his face softened into something more personal. "Now, tell me about your family. How''s that fierce wife of yours? Still keeping you in line?"


    Dayne''s posture shifted subtly, not quite relaxed, but less guarded. "Kira''s well. Garden''s bigger than ever. Starting to trade her herbs to other settlements."


    "And little Asha?" Thorgrim''s smile suggested he''d seen the girl as a baby. "Not so little anymore, I''d guess."


    "Seven now. Smart as her mother. Knows more about Shellbacks than most traders twice her age."


    The conversation''s new direction seemed to settle everyone. The female guard moved back to her original post, though her Thulmarks remained slightly darkened. The other guards resumed their standard positions.


    It was then that Thorgrim turned his attention to James as if just remembering his presence. "And this one? An apprentice?"


    "Found him in the grasslands," Dayne said, the same story he''d told Venna, but then he added something new. "Quick learner though. Sold our last pair of Shellbacks today. Understood their breeding value better than most born to the trade."


    James felt that same surge of pride from earlier, stronger now with such praise in front of Storhold''s chieftain.


    "Did he now?" Thorgrim studied James with new interest. "The grasslands are no easy place to survive alone. Stick with this one," he said to James. "He''s one of the finest men I''ve known. Though he''d never admit it himself."


    Servants appeared again, refreshing drinks and bringing new plates of food. This time Dayne reached for some bread, a silent signal that the formal part of their meeting had ended. Thorgrim settled back in his chair, his massive frame somehow making the sturdy furniture look small.


    "Remember that time in the western passes?" Thorgrim said, his voice taking on the tone of old warriors sharing memories. "That winter storm that caught us outside Vargholm, when we were two days from shelter?"


    "Three days in that cave," Dayne replied, a slight smile touching his lips. "Nothing but dried meat and your endless stories."


    "Kept us from freezing, didn''t they?" Thorgrim laughed. "Though I seem to recall you having a few tales of your own by the third night."


    James watched the interaction with fascination. These men had clearly shared more than just a military hierarchy. There was real friendship beneath the politics and tension, the kind forged in shared hardship and trust.


    They traded more stories as they ate and drank, carefully chosen ones that didn''t touch on actual battles or darker times. Tales of long patrols, of strange encounters in the wilderness, of survival against harsh elements. Through it all, James noticed how they both avoided any mention of their earlier argument or the reports sitting on the table.


    The warrior with the neck markings maintained her vigilance but had relaxed somewhat. Her Thulmarks now just looked like regular tattoos.


    "Your boy here," Thorgrim said eventually, nodding toward James. He''ll need to learn the proper protocols if he''s going to keep trading in Storhold. I''ll have my people arrange the paperwork, proper trader''s marks, route permissions, the usual bureaucracy."


    Dayne raised an eyebrow at this unexpected favor but nodded his thanks. James realized he was being officially legitimized in Storhold''s records, no small thing for someone who technically didn''t exist in this world.


    The afternoon light had shifted significantly by the time they rose to leave. Thorgrim embraced Dayne again, this time with no tension between them. "Read the reports," he said quietly. "And remember, whatever you decide... your family has friends here."


    As they turned to go, Thorgrim called after them. "Oh, and Dayne? Next time you''re in Storhold, don''t wait for me to send guards to find you. My door is always open to old friends."


    The weight of the reports tucked into Dayne''s belt seemed to hang between them as they left the chamber. Neither spoke as they descended through Storhold''s levels, both lost in thoughts of what choices lay ahead.


    The descent through Storhold''s levels felt entirely different from their climb up. Dayne moved with purpose but remained completely silent, the reports from Thorgrim tucked into his belt like physical manifestations of the weight on his shoulders. The Thulmarks on his arms had settled back to their normal appearance, but occasionally shifted when they passed groups of Northlanders in the streets.


    James''s mind spun with everything he''d witnessed. The revelation of Dayne''s past position wasn''t entirely surprising, he knew there was more to the man than the former warrior turned trader, but seeing him interact with Storhold''s chieftain had put things in stark perspective.


    What would Dayne choose? The question nagged at James as they descended through the wealthy districts back toward the market levels. If he returned to his former position, what would that mean for James? His own plans to find answers about his arrival in this world suddenly seemed small compared to the brewing conflict with the Northlanders.


    They passed through the market level but didn''t stop, continuing on to an area of the city James hadn''t seen before. The buildings here were older, their stones weathered by age rather than neglect. Strange symbols were carved above doorways, and the people moved with the careful deliberation of those handling delicate matters.


    Dayne turned down increasingly narrow streets, each one feeling more removed from the main city''s bustle. The buildings pressed closer together here, their upper stories nearly touching across the alleys. Signs hung from metal brackets, displaying symbols rather than words, a hand, a flame, what looked like a bundle of herbs.


    It wasn''t until they stopped in front of a single-story building with a weathered sign bearing a stylized eye that James remembered their original purpose before the guards had intercepted them. The woman who dealt in old knowledge. His heart beat faster at the reminder, someone who might have answers about how he''d ended up in this world.


    The eye on the sign seemed to watch them as they stood before the door, its pupil inlaid with some dark metal that caught what little sunlight reached these narrow streets. After everything he''d seen today, James found himself both more hopeful and more nervous about what answers they might find inside.