《Sailor's Rise: Cultivation in a Merchant Republic》


 Prologue

    PROLOGUE


    The pigeon made no sense.


    A seagull might fly a hundred miles from the coast, but they were much farther out than that, and this was certainly no seagull. Perhaps someone could have stowed a pigeon below deck, but the sailor had sharp eyes, and he knew what he had just seen: a pigeon flying toward him from the depths of the sea. It truly made no sense.


    The inexplicable bird landed upon the boat¡¯s railing, looking ruffled and no less confused by its current situation. The sailor collapsed his brass telescope, pocketing the instrument as he approached the pigeon, trying not to startle the creature. The hour was late, and no one but the man and the bird were above deck as they silently monitored each other¡¯s cautious movements.


    As he neared the seafaring flyer, the sailor noticed something else that made no sense: a rolled-up slip of paper, tied to the pigeon¡¯s foot. He gently removed and unfurled the strange letter. Written in ink were three words and three words only.


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    You were warned.


    It was a message the sailor finally understood. And just as quickly, he understood the bird too. The epiphany was a bolt of lightning in a storm of his own making. He crumpled the letter in a weak fist and tossed it out to sea.


    Had anyone else been on watch that night, they would not have noticed the subtle changes on the starry horizon. They would not have realized the calm breeze had faded to a fatal stillness, nor observed the faint lines forming in the air like spider-web cracks on a dropped glass. For their eyes were not as sharp as the sailor¡¯s.


    No, the trap would not have been apparent to a normal man until any hope of salvation was but a shadow behind him, as the sailor knew it was now.


    What anyone would have undoubtedly witnessed, however, was the moment their colossal vessel tipped suddenly, groaning and cracking, ropes and crates bouncing down the wooden planks. What they would have seen¡ªhad they not been sleeping below deck¡ªwas their ship plummeting bow-first down the torrents of an endless ocean waterfall, as The Crimson Voyager fell ever deeper into the black abyss that had swallowed it.

 Chapter 1: Sapphire Dreams

    Chapter One


    SAPPHIRE DREAMS


    Growing up on the flat, barren plains of Sapphire¡¯s Reach, Elias Fisher had never seen mountains that weren¡¯t illustrated in a storybook or painted into the backdrop of a play. In the life that Elias had left behind, mountains were gray triangles with pointed white caps.


    How quickly a little experience could redraw the world around a young man.


    In the life now sprawling before him, mountains were primordial monuments. Staring out from the deck of a merchant¡¯s airship¡ªanother first-time experience for the teenager¡ªElias couldn¡¯t help but feel that surely some ancient civilization had constructed these stone pyramids. Perhaps their creators were still entombed inside, buried alongside countless secrets just waiting to be discovered.


    Elias, it should be said, had never lacked for imagination, as those who knew him could attest. His mother once likened his wild thoughts to a deer bounding ahead of its hunter, hiding and revealing itself in flashes, always drawing him forward. Drawing him far from home. Drawing him onto an airship with only strangers for company. Drawing him through actual, unimaginable mountains.


    ¡°Pretty breathtaking, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Elias looked to the friendly voice beside him and asked, ¡°Aren¡¯t you used to them by now? How many times have you seen these mountains?¡±


    ¡°Dozens,¡± Bertrand Fairweather said. ¡°Hundreds maybe. Father says I¡¯m not very good at counting. Still breathtaking.¡±


    ¡°The town I left behind is flatter than hotcakes,¡± Elias replied. ¡°I couldn¡¯t wait to leave.¡±


    His recent acquaintance shrugged. ¡°Maybe one day you¡¯ll look back and miss that big prairie sky.¡±


    ¡°Another bastard perhaps. I¡¯m always looking ahead, Bertrand.¡±


    ¡°Aye. People wear certain qualities like the clothes on their back. You wear that one pretty loudly.¡±


    ¡°That obvious, am I?¡± Elias retrieved a tarnished copper from his vest pocket and flicked it into a whirling blur. The coin crested his shoulder and landed soundlessly in the hand behind his back.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re quite mysterious, as a matter of fact,¡± Bertrand assured him, tracking and losing sight of the coin. ¡°Certainly more mysterious than these ordinary oafs.¡± He conspicuously referenced the unkempt crew of The Sleeping Sparrow, his father¡¯s employees. ¡°You think you wear your qualities? You should see their tattoos. I¡¯ll tell you right now, it¡¯s mostly rum bottles and ship anchors, which is odd when you think about it. This is an airship, not a sea ship, but I guess it¡¯s a sailor¡¯s life all the same.¡±


    Elias wished he truly were mysterious and not just some prairie runaway with doomed ideas. He let the break in their conversation and the beat of gusting wind speak more cleverly than he had the wits to. Real mystery was earned, he knew. One day, one day he would be mysterious, and these silent moments of his past would be rewritten accordingly.


    Alas, at seventeen, Elias did not look particularly mysterious. He looked like the surname bestowed on him by an unremarkable father he never knew: a Fisher, through and through. He was of average height and slim build, his vest and trousers the color of clay. It seemed Sapphire¡¯s Reach still reached him all the way out here. But beneath the tousled strands of chestnut hair that danced over his sun-kissed features were eyes as piercing as a wolf¡¯s, as green as emeralds. Greener than eyes should be, it had often been remarked.


    Bertrand, on the other hand, provided a study in contrasts, at least when it came to appearances. The large, blonde teenager was more sun-burned than sun-kissed, with a keg-shaped torso and a good five inches on Elias. He wore his size in the way one wears clothes picked out for them by their mother.


    His father, the ship¡¯s captain, had him running errands, as it was explained to the novice sailor that he did not yet possess the experience to stand by his father¡¯s side as quartermaster nor the technical expertise to take on navigator or bosun duties. It was quartermaster that Bertrand longed for in any event. He fancied himself a people person first and foremost, to which Elias had responded, ¡°That makes one of us.¡±


    But when Bertrand turned to wander off again, he did not make it back to his fellow sailors nor to the mundane rituals required to prove his worth. He stopped in his tracks the moment Elias asked, ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s what?¡± Bertrand inquired.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Elias shook his head.


    ¡°Right. Couldn¡¯t tell you.¡±


    ¡°It was like some sort of¡­ mirror in the sky. Perhaps I¡¯m seeing things. Barely slept a wink since we set sail.¡±


    The airship was held afloat by a massive hydrogen-filled balloon and propelled by a steam engine, but like the inked image of an anchor, sailing references were hard to shake.


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    ¡°A mirror in the sky?¡± Bertrand balanced the words on the tip of his tongue, not dismissing them as quickly as Elias had expected. ¡°Where?¡±


    Elias pointed promptly, squinting into the distance, but his finger drifted downward as he admitted, ¡°I don¡¯t see it anymore. Somewhere up ahead, I thought. It¡¯s nothing, Bertrand. The high altitude must be making me delirious.¡±


    ¡°Must be,¡± Bertrand agreed half-heartedly, still weighing every word. ¡°Let me know if you see something again.¡±


    But Elias did not have to, for the next voice the two lads heard was that of the larger teenager¡¯s father. ¡°Sky rift, up ahead!¡± Captain Fairweather hollered over a rising, rumbling commotion. ¡°Turn, turn, turn!¡±


    The bow of the airship, which did somewhat resemble a sea ship strapped to a hot air balloon, began to turn as its captain barked orders, as crew members scrambled or otherwise held on tight. Unfortunately for everyone on board, the vessel¡¯s sail-like rudder could only redirect it so quickly. The merchant ship was built for trade, for long, straightforward journeys, not last-minute maneuvers.


    It was then that Elias saw once more what he had convinced himself was the mirage of a tired mind. The so-called sky rift. He had described it to Bertrand as a ¡°mirror in the sky,¡± but ¡°broken mirror in the sky¡± would have been more apt. Elias thought of his mother. She had taken a liking to puzzle-making in her final years, and the scene before him reminded him of her¡ªof a puzzle partially incomplete, of a picture coming apart at the seams.


    Sideways, they floated into it.


    The impact made no sound. It rattled no boards. The rift simply swallowed their ship as the ocean swallows a fish. A dark shadow fell over them like the closing of a curtain.


    ¡°What in heaven or hell?¡±


    The voice was Bertrand¡¯s, but when Elias swung around to exchange a worried glance, he saw no one and, indeed, nothing at all. The shadow that had fallen over them seconds earlier had dimmed to a perfect darkness.


    All around them, darkness.


    Elias briefly wondered if he had lost his sight, but Bertrand quickly and loudly confirmed that he also couldn¡¯t see a damn thing.


    They couldn¡¯t hear much either, save for the panicked bustle of their fellow crew members. Captain Fairweather was instructing his men and women to light the oil lamps that dangled around the ship¡¯s deck.


    ¡°Third Mate Lowman, fetch your tinderbox,¡± he commanded.


    Elias, and presumably everyone else on board, heard Third Mate Lowman curse under her breath as she blindly rummaged through her many pockets and provisions. Trinkets bounced onto the deck. Something rolled. ¡°Got it!¡± she finally exclaimed. Swiftly, she began her daily ritual of striking flint against steel, though the hour was far earlier than usual, the sky immensely darker. The initial sparks that flew from between her palms formed fleeting fireflies.


    Elias could hear gasps of anticipation with each strike. It seemed hardened sailors were only hardened when faced with familiar threats. They were all fish-out-of-water teenagers staring down the unknown.


    At last, the hemp in Third Mate Lowman¡¯s tinderbox produced a small fire. She carried the flickering flame on a sulfur spill to the nearest oil lamp, illuminating the eager face of each onlooker she passed, as if she might have been a doctor carrying a newborn to the child¡¯s mother.


    There were four oil lamps in total hanging from posts around the ship, and the scene remained a darkly lit one with literally no other light around, but they could see each other now, and that was all the difference in the world.


    But what a dark world it was. Their lanterns illuminated only the familiar: their gawking expressions. Beyond the wooden edges of the ship, a black sky extended endlessly in every direction. It was a sky with no clouds, no stars, no white-tipped mountains. There was no horizon, no way to know if they were even moving. They felt no wind. The strands of Elias¡¯s hair fell still for the first time in hours.


    The teenager expected Captain Fairweather to bark more orders, but The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s unbreakable leader seemed about as broken as the rest of them. An abyss provided even the most capable man no answers. Their questions were so obvious that no one needed to ask them.


    The exception to that rule was Elias. The young man was unaccustomed to the tall tales of sailors, and so he turned to Bertrand, who provided a rather unsatisfactory explanation.


    ¡°We flew into a sky rift.¡± He swallowed.


    ¡°A sky rift?¡± Elias pushed for more information.


    Bertrand¡¯s stricken appearance suggested he would rather have left it at that, but grudgingly he explained that, on very rare occasions, an airship might unwittingly fly into a sort of invisible portal in the sky¡ªa so-called sky rift. Or perhaps they were sky traps, he mused.


    ¡°How do we get out?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing. You don¡¯t really.¡±


    ¡°Ever?¡± Elias twisted the silver ring on his finger, a gift from his departed mother. She had once explained to her son that the ring previously belonged to his father, that wearing it connected the three of them through the tragedy of time. The ring had a signet, but a large dent obscured its meaning. He often twisted it in moments like these, in moments of stress and peril. Though perhaps there had never been a moment quite like this one.


    ¡°Surely, someone must have escaped,¡± Elias insisted, hearing the naivety in his own voice. ¡°How else would people know about them,¡± he reasoned, ¡°if someone hadn¡¯t come back to tell the tale?¡±


    ¡°Some people survive airship crashes too,¡± Bertrand retorted. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean the odds are favorable. Can you see an exit?¡±


    Elias assumed the question was rhetorical, but hope hinged on a literal interpretation, and so he peered out anyway. And once again, the teenage passenger was apparently, and perhaps ironically, first to spot something strange in the distance. His heart leapt to his throat and stifled his initial reaction. He blinked twice to prove that his eyes weren¡¯t deceiving him. It was¡­ well, he did not know what it was. From far away, it had the appearance of a star.


    A golden star.


    ¡°See that!¡± Elias finally blurted out, pointing and waving with the same frantic hand. ¡°Look there. It¡¯s some sort of thing.¡±


    Bertrand did as he was asked, his doubtful expression widening to one of disbelief. ¡°Father!¡± he yelled without peeling his gaze. ¡°Sorry. Captain Father. Sorry. Captain, sir. There¡¯s something up ahead.¡±


    Captain Fairweather, a stout and thickly bearded fellow who shared his son¡¯s size if little else, followed the invisible trail of two pointing teenagers to the seemingly golden treasure at its end.


    ¡°Change course,¡± the captain said, hardly raising his voice, for everyone had already hushed into a silent prayer.


    It was difficult to decipher the precise distance of that shining star, though they hoped it was not as far from them as an actual star. Elias kept staring at it, wondering if he would once again be first to notice some small but significant detail.


    Ultimately, the competitive teenager could not compete with Captain Fairweather¡¯s telescope. The captain held the brass instrument snugly to his eye for a long, contemplative minute before turning abruptly to his crew.


    ¡°It¡¯s another airship.¡± He matched eyes with his navigator, with Third Mate Lowman, and finally with his son and their green-eyed passenger. ¡°She¡¯s coming toward us.¡±

 Chapter 2: Golden Hope

    Chapter Two


    Golden Hope


    No one on the stranded vessel could say with certainty what time it was now, or how much time had passed since their unintended entry into the sky rift, or quite honestly whether time and space even existed in this black void. But it felt to Elias that maybe ten minutes had gone by before his unassisted eyes could confirm what the captain saw through his telescope: that the golden star approaching them was, in fact, a golden ship.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be,¡± Bertrand said under his breath, then followed up, ¡°It must be.¡±


    Elias asked the obvious: ¡°What must be?¡±


    ¡°That there is a Valshynarian ship.¡±


    Elias had heard of the Valshynar, though not from a book nor any firsthand encounters. He had learned of their existence in the way most folk hear of a distant land or its people. He knew their reputation preceded them, but he couldn¡¯t recall the details. Something to do with golden ships, perhaps, or sky rifts.


    Bertrand could clearly see the puzzled expression on his companion¡¯s face. ¡°The Valshynar are the only people who can navigate sky rifts,¡± he explained. ¡°Some even say they made the infernal things. Others say they came from them. No one really knows, save the Valshynar themselves, I imagine.¡±


    ¡°No one knows where they came from?¡± Elias¡¯s furrowed brow unfurrowed as his puzzled expression morphed into a slightly incredulous one.


    ¡°It¡¯s a big, wide world, Elias,¡± Bertrand said.


    And so it was¡ªbigger and wider and, as Elias had discovered today, deeper than even the imaginative young traveler had ever imagined. The Valshynar were truly mysterious. They didn¡¯t need coin tricks to prove it so.


    As he watched their enigmatic ship approach, Elias could start to make out details. The hull of the vessel seemed more metallic than wooden, shimmering softly in the ship¡¯s dazzling aura. But more than its materials or the ornate oil lamps whose speckled lights gave it the appearance of a floating cityscape, the absence of any sort of balloon was what caught Elias¡¯s attention. How could that be? Did the ship simply tread this impossible place like water? Was it held afloat by magic? Or was he just ignorant of the Valshynar and their myriad technological marvels? He assumed it was likely the latter.


    Captain Fairweather, meanwhile, possessed the sudden appearance of a man preparing for important guests, ordering his crew to button up their shirts, to stow away the pile of netting that kept tripping people, Elias on more than one occasion. Third Mate Lowman brought up three more oil lamps from below deck before bringing back down a broken one.


    The golden ship grew in both size and beauty as it completed its gracefully smooth approach, aligning itself beside them, revealing an intricacy that was only observable upon closer inspection. The texture of the hull reminded Elias of the scales on a fish.


    The men and women of the Valshynarian vessel were probably the least remarkable feature on board, in so much as they were simply people. Albeit people dressed more fashionably than your typical sailor, with well-fitted garments free of the weeks-old stains and lived-in wrinkles Elias was accustomed to. Their beards were trimmed, their hair tied in neat ponytails. Their green waistcoats were adorned with a golden trim that matched their ship. They were certainly more uniform in appearance than the human driftwood that had collected upon The Sleeping Sparrow. Indeed, they looked like they existed for a purpose.


    That purpose evidently included them boarding the merchant ship over a slender metal bridge carefully extended between the two vessels. Captain Fairweather waited for them with both arms folded behind his back.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± he said with a single nod and a cleared throat.


    Five Valshynarians came aboard before a tall woman finally received the captain¡¯s greeting. ¡°You need our help,¡± she said as if it were a standard hello.


    ¡°We do,¡± Captain Fairweather admitted just as casually. ¡°I¡¯m a proud man, but I am not a stupid one, generally speaking. We require your assistance.¡± He peered back into the abyss behind them. ¡°We most definitely require your assistance.¡±


    She nodded, and Elias could not quite tell whether she was agreeing to help or just that they desperately needed it.


    ¡°Captain Fairweather,¡± the captain introduced himself, acting as if he had forgotten his manners.


    The woman who appeared to be in charge smirked and kept her name and rank to herself. Instead, she continued inspecting their ship and the people on it.


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    Elias was surprised when she paused on him. They were of roughly equal height, and so he had a particularly close view of her stoic features, her aquiline nose, her eyes. They were green like his, as green as emeralds. Greener than eyes should be.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she asked the unassuming passenger.


    ¡°Elias,¡± he said. ¡°Elias Fisher.¡±


    ¡°Elias Fisher,¡± she repeated, and suddenly all eyes gravitated toward the awkward teenager who, until now, had mostly been ignored by The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s preoccupied crew. ¡°Are you a crew member of this merchant ship, Mr. Fisher?¡±


    ¡°No, ma¡¯am. A passenger. I paid for my passage.¡± Elias sounded proud of the fact.


    ¡°Passage from where?¡±


    ¡°Sapphire¡¯s Reach. Small town. You wouldn¡¯t know it.¡±


    ¡°Try me.¡±


    ¡°Acreton.¡±


    She stopped as if searching for it on some internal map of hers, then followed up with, ¡°And where are you headed now?¡±


    ¡°Same as everyone else on board,¡± he said. ¡°Sailor¡¯s Rise, ma¡¯am.¡± He did not mention that it would be his first visit to the city, or to any city of note for that matter, but he probably didn¡¯t have to. Like Bertrand said, people wear certain qualities.


    ¡°You expect to make your mark in the city of opportunity, is that it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°Sailor¡¯s Rise has a Lowtown, you know. It¡¯s full of ambitious out-of-towners who flew for the summit only to find themselves tumbling down, down, down into the city¡¯s ever-growing shadow.¡±


    ¡°I have a plan,¡± Elias said a little too cockily.


    ¡°And what exactly is this plan, boy?¡±


    ¡°Perseverance, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Perseverance?¡±


    Elias¡¯s gaze retreated to his worn leather boots, which appeared even more threadbare than usual next to her impeccable ones. ¡°I never knew my pa,¡± he said as images of his father flashed into memory, though he wondered if they truly were memories rather than mere constructs created by that wild imagination of his.


    ¡°He died when I was young,¡± Elias continued. ¡°He was a sailor, the seafaring kind, until one day he didn¡¯t sail home. We might have been destitute after that, but my mother¡­ she found work wherever she could, not taking no for an answer. She wanted stability for her family, and so she built it¡ªone pebble at a time. That stability was my stepping stone, and I intend to use it. Perseverance, ma¡¯am. That¡¯s my plan.¡±


    If nothing else, the Valshynarian woman seemed genuinely entertained by the boy¡¯s answer. ¡°That is quite the story, Elias Fisher.¡± She lingered on each syllable of his full name.


    Elias, meanwhile, did not reveal that it was a story whose telling he practiced each evening as anxious thoughts skipped through his mind like a flat stone upon water, refusing to sink. He did not reveal that he had been waiting for the moment someone would question his ambition, his audacity. He was no man of means, after all, but he could be a man with a worthy tale. Elias still believed in the power of stories.


    As for the familiar faces now squinting at him distrustfully¡ªas if Elias had been wearing a mask this entire trip, only to remove it now¡ªhe couldn¡¯t say what they thought of him or his carefully rehearsed speech.


    One by one, the quizzical looks peeled away from Elias as the Valshynarian woman returned her attention to Captain Fairweather. She gestured toward her visibly superior vessel and said, ¡°We¡¯ll position our ship ahead of yours. Maintain a close distance.¡±


    The captain didn¡¯t ask how long this all might take, nor did he even confirm where it was she was taking them. There was no choice to be made¡ªonly a single path to salvation. They would follow it blindly.


    All except for one man, apparently. He was a tall, muscular bloke who had used his size to intimidate fellow crew members on more than one occasion that Elias had observed over the past few days. He tried to do so again now, approaching the Valshynarian woman against the very clear wishes of his scowling captain. ¡°Why should we trust you?¡± the big man asked her.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my concern whether or not you trust me,¡± she said.


    ¡°Back off, Leon,¡± the captain interjected. ¡°That¡¯s an order.¡±


    But rather than backing off, Leon inched forward¡ªand learned a hard lesson.


    The Valshynarian woman grabbed him by the collar of his disheveled shirt, then lifted a man twice her weight a foot off the deck. The reaction from the merchant ship¡¯s crew was immediate. Despite everything they had just witnessed, this proved to be the most unbelievable.


    Leon clawed at the balled fist holding him midair, trying to free himself from her iron grip. She threw him ten feet forward and into a pile of netting¡ªa merciful landing place, all considering.


    Leon did not make another move, in part because Captain Fairweather had his men restrain the insubordinate imbecile, who it was safe to assume would not have a job aboard The Sleeping Sparrow for much longer¡ªif they ever made it out of here. That now seemed less likely.


    ¡°My deepest apologies,¡± the captain pleaded with the Valshynar. ¡°Please don¡¯t abandon us because of one fool, who I assure you will face¡­ consequences.¡±


    But the woman said nothing more as she departed ahead of her crew.


    Only her footsteps made any sound, rattling their skinny metal bridge as her silent followers trailed closely behind in a single file. The bridge folded into itself in their wake before disappearing into the golden ship. Elias couldn¡¯t see who was operating the mechanism, assuming someone had.


    Despite the incident, the Valshynarian vessel veered ahead of The Sleeping Sparrow as promised before eventually changing course. The merchant ship followed obediently, though without guiding landmarks or shifting headwinds, their change in direction felt at once directionless.


    Elias had never much liked putting his faith in people, especially people with cause for retaliation.


    This arrangement continued for some time, though time was still a mystery here, and more so with each passing minute. Until suddenly and absent any warning, the Valshynarian ship vanished without a trace. Certainly, there was nowhere it could have turned to hide. It had simply disappeared as if the vessel had never been there in the first place.


    Whispers of confusion permeated The Sleeping Sparrow, including Bertrand¡¯s as he looked to Elias for answers his acquaintance was ill-prepared to answer. ¡°What in heaven or hell just happened?¡±


    Elias shrugged, still staring at the empty space that had been occupied by their would-be saviors mere seconds ago. ¡°I was going to ask you that,¡± he said.


    ¡°Do you think they¡¯ve abandoned us?¡± Bertrand asked.


    For reasons he couldn¡¯t yet understand, Elias squeezed the one valuable coin in his vest pocket, a single relic that Captain Fairweather had refunded him that very morning. ¡°No,¡± he replied, though he couldn¡¯t say what made him so certain.


    And then came a flash of white so blinding that it stung Elias¡¯s eyes and overwhelmed his vision, until he couldn¡¯t help but wonder, once again, if he had lost his sight.

 Chapter 3: Clouded Views

    Chapter Three


    Clouded Views


    While the darkness had swallowed them quickly, their blue-sky world returned in the way details slowly filter through a thinning cloud¡ªa sailing simile that would have been lost on Elias up until a few days ago. But new experiences were finding him faster than he could have bargained for, and bargained for them he had.


    His first clear view was of Bertrand patting his chest and stomach, apparently checking that he had not lost some part of himself in the void. Elias suffered a spell of vertigo but, like everyone else on board, nothing that would leave a scar. Not a physical scar anyway. He couldn¡¯t recall the last time he had experienced such dread, nor such excitement.


    Captain Fairweather was first to fully regain his composure, staring out from the bow at their Valshynarian rescuers, who had once again reappeared ahead of them. Aside from the second ship, the scene looked like the one they had left behind. The snow-capped mountains were back, still stenciled against a clear sky, though its cobalt color was dimming to a darker navy. Time had indeed passed in the portal, and dusk would soon steal the light of day. At least their oil lamps were already burning.


    And yet, upon closer inspection, Elias concluded that these weren¡¯t the same mountains as before, similar though they might be. Had they passed through space as well as time?


    He reached into his vest pocket once more¡ªand felt nothing but the copper he kept for coin tricks. Where was his relic, he wondered? He had gripped the coin a minute ago, right as they passed through the portal.


    Bertrand must have witnessed his confusion. ¡°Missing something?¡± he asked once he was done patting himself.


    ¡°My relic,¡± Elias said. ¡°The captain took pity on me this morning and refunded me a single relic after I mentioned I¡¯d spent all of mine to come aboard this ship. He said I¡¯d need it in Sailor¡¯s Rise. Anyway, the relic is gone.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you misplaced it,¡± Bertrand said.


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing: I was holding onto it just a minute ago when we passed through the portal.¡± Elias surveyed the deck below his feet. ¡°Could I have dropped it somehow?¡± He asked the question to a reality that wasn¡¯t conforming to expectation, but neither person could spot a relic anywhere around them.


    ¡°Did you recognize that woman?¡± Bertrand inquired after a moment of searching.


    Elias was taken aback as he grudgingly gave up on the coin. ¡°I¡¯d never met a Valshynarian in my life before today.¡± The cool wind once again tousled his chestnut hair.


    ¡°Just strange, is all,¡± Bertrand said, softening his tone.


    ¡°What¡¯s strange?¡±


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    ¡°The attention she gave you. Everyone was watching.¡± As their conversation carried over the gusting breeze, it became uncomfortably clear that everyone was still watching, their attention gravitating toward the two teenagers quibbling on the main deck. ¡°Sorry, Elias. Not trying to interrogate you. The Valshynar are weird. That¡¯s pretty much their defining quality.¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I wish I knew why she spoke to me,¡± Elias said, which was certainly true. He desperately wanted to know why that woman had paid him so much attention while ignoring everyone else, whether it meant something or nothing at all. He wanted to believe it meant something, but he couldn¡¯t surmise even a single satisfactory explanation, and so he told himself that it was probably the latter¡ªperhaps a joke he didn¡¯t understand. The Valshynar were weird, like Bertrand said.


    But The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s nosy crew were growing ever nosier, until one man inserted himself into their conversation. ¡°You got the same eyes as them,¡± he said as others nodded, craning their necks to get a better view of the exceptional eyes in the question. ¡°Goddamn eyes are greener than¡±¡ªhe racked his brain for things that were green¡ª¡°a very green frog.¡± There were more nods.


    Now the sailors were forming a circle around Elias. Bertrand may not have intended an interrogation, but an interrogation this had quickly become. Elias felt at once worried and frustrated. He had done nothing to warrant their unspecified accusations. At least Leon had already been escorted below deck. Still, he wasn¡¯t the only foolhardy sailor aboard The Sleeping Sparrow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you,¡± Elias said, and he really didn¡¯t.


    ¡°What did she whisper into your ear?¡± another crew member asked.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t whisper anything into my ear.¡± Elias¡¯s incredulity was now plain. ¡°You all heard every word of our exchange. She just asked where I¡¯d come from and where I was going.¡±


    ¡°Seems like a suspicious coincidence, doesn¡¯t it?¡± a voice added. ¡°You being here, us nearly eating the black.¡±


    Elias was unfamiliar with the phrase, just as he was unfamiliar with sky rifts and the Valshynar and everything else tangled up in this knotted conspiracy.


    ¡°By that logic, our salvation is the greater coincidence, is it not?¡± Elias pointed out, exchanging glances with every one of them, for it was the crowd that needed convincing. ¡°Bertrand told me that very few ships make it out of sky rifts. If anything, maybe you should be thanking me.¡±


    Alas, his rhetorical argument failed at its purpose, further fueling their suspicion, adding to the pile of coincidences that added up to his supposed guilt. Only Bertrand seemed to follow anything resembling logic, his remorseful gaze apologizing for starting this. Though Elias suspected that, if not his acquaintance, someone else was bound to have started something. It¡¯s just how people were. He was young and untraveled and inexperienced, but that much he knew.


    ¡°And how exactly did you afford this trip?¡± The accuser was the man who had hurled the first proverbial stone, now hurling another. ¡°I¡¯ve met piss-poor boys from Acreton just like you. They can barely buy their next meal, let alone passage to Sailor¡¯s Rise.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± Captain Fairweather¡¯s booming interjection forced their silence.


    Elias felt a sense of relief, followed by a rising wave of concern that the captain might have inquiries of his own¡ªnot that Elias had anything to hide. Still, questions were often more dangerous than their answers.


    ¡°This young man is a paying passenger aboard my ship.¡± Captain Fairweather emphasized the latter half of that sentence as their circle disbanded around him. ¡°He has done nothing wrong, and he has a right to his privacy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to be private,¡± Elias felt the need to say. ¡°I¡¯m not hiding anything. Really.¡±


    ¡°Then how¡¯d you scrape together enough coin for a trip like this?¡± a scarred woman asked.


    The captain curled his lip at the mutinous question, but while Elias had little wealth¡ªin spite of whatever they might think¡ªhe did have yet another tale worth telling.


    The young traveler searched for a beginning on the horizon. Oddly, the Valshynarian ship was nowhere to be seen, having departed without so much as a proper goodbye. Elias wondered how the vessel could have possibly vanished already as he turned to face an eager audience.


    ¡°Perseverance,¡± he told them.

 Chapter 4: Rusted Beginnings

    Chapter Four


    Rusted Beginnings


    Four days before he would have to explain his presence to a self-appointed jury of very skeptical strangers, Elias imagined himself standing on a lake of melting ice. The dry months of late summer had cracked the clay-laden soil around Acreton, splitting the dusty dirt into shattered islands that threatened to flip and swallow any wrong step, though cool thoughts did little for his warm body.


    When outsiders described Sapphire¡¯s Reach, the first detail they would inevitably remark upon was the red clay it was best known for. Red found its way into every crack and crevice of every building and carriage in Acreton, gifting the young town an appearance reminiscent of rusted refuse. Of course, people lived in the rusted settlement, and many had never known any other.


    Elias had only ever known the same town and its same people.


    He was spending his one day off with them, shooting scrap metal targets hung from the branches of a leafless tree. Melo took his shot and missed, cursing at himself as he handed the weapon to Elias.


    Elias poured more black powder into the muzzle, inserted his bullet, and shoved it down firmly with a wooden ramrod. After priming the flash pan, he balanced the hefty flintlock pistol in his right hand, pulled back the hammer with his left, then took a long breath and a quick shot. His iron target rang like a bell and spun on its string like the coins Elias so often flicked into a twirl.


    ¡°That¡¯s three for Elias,¡± said Ginger, receiving her gun from him. Elias and Melo stepped back as she stretched into position, cracking her neck as she reloaded the pistol. A cloud of smoke erupted as Ginger took her last shot.


    ¡°God damn it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s two for Ginger,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°Fuck off.¡± She sighed. ¡°It¡¯s this bloody pistol. The barrel¡¯s too short.¡± Ginger waved it around as if she might discard the weapon like a piece of trash. ¡°I¡¯m trying to get my hands on a new Leefield. Much more precise. Father says he¡¯ll buy it if I can find one for sale, but good luck in this shithole.¡±


    Ginger had resources Elias and Melo seldom took for granted¡ªnamely, her father owned a successful trading company. Rich was a relative term here, but Ginger could afford the new toys and trinkets that often caught her eye, and that made her local royalty as much as anyone Elias knew. Not that a whole lot passed through Acreton.


    Except when an airship from Sailor¡¯s Rise descended into town.


    Acreton had no sky port, and so the merchant ship had landed much like a sea ship in the wide Crimson River that bordered the long edge of their settlement. Elias was meandering home from their weekly round of competitive target practice when he saw the vessel pulling into the docks. If not for its colossal hydrogen balloon, it could have been any other large ship¡ªperhaps not unlike the one he imagined took his father from him.


    Elias snaked his away around gathering onlookers, stopping to read the name painted intricately along the ship¡¯s wooden bow. The Sleeping Sparrow, it read.


    * * *


    To understand this moment in our story¡ªthat is, to understand the mix of competing emotions swirling inside Elias¡¯s unsettled stomach as he first sees the airship he has so eagerly awaited¡ªone must better understand our protagonist. One must start at the beginning.


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    Whenever Elias thought of family, he thought only of his mother. She had built them their foundation when all seemed doomed to crumble, and she had taught him the value of perseverance. So much so that, even when the gray fever took her two years earlier, a fifteen-year-old Elias stayed standing, so solidly were the values of survival instilled in him.


    Elias held no negative views of his father so much as he held no views at all. His father had lost his life at sea when Elias was still too young to recall most things. What he did remember were the years that followed. How his mother labored endlessly from job to job, insisting that her son attend school and learn to read and write. An education was the clay that molded the modern man, she told him when he protested, while Elias countered that he ought to earn his keep. With a bittersweet chuckle, she had reminded her son that he would fund her lavish lifestyle as an old spinster.


    It was a debt he would never repay.


    Still, Elias was always trying. Despite possessing an aptitude for the subject matter, the orphaned teenager dropped out of school a year early, telling himself he had learned what he needed to learn and that he didn¡¯t have a choice, besides. His education had been built upon her foundation. Now he would need to cobble together his own.


    Elias followed in her footsteps, taking odd jobs and working undesirable hours. He had no leverage when it came to pay, though he was compensated fairly delivering fabrics and garments for a tailor who¡¯d always been fond of his mother, more so than she had been fond of him. The fact that Mr. Humbledon¡¯s generosity persisted even after she was gone made Elias reconsider the man in a more positive light. Still, it was all only ever enough to scrape by. Scraping by wasn¡¯t what she had wanted for him, nor was it what Elias wanted for himself.


    He first heard about Sailor¡¯s Rise as a child, though the name popped up frequently as Elias acquired work with various merchants. It was clear that many shipments passed through the politically neutral city-state, that it was a hub for commerce, a metropolis for the modern man. This was in large part owing to the city¡¯s location. Sailor¡¯s Rise was the intersection between kingdoms and republics, sitting atop the mountainous center of the known world. Sapphire¡¯s Reach, by comparison, was nearer to the edge of it.


    After months of mundane work, Elias decided he was done with scraping by, but the best that Acreton had to offer was a tailor¡¯s kindness. He had ambition and, thanks to his mother, most of an education. Acreton would never offer anything more because Acreton was smaller than Elias.


    But Sailor¡¯s Rise was bigger than them both.


    In the hours he struggled to sleep, Elias often drew illustrations of the city in a notebook he kept tucked under his pillow, his mental montage made up of details he overheard or snipped from day-old newspapers. He sketched scenes on busy streets he imagined himself strolling through, a red-brick estate he dreamed of one day owning, overlooking the checkered hills and valleys of a sprawling cityscape. It was a childish hobby, those drawings, but one¡¯s imagination was the only reprieve when reality¡¯s offerings were so meager, and he¡¯d always had a wild one.


    Elias hoped he would one day find out just how accurate his illustrations were. Had he captured the city and its essence, or had he constructed something else? His imagined city had become a place of its own, existing in Elias if nowhere else.


    While Acreton received its more practical shipments by sea, the occasional merchant airship would bring fine goods from Sailor¡¯s Rise¡ªeverything from aged wines to luxurious silks to exotic spices. Elias had always enjoyed these glimpses of civilization, imported at a premium to his backwater town, even if he couldn¡¯t afford any of it.


    But when he heard the news, a few months after his seventeenth birthday, that another airship was destined for Acreton, Elias allowed himself to wonder if his dream might at last become a reality.


    * * *


    And so, in the pit of his roiling stomach as The Sleeping Sparrow first floated into his field of vision, excitement mixed with anxiety as Elias questioned whether buying his way on board would even be possible, given his current balance and the very limited time he had to acquire the rest of the money required. He suspected it wouldn¡¯t be.


    Elias had so far saved a total of thirty relics, and even that had taken time and effort. The consensus from the traders he¡¯d pestered with queries was that passage to Sailor¡¯s Rise would set a man back at least fifty, assuming he could negotiate.


    There was no doubt that this was the ship he had been waiting for, that this was his ticket to Sailor¡¯s Rise, but a pricey ticket it was¡ªespecially for a man of limited means. According to his intel, The Sleeping Sparrow would only be docked in Acreton for forty-eight hours, barely enough time to scrape together a few relics, let alone the twenty more he needed.


    Elias¡¯s mind ran laps as he paced the docks, trying to concoct some clever scheme to make the impossible possible. He worried that this particular dream might just be too big, even for a dreamer like him.


    And yet, Elias couldn¡¯t stop entertaining the idea. His passage to Sailor¡¯s Rise: it was so close, if only he could reach forward and open the way.

 Chapter 5: Translucent Negotiations

    Chapter Five


    Translucent Negotiations


    As The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s crew laid out their wares later that evening, Elias returned to the docks feeling the opposite of the airship he so wished to board: deflated.


    He searched for Melo and Ginger, though he knew Ginger would be eating dinner with her family, no doubt impatiently. The only thing that girl loved more than shooting scrap metal was a market full of things she didn¡¯t yet have¡ªthe key word being yet.


    Elias enjoyed the market¡¯s ambience all the same, living out the fantasy in his head, if not on the ground. A row of stalls had been erected along the docks, their canvas awnings a regal mulberry, a color he associated with Sailor¡¯s Rise. The vendors themselves, on the other hand, looked less glamorous than the goods they peddled. They were still sailors at the end of the day.


    He peered over the shoulders of potential buyers bartering with the ship¡¯s merchants¡ªsome, he knew, with no intention to actually buy anything. While Elias was content to entertain such fantasies in his head, others needed to act theirs out.


    It wasn¡¯t until the last stall he perused that an item caught his eye¡ªan item he just might be on the market for, after all. Elias approached the vendor, a dark-skinned woman with a windswept ponytail and eyes that looked like they had seen a lot over their years. There were a number of weapons on the woman¡¯s table: an assortment of knives, a blunderbuss, two pistols. One was the same as Ginger¡¯s, a popular wartime model, but it was the other gun that had reeled Elias over.


    He ran his fingers down its solid wood handle, capped in brass. The embossed pattern on the brass reminded him of the way clouds curled in storybooks. He stared down at the weapon¡¯s slender chamber, longer than that of the more conventional pistol beside it.


    ¡°Is this a Leefield?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°A shooter, are we?¡± the woman inferred. ¡°You¡¯ve got a sharp eye.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any more of these?¡±


    ¡°Leefields?¡± She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m surprised we still have this one. Would have sold it back in Briarsville, but a buyer changed his mind at the last minute. Not often a Leefield makes it all the way to Acreton.¡±


    Elias asked the question whose answer he knew could instantly shatter the ridiculous plan formulating in his head: ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°I could get forty for it,¡± she said.


    Forty relics. He only had thirty.


    ¡°Would you take thirty?¡± Elias peered up from the pistol to meet the trader¡¯s knowing gaze. He tried again. ¡°Thirty-five? Thirty-six?¡± She scoffed a little less with each offer. ¡°Thirty-seven?¡±


    ¡°Thirty-seven would be awfully generous on my part.¡± She chuckled through her nostrils, though Elias was not entirely sure what it was she found so hilarious. ¡°Do you have thirty-seven relics, lad?¡±


    ¡°If I did, would you take it?¡± he insisted.


    ¡°Only if someone doesn¡¯t offer me forty first,¡± she said.


    Elias slapped the edge of her display table harder than he meant to, rattling her inventory. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡±


    ¡°You better hurry,¡± the woman reminded him as Elias skipped into a jog.


    All right, thirty-seven relics. He still didn¡¯t have it, but a difference of seven relics was objectively more surmountable than that of ten. Did any of his recent employers owe him backpay? One, he recalled, but that debt was a single relic. He needed a lot more than that, and he needed it now. There was only one option: someone would have to lend him the money.


    ¡°Elias.¡±


    Melo¡¯s voice struck him like an obstacle¡ªElias didn¡¯t have time for idle chit-chat¡ªuntil a rather obvious revelation popped to mind just as quickly.


    ¡°Melo.¡± Elias turned to his old friend.


    One way to understand Melo was to simply invert the qualities of Ginger. Melo was uniformly less adept at life, and he was infinitely less concerned with this fact. He was also by far the most likeable person they knew. Even Elias liked Melo more than he liked himself. As for Ginger, she often pulled him to bed after a few meads or some other excuse she felt the need to air whenever doing anything she actually enjoyed, all of which was none of Elias¡¯s business or concern.


    ¡°Can you do me a small favor?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°What do you need?¡± Even Melo¡¯s soft features seemed to suggest that the answer would always, inevitably be in the affirmative, so easy was his very being.


    ¡°Can I borrow seven relics?¡±


    ¡°Seven relics isn¡¯t that small, Elias.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay it back.¡±


    ¡°That is what borrow implies.¡±


    ¡°Please.¡±


    Melo rolled his eyes, his usual way of protesting while still giving the answer he was born to give: ¡°Fine, sure. When do you need it?¡±


    ¡°Now. I need it now.¡±


    Melo rummaged through his coin purse and retrieved a single untarnished relic, its foggy surface reflecting sparkles of torchlight as he dropped it into his eager friend¡¯s outstretched palm. ¡°You know I¡¯m not as good at saving these as you,¡± he said, adding more to the pile.


    ¡°What matters is what you¡¯re saving for, my friend.¡± Elias spun on his heel with coin in hand. ¡°I¡¯ll catch you later.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome!¡± Melo yelled after him.


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    ¡°Thanks, Melo!¡± Elias was dodging shoulders and elbows as he added, ¡°You¡¯re the best!¡±


    More and more people were flooding the docks as twilight approached, fresh from dinner and ready for the evening¡¯s festivities. A lute player was tuning her instrument over an empty donation bin. Soon, half of Acreton would be here. How long before that Leefield disappeared with one of them?


    Elias hoped the answer was in about two minutes, assuming he was the buyer in question. He budged through whatever haphazard line might have existed and plopped down his coin purse on the weapon vendor¡¯s table. He confirmed the gun was still there¡ªit was¡ªand began counting his coins one at a time, stacking them into translucent towers as she watched without commentary. ¡°Thirty-seven relics,¡± he concluded.


    The woman looked at the coin towers. She looked at Elias. An annoyed customer looked at both of them¡ªand a little confused by this rather performative purchase.


    ¡°Enjoy your new Leefield,¡± the vendor said.


    As he walked away triumphantly, Elias took a moment to appreciate his new pistol, flipping the weapon over to examine its small details¡ªsmall details were the hallmark of quality craftsmanship¡ªbefore grudgingly stuffing the gun into his inner coat pocket. It wouldn¡¯t be his pistol for long, and there was no point getting attached.


    He spotted the person he was looking for almost immediately. It was the same person who would have spoiled his plan had she arrived much earlier. Now she would complete it, hopefully. Elias was literally banking on her participation.


    ¡°Ginger!¡± He waved her over from a stall she was perusing near the shoreline.


    ¡°Can you give me a minute?¡± she called back.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got what you¡¯re looking for!¡± Elias patted his bulging coat pocket, which, judging by her expression, Ginger couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of.


    ¡°What is it?¡± She marched toward him, tossing her hands in baffled defeat.


    He waited until she was right in front of him, away from the commotion, before presenting his brand new Leefield with a showman¡¯s flourish.


    ¡°How the hell?¡± She ran the tips of her fingers through the coils of her curly hair as she asked, ¡°Where¡¯d you get that?¡±


    ¡°Where do you think?¡± Elias said. ¡°From our visiting vendors. It was the only Leefield they had. Seller said it was dumb luck that even one of them had made it out here. I knew you¡¯d want it.¡±


    ¡°Of course I bloody want it. Wait. Did you buy this for me?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t afford it,¡± he stated matter-of-factly. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t afford to keep it.¡±


    Ginger crossed her arms. ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°Forty-five relics,¡± Elias said. He had considered fifty, the number he was hoping to save, but he knew it would have been too much.


    As for forty-five: ¡°Are you kidding me? No way you paid forty-five relics for that, not even a Leefield. Also, I know for a fact that you don¡¯t have forty-five relics, Elias.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± He couldn¡¯t afford for this deal to fall through. ¡°Make it forty-two. The merchant said forty was a fair price. Forty-two to cover the financial risk I incurred on your behalf.¡± Elias took solace in the fact that he wasn¡¯t lying. The vendor had technically said as much.


    ¡°Real kind of you,¡± Ginger grumbled, asking with an open hand if she could see the pistol. She inspected the gun just as he had, appreciating its many markers of quality, exhaling as she eventually conceded, ¡°I guess that¡¯s the tax I pay for living in a shithole. What if I find out you¡¯re lying about this being the only Leefield for sale?¡±


    ¡°Then you can shoot me with it,¡± he said.


    And so, Elias had accumulated a combined forty-two relics. Thirty-five, once he paid back Melo. Either way, it still wasn¡¯t enough, and he didn¡¯t suppose life would present him with a second lucky break in so few hours. Elias would have to make his own luck from here, or more likely, he¡¯d just need to work for the coin.


    Sleep was a lender he had borrowed from before, when times were tight, and he did so now. On his way home (home was a modest room he rented above a cobbler¡¯s shop), Elias asked Mr. Humbledon for an extra morning shift, which he spent unloading a new delivery of fabrics at the crack of dawn. His only break in the day came around lunch. He scarcely ate¡ªanother money-saving tactic¡ªand instead spent his free hours insisting he be paid the single relic he was owed from a less reputable employer, who at the end of their negotiation handed over the coin and added that she would never again employ such an ungrateful bastard. That was fine with the bastard in question. With his final free hour before his second shift beckoned, an exhausted Elias wandered down to the docks.


    Elias had a good eye for people, and The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s large captain very much embodied the job title. He was tall and barrel-chested, sporting a burgundy tailcoat and a brown leather tricorne. The sailors around him, heaving heavy crates onto the dock, were dressed for labor. The obvious captain was dressed to lead them.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir.¡± Elias stood in front of him and waved.


    ¡°I see you,¡± the man replied.


    ¡°Are you the captain of The Sleeping Sparrow?¡±


    ¡°What can I do for you, lad?¡±


    ¡°I heard one might buy passage on your ship,¡± Elias said, ¡°passage to Sailor¡¯s Rise.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± the captain confirmed, ¡°for enough coin. It¡¯s not a cheap trip. You¡¯re pretty skinny, so fifty relics would cover it.¡±


    Elias had at least received solid intel. The price was what he¡¯d been told, but it remained out of reach. Elias had forty-three on him, the last relic having been acquired from the bridge he had just burned with a former employer. He could expect another two after the day¡¯s second shift. That brought him to forty-five. No. Thirty-eight. He still owed Melo seven relics.


    ¡°I could do thirty-eight.¡± It was worth a shot.


    The captain¡¯s eyebrows headed for the clouds.


    ¡°Forty,¡± Elias tried again.


    ¡°Look, boy, if I offered you passage to Sailor¡¯s Rise for forty-five relics, that would be uncharacteristically generous of me,¡± the captain explained. ¡°Anything less and everyone would think they could cut a deal. And don¡¯t say you won¡¯t tell anyone, because I wouldn¡¯t be very good at my job if I trusted in the secrets of men. That covers accommodation on my ship, food and water, and the fact that you¡¯re a hundred and fifty pounds of cargo. The only reason I¡¯m even considering forty-five is because you¡¯re not big like me, and because my son could use the company of someone his age.¡± He nodded toward a teenager that did indeed look Elias¡¯s age¡ªand rather like a softer, slumpier version of his father. ¡°Forty-five, and you¡¯ve got yourself a deal.¡±


    It was a good one. Elias knew the negotiation was over and that it had gone about as well as it could have. And yet, he was still short, assuming he intended to repay Melo. He would have forty-five relics in his coin purse, true¡ªeven if some of it was spoken for.


    Perhaps he could repay Melo later. Perhaps he could send the money by mail.


    ¡°When do you need it?¡± Elias asked the captain.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving first thing tomorrow,¡± the captain answered. ¡°Be here at sunrise. Payment is upfront.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be here,¡± Elias said.


    * * *


    When Elias awoke the next morning, his heart nearly leapt from his chest, from where it would have no doubt left a bloody trail straight to the docks. He had not meant to fall asleep, so paranoid was Elias about missing The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s imminent departure, but he knew the captain would not wait for him. The old sailor probably doubted he would even show up.


    Elias had packed his things the night before, but between packing and his second shift, there had been no window for goodbyes. He had intentionally not told his employer, fearing Mr. Humbledon might try to talk him out of it or, worse, withhold his pay. But others were owed an explanation. Melo was owed an explanation (along with seven relics), as was Ginger and a couple of other friends. His landlord probably deserved one, for that matter.


    But every goodbye was a few more minutes by which he might miss his opportunity to break free of this place¡ªhis fleeting chance to become the modern man he was raised to be. He couldn¡¯t risk it.


    Elias grabbed his bag and ran for the door. He practically flew to the docks, thumping down the stairs that led from his room, kicking up clouds the color of rust as he sprinted through empty streets, sweating and swearing, before finally catching up with his wayward heart when he saw The Sleeping Sparrow and its captain, who seemed genuinely surprised and perhaps a little impressed that the boy had actually shown up with payment in hand.


    ¡°I was just confirming that we hadn¡¯t forgotten anything,¡± the captain said.


    Three days later, Elias would tell the men and women of The Sleeping Sparrow the story of how a so-called piss-poor boy from Acreton scraped together enough coin for passage halfway across the Great Continent. He would tell it just as it happened, betraying the truth only once. At the end of the story, the young traveler would claim that he had found those fading minutes to say goodbye to old friends. Melo had agreed to extend his loan, and Ginger had laughed, joking that she had funded the expedition. They were sad, but they understood. And so the story had a happy ending.

 Chapter 6: Sunlit Streets

    Chapter Six


    Sunlit Street


    Elias¡¯s carefully told tale had worked its intended magic, shielding him from further accusations, and two more days passed without incident before Sailor¡¯s Rise finally glimmered in the distance. He had only ever pictured the great city towering over him or sprawling out of sight. From afar, his imagined metropolis appeared so contained, capping a low-lying mountaintop amid far greater mountains. But scale was often an optical illusion, as any good trickster knew.


    As The Sleeping Sparrow descended closer and closer to the city, its true size became plain to Elias. The city¡¯s sky port was larger than he ever would have guessed. It was not a distinct district so much as it was a ring that circled the entire city. All of Sailor¡¯s Rise was built to serve its encompassing sky port, from which countless docks reached out beyond the circular city like the protruding spokes of a ship¡¯s wheel. Wooden docks and metallic docks, some newly built and a few worryingly decrepit¡ªappendages the city might shed down the mountainside. There were docks barely large enough for the ferries that shuttled people around the city, while others appeared built to board vessels the likes of which Elias had never seen.


    The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s wooden berth was somewhere in between, neither modest nor particularly grand, fit to match the medium-sized merchant ship as a foot slides into a familiar shoe. Like the ship itself and the man who owned and operated both, The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s dock was perfectly practical.


    ¡°We call it the sparrow¡¯s nest,¡± Bertrand informed Elias as the two young men stepped off the ship.


    ¡°Clever,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°Thank you. I actually came up with the name myself a couple years ago. One of my greatest contributions to the family business.¡±


    ¡°A fine one, indeed. That reminds me, I was wondering why you call your ship The Sleeping Sparrow?¡±


    ¡°Have you ever seen a sleeping sparrow?¡± Bertrand asked.


    Elias shrugged.


    ¡°They¡¯re bloody cute is what they are. The way they tuck their chubby necks in¡ªlike little accordions.¡± Bertrand attempted an impression before hastily abandoning the effort. ¡°We get sparrows in our backyard.¡±


    ¡°Did you also name the ship, Bertrand?¡±


    ¡°When I was thirteen years old, if you can believe it. Father says he¡¯s not the creative type, so he let me name The Fairweather Company¡¯s new flagship vessel a few years back. It also has a nice alliteration to it. The Sleeping Sparrow. Alliteration is an important quality in a good name.¡±


    Elias didn¡¯t disagree.


    As more members of the bird-themed ship¡¯s crew disembarked behind him, the tired traveler stretched his legs and reacquainted himself with solid ground. Captain Fairweather reeled him back before he could wander too far.


    ¡°Elias,¡± the captain said. ¡°What are your plans here in Sailor¡¯s Rise? I heard your speech, but I mean specifically. Do you have work, a place to stay? I know you have naught but the single relic I refunded you. It won¡¯t get you very far.¡±


    Elias didn¡¯t have the heart to tell the captain that, actually, he now had no relics. How he had lost the much-appreciated coin was an unsolvable mystery. It had just disappeared, never to be discovered again, despite his many efforts. Perhaps that¡¯s what his friends in Acreton would say about him: vanished without a trace, nowhere to be found.


    As for the captain¡¯s questions, the answers were no and no, respectively. He had no work and no place to stay. Elias¡¯s first instinct was to reassure Bertrand¡¯s father that he would figure it all out, but instead he simply stared up at the larger man and shook his head.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡± Captain Fairweather exchanged a glance with his son, who was standing awkwardly between them, doing another, this time inadvertent sleeping sparrow impression. ¡°Look, lad, I¡¯m down a person at the shop,¡± the captain continued. ¡°It¡¯s less lugging crates and more face time with customers. But you seem like a handsome and well-spoken young man, and that story you told suggests a certain proclivity for sales.¡±


    ¡°I can barter, sir,¡± Elias assured him.


    ¡°Right,¡± Captain Fairweather said after eyeing him up and down one last time. ¡°We¡¯ll draw up a contract. Come see me later today. I suppose you¡¯ll be needing accommodation too.¡±


    ¡°Pa.¡± Bertrand stopped his father from walking away. ¡°Captain Fairweather, sir. Mind if I take Elias for a tour around town. It¡¯s his first time in the Rise, after all.¡±


    Captain Fairweather turned from his son to the crew members behind him, unloading shipments onto the dock, and responded with a resigned shrug.


    * * *


    As Elias and Bertrand wandered about the labyrinthine roads of Sailor¡¯s Rise¡ªmany of them uphill and rather grueling, the newcomer quickly learned¡ªElias couldn¡¯t help but compare fantasy with reality. It wasn¡¯t the city he imagined. The Sailor¡¯s Rise Elias once envisaged had been too orderly, its streets too wide and too straight, its alleys too clean. The real Sailor¡¯s Rise seemed to have been planned one addition at a time, its winding roads and tilted buildings locked in a frozen battle for space.


    It was the nature of its exceptional location, though it all looked a little precarious to Elias: a city balanced upon a mountaintop.


    Bertrand explained that it was quite the contrary. The city was a fortress, he said, impossible to raid except from within (which admittedly had happened once or twice). Its unreachable location¡ªsave by airship¡ªmade it the perfect trading port. Sailor¡¯s Rise was a sanctuary for commerce, the safest place on the continent to stow one¡¯s wealth.


    And, for some, the best place to generate it too.


    Bertrand beckoned him down a narrow street that soon turned into an expansive tunnel. Beneath the tunnel¡¯s domed ceiling, a bazaar of colorful stalls peddled sparkling jewels and colorful garments alongside baked goods and fresh produce. Elias reached into his vest pocket and felt his current balance: zero relics. He possessed but the single copper he never bartered with, though the only thing it could afford here was a coin trick.


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    Bertrand, on the other hand, had just been paid. He stopped to procure a golden-crusted blueberry pie. ¡°For tonight,¡± he said.


    ¡°It looks delicious,¡± Elias replied.


    ¡°It tastes delicious too,¡± his acquaintance confirmed. ¡°We¡¯ll have a slice together, you and I, after dinner.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m joining you for dinner?¡±


    ¡°Got other plans?¡±


    Elias shook his head, unable to contain the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was one less problem to worry about, knowing where he¡¯d acquire his next meal. ¡°Thanks, Bertrand.¡±


    Bertrand didn¡¯t hide his smile. ¡°We do well enough, my family,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re not members of the city¡¯s ruling merchant class, but we can afford an extra seat at the table. As you¡¯ll soon discover, this city has many layers.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Elias asked.


    Bertrand hemmed and hawed and ultimately started at the top. ¡°Only the largest companies have a seat on council,¡± he explained. ¡°Supposedly, they¡¯re most qualified to write the rules that govern business in Sailor¡¯s Rise, as if success implies wisdom. It certainly doesn¡¯t imply altruism. As you might expect, the rules that benefit one business don¡¯t always benefit another.


    ¡°And then you have companies like ours,¡± Bertrand continued as they exited the bazaar onto a sunny side street. ¡°There are many ways to turn a profit in the Rise. Businesses here come in all shapes and sizes. The Fairweather Company¡ªwe¡¯re traders, primarily. We¡¯re content as we are. Others are always scrambling for a seat at the big table. Many more are fighting to keep from falling into the red, from falling down another layer.¡±


    ¡°Lowtown.¡± Elias recalled the Valshynarian woman¡¯s warning. Lowtown had a reputation for swallowing people like him, she had said, into its ¡°ever-growing shadow.¡±


    ¡°Lowtown,¡± Bertrand confirmed. ¡°The name encompasses everything below the docks that circle this town. Lowtown used to be small¡ªthe city¡¯s excess spilling over the edges. Not so anymore. Sailor¡¯s Rise can only expand in one direction, and that¡¯s down the mountainside. When I was a kid, only poor people lived in Lowtown. These days, Lowtown is becoming a sort of second city.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound entirely terrible,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°There are bad parts,¡± Bertrand clarified, ¡°but it depends on whom you ask. This city¡¯s true number-one export is snobbery. Anyway, I thought we¡¯d swing by Fairweather Provisions. It¡¯s just a couple blocks this way.¡± He pointed in the direction of this way.


    ¡°Fairweather Provisions?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°Fairweather Provisions is the family shop, as the name suggests, and your new place of employment.¡±


    The shop in question was located on a relatively quiet street, across from a jeweler and a wine store. Most of the businesses on this particular tree-lined block sold luxury goods, Bertrand said. Their customers were primarily artisans on the market for high-quality materials.


    The cursive lettering advertising Fairweather Provisions reminded Elias of the intricate style used upon The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s wooden bow. Bertrand would later mention the importance of brand consistency, an aspect of the business he evidently took very seriously.


    A shopkeeper¡¯s bell chimed softly as the touring teenagers entered the skinny store. Elias spotted two women inside¡ªone his age, the other old enough to be his mother¡ªinspecting and discussing some item he couldn¡¯t yet see.


    ¡°That¡¯s Briley.¡± Bertrand nodded toward them. ¡°Briley Soren. She works here.¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡± Elias needed clarification.


    ¡°Younger,¡± Bertrand said. ¡°Handsome. Short red hair. Sharp jawline. Eyes that radiate a nonchalance beyond her years.¡±


    ¡°I figured it out at younger.¡± Elias looked down at the table beside him, covered in familiar reddish-brown blocks. They were stacked into tidy pyramids. ¡°This is clay from Sapphire¡¯s Reach,¡± he observed, before also observing the price tag. ¡°This is robbery, Bertrand.¡±


    ¡°This¡±¡ªBertrand picked up a block of clay¡ª¡°is the business. And keep your voice down, would you? We¡¯ve got a customer.¡±


    Elias apologized, ashamed of his embarrassing oversight.


    ¡°You look at this, and you see only a block of clay.¡± Bertrand brandished the block in question. ¡°I want you to consider everything it took to bring this clay here. An airship traveled halfway across the continent and back to buy it and ship it here. That includes the cost of crew members, the cost of feeding said crew members. They¡¯re hungry fellas, believe me. Then there¡¯s the cost of procuring the clay itself, of renting this store, of painting its walls with fresh paint, of printing flyers to advertise our wares across the city. And don¡¯t forget the cost of Briley¡¯s paycheck.


    ¡°They are not just paying for a block of clay,¡± Bertrand concluded.


    Elias took this lesson to heart, recalling that Acreton was not immune to similar price hikes. It was the cost of business, as Bertrand said. Elias simply needed to be on the side of business.


    When the store¡¯s single customer departed, her recently procured goods in hand, Bertrand ambled over and introduced Elias, the newest sales representative of Fairweather Provisions, to the currently working one.


    If Briley had initial impressions of her future co-worker, Elias couldn¡¯t read them on her pensive face. He could read some people like an open book, as the saying goes, but Briley Soren was shut tight. Briley Soren was a closed book with a plain cover whose only printed words were Briley Soren.


    ¡°So, this is your solution to our staffing shortage,¡± Briley said.


    Bertrand nodded. ¡°He will share your busy shifts and cover your slow ones. Father¡ªCaptain Fairweather¡ªis drafting up a contract.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Briley,¡± Elias inserted himself.


    ¡°Sure. Do you have sales experience, Elias?¡±


    ¡°I would say I have relevant experience,¡± Elias said, ¡°and I worked a lot of jobs back in Acreton.¡±


    ¡°Acreton.¡± She raised an eyebrow as Bertrand raised a single shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be fine,¡± he assured them both.


    * * *


    The Fairweathers¡¯ red-brick house resembled the house Elias had imagined one day owning. Smaller, perhaps, but only because his imagination was so big. Indeed, more than anything else he had seen that day, their medium-sized abode looked like a scene from the fantasy version of Sailor¡¯s Rise that Elias had cultivated over the past year.


    The yard around the house was hardly larger than the house itself, with a few leafy, late-summer hardwoods for added privacy. Given the land-constrained nature of the city, any yard at all was considered an enviable luxury, Bertrand bragged.


    They met with Captain Fairweather in his wood-paneled office upstairs, which overlooked their slender backyard. Peering out its bay window, Elias successfully spotted a couple of sparrows and smiled.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your contract.¡± Captain Fairweather slapped a piece of paper onto the oak desk between them. The timeworn table looked as old as the man towering over it, much like many of the room¡¯s curated artifacts¡ªthe collection of a captain who had seen the world and brought it home in pieces.


    Elias felt a sudden wave of exhilaration as he took the quill from Captain Fairweather¡¯s calloused hand.


    The details of the contract were straightforward enough. Elias would be paid two relics per shift, which was twice what he typically earned in Acreton. He was free to find his own accommodation, ¡°but if you prefer, we have an available room here,¡± Captain Fairweather said. ¡°My daughter, Bertrand¡¯s sister, moved out some while ago. It¡¯s just the three of us now, the missus, Bertrand, and I. If you choose to board with us, your pay would be reduced to one relic a day. That covers rent and food.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good deal,¡± Bertrand interjected, encouraging Elias¡¯s agreement with widened eyes and a dramatic nod.


    Not that his new acquaintance needed encouragement. Elias had known his answer as quickly as he¡¯d known he would take this job. ¡°I would love to stay with you and your family, Captain Fairweather, if you would have me.¡±


    ¡°You left your bag on the ship, by the way,¡± the captain mentioned. ¡°Eagerness is a fine quality in a young man, but don¡¯t let it be accompanied by forgetfulness. The bag is in your new room. I had a feeling you¡¯d say yes.¡±


    Elias apologized and promised to do better.


    Captain Fairweather amended the contract accordingly. ¡°Just sign here and the job and the room are yours, for as long as you earn them.¡±


    Elias was once again eager to act, eager to sign his name and start his new life, but the quill hovered in his hand for a few seconds as the captain and his son stared on in surprise.


    Finally, he signed his name.


    His new name.


    Elias Vice, the signature read.


    ¡°I thought you were a Fisher,¡± Captain Fairweather said.


    ¡°I was a Fisher,¡± Elias replied. ¡°Vice was my ma¡¯s maiden name. Elias Fisher lived his life in Acreton. I¡¯m a citizen of Sailor¡¯s Rise now.¡±


    Of this, he was youthfully certain. Elias Vice would not be the common man from whose rusted cocoon he had emerged. He would be a great merchant in the merchant republic of Sailor¡¯s Rise. He would be a master of commerce, a leader among leaders. And it started with this signature.


    Bertrand looked down at the contract and back up toward Elias as he stepped forward with a friendly backslap. ¡°Well, how would Elias Vice like some dinner and a slice of delicious blueberry pie?¡±

 Chapter 7: Jeweled Lessons

    Chapter Seven


    Jeweled Lessons


    Routine could be boring. Routine was, after all, hardly the spark that ignited a young, ambitious man like Elias Fisher¡ªlet alone his newer, better self. Routine was the absolute antonym of Elias Vice. But for a pleasant spell, routine was a luxury to be savored. Routine meant stability. Routine meant time to relax. Routine meant Elias could look beyond the next week, beyond next month¡¯s rent payment, beyond the small world that once contained his big dreams.


    He would tire of routine eventually, but right now routine was one more important thing: an opportunity to master new skills.


    While Elias was accustomed to outshining the simple-minded riffraff with whom he once competed for work in his old life, Briley Soren was nothing of the sort. She was a good salesperson, and despite his best efforts, Elias was not. Sure, some items sold themselves. Many who entered Fairweather Provisions knew their order before they even arrived. And yes, he could take their relics, count them, and stack them into neat piles. But what fool couldn¡¯t do that? He knew a few, truth be told, but fools did not make it in Sailor¡¯s Rise.


    After two days on the job, the only item in the entire store Elias was certain he had truly sold was a block of clay to a wealthy woman who Briley said changed hobbies on a weekly basis¡ªso why not potter? Yes, clay. The number one export of Sapphire¡¯s Reach. He could have sold clay back in Acreton, albeit for considerably less.


    ¡°Do you know why you were able to sell that block of clay?¡± Briley asked her junior employee after a satisfied-looking customer departed, leaving the two alone once more.


    ¡°Because a block of clay is cheaper than most things we sell in this store,¡± Elias answered honestly.


    ¡°Well, yes,¡± Briley admitted, ¡°but also because you understood the product. No one wants to be sold something. People are looking for advice. Others are desperate for a compliment. Some will pay for a conversation¡ªor waste your time.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°Stop trying to sell people things they don¡¯t need,¡± she said.


    Elias took in the slim store around them. Its overpriced blocks of clay. The compartmentalized rolls of brightly dyed yarns imported from Azir, arranged by color from floor to ceiling. The reams of textiles. The open drawers overstuffed with buttons. And behind the cherry wood counter where they kept their ironclad safe, an assortment of jewels, pearls, and fine metals glimmering seductively in the light of an oil lantern. He had been informed that this was where the real money was made. Jewels were worth a fortune, not to mention light as a feather¡ªthe perfect commodity for an airship trader. They were also the hardest thing to sell.


    ¡°Why would anyone actually need anything in here?¡± Elias finally asked.


    ¡°They don¡¯t,¡± Briley answered.


    ¡°You¡¯ve lost me.¡±


    Briley brushed back a stray strand of ginger hair, tucking it neatly behind her ear, returning to her natural state of being: perfectly put together. Their hair was roughly the same length, but Elias was growing self-conscious of the perennially unkempt look he had been sporting since birth. Perhaps it was time for a haircut, or at least some pomade, once he had the relics. He could already surmise that appearances in the Rise were, much like knowledge, an investment in oneself.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get there, kid¡± was all Briley said.


    Elias was quite certain they were the same age. But before he could get ¡°there¡± or anywhere else, the shopkeeper¡¯s bell rang as another customer wandered his way inside.


    The customer in question was a stout man with a pencil-thin moustache and eyes that seemed to be searching for something they could never quite find. Most customers perused a particular part of the store. Some were here for fabrics and dyes, others for paints and brushes. But this particular patron eyed everything, deliberating over each footstep forward, running his fingers along surfaces as if the right texture might inspire something in him.


    Elias approached the man. ¡°Can I help you find something?¡±


    The customer smiled at the question, or perhaps it was a smirk.


    ¡°We¡¯ve added a few items from our recent venture to Sapphire¡¯s Reach,¡± Elias said, not mentioning that one of those items was Elias himself. ¡°The clay behind you.¡± He pointed. ¡°Some jade as well. It¡¯s quite exquisite. Greener than my eyes, even.¡±


    The man laughed at that. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for anything new. Thank you, lad.¡±


    Elias nodded and let the man be. He had earned a chuckle. It was better than nothing, even if nothing was all a chuckle was worth. The curious customer examined their wares for a few more minutes, without saying a word and without spending a relic. He departed with only a second ¡°thank you.¡±


    Briley crossed her arms and blinked at Elias. ¡°Stop trying to sell people things they don¡¯t need.¡±


    Elias shook his head and tossed up both hands. ¡°How am I supposed to know what some random stranger needs?¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s your job, isn¡¯t it?¡± she said. ¡°If he doesn¡¯t already know, you help him find out.¡±


    * * *


    Clearly, Elias had many lessons to learn. Some of these lessons struck swiftly, like the stray rock on a familiar road, forcing him to stumble or else bruise a limb. Other lessons, however, he pursued proactively.


    In the hours between shifts at the shop, family dinners with the Fairweathers, and sleep that wouldn¡¯t have him, Elias peppered Bertrand and Briley with questions about the city and the strange, stratified system that governed it. He learned that money was the one and only true king of his adopted city-state, that social standing was bought much like everything else here. When all was said and done, only the power of relics was divinely upheld.


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    One could try operating outside of the system, sure, but Sailor¡¯s Rise was a hostile place for those who skirted its many rules. All serious business filtered through, and was taxed by, the Trader¡¯s Guild. The Trader¡¯s Guild was in turn run by a council of (generally self-serving) chief proprietors from the Rise¡¯s biggest companies.


    Indeed, power was rather like a rolling snowball, or perhaps it was a growing mold problem, Bertrand opined over dinner, reaching for a second helping and as many metaphors as the young man could muster. ¡°The best way to get more of it is to already have some.¡±


    Briley was blunter in her assessment: ¡°There is no difference between business and politics in Sailor¡¯s Rise,¡± she said after their fourth shift, ¡°and that¡¯s really all you need to know.¡±


    Elias, of course, needed to know everything and then some. He took notes in the notebook he tucked under his new pillow.


    Unincorporated companies, he learned, had no legal standing in the Rise. Modest, under-the-table work was all such ventures could hope to acquire. Many risked being, or already were, blacklisted by the Trader¡¯s Guild.


    By contrast, registered companies could compete for official, guild-sanctioned contracts, though many new ventures lived short lives in Lowtown. ¡°Much like the fruit fly,¡± Bertrand mused.


    The Fairweather Company, he said, was no fruit fly.


    Nor were they members of the ruling class. Bertrand insisted they had found a sort of sweet spot, being neither too small nor too big. If they genuinely wanted to grow, they had enough of a standing¡ªand more importantly, enough revenue¡ªto apply for loans from the Trader¡¯s Guild, though his father was a staunchly debt-adverse man. Captain Fairweather had witnessed many a friend fall from grace, and debt was usually the sleigh upon which they slid down that mountain.


    As Bertrand had said before, they were content as they were.


    Indeed, they harbored no aspirations to become one of those ¡°hoity-toity¡± businesses, as Bertrand liked to call them. Hoity-toitiness aside, size came with certain perks. If you ran one of the hundred largest companies in the city (as determined by revenue), your chief proprietor could vote in the House of Merchants. Though only the ten largest companies could put forward the motions that changed laws¡ªand, more often than not, livelihoods.


    If a seat in the House of Merchants made you a member of the Rise¡¯s de facto lower nobility, a seat on council could be compared to upper nobility status. But nobility they all were, and The Fairweather Company, despite its healthy bottom line, received few party invitations. Captain Fairweather was rarely invited to the city¡¯s most important social gatherings, where key connections were made and strategic information might be acquired, often over sherry.


    As for who captained this metaphorical ship, it was the one who made the most money that year¡ªthe Rise¡¯s richest company and, by extension, the world¡¯s richest. The Transcontinental Trading Company¡¯s chief proprietor, Bartholomew Grimsby, served as council chair and had done so for seventeen years now, which apparently was a record.


    Yes, Elias took many notes during those first few days exploring Sailor¡¯s Rise, trying to unravel its many layers. But there was just one note he circled three times, his pencil indenting the page: the powers granted to the man who served as council chair.


    His objective here had been cloudy up until that moment. Now it was clear to him, as clear as diamond. Elias would start his own business, and not just any business. He would start the business that would one day be the greatest company Sailor¡¯s Rise had ever known. He would serve as council chair.


    When sleep wouldn¡¯t have him, Elias sketched an empty throne.


    * * *


    But first, Elias had to solve the unsolvable mystery that was selling something besides another block of clay.


    A week had passed since his first day on the job, and he looked more up to the task, if nothing else. Which is to say he had gotten himself a haircut and a tin of pomade with his first payment of relics. He still wasn¡¯t used to the sensation of greasy hair against his scalp, but his new hairstyle made him feel more like a proper resident of the Rise.


    Payday was a weekly occurrence, and Elias had been paid his first five relics before the weekend, with another five set aside for accommodation. He had already been here long enough to confirm that Bertrand¡¯s assessment was spot on. It was a better deal than he would have found elsewhere.


    Alas, thanks to those hair-related purchases and a celebratory night at The Thirsty Eagle with Bertrand and Briley, his meager balance had quickly been cut in half. Elias did not yet know what he was saving for, but he knew that all roads eventually required a toll, and he would need savings if he wished to one day start his own company.


    As for what his supposed business would do, that was one more mystery to be solved. Maybe he would sell clay.


    If only he could prove his sales acumen at Fairweather Provisions. Briley was taking her break in the back of the shop when a familiar man stepped through the front door. Elias recognized his stout frame and pencil-thin moustache almost immediately. The customer from last week had returned.


    ¡°Hello again,¡± Elias greeted him.


    The man flashed a smile of recognition.


    Elias decided to try a different tactic this time. ¡°How was your weekend?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Rather busy.¡± The customer kept his gaze glued to the wares in front of him. ¡°I¡¯m preparing for another trip to the Southlands. I am something of a naturalist, you see.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never met a naturalist,¡± Elias said. ¡°I imagine you¡¯ve seen things most of us never will.¡±


    ¡°That I have, lad, that I have,¡± he replied. ¡°Though you don¡¯t need to travel far to uncover such wonders. The trick is to look very closely. Entire ecosystems exist all around us, whole worlds lost in our periphery.¡±


    ¡°I used to follow beetles in Sapphire¡¯s Reach,¡± Elias said, ¡°just to see where they were headed.¡±


    The man chuckled. ¡°I thought you might be a recent import. I suppose most of us are. You could go a little easier on the pomade.¡±


    Elias felt his cheeks flush red, but he couldn¡¯t let a little embarrassment faze him. ¡°We actually have some pearls from the Southlands.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± The man sounded interested. ¡°I met my wife there, you know. She seldom travels with me, but I suspect she misses her homeland more than she admits to herself.¡± He scratched his thinly bearded chin. ¡°May I take a peek at those pearls?¡±


    Elias nodded, trying not to look too excited. He retrieved a small wooden box from behind the counter and placed it on the table between them. He slowly slid free the box¡¯s mahogany lid to reveal its hidden treasure: a few hundred glistening pearls, imported straight from the Southlands.


    ¡°Stunning specimens,¡± the customer said. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss her birthday this year,¡± he added after a silent sigh. ¡°I¡¯ve missed too many birthdays over the years.¡± He pinched a pearl between his fingers. ¡°May I?¡±


    Elias nodded again.


    ¡°I once gifted her a pearl just like this one, back when we first met. Picked it from the clam myself. Most beautiful pearls on the planet, I wager, and I¡¯ve seen a few in my profession.¡±


    ¡°We work with a jeweler,¡± Elias mentioned, ¡°if you were interested in turning some of these into another gift for your wife. A bracelet, perhaps, or a necklace.¡±


    The man scrunched his brow and peered deeply into that gently clutched pearl. ¡°How much for the necklace?¡±


    It was a good question, and one that Elias did not yet have an answer to. ¡°Briley!¡±


    His co-worker appeared from behind the burgundy velvet curtain that separated the back of the store, clearly having overheard their entire exchange. ¡°Two hundred relics for the necklace.¡±


    Elias thought the price would be too high, but the inexperienced apprentice still had much to learn.


    ¡°One hundred and eighty,¡± the naturalist countered.


    ¡°Lowest we could go is a one-ninety,¡± Briley said.


    ¡°If you can craft me a necklace by tomorrow afternoon, we have a deal. I would like to give it to her before I go.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll make it happen,¡± Briley assured him.


    The customer stared down at the pearls once more before turning his attention back to Elias. ¡°Thank you, lad,¡± he said. ¡°I hope you find what you¡¯re looking for too. If I may offer some parting advice, don¡¯t forget where you came from.¡±


    The naturalist paid half the necklace¡¯s cost upfront, as agreed, promising to return the next day with the remaining balance. It seemed a high price to Elias, who had grown up trading coppers more often than relics, but perhaps it was a fair one for the perfect birthday gift.


    The shopkeeper¡¯s bell announced the man¡¯s departure. Alone once more, Briley crossed her arms as she so often did, re-examining Elias from his threadbare boots to his overly greased hair.


    ¡°It looks like you found what he needed,¡± she said.

 Chapter 8: Crystal Clarity

    Chapter Eight


    Crystal Clarity


    For Elias, home had long been an idea. Home was what he brought with him. Home was his mother¡¯s legacy. Home was everything she had dreamed of for her son and everything he had dreamed of for himself. No, home wasn¡¯t the bed he slept in. Home was the notebook tucked under his pillow.


    But for the first time in nearly three years, Elias wondered if he might grow attached to his newly rented bedroom. He shouldn¡¯t, he told himself. This was Bertrand¡¯s house, not his. He was paying for the privilege of being here, even if it was at a discount.


    Still, he had never enjoyed accommodation such as this. Bertrand insisted they were not a wealthy family, merely a ¡°comfortable one.¡± Perhaps that¡¯s what Elias had been missing all these years: comfort. In the room he¡¯d been renting in Acreton, he had heard every footstep thundering past his paper-thin door, every drunk protesting their drunkenness outside his window. Every creak. Every snore. Now he scarcely heard a sound. Comfortable he was.


    As was the featherbed once slept in by Bertrand¡¯s sister. There was an oval painting of Sorea Fairweather collecting dust atop her emptied dresser (Elias had only filled a single drawer). He thought she looked pretty and perhaps adopted, though he never relayed this observation to her brother. It was just a painting, after all. Much like the best coin tricks, people in portraits were seldom as they appeared.


    But more than any other piece of furniture, it was the wooden writing desk centered beneath the bedroom¡¯s sole window that Elias appreciated most. Mornings dappled its oak surface with hues of gold as the eastern sun slipped through the yellowing maples outside. Evenings colored the wood a flickering orange as he scribbled away by candlelight.


    More often than not, he took notes. Lessons he had learned. Ideas worth further consideration. Questions in need of answers. When his brain tired of deep contemplation, Elias drew. He thought he might sketch more scenes from Sailor¡¯s Rise, but now that he knew what the city actually looked like, he lacked the inspiration. His hand followed his heart, and his heart followed roads yet traveled.


    On one particularly inspired evening, Elias drew an airship. It wasn¡¯t The Sleeping Sparrow or any airship he had ever seen. Rather, it was the airship he carried with him. He added scale-like patterns to the ship¡¯s hull, a detail he recalled from the Valshynarian vessel that had saved them a month earlier.


    Elias cracked his cramped fingers and placed down his dull pencil, staring at his latest drawing alongside the many others he had sketched in recent days, arranged chaotically across his desk or else propped against the window.


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    Alas, drawing a dream was infinitely easier than achieving said dream.


    He poured out the contents of his coin purse and counted eight relics. He¡¯d been employed at Fairweather Provisions for a month now, and this was what he had to show for it. Elias¡¯s aim was to save half the relics he was paid, but life had undermined that plan on a couple of occasions.


    He still did not know what exactly he was saving for. His last goal had been so clear: save for a ticket to Sailor¡¯s Rise, and then¡ªand then he would figure out the and then part. At least he had an objective now, an aspiration against which he might measure himself. He would create a business like no other. Still, there were a thousand steps between the one he stood on now and that outrageous fantasy.


    Elias picked up a single relic and stared into it. How many of these would he need along the way, he wondered? No doubt more than could be counted by one man.


    Relics had always fascinated Elias. They were, as their name suggested, relics from the past, each one a translucent chunk of mineral roughly the size of a bullet. No two were exactly identical in size or shape, but as the material was unbreakable and could thus not be reforged into precisely equal parts, empires and traders alike simply agreed that a relic was a relic.


    After all, relics were the perfect currency, as impossible to counterfeit as they were to destroy. Some said they were a gift from the gods, intended for their very purpose. Elias wasn¡¯t sure what he believed.


    In the sunny streets of Acreton, where countless coins were counted and haggled, the iridescent mineral was an accidental sun catcher in the palms of weary traders. And yet the colors that emanated from inside relics sometimes surprised Elias. There was something special about the material, though Melo and Ginger had always claimed they couldn¡¯t see it¡ªthat he was simply searching for treasure in the mundane. A relic was a relic, they said, nothing more.


    In the halo of his oil lamp, Elias caught twinkles of jade and amber as he pinched the mineral between two fingers.


    He considered all that this relic meant to him. An idea had placed itself in his mind, though from where he could not say. He imagined his dreams had coalesced into a single, colossal crystal, only to be shattered into a million shards just like this one. Piece by piece, the idea went, Elias might repair what was once a great gemstone. He might repair what was once whole. As he imagined what that moment would feel like, how such power would ignite his smoldering soul, Elias wrapped his fingers around the relic and squeezed.


    He squeezed until he felt its jagged edges dig into his flesh.


    He squeezed until¡ªuntil he felt nothing at all.


    Elias opened his hand to an empty palm.


    Bertrand knocked on his door, opening it at the same time.


    ¡°Ready for the Night Market?¡± He leaned in, sporting the black leather tricorne he¡¯d purchased that afternoon. ¡°I mentioned tonight was the Night Market, no?¡±


    Elias was still recovering from what he had just witnessed. He shook his head a few seconds too late. ¡°Bertrand,¡± he said, ¡°remember that relic I lost on The Sleeping Sparrow, right after we came out of the sky rift?¡±


    It took Bertrand a moment. ¡°Sure. What of it?¡±


    ¡°Did anyone ever find it?¡±


    ¡°If they did, it¡¯s a good bet they kept it. Probably already spent it on rum.¡± Bertrand eyed the pile of relics on the desk beside Elias. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve acquired some new ones, in any event. How about bringing a few to the Night Market? I take it you don¡¯t have other plans.¡± Bertrand peered at the pencil rolling off Elias¡¯s notebook.


    Elias caught the pencil as it crested the ledge and shook his head once more, his eyes still fixed on his empty palm.

 Chapter 9: Worthless Gems

    Chapter Nine


    Worthless Gems


    In some respects, the Night Market was not so different from the day market. For one, many of its vendors had simply extended their usual business hours into the evening. But like any good festival, it was the event¡¯s ambience that counted most, and the Night Market had all but transformed the labyrinth of intersecting alleys it encompassed. Never had Elias seen so many people packed so closely together, willingly at that. Music and laughter warmed the cool night air, as did the sheer number of bodies. Paper lanterns of purple and gold dangled overtop them all, strewn in zigzags, as if the stars had come down to join in the festivities.


    The kids certainly had. Someone was bound to lose one. Elias hadn¡¯t seen this many children¡ªrunning, crying, pulling their parents by the arm¡ªsince leaving Acreton. He supposed people here had families too. It wasn¡¯t all business all the time, despite what Briley said.


    Speaking of Briley, they found her engaged in competition. Elias greeted her through a cloud of smoke as she took her last shot and missed. The glass bottle thirty feet from the barrel of her pistol remained tauntingly unshattered. She sighed a disappointed sigh.


    ¡°A shooting competition.¡± Elias tried not to sound too excited, but his eyes gave him away.


    ¡°Do a lot of shooting back in Sapphire¡¯s Reach?¡± Briley asked, handing the cheap pistol back to a man wearing a very tall hat.


    ¡°I¡¯ve shattered a few clay pots in my time,¡± Elias admitted.


    The man in the distinguished top hat could not help but overhear Elias¡¯s boast, or so he claimed. ¡°Care to take a shot? Or rather, as many shots as you can load in two minutes. Just one relic to play.¡±


    Just one relic, thought Elias. One relic was what he took home after a day¡¯s work.


    The game host opened an ornate chest that was quite literally chained to his booth. He rotated the chest to face them. Inside, they saw a growing hill of relics, glimmering in the evening¡¯s purple-gold aura. ¡°Everyone pays a relic to play,¡± he said. ¡°At the end of the night, whoever shoots the most bottles in two minutes takes home half the pile.¡±


    ¡°And you take home the other half, I assume,¡± Elias surmised.


    The man grinned a wide grin and tipped his hat. With his other hand, he gave his stubby pipe a quick puff, letting the smoke trickle out his nostrils.


    Elias peered down the shooting range, watching an assistant replace the three bottles Briley had managed to hit. He was certain he could do better than three.


    The challenge, however, was twofold. Hitting the targets was one challenge. Reloading quickly was the other. He asked to inspect the pistol, but nothing about the weapon seemed amiss. It was no Leefield, and yet he couldn¡¯t identify anything wrong with the gun. It would do.


    ¡°What¡¯s the current high score?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°Six bottles,¡± the man said.


    Briley grimaced at the mention of a number that was twice as high as hers. Elias didn¡¯t think three was anything to be ashamed of, though he reveled in the possibility of beating her at something.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said, flicking a coin that he caught in the palm of his hand. ¡°One relic.¡±


    The man received the relic, dropped it into his chest, and unfurled a long list of names, each with a score written next to it. ¡°What do they call you?¡± he asked.


    Elias spelled it out for him, forgetting and then correcting his surname. His new surname. It would take some getting used to.


    ¡°Elias Fisher Vice?¡± the game host clarified.


    ¡°Just Elias Vice.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you say, my boy.¡± He scratched a line through Fisher. ¡°Stand over there.¡±


    The shooting range had been set up along the edge of the Night Market and the city itself, in a park that was too small to be much of a park. To its credit, the well-trampled patch of grass possessed a striking view of the mountains, though striking views weren¡¯t particularly hard to come by in Sailor¡¯s Rise. Being a shooting range seemed to be the neglected park¡¯s true calling. Bullets could simply soar off the mountainside, threatening no one but the unluckiest of birds¡ªor perhaps a lost airship.


    On a skinny metal table, behind which contestants were required to stand, lay everything a shooter would need: a rusty bucket full of bullets, a pile of cloth pieces for packing said bullets, and a full powder horn. Elias could load his first shot before the countdown began. The hatted man¡¯s pocket watch rested upon his palm like an opened clam as he took another puff from his pipe.


    There were a dozen bottles in total¡ªmore than anyone could ever hit in two minutes¡ªand they were spaced far enough apart to prevent a missed shot from turning into a lucky one. In other words, Elias would need to hit his intended targets.


    He aimed, took a breath, and steadied his hand. He couldn¡¯t afford to miss his first shot. It was the only one he could take his time with.


    ¡°Not to rush you, my boy, but we¡¯ve got another gentleman waiting to play.¡± The man tipped his top hat at the gentleman in question.


    Elias said nothing as he finally pressed the trigger. He shattered the leftmost bottle first, having decided that he would shoot them from left to right¡ªlike reading a book¡ªso as not to waste valuable seconds wondering which target to aim for next.


    If any onlookers had thought him slow before, they would have banished the thought, though Elias spared no time gauging their reactions. He half-cocked the pistol¡¯s hammer, poured a measure of black powder down the barrel, and rammed a hastily wrapped bullet into the muzzle. He poured a bit more powder in the flash pan, snapped the frizzen into place, and fully cocked the hammer.


    This time, Elias took his shot immediately, instinctively, as if he could feel where the bullet would strike a second before he pulled the trigger. He was good with a gun, but it was a strange sensation, even to him. He chalked it up to adrenaline as the second bottle in line shattered into a thousand worthless gems.


    Like the pistol itself, his movements were mechanical. Once more, he half-cocked the hammer, poured the black powder, inserted a bullet, filled the flash pan, snapped the frizzen, fully cocked the hammer.


    The third bottle shattered.


    He was already tied with Briley at three points. As for how many seconds remained, Elias had no sense of time. He committed all of his attention to loading a fourth bullet.


    Only the top half of the fourth bottle exploded, but a hit was a hit.


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    Elias heard a whistle he imagined came from Bertrand.


    There was a hushed silence when the fifth bottle fell.


    One more and he would be tied for first place. Would they split the prize? Elias didn¡¯t dwell on such questions. His goal was to win, and he didn¡¯t count ties as wins.


    Someone clapped when his bullet whizzed through the sixth bottle.


    Elias was overwhelmed by a rush of nerves as he took aim once more. Suddenly, he had something to lose. His previously rigid arm felt wobbly, his palm sticky, his target distant.


    His bullet missed the seventh bottle in line, ricocheting off the iron fence behind it.


    ¡°Goddamn piece of shit.¡± Through gritted teeth, Elias cycled through his favorite profanities as he began reloading the pistol. Would he even have time for another shot? Unlikely, the voice inside him said. Doubt was now turning into despair. He wouldn¡¯t win. At best, he would tie.


    His last shot was rushed, but for a fleeting second, Elias could have sworn he saw something in the air: a faint green line between his barrel and the seventh bottle. It disappeared in a cloud of smoke.


    ¡°Seven bottles!¡± the game host yelled. ¡°We have a new high score!¡±


    Elias reached for another bullet before being informed that his time was up. ¡°Don¡¯t look so disappointed,¡± the man added. ¡°You just outshot a hundred men.¡±


    ¡°I missed,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°Everyone misses, my boy.¡±


    I¡¯m not trying to be everyone: Elias thought the words but kept them to himself. Bertrand nearly tripped over Briley on their way over. ¡°Where in heaven or hell did you learn to shoot like that?¡± the larger of the two asked.


    ¡°Same place I learned everything,¡± Elias said. ¡°There isn¡¯t much to do in Acreton, but you can shoot a pistol in any direction you please. You won¡¯t hit a thing.¡±


    ¡°Well, color me impressed and then some, Elias.¡± Bertrand slapped his friend¡¯s shoulder. Surely, they were friends now.


    ¡°Nice shooting¡± was all Briley offered.


    ¡°You¡¯re still the better salesperson,¡± Elias told her.


    ¡°I know,¡± she assured him.


    ¡°Anyway, I messed up that seventh shot.¡± He eyed the bottle that beat him.


    Bertrand shook his head and Elias with it. ¡°You shot seven bottles in two minutes and reloaded a pistol faster than anyone I¡¯ve seen, and all you can think about is the one you missed?¡±


    Elias chuckled as his tight shoulders turned limber, or as limber as they ever were. Perhaps he needed to hear such reassurance from a new friend. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s just the way I was raised,¡± he said.


    ¡°To be perfect?¡± Bertrand inquired.


    No, his mother was not responsible for her son¡¯s obsessive nature. ¡°To be good,¡± he said. ¡°I added a few layers.¡±


    He could tell that Briley understood without her saying it. That was another kind of reassurance he needed.


    ¡°Come back in an hour, my boy,¡± the hatted man interjected. ¡°We¡¯ll find out if you¡¯ve won. It¡¯s a hefty prize tonight. You could always try again, see if you can¡¯t make that eighth shot.¡±


    Elias wasn¡¯t willing to part with another relic. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in an hour,¡± he said, turning toward a crowd of onlookers that had grown steadily over the past two minutes. His skill with a pistol had not gone unnoticed.


    ¡°Nice shooting,¡± remarked a young woman with dark hair and olive skin. Elias¡¯s sun-kissed complexion, meanwhile, burned a brighter shade of red.


    Back in Acreton, Ginger had always been a big believer in ¡°types¡± when it came to matters of attraction. Everyone had a type, she would insist (often reminding an uninterested Elias that he wasn¡¯t hers), and she made a pastime of pointing these people out. She was Melo¡¯s type, obviously, though whether Melo was her type remained a question to be avoided. Elias¡¯s mother had been Mr. Humbledon¡¯s type¡ªand the type of many men in Acreton, apparently. As for the young woman with dark hair and olive skin, had Ginger been here now, she would have called it faster than he¡¯d shot that last bottle.


    ¡°Thanks¡± was all he said to the girl.


    * * *


    Elias, Bertrand, and Briley spent the next half hour browsing goods with no intention of truly buying anything. Bertrand proved the exception, purchasing yet another pie¡ªhis apparent weakness. Briley would come over after the market, and they would share the pie over mead.


    Indeed, their entire evening could already be predicted. They would stay up far too late and open a second bottle they had never intended to open. Briley would end up sleeping in the guest bedroom. Bertrand might pass out on the couch if he was too tired for stairs.


    But they were spry and sober for now, and the evening maintained its illusion of mystery. Hell, Elias would soon find out if he had won a satchel full of relics. There was still time for the unexpected.


    And for the uninvited.


    ¡°Nice hat, porker.¡±


    Elias observed the pained grimace that overtook Bertrand¡¯s face as he turned to see the source of the sting, though Briley spun around first.


    ¡°Fuck off, Edric.¡± She practically spat the words.


    ¡°Calm down, fireball,¡± said the young man whose name, presumably, was Edric. ¡°I jest. This is the Night Market, after all. Are we not here to have fun, to let loose?¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you let yourself loose over the edge of an airship,¡± Bertrand replied. ¡°Some of us have actually grown up since finishing school.¡±


    Edric had certainly grown up in appearance, at least. Based on Bertrand¡¯s pointed rebuttal, Elias assumed they were of an age, and yet Edric could have passed for the oldest among them. He was tall, as tall as Bertrand, but built more like Elias. His dark facial hair was already thick enough to be shaped into pointed sideburns, jutting along his cheekbones like twin blades. His hair was coifed, his silk vest almost silver. He might have been considered dashing were he not such an obvious asshole.


    Edric approached them, accompanied by a friend who acted more like hired help, for the young man said nothing over the course of their entire exchange.


    ¡°What¡¯s that miniscule company your family owns again?¡± Edric asked.


    No one answered for him.


    ¡°The Shitweather Company or some such?¡± he went on. ¡°Is that what the new hat is for, Bertrand? Trying to impress the crew?¡± He flicked Bertrand¡¯s black tricorne so that it sat awkwardly upright on his head. They were standing nose to nose.


    Bertrand would later inform Elias that Edric Graystone was the heir apparent of The Graystone Company, one of the city¡¯s few businesses with a seat on council. Little else needed to be said about Edric, as his nature spoke so loudly for itself.


    As if his words weren¡¯t venomous enough, Edric snatched the hat off Bertrand¡¯s head and plopped it onto his own. ¡°My god, it fits perfectly.¡± He feigned astonishment. ¡°Mind if I borrow your hat for a bit, my friend? I¡¯ve been on the market for a good tricorne, you see. Don¡¯t imagine you¡¯ve heard, but I am now the captain of a respectable airship, and one must look the part.¡±


    ¡°You mean your father gave you a job,¡± Bertrand said flatly. ¡°Congratulations.¡±


    ¡°Has your father made you captain?¡± Edric fired back. ¡°Well, I suppose he does just have the one ship. Perhaps you can sweep the deck or something.¡±


    Elias decided against pointing out that Bertrand did indeed sweep the deck as one of his duties aboard The Sleeping Sparrow. Edric had clearly hit a nerve. You stab someone enough times and you¡¯re bound to hit something vital.


    Bertrand reached for his hat.


    Edric swatted his hand away.


    Bertrand reached again.


    Edric slapped him¡ªhis face this time, not just his hand¡ªhard enough that even onlookers took notice. Bertrand stumbled backward, his cheek burning red.


    And just as quickly, Elias filled the space that Bertrand had ceded, stepping forward with his fist already winding backward.


    ¡°Who the hell are¡ª¡± But Edric¡¯s unfinished question would go unanswered, at least for one evening. The punch knocked him off his feet and into a pyramid of precariously arranged egg tarts.


    Elias was not sure what made him do it. His fist had taken the lead with his sense in tow. Immediately, he felt terrible for the horrified vendor whose baked goods he had just annihilated. Elias tossed her a relic that bounced off Edric¡¯s head, adding to her horror. A relic wouldn¡¯t cover the damage, but he hadn¡¯t a moment to spare for math. Much like the vendor, Edric¡¯s companion was frozen for a spell, his fingers caging his temples as he stared down upon his friend like a man who had just dropped someone¡¯s birthday cake.


    ¡°We need to go,¡± Briley said. ¡°Now.¡±


    Elias had once more drawn the attention of a crowd, albeit not the favorable kind. The egg-tart-covered heir apparent of The Graystone Company was a fleeting distraction, but turning heads were already searching for the source of such damage.


    As Briley said, they needed to go.


    ¡°Come on!¡± She yanked Bertrand¡¯s wrist forward and slapped Elias out of his rage-turned-shock-induced trance. The three of them flew, but not before Bertrand retrieved his leather tricorne.


    The thick crowd was both an obstacle¡ªElias bumped into more than a few shoulders¡ªand a helpful camouflage. On Briley¡¯s signal, they slowed their sprint after a few blocks.


    ¡°Just walk calmly, and no one will notice us,¡± she said.


    ¡°Walk calmly,¡± Elias repeated.


    ¡°Elias Vice!¡± a man¡¯s shrill voice pierced through the ubiquitous chatter and laughter of the Night Market. ¡°Elias Vice!¡± it called again.


    They looked at each other, wide-eyed.


    At first, Elias thought it must be their pursuers calling after him. The local police, perhaps. But how had they acquired his name so quickly? Maybe money really could buy anything in Sailor¡¯s Rise. He was ready to run again.


    ¡°Elias Vice, come collect your damn prize money or I¡¯ll keep it for myself!¡±


    It dawned on them then, though Elias was slowest to realize.


    ¡°You won!¡± Bertrand shook his friend once more. ¡°You won the bloody shooting competition.¡±


    ¡°I won?¡±


    ¡°Guess you shoot as well as you punch,¡± Briley chimed in.


    Elias had never felt his emotions pivot so quickly, nor so completely, as he did in that fateful moment. ¡°I won,¡± he said, and then he yelled it. ¡°I won!¡±


    Bertrand flicked a dollop of egg tart from his hard-earned hat and pulled the latter down snugly over his sweat-beaded brow. ¡°Now let¡¯s fetch your winnings, get the hell out of here, and find out who can swig back the most mead.¡±

 Chapter 10: Serpentine Branches

    Chapter Ten


    Serpentine Branches


    Autumn was the chameleon season in Sailor¡¯s Rise, or so said Bertrand as the first blanket of snow fell upon the skyward city. Over the course of two short but highly eventful months, the summer roots of early fall had succumbed to the leafless cold of an encroaching winter. And for one poorly traveled seventeen-year-old, it was a marvelous sight to behold.


    Indeed, Elias had never seen snow before. Acreton scarcely had seasons, but Sailor¡¯s Rise was a different city in its pearly white gown.


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty now,¡± Bertrand said. ¡°Just wait a few months. Picture a wedding dress after it¡¯s been dragged through three months of mud, and you get the idea.¡±


    ¡°You could just let me enjoy this moment,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°I could,¡± Bertrand replied.


    The two friends were appreciating the view from their backyard when Captain Fairweather¡ªor as Elias had learned to start calling him, Irvin¡ªopened the glass-paned double-doors behind them. He leaned forward without releasing the doors and spoke but a single word. ¡°Dinner.¡±


    They needed no further instruction, and they were getting cold, besides.


    Back inside the warm aura of a well-lit house, their oblong dining room table was neatly set just as it was neatly set every evening they sat down for dinner. Irvin had cooked tonight, a responsibility shared between them all. Even Elias had prepared a few dinners, though he knew his simply spiced creations could not live up to the high bar set by this family of passionate chefs, even if they were too polite to say otherwise. If the Fairweathers were deeply religious, the temple in which they worshipped was their expansive kitchen. A perfectly golden piecrust was a sacred artifact. Creamy mashed potatoes could inspire a spiritual awakening.


    Each Fairweather had his or her specialty. Bertrand¡¯s, perhaps not surprisingly, was baking. His mother and Irvin¡¯s wife, Mable, was the technical expert. She cooked without recipes and balanced flavors with the ease of a songstress striking the perfect pitch.


    As for Irvin, the chef of tonight¡¯s rather foreign-looking meal, Captain Fairweather was the adventurous one. It wasn¡¯t just jewels and textiles the good captain brought home every few months, no¡ªIrvin shuttled back new recipes acquired from all across the Great Continent.


    ¡°What¡¯s this one called?¡± Bertrand settled into his usual seat across from Elias.


    ¡°Curry,¡± his father said.


    Elias had never tasted curry.


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit spicy,¡± the captain warned. ¡°That¡¯s apparently how they like it in Azir.¡±


    The meal was separated into two large silver bowls, set on either side of the recently polished brass candelabra that centered every family meal at the Fairweathers. In one dish was a mound of jasmine rice and a serving spoon. In the other was what Elias could only assume was curry. It looked to him like a strange soup of an even stranger color: a glistening orange. The curry was filled with potatoes, chickpeas, carrots, and a mingling of spices that seldom made their way to Acreton¡ªthe spices of a distant land.


    Elias served himself generous portions.


    ¡°Bertrand tells me you had never seen snow before, Elias,¡± Mable commented. Bertrand¡¯s mother was often the instigator of conversation when quiet settled upon a room, whereas decades of sailing had taught her husband how to find comfort in silence.


    ¡°That is the case, ma¡¯am,¡± Elias confirmed. ¡°Seen lots of sand, though. It¡¯s sort of like snow, if you squint your eyes and pretend you¡¯re cold.¡±


    Behind Bertrand, feathery white snow was collecting on the room¡¯s large bay window, cushioning the bottom edge of each windowpane. The cold air was offset by the radiant heat of a stone hearth¡ªand perhaps the curry. Irvin had fed the fire another log before dinner.


    Bertrand, meanwhile, was looking redder than usual, and it wasn¡¯t from the fireplace. ¡°This really is quite spicy,¡± he said.


    Elias took a bite, nearly accused his friend of having a weak palate, and then felt the burning sensation himself. It was as if his tongue had been turned into a weapon, a weapon that was being used against him, a weapon attached to his very body. He reached for more water.


    Irvin didn¡¯t say anything as he shoveled another spoonful of curry into his mouth.


    Mable exhaled and fanned her face with both hands. She was a petite woman with small fingers and graying hair she kept in a bun. Save for their eyes, she looked nothing like her son, though apparently Sorea took after her mother. Mable attempted to change the subject, turning her attention to Elias once more. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve turned into quite the salesman.¡±


    It was true. Since joining Fairweather Provisions three months ago, Elias had improved his sales acumen and built up his confidence considerably. He knew now how to help customers find what they truly needed. He no longer felt like Briley¡¯s apprentice.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing my best,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s supposed to be this spicy?¡± Bertrand asked his father.


    ¡°It¡¯s got a bit of kick,¡± Irvin replied. ¡°Nothing wrong with that.¡±


    ¡°Dad, you¡¯re sweating.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s delicious,¡± Elias assured the embattled chef. ¡°If I try to taste past the spice, I can tell it¡¯s really quite flavorful.¡±


    Bertrand scoffed. ¡°If you can look past the fire, this flaming marshmallow is a sugary delight.¡±


    Mable attempted to conceal a chuckle, tightening her mouth. Laugh lines gave her away.


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    ¡°The recipe wasn¡¯t very specific,¡± Irvin finally admitted before dropping his spoon, grabbing a cloth napkin, and dabbing a constellation of beads from his forehead.


    Ever the optimist, Elias complimented the rice as Bertrand asked, ¡°Dessert?¡±


    * * *


    Elias spent the rest of his evening where he spent most evenings, which was in his room. Some nights were for gallivanting around town with Bertrand and Briley. But oftentimes, he preferred the solitary comfort of his notebook and the familiar view out his window, though it was looking a little less familiar tonight. The tree branches that greeted him like an old hand every morning were presently covered in snow. Elias was surprised it could pile so high on such a slender foundation. Sand certainly couldn¡¯t do that.


    He had given himself an assignment of sorts tonight, one he had put off since arriving in Sailor¡¯s Rise. But if he didn¡¯t write this letter now, he would miss his opportunity for another season. Captain Fairweather was heading back to Sapphire¡¯s Reach, this time without his son, who had been put in charge of managing the books in his father¡¯s absence (Bertrand¡¯s role at The Fairweather Company was ever-changing, as his father insisted his son master every facet of the business if he wished to one day run it).


    All of which is to say that Elias still owed Melo seven relics, and this was his chance to settle that debt. But more than money, he owed Melo¡ªand Ginger¡ªan apology he didn¡¯t know how to write. When he¡¯d read his previous attempts aloud, they had sounded more insulting than remorseful, and so they were destined for the fireplace rather than Acreton.


    At this point, Elias simply needed to write something and accept that something was better than nothing. And so, his pen hovering over every word, he eventually wrote:


    Dear Melo,


    Enclosed with this letter are the seven relics you lent me. I¡¯m sorry I could not pay you back sooner. I wish I¡¯d had time to say goodbye. I wish I¡¯d known how. If you¡¯re ever in Sailor¡¯s Rise, please look me up. I think I owe you a beer as well. I want to explain myself better, but even after these past few months, the words still elude me. Ever since her death, I¡¯ve been searching for something I couldn¡¯t find in Acreton. I¡¯ve taken her surname, in case you¡¯re ever trying to find me. Please tell Ginger I¡¯m sorry too.


    Your friend always,


    Elias


    Elias reread the letter a dozen times. It would have to do. Tomorrow morning, he would hand it over to the captain alongside seven hard-earned relics. There would be no changing the letter then. He wondered if Melo or perhaps Ginger would write back.


    Elias now possessed eighty-five relics in total, or seventy-eight after tomorrow, which was far more than he had ever possessed in Acreton. He still wasn¡¯t quite saving half his income, but his winnings from the shooting competition more than made up for that fact. He felt rich, if only he weren¡¯t wise enough to recognize that he was still poor.


    Bertrand knocked on his door, opening it at the same time. Evidently, Bertrand considered knocking an announcement, not a request for permission.


    ¡°Come in,¡± Elias told him anyway.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you own a white tie suit?¡± Bertrand inquired.


    It was not a question Elias had anticipated. ¡°You¡¯ve seen my entire wardrobe. It fits in a single drawer.¡±


    ¡°Right. Well, no matter. I have an extra one that¡¯s a few years old. Obviously doesn¡¯t fit me anymore. Might need a few adjustments¡±¡ªBertrand appeared to be measuring Elias with his eyes¡ª¡°at the waist¡­ and the shoulders¡­ and some other parts. Mother is a skilled seamstress. She¡¯ll make it fit.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°The Solstice Eve Ball,¡± Bertrand informed him.


    ¡°That sounds rather fancy.¡±


    ¡°It is rather fancy. It¡¯s a miracle we¡¯re still invited, truth be told, but The Fairweather Company has been around for many years, and they¡¯ve yet to rescind our annual invitation. We have four tickets. In years past, Sorea would have gone, but as she is visiting her husband¡¯s family for the holidays¡ªmuch to Mother¡¯s dismay¡ªwe have one ticket to spare.¡±


    Elias wasn¡¯t opposed to the idea, but he did question it. ¡°Why not ask Briley?¡±


    ¡°Briley doesn¡¯t do fancy balls, or dresses,¡± Bertrand said.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Elias still wasn¡¯t. ¡°I don¡¯t want to impose on Mable.¡±


    ¡°It was her idea, so you¡¯d more likely insult her if you said no.¡±


    The last person Elias wanted to insult was Mable. ¡°All right,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±


    Bertrand nodded, a satisfied smirk growing across his face. ¡°She¡¯ll take your measurements tomorrow. The ball is this weekend. It will be an experience, if nothing else.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been having a lot of those lately,¡± Elias noted.


    Bertrand nearly turned to leave, stopping as he gripped the door handle. ¡°Oh, a letter came for you.¡± He retrieved a small tan envelope, the corner of which had been poking out of his vest pocket. ¡°No return address. Could be dangerous. Maybe hold your breath when you open it.¡±


    Elias received the letter, looking equally confused. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯ll do that.¡±


    This time, Bertrand made his way fully out the door. ¡°Sleep tight, Elias,¡± he said. ¡°See you in the morning.¡±


    Before sleep would have him, however, Elias would open this curious letter and hopefully find out who exactly had sent it. The list of people who might be motivated to send him a letter was short: Melo, Ginger, Mr. Humbledon, perhaps his old landlord looking for that last month of rent. It was a list that did not overlap with the one of people who knew his current whereabouts.


    Maybe the name on the envelope was his first clue. Elias Fisher, it read¡ªnot Vice. The immaculate penmanship definitely was not Melo¡¯s. It certainly wasn¡¯t Ginger¡¯s.


    The envelope¡¯s silvery wax seal was stamped with what he thought might be a serpent coiled around the sun, or perhaps it was a luminous moon. Maybe it was something else entirely. While he couldn¡¯t be certain what the symbol represented, there was something strangely familiar about it.


    With the tip of his index finger, Elias broke the seal and opened the envelope.


    Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded into two perfect halves. Elias flattened the letter and read its message as carefully as the one he himself had crafted not an hour ago.


    Dear Mr. Fisher,


    You do not know me, but I know you. Rather, I know of you. In a distant life, your father and I were very close friends. I noted your recent arrival in Sailor¡¯s Rise, and I could not help but wonder about you. I wondered whether you had experienced things you could not explain. Things that disappear. Things you should not be able to do. There are some questions I can answer and others I cannot. If you ever wish to speak, you need only follow the serpent¡¯s path.


    Yours in spirit,


    Jalander


    Jalander? Elias had never heard that name before, though he shouldn¡¯t have been surprised, assuming this Jalander really was a friend of his father. Elias barely knew his dad, let alone the details of his past life.


    What he couldn¡¯t dismiss, however, was the letter itself. This man knew something about him, something no one else knew¡ªnot even Elias himself.


    Things had disappeared. His sole relic on The Sleeping Sparrow, then again just before the Night Market. There was no doubting that last one. A coin had vanished in the palm of his hand.


    Things you should not be able to do, the letter went on. The shooting competition. It was not the fact that he had won¡ªhe was an adept marksman, after all¡ªbut rather the way in which he¡¯d won. Elias had felt something he couldn¡¯t explain then, an uncanny sense of where the bullet would go just as he pulled the trigger. What¡¯s more, he had seen something truly inexplicable, only to convince himself his mind was playing yet another trick on him, much like those missing relics. A faint green line. It had hovered in the air like a taut string between his barrel and that seventh bottle, as if he could see the path his shot would take.


    Elias did indeed have questions. Over and over, he reread the last line of the letter laid out on his writing desk: If you ever wish to speak, you need only follow the serpent¡¯s path. The serpent¡¯s path? It was yet another riddle he couldn¡¯t solve. Was it a metaphorical path, he pondered, or a literal one?


    That was one question he would need to answer himself, it would seem, if he wished to learn more from this so-called Jalander. It was a strange name. Stranger still was the letter itself. But strangest of all was what Elias had observed with his own eyes.


    He stared out into the night, at the familiar tree beyond his bedroom window, the snow now piled precariously high upon its serpentine branches. Something was happening to him. Elias could feel it, and it was not a feeling he would ignore.

 Chapter 11: Frosted Reflections

    Chapter Eleven


    Frosted Reflections


    Elias¡¯s last workweek of the year had been an agonizingly cold one, and he¡¯d been left with no choice but to finally purchase a new coat. The heavy wool jacket¡¯s earthy color was ironically claylike, but the tailored coat fit him better than anything he had ever owned. Perhaps more importantly, its upturned collar protected his neck from the city¡¯s biting wind tunnels.


    It was certainly the nicest garment he possessed¡ªBertrand¡¯s hand-me-down white tie suit included¡ªbut such beauty came with a cost. The purchase had set Elias back even further from his goal of saving half his pay. Perhaps, he eventually conceded, the problem was the goal itself. Perhaps a better goal was to simply make more money.


    Elias sighed a cloud of cold mist as he strolled down empty streets on his way home. It was hard to appreciate life¡¯s small pleasures when big dreams occupied so much space. Alas, he knew no other way to be, and so the cost of his new coat weighed on him as heavily as the coat itself.


    It had been left to Elias to close Fairweather Provisions that evening, a responsibility that included updating the books for Bertrand and locking away a rather profitable week¡¯s worth of relics in the shop¡¯s ironclad safe. Elias was surprised no one had ever broken into the business, but the Trader¡¯s Guild ensured Hightown was well patrolled at all hours and temperatures (Lowtown was apparently another story). Also, burglary of a certain degree was a capital crime in Sailor¡¯s Rise. As relics were God and king in the city-state, stealing was considered the worst kind of sacrilege.


    Though night had fallen hours earlier¡ªearlier than he was used to¡ªthe city¡¯s countless oil lamps kept winter¡¯s real darkness at bay. It had taken him a few months, but Elias finally realized he missed something about Sapphire¡¯s Reach. He missed seeing so many stars.


    On calm nights that beckoned wandering souls to the empty plains outside his hometown, stars had been his map of the world. There was a star that hovered over Acreton, just as another hovered over Sailor¡¯s Rise. Every kingdom and every republic, every city and every town¡ªeach had a star shining above it.


    There was so much to see in Sailor¡¯s Rise, and yet so little when one looked up.


    Elias looked up anyway. He was still thinking about Jalander¡¯s letter and the mystifying questions it raised, questions that had hooked and now tugged at the edges of his mind, questions he had tried to dismiss as delusions. He knew deep down they were anything but, if only he could solve that stupid riddle.


    He stopped in the middle of an empty plaza where the water fountain had frozen over. The full moon¡¯s frosted reflection shined faintly on a window of thin ice. Naturally, he threw a snowball at it to see if the moon might break, but it was his snowball that turned to powder.


    Elias passed through this plaza daily, but never had he seen it empty like this. His mother once said she never truly saw a place until she saw it empty. She had painted, his mom: landscapes that had always seemed more detailed than they revealed themselves to be upon closer inspection. On top of everything else, she had also taught her son how to draw, though they were opposites as artists. Whereas she found beauty in the mundane, Elias drew what could only be dreamed of.


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    But not all answers were found in the stars. Take the alleyway in front of him. He had never noticed it before, hiding halfway between the glow of two distant oil lamps. Now that it had his attention, he struggled to look anywhere else. There was something about this alley, drawing him into its shadows.


    Elias walked forward. Even with a good coat, he was still freezing out here, and more so with each passing minute. He balled both fists and crossed his arms as he moved beyond the reach of the plaza¡¯s flickering lights. Perhaps there was real darkness in Sailor¡¯s Rise, after all.


    The winding alley turned sharply before twisting toward yet another direction. The entire backstreet felt unintentional, simply the space left over between crowded buildings. And yet many doors entered into the strange alley¡ªapartments, small specialty shops. Indeed, the price of rent was steep in Sailor¡¯s Rise. Faint light emanated from the occasional snow-cushioned window.


    Another turn. Another twist.


    Suddenly, Elias thought of the letter¡¯s bewildering riddle. If you ever wish to speak, you need only follow the serpent¡¯s path, it had read. A serpent¡¯s path. A snaking alley. Could it be? He felt a tad foolish for entertaining the thought.


    And then, to his surprise, Elias reached the end of Hightown.


    The path turned sharply again, hugging the city¡¯s sheer edge like a mountain trail. Elias could see wooden docks on either side of him, extending into the sky like futile roads to heaven. He was halfway between them from his current vantage point. Lowtown, meanwhile, was a distant sight down the mountainside, its cramped wooden buildings spilling over one another like brush in a forest of support beams, the docks of Sailor¡¯s Rise its ever-present canopy.


    Elias¡¯s path was a few feet wide, but absent any railing, he kept as much distance from the cliffside as possible. It was not a fall he would likely survive. There were no oil lamps to light this rather perilous trail, though the full moon revealed itself once more, shining coldly over a sprawling mountain landscape.


    He stopped to appreciate the view. How would she have painted this scene, he wondered? Some riddles would just have to remain unanswered. But there was one in particular he would solve tonight: the riddle that had led him here. When he turned back around, Elias finally found the thing he had been searching for.


    The nondescript building looked like many others in Sailor¡¯s Rise, like one more four-story stone apartment complex. Beside a white wooden door at the end of the structure, however, was a small silver plaque. The sign¡¯s embossed symbol looked to Elias like a serpent coiled around the sun, or perhaps it was a luminous moon. Maybe it was something else entirely.


    He approached the sign, squinting to read five words beneath the symbol. School of the Serpent Moon, they read.


    Elias ascended three shallow steps and stood before the arched door.


    He still wondered why that symbol looked oddly familiar. When he lifted his hand to knock, the answer was once again right in front of him.


    His mother once explained to her son that his ring previously belonged to his father, that wearing it connected the three of them through the tragedy of time. The ring had a signet, but a large dent obscured its meaning.


    There was no obscuring it now.


    Elias ran his thumb down its silver scar and saw, beneath that old battle wound, a serpent coiled around the moon. He gave the ring on his finger a twist before knocking two steady knocks.


    No one answered immediately. Elias nearly turned back, questioning whether it was too late for strange visitors to come knocking. And then he heard footsteps, the creaking of floorboards. The sounds stopped. An uneasy silence settled upon him like the weightless embrace of a fatal fall.


    The door opened. Before him stood a man with dark skin, braided black hair, and eyes greener than eyes should be.


    ¡°Elias Fisher,¡± the man said.


    ¡°I go by Elias Vice now,¡± Elias replied. ¡°Are you Jalander?¡±


    The man chuckled a satisfied chuckle. ¡°I knew you would find me.¡±


    Elias furrowed his brow. ¡°How could you possibly know that?¡±


    Jalander beckoned him inside. ¡°Because, Elias, you are a collector.¡±


    Elias practically scoffed. What in heaven or hell could he afford to collect on his salary?

 Chapter 12: Porcelain Riddles

    Chapter Twelve


    Porcelain Riddles


    Elias couldn¡¯t say whether this Jalander looked like the man he¡¯d been expecting, for assumptions would require he had any expectations at all. The truth was, up until the moment he met the guy, Jalander had been nothing more than a name¡ªnothing more than another piece in a confounding puzzle.


    But here he was, flesh and blood, not to mention a healthy head of hair. Even braided, it draped down to his waist. Jalander had the complexion and cultural markings of someone from the Southlands, with interwoven tattoos covering his neck and jawline, weaving into one another like waves upon water. Silver piercings lined the cartilage of his ears. And yet the tattoos were faded, his earrings tarnished. If the lines under a man¡¯s eyes could be tallied, Jalander might have been fifty, though Elias knew a hard life could add a few years.


    ¡°Tea?¡± Jalander asked after shutting the door behind them.


    The moment he felt the mercy of warm air, Elias realized just how dangerously cold his body had become. ¡°Please,¡± he practically begged. ¡°Mind if I sit by your fire?¡±


    ¡°Make yourself comfortable,¡± his host told him.


    Elias removed his boots, then flattened his palms against the radiant aura of a well-fed fire. His fingers burned red. His toes were completely numb.


    ¡°Not used to this weather where you¡¯re from, are you?¡± Jalander commented from his kitchen.


    Another detail this stranger apparently knew about him, not that Elias was surprised. Peering around the room, he tried to learn something about his host, perhaps to even the playing field. He couldn¡¯t decide if the space was his office or his apartment. Jalander obviously lived here and, by the looks of it, had for some time. A library said a lot about a man, and the books here could be counted in the hundreds. They weren¡¯t particularly organized, mind you, many sprawled across the long desks that overtook his living room, and that too probably said a lot about a man.


    A kettle whistled and Jalander returned, a minute later, with two porcelain cups brimming with tea. Elias¡¯s was chipped at the handle. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire.


    Jalander pulled up a wooden chair and joined him by the hearth. ¡°I imagine you have many questions,¡± he said.


    ¡°You could say that,¡± Elias replied, not knowing where to begin. ¡°How do you know who I am?¡±


    ¡°Your father,¡± Jalander explained. ¡°We were close friends for many years. Closer than most. I knew you lived in Acreton with your mother. I heard she passed away a few years back and wondered where you might end up. Despite your father¡¯s best efforts, it appears fate found you even in the middle of nowhere. I am sorry for your loss.¡±


    Elias was not sure what he meant about fate. He took a sip of tea and burned his tongue.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Jalander said.


    Elias took a slower sip before placing the tea back in its saucer. ¡°You said I¡¯m a collector. A collector of what?¡±


    ¡°Before I answer that, let me first ask you something, Elias. Have you ever made a relic disappear? Maybe you convinced yourself that you must have misplaced the coin, but deep down you knew otherwise. The relic had truly vanished.¡±


    Elias confirmed as much. ¡°On the way to Sailor¡¯s Rise and again a couple of months ago.¡±


    Jalander nodded expectantly. ¡°And did you notice anything afterward? A feeling, perhaps, or an uncanny ability?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Elias said, nodding with newfound certainty. ¡°Lines in the air. There was a shooting competition at the Night Market. It was a few hours after a relic had disappeared right out of my hand. Every shot I took, it was like¡­ I knew where the bullet would go. On that eighth shot, I swear I saw a green line in the air, hovering between my barrel and the bottle. I won, if you can believe it.¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± Jalander said. ¡°What you felt was a temporary high.¡± As he said this, Jalander retrieved a pipe and matches from a side table, lighting the former with a series of quick puffs. He handed the pipe to Elias.


    ¡°I don¡¯t smoke,¡± the boy informed him.


    ¡°Indulge me.¡±


    Elias accepted the pipe. He stared briefly at the smoldering embers inside, then put the pipe to his lips, inhaled, and immediately coughed out a cloud of smoke.


    After a moment had passed, Jalander asked, ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°My head¡¯s a little dizzy,¡± Elias admitted, ¡°though I wouldn¡¯t call it an unpleasant feeling.¡±


    Jalander snatched his pipe back and chuckled. ¡°I, on the other hand, no longer feel a damn thing.¡± He took a long puff before continuing. ¡°Doesn¡¯t stop me, of course. You¡¯re an amateur collector, Elias. You have not awoken, and yet a dream burns inside you, in the dark recesses of your mind. Right now, relics may trigger a temporary high, but the sensation won¡¯t last forever, my young friend. If you keep smoking a pipe, as I do, soon you will stop feeling that not unpleasant feeling.¡±


    ¡°Is there no way to hold onto it?¡± Elias inquired.


    ¡°Eager, are you? I suppose the apple doesn¡¯t fall far from the tree.¡± Jalander banged loose the ashes from his pipe into a hollowed tree trunk¡ªhis apparent ashtray. He fetched a pouch of tobacco from a nearby drawer and began packing another bowl. ¡°If you were to awaken, you would hold onto the power you experienced, yes. It would become a permanent part of you.¡±


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    ¡°That¡¯s what I want.¡± Elias hardly had to think about it. ¡°Permanent power.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re young. You don¡¯t know what you want.¡±


    ¡°How does one awaken?¡±


    ¡°Awakening is unique to the collector,¡± Jalander said. ¡°You will either find the path, much as you found the path to my humble abode, or else pass by it unaware. The moment¡ªif the moment ever comes¡ªmanifests as a dream. There will be no mistaking this dream. It will¡­ reveal things.¡±


    ¡°Answers?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°More questions,¡± Jalander said. ¡°Power is just a word, and a path is only that: one direction of many. If you take this path, you will be following in the footsteps of our ancestors. We are but vestiges of what we once were, and most of us will stay that way. But some inherit a rare connection to the past. Even fewer follow that connection. It is a long and arduous road, and those who follow it we call collectors.¡±


    Elias still found the term strangely unassuming. ¡°Why collectors? Seems a little, I don¡¯t know, subtle.¡±


    ¡°Subtlety is exactly the point. You¡¯ll learn the benefits of keeping a low profile if you haven¡¯t already¡ªor the consequences of failing to do so. Most people spend relics. We keep them not only to ourselves but in ourselves. We collect.¡±


    Elias had so many questions. Most of them were decidedly logistical. Jalander could wax philosophical until dawn, but Elias was panning for gold, and every nugget of information was invaluable. ¡°How do I consume relics?¡± he asked. ¡°I know I¡¯ve done it, but¡­ I don¡¯t entirely understand how I did it.¡±


    ¡°I cannot tell you that, I''m afraid, any more than I could tell you how to relax. It is unique to the collector. All I know for sure is that the ability exists within you. That¡¯s where you¡¯ll find your answer, and the answer may change over time.¡±


    That nugget was, perhaps, a little less valuable. Elias would contemplate those words later. With the ¡°how¡± vaguely covered, ¡°how much¡± was next on his mental checklist. ¡°How many relics must I consume in order to awaken?¡±


    ¡°You want a number?¡± Jalander cocked an eyebrow.


    Elias most definitely wanted a number.


    ¡°With awakening, it is less about the price and more about the process. But awakening is just the beginning. It will give you some control of your ability. You will be able to summon its power at will, whether or not you¡¯ve recently consumed a relic, but a novice you shall be with a novice¡¯s short reach and meager grasp. Ascension: now that is when one becomes a serious collector. And for that, you¡¯re looking at a thousand, two thousand. Really depends on the collector.¡±


    ¡°Relics?¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t coppers.¡±


    Elias would have preferred hearing a few hundred. He so far had eighty relics to his name, which was already more than he¡¯d ever possessed. He was attempting the math in his head. If he actually saved half his current earnings, it would only take¡­ many, many years.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just the amount,¡± Jalander added. ¡°You are not simply adding to a pile. You are trying to rebuild that which has been shattered into countless pieces, for that is what relics are: the shattered remnants of a bygone age. The cost for each increment of power increases, yes, but you must also make those relics a part of you. Many a failed collector had both the blood and means to ascend. What they lacked was comprehension.¡± He slapped his chest with a weak fist. ¡°That comes from within.¡±


    ¡°And only I can figure that part out for myself,¡± Elias repeated.


    Jalander smirked approvingly and took another drag from his pipe. ¡°You understand. Or at least you understand what you must understand. In any event, you are getting ahead of yourself. I see that getting ahead of yourself is a character trait of yours. You have not even awoken yet, Elias. Learn to walk before you run.¡±


    ¡°Help me walk, then,¡± Elias insisted.


    Jalander either coughed or laughed¡ªElias couldn¡¯t tell¡ªand asked, ¡°Do you have a relic on you? I¡¯d rather not sacrifice one of mine. Not as wealthy as I used to be these days.¡±


    Elias always kept a few relics on his person. He retrieved one from his pocket and presented it to his host upon an open palm. The light of the fireplace brought out one of the coin¡¯s hidden colors: a calming amber, his favorite.


    ¡°Tell me about the first time you consumed a relic,¡± Jalander instructed him.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize it had happened until after the fact,¡± Elias said. ¡°Our ship flew into a sky rift. We thought we were done for, until the Valshynar discovered our hapless vessel and led us back to freedom. Just before we returned to the normal world, there was a flash of light. I remember clutching the relic in my pocket.¡±


    If Jalander was surprised to hear such an unlikely tale of peril and rescue, he certainly didn¡¯t make a show of it. ¡°And the second time?¡±


    ¡°It was the total opposite. I was alone in my room, not doing anything. Just thinking.¡±


    ¡°What were you thinking about?¡±


    Elias shook his head, until it came back to him in bits and pieces. ¡°I was thinking about relics actually. This idea popped into my mind. That often happens, but this was different¡ªlike a vision almost.¡± He held up the relic he was holding now as if recreating the moment and said, ¡°I imagined the relic in my hand was but a shard of some greater crystal¡ªthat somehow I might piece them all back together¡ªand then I closed my fingers. When I opened them again, the coin was gone, just like before.¡±


    ¡°To summarize,¡± Jalander jumped in, ¡°in both cases you were holding a relic. In both cases you wanted something: to live in the first case and to rebuild something in the second. These are deep wants, Mr. Vice. What is it you want now? What is it you want deeply?¡±


    ¡°Answers,¡± Elias said without thinking.


    ¡°Then close your fist, and you might find one tonight.¡±


    Elias wrapped his fingers around the relic, slowly as if acting out a ritual, letting his desire for knowledge permeate every part of his body, until want flowed through his fingers and toes, until desire formed the melody of each breath and every heartbeat. He opened his hand.


    Winter¡¯s cold had cracked the contours of his youthful skin, and the visible crevices of Elias¡¯s empty palm reminded him of summer soil back home. ¡°Gone,¡± he whispered the word.


    ¡°You may yet make a fine collector, my boy,¡± Jalander said.


    Elias looked up at him and chuckled. ¡°You make it sound so posh.¡±


    ¡°Well, we are in Sailor¡¯s Rise. You best get used to posh. Relationships are their own kind of currency, especially in this town. Speaking of which, I¡¯m afraid I must cut our meeting short. I know you have more questions, and I definitely have more to say, but tonight I have business to attend to, and I¡¯d rather you not cross paths with my colleague.¡±


    Elias nodded. He did indeed have more questions, but even this much was a lot to take in. ¡°I¡¯m not entirely certain why you¡¯re helping me, but I appreciate it,¡± he said. ¡°My father must have been important to you.¡±


    ¡°And to you,¡± Jalander added, as if it needed to be said. Perhaps it did. ¡°The next time we speak, I will call upon you,¡± he continued, guiding Elias toward the front door. ¡°Tonight was a necessary risk, but I have visitors on occasion who mustn¡¯t know we are in communication if you wish to live your life freely.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Elias said, lacing up his boots.


    ¡°Then do not return until I say it is safe to do so, and obviously do not mention our rendezvous to anyone. Keep your head low, and next we meet I shall tell you all about the Serpent Moon School¡ªand an even rarer gift I suspect you possess. The gift that helped you find this place.¡±


    ¡°What do mean?¡± Elias finished with his footwear and began layering on his winter clothes. ¡°What rarer gift?¡±


    ¡°You sensed it, didn¡¯t you: the path that brought you here tonight.¡±


    Elias opened his mouth, the queries so plentiful they spilled out before he could sputter them.


    ¡°Next time.¡± Jalander held open the door and stood watching as Elias braced for the cold.


    With a long walk ahead of him in the dark hours of winter, an amateur collector thanked his host and departed back into a frozen city, still with more questions than he had answers.

 Chapter 13: Ornamental Facades

    Chapter Thirteen


    Ornamental Facades


    The Solstice Eve Ball would have been harder to avoid than miss. While access to the party itself was invitation only, it seemed that every carriage in Hightown had been reserved to transport guests to the exclusive event. Elias couldn¡¯t understand why people didn¡¯t just walk, but then again he had never tried trudging through snow in a gown and heels.


    ¡°Here we are,¡± their driver announced, as if they could have been anywhere else.


    Irvin stepped out first. He helped Mable avoid the worst of the slush puddles that were everywhere along the side of the road, lifting his small wife before setting her back down on the cobblestone sidewalk. Elias exited with abandon, but he was good on his feet. Bertrand was more careful and still somehow splashed his trousers.


    ¡°Damn it all to hell,¡± he sighed.


    As Bertrand looked down, Elias peered up at the most magnificent mansion in all of Sailor¡¯s Rise: the estate of Bartholomew Grimsby, chief proprietor of The Transcontinental Trading Company and the richest man in city, if not the world. The black iron gate that was the veritable castle¡¯s first layer of defense had been opened wide for guests, though it remained adequately guarded against those without invitations.


    The four of them strolled through and flashed theirs, which Elias felt were scrutinized more closely than most. He hoped no one would scrutinize him too closely, for he felt like an imposter in his imperfectly fitted outfit. Though to her credit, Mable had done an admirable job resizing the suit, and he did, according to her, look rather dashing in it.


    Elias was pleased with his hair, at least. He¡¯d learned that pomade was best applied sparingly.


    All around him, everyone was looking their best, or a version of it anyway. Elias found the dress code for men to be rather dull and uninspired. He had nothing against his white tie suit¡ªonly that it looked like every other man¡¯s white tie suit. Mable, on the other hand, was dressed for the season as much as the occasion in her mulberry gown.


    There was no question that Mr. Grimsby¡¯s lawn was the largest and grandest in all of Sailor¡¯s Rise. The man¡¯s property was bigger than some neighborhoods in the land-constrained city-state. For tonight¡¯s event, the walkway to his front door was a tour itself. Ornate ice sculptures had been carved for the occasion, and as a fellow artist, Elias could scarcely resist examining each one: a sculpture of swans lifting off from their pool of ice, an enormous elk that was taller than most guests.


    Bertrand told him to keep up.


    Fortunately, the view inside was no less remarkable. The two-story foyer was larger than most houses, with polished marble floors and white pillars that reminded Elias of ancient civilizations. He nearly mistook the entrance hall for the venue itself. Hundreds of people filled the crowded ballroom, the men in their matching suits, the women in their glorious gowns.


    Not to be undone was the Solstice Eve tree at the center of it all. The evergreen stood as tall as three men and had been generously decorated with red, gold, and crystal ornaments that were only outshone by the few hundred slender candles tied to as many branches. The entire tree sparkled.


    In comparison, the Solstice Eve tree they erected annually in Acreton¡¯s town square had looked like a shrub. Perhaps, in retrospect, it had been a shrub.


    ¡°Is this your first Solstice Eve, Elias?¡± Mable asked as they settled into the room.


    Elias shook his head. ¡°Not my first, though now I can¡¯t help but think ours was a sad imitation.¡±


    ¡°They say Mr. Grimsby will spend days just searching for the perfect tree,¡± she replied.


    ¡°I doubt the world¡¯s richest man spends days looking at trees,¡± Bertrand chimed in.


    Mable shrugged. ¡°You never know. He is an eccentric man.¡±


    On that point, there seemed to be no disagreement.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to take your mother to the dance floor¡± were words Elias hadn¡¯t expected to come out of Irvin¡¯s mouth.


    Bertrand told his parents to have fun and suggested he and Elias find the dessert table and acquire some sherry as soon as humanly possible. ¡°It¡¯s the good stuff, and I mean the really good stuff.¡±


    Elias trusted in Bertrand¡¯s refined palate for such things. Elias himself, meanwhile, was anything but palatable to the young man he spotted leering at him. Edric Graystone. Edric looked briefly confused and then suddenly disgusted at the mere notion of Elias¡¯s presence here, as if Bertrand¡¯s wasn¡¯t bad enough.


    ¡°Prick,¡± he heard Bertrand mutter not so quietly, followed by: ¡°They have macarons!¡± Bertrand immediately grabbed three¡ªone for Elias and two for himself, apparently.


    ¡°Never much liked macarons,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°Then you haven¡¯t had these macarons,¡± Bertrand insisted.


    Elias took a bite and shrugged.


    ¡°You really are terribly basic sometimes, Elias.¡±


    An expressionless waiter approached them with a silver tray in hand, on which there remained two frosted glasses filled with a mahogany-colored liquid. It may as well have been the discovery of water in a desert for how desperately Bertrand downed the drink.


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    Elias took a sip and nodded approvingly. ¡°Now this, I like,¡± he said.


    ¡°Bertrand Fairweather,¡± came a voice from behind them. It was not a voice Elias recognized.


    Bertrand spun on his heel and, judging by his reaction, was pleasantly surprised. ¡°Noah, you son of a bitch! How long has it been?¡±


    ¡°Since school, I think,¡± the man named Noah said. He was a short, young-looking lad, assuming they were of an age.


    ¡°Fill me in, my old friend,¡± Bertrand said. ¡°Down what path has life taken you since last we spoke?¡±


    Elias stood silently and awkwardly as minutes passed and life updates were exchanged, wishing his empty sherry glass wasn¡¯t so empty. He did not know the names they spoke of, nor did he understand the references. This was a side of Bertrand he simply couldn¡¯t relate to. While he had found plenty of common ground with his well-to-do friend, they had arrived together from very different pasts.


    And so, as one does in such situations, Elias headed for the cheeses. There were soft cheeses and hard cheeses, adventurous blue cheeses and familiar cheddar cheeses. He went for it all. When the waiter came back around with a replenished tray of sherries, Elias grabbed himself another.


    ¡°Hungry?¡± a woman asked from across the table.


    Elias looked up with a piece of brie dangling between his lips.


    He recognized her the second she smiled at him¡ªher dark hair, her olive skin, her inquiring eyes. He had only seen her for a fleeting moment a couple of months ago, but she had a face Elias didn¡¯t want to forget. The rose-colored gown she wore for the occasion was slimmer than most, albeit no less eye-catching. Indeed, a few of the gowns sported tonight flared so widely at the hips that they stood out as obstacles more than anything else. The only thing Elias was tripping over now were the words he wished to come out of his mouth.


    He swallowed his brie and took a quick swig of his drink. ¡°Just filling my mouth so no one finds it awkward when I don¡¯t say anything,¡± he told her.


    She smirked at that. ¡°The shooting competition at the Night Market. That¡¯s where I remember you. You were quite the marksman.¡± She extended her hand over the table of cheeses. ¡°Abigail.¡±


    Elias received it and regretted shaking a little too firmly. ¡°Elias.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re new here,¡± she said. ¡°I would know. I¡¯ve been to every Solstice Eve Ball since I was a babe.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here by chance,¡± he admitted. ¡°My friend¡¯s family had a spare invitation.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all here by chance, Elias, in the grand scheme of things.¡±


    ¡°In the grand scheme, perhaps, but it sounds like you don¡¯t even need an invitation.¡±


    ¡°Very astute of you. I would need an excuse not to be here,¡± Abigail said as she circled the table, approaching him so that they could better hear one another. ¡°What do you do for work, assuming you don¡¯t sustain yourself winning shooting competitions?¡±


    Elias took another drink as she stopped a foot in front of him. She was nearly his height in her heeled shoes. ¡°I work with the Fairweathers at their shop a few blocks from here,¡± he said. ¡°Before that, I did a lot of things, a lot of odd jobs. I moved here a few months ago from a small town. You wouldn¡¯t know it.¡±


    ¡°Try me.¡±


    ¡°Acreton.¡±


    ¡°That sounds made-up.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s in Sapphire¡¯s Reach,¡± Elias said. ¡°You may have mistaken it for a speck of dust on the map. Understandably.¡±


    ¡°A speck of dust on the map.¡± Abigail seemed to enjoy those words. ¡°And now here you are, hardly a few months later, as a guest at the Solstice Eve Ball. You¡¯ve come a long way in a short time.¡±


    ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m just here by chance.¡± And yet, Elias now questioned that assumption. After all he had learned from Jalander, was it truly chance that brought him here, or had he always been destined for something more? Still, Elias preferred believing himself a master of his own fate, and he couldn¡¯t take credit for tonight. Tonight was Mable Fairweather¡¯s doing.


    ¡°Well, then I am pleased chance favored you this evening,¡± Abigail said. ¡°I wish chance favored more interesting guests.¡± She turned from him. ¡°What do you think of the tree?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ tall,¡± he said, ¡°and perhaps a fire risk.¡±


    ¡°The tree is meant to represent the promise of new life in the dead of winter,¡± she explained. ¡°And yet I¡¯m quite certain you¡¯re the only new life in this entire ballroom.¡±


    Elias thought he understood. ¡°In the parties I went to back home, the point was to let loose,¡± he said. ¡°This is the opposite. The invitations, the costumes, the sideways glances: it¡¯s a pageant of power, and power is stubborn in my experience. Power doesn¡¯t like extending invitations to us regular folk.¡±


    Abigail approved with raised eyebrows and a slow nod. ¡°From Acreton, you said.¡±


    ¡°I had an interesting mother.¡±


    ¡°Clearly.¡± Almost at once, her placid demeanor shifted from wise-beyond-her-years to positively giddy as she exclaimed, ¡°Oh, I do love this song!¡±


    Elias, of course, didn¡¯t recognize the upbeat melody, though he recognized Irvin spinning his wife in circles as the two Fairweathers danced with more passion than the other guests combined. He struggled to believe what his eyes confirmed. Who would have imagined the tightly wound captain could be so utterly unraveled on the dance floor? Perhaps dancing was their other religion.


    ¡°Do you dance as well as shoot?¡± Abigail must have seen him staring.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± he confessed.


    To which she clarified, ¡°I¡¯m asking if you want to dance.¡±


    Elias blushed. Her unexpected invitation jolted him like the bump of an elbow, and his usual cleverness lay in shattered pieces. ¡°Sure,¡± he said, ¡°but I don¡¯t really know how.¡±


    ¡°Just follow me.¡± Abigail took his hand and led him onto the dance floor.


    Worried thoughts riddled Elias. Had she thought he was merely being humble? Did she expect him to surprise her once more? Perhaps she would be surprised when he toppled over her feet. With nowhere to hide, Elias burrowed his free hand into his pocket, squeezing the sole relic inside, praying to any gods that might listen. He didn¡¯t need to be good. He just needed to not embarrass himself in front of the city¡¯s entire ruling class.


    So nervous was Elias that he failed to realize the relic he clenched tightly had disappeared. His fingernails dug into flesh.


    ¡°Take my hand,¡± Abigail instructed him, ¡°and follow my lead.¡±


    Elias took her hand and stared down at their feet. He didn¡¯t know a waltz from a two-step, having seen little utility in the skill growing up. He wouldn¡¯t dance his way to the top, or so he had once believed. Evidently, there were many things Elias hadn¡¯t prepared himself for, things he would need to learn in the moment.


    Lucky for him, he had an advantage over moments. He hadn¡¯t meant to do it, but there was no doubt he had wished for the help. It was as if an invisible hand was actively sketching faint green lines overtop the checkered floor. If Abigail saw them too, she said nothing, but of course she did not. This was Elias¡¯s gift, and he was another relic poorer for it.


    Best not let them go to waste, he decided. Elias knew what the lines were this time, after all, and how to use them. He simply needed to let his feet follow the path laid out for him. And so, with renewed confidence, he danced.


    They were halfway through the song when Abigail leaned forward and asked, ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°Quite sure,¡± he said.


    ¡°How about a twirl,¡± she replied.


    Elias followed the lines as Abigail did the rest.


    At the end of the song, she released him from dance partner duties and thanked him for indulging her. ¡°You¡¯re a quick learner, or maybe you¡¯re a natural dancer.¡±


    He shrugged as they walked off the dance floor. ¡°It¡¯s sort of like shooting a gun.¡±


    Abigail looked less impressed by that comment. ¡°How is dancing like shooting a gun?¡±


    Elias couldn¡¯t come up with an honest answer, at least not one he was prepared to share, and so he laughed it off.


    ¡°It appears my brother is beckoning me,¡± Abigail said, her tone shifting as she looked to the left of them. Elias followed her gaze, though there was only one man he recognized in the crowd.


    It couldn¡¯t be.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t get your full name, Elias, in case chance unites us again.¡± Abigail turned back toward him.


    ¡°Elias Vice,¡± he said.


    She shook his hand. ¡°Abigail Graystone.¡±

 Chapter 14: Delectable Schemes

    Chapter Fourteen


    Delectable Schemes


    Abigail Graystone. It could be, indeed, and it was. Abigail¡¯s brother was Edric bloody Graystone. Whereas she had welcomed his attendance tonight, her sibling had recoiled at the very sight of him. To be fair, Elias had punched the man into an evening¡¯s worth of egg tarts.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you around,¡± Abigail told Elias, floating back into the ocean of gowns.


    ¡°See you around,¡± he mumbled, watching her walk away.


    A familiar hand squeezed his shoulder. ¡°There you are! What¡¯s that you¡¯re ogling so intensely?¡± Bertrand inquired.


    Elias snapped out of it. ¡°Cheeses. Just went for some cheeses. How are you two faring?¡±


    ¡°Noah was just telling me about the Graystones and their latest relic-skimming racket,¡± Bertrand informed him. ¡°Goddamn schemers, all of them, but who can stop the criminals when the criminals write the laws?¡± Bertrand downed his drink and reached over a woman¡¯s shoulder to acquire another.


    ¡°My father works with them,¡± Noah explained to Elias. ¡°Basically, they¡¯re adding another airship to their fleet without paying a copper in tax.¡±


    Elias wouldn¡¯t pretend to understand the intricacies of Trader¡¯s Guild law, but that certainly sounded ridiculous. If The Fairweather Company paid its taxes, surely The Graystone Company ought to contribute its fair share. ¡°How is that possible?¡± he wondered.


    Noah looked glad he asked. ¡°Well, the Graystones have been helping this other company, you see, cutting them deals, that sort of thing. Except they¡¯re not actually helping this company. What they¡¯re really doing is buying an airship from them. Tell me, Elias¡ªElias, right?¡±


    Elias nodded.


    Noah scanned their immediate vicinity and, seeing no eavesdroppers, said, ¡°How do you sell an airship without anyone paying tax?¡±


    Elias scratched his jaw and racked his brain. This was the sort of puzzle he loved. ¡°I suppose you could give it to them as a gift,¡± he eventually guessed.


    ¡°You could,¡± Noah said, ¡°or at least you used to be able to. The Trader¡¯s Guild cracked down on that.¡±


    Elias shook his head. ¡°What if the ship didn¡¯t belong to anyone?¡±


    Noah looked impressed and said as much. ¡°You¡¯ve got a smart friend here, Bertrand. Where did you say he was from?¡±


    ¡°Sapphire¡¯s Reach,¡± Bertrand said, his new glass of sherry already half empty.


    Noah looked even more impressed. Elias couldn¡¯t decide if he ought to be flattered or slightly insulted.


    ¡°After the restrictions on gifts came into effect, our city¡¯s creative tax dodgers headed to the mountains,¡± Noah went on. ¡°An abandoned item need not be gifted. It can merely be found by an interested party. Needless to say, this new practice attracted new pirates. Something had to be done, and The Graystone Company had a solution.¡±


    This time, Elias couldn¡¯t muster a guess.


    ¡°The Graystones opened a junkyard at the edge of town,¡± Noah said. ¡°As decreed by the Trader¡¯s Guild, registered companies could no longer forfeit ownership of property without the appropriate paperwork, requiring they abandon the asset in question at the only council-approved junkyard in town. No more pirates. No more easy tax evasion. Problem solved, right?¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯m guessing wrong,¡± Elias surmised.


    ¡°That depends on whom you ask,¡± Noah replied. ¡°Abandoned property is still abandoned property. The only difference now is that it sits within a walled-off junkyard owned by The Graystone Company. For most of us, it¡¯s just a junkyard. But for the Graystones and their friends on council, it is a fucking buffet, my friend.¡± Noah made a pistol with his fingers and aimed it at Elias. ¡°And that is how you procure an airship without paying a copper in tax.¡±


    Duly noted, Elias thought to himself.


    ¡°Speaking of absurd wealth.¡± Bertrand pointed his drink toward the ballroom entrance. ¡°It appears Mr. Grimsby has finally graced us with his presence. Despite hosting the event, the old man usually only joins for an hour or two.¡±


    ¡°How old is he exactly?¡± Elias asked.


    Bertrand shrugged. ¡°Old. He began his tenure as council chair around when I was born, and he was already old then, or so I hear. He¡¯s a secretive man¡ªalways has been.¡±


    As Bertrand and Noah picked up the threads of an earlier conversation Elias couldn¡¯t quite follow, the newcomer excused himself and headed once more to the dessert table. He kept an eye out for Abigail, failing to find her rose-colored gown amid the room¡¯s verdant forest of much bigger, brighter dresses.


    He did find the cheeses again, at least. And, to his surprise, the host of the evening¡¯s event.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met, young man.¡± Bartholomew Grimsby spoke in a soft voice that betrayed his reputation. This was the voice of council chair, and yet it barely bridged the few feet they stood apart.


    ¡°Elias,¡± Elias said. ¡°Elias Vice.¡±


    Mr. Grimsby went for the blue cheese and savored his first bite. ¡°I try not to eat too much cheese at my age, but I do love¡­ I do love a good cheese. I don¡¯t believe I¡¯m familiar with the Vice family. Are you new to Sailor¡¯s Rise?¡±


    ¡°Very new, sir," Elias confirmed.


    ¡°Then welcome to my party, Mr. Vice. I hope you¡¯ve been enjoying the music and the merriment and the cheeses.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s quite the spectacle. I certainly never attended any parties like this in Acreton.¡± Elias added, ¡°That¡¯s in Sapphire¡¯s Reach.¡±


    ¡°I am familiar with Acreton.¡± It was the first time anyone outside his immediate household had said as much. ¡°A quaint little town on the river, if I recall. Why did you leave?¡±


    ¡°There was nothing for me in Acreton,¡± Elias said. ¡°I had ambitions. I have ambitions.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. Ambition.¡± Mr. Grimsby reached into his inner coat pocket and retrieved a single relic. The ancient coin looked almost youthful in the old man¡¯s worn-leather palm. He gazed at Elias with eyes of an uncommonly pale gray, as if¡ªlike his snow-white hair¡ªthey had lost the brighter color of their youth. ¡°The price of ambition,¡± he said, holding up the relic, ¡°and the reward for it. Not so much a ladder as an endless cycle.¡±


    On that enigmatic note, Mr. Grimsby closed his fingers into a fist. He opened them a few seconds later, one digit at a time, until Elias realized the shiny relic he once held had disappeared.


    ¡°Enjoy the ball, young man,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve earned your place here.¡±


    Mr. Grimsby was halfway gone before Elias remembered to thank his gracious host. He¡¯d been too distracted by what he had just witnessed. Making a relic disappear was not an uncommon magic trick, but Elias had recently learned that trickery wasn¡¯t always required.


    Who was Bartholomew Grimsby, he wondered? He was an eccentric man, according to Mable, but eccentricity was only another costume. Underneath it, Mr. Grimsby was undoubtedly a man with many stories to tell.


    Elias grabbed two slices of cranberry pie on his way back from the dessert table, intending to give one to Bertrand. Perhaps it was because he was in his head, where he so often resided, or perhaps it was simply bad luck. Regardless of the reason, Elias didn¡¯t see the familiar man who stepped out suddenly from behind a crowd.


    Edric Graystone glared down at the red-stained canvas that had been his white shirt, as chunks of pie crust fell to the floor. He looked up at Elias. ¡°Pastries again, you fucking twat.¡±


    Elias couldn¡¯t decide if he ought to apologize or own the moment. Edric stormed off before he could say anything. Elias spun himself around to see whether anyone else had witnessed this social calamity, but the only person who met his spinning gaze was none other than the stained victim¡¯s sister.


    Abigail¡¯s chuckle escalated into outright laughter as she watched on, covering the curve of her mouth. Elias smiled back, holding up the plated remains of his cranberry pie. She disappeared again, still giggling.


    And as he lost sight of her, Elias took in the room around him: the tree that shone with as many lights as the sky had stars, the few-hundred faces he didn¡¯t recognize, and the few he did. In only a handful of months, he had gone from shooting scrap metal on the outskirts of Acreton to dancing with Abigail Graystone at the Solstice Eve Ball. He had come a long way in a short time, Abigail had said, though Elias wondered if that were really true.


    Was this the start of new beginnings, or was this but a sample¡ªa sip of the life he would never be able to afford? Not all mysteries could be solved in a single evening, and such was the mystery of his future.

 Chapter 15: Ludicrous Plans

    Chapter Fifteen


    Ludicrous Plans


    If anywhere else in Sailor¡¯s Rise was starting to feel like home to Elias, the honor undoubtedly belonged to The Thirsty Eagle. Bertrand likened their favorite Hightown pub to his father¡¯s company, in so much as one might call it a sweet spot of sorts. The bill at the end of the night wouldn¡¯t leave an unsuspecting patron re-evaluating his finances, and no one would stab him for a few copper on the way out. The Thirsty Eagle was the comfortable yet unpretentious space between two worlds. More and more, Elias felt that he too existed in such a space.


    It was an upgrade from his previous life, to say the least.


    On the subject of new beginnings, they were celebrating Elias¡¯s eighteenth birthday, the date of which had only been revealed to his friends via the paperwork Bertrand was presently handling for his father. Naturally, Bertrand had insisted they celebrate¡ªthe evening had commenced with cake¡ªwhile Briley seldom steered the ship of social affairs. She went where she was invited when it suited her.


    The Thirsty Eagle suited her well enough, just as it suited Elias. They were sitting across from each another at the end of a long table near the window, a fireplace warming one side of them as winter air blasted the other whenever anyone entered or exited the bar.


    Bertrand, meanwhile, was two tables over. He had started the evening in the empty seat beside Elias, but like baked goods, Sirens was a temptation the young man simply couldn¡¯t resist. They were playing for relics, which might have been a bad bet for another player, but Bertrand had a knack for the card game. Elias, for one, had never beaten him at Sirens, and Briley dodged the question. By the looks on the faces of tonight¡¯s victims and their rapidly dwindling hands, they too would soon have something in common with Elias and Briley: they would know how it feels to lose against Bertrand Fairweather.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± Elias confessed between sips of ale. ¡°The game is half luck, so how the hell does he keep winning?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s less about luck than you think,¡± Briley replied, already one beer ahead of Elias, who shrugged and beckoned her to go on. ¡°It¡¯s not merely about the hand you¡¯re dealt,¡± she explained. ¡°Bertrand knows how to bluff. He knows how to read a man.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re both good salespeople,¡± Elias remarked. ¡°Is that not reading people?¡±


    ¡°Sirens is a game of subtle manipulation,¡± Briley said. ¡°You sell with your head and your words. So do I. Bertrand plays with his whole body. Look closely.¡± She pointed. ¡°That blonde across from him: see her leg bouncing under the table. The spectacled man: he¡¯s sitting a little too straight. Now look at Bertrand: still as stone, as confident as a mountain peak.¡±


    They watched Bertrand place down his cards on the table. The other players scoffed and tossed up their hands. Defeated again by the master bluffer of The Thirsty Eagle.


    Bertrand walked over a minute later, beaming and a handful of relics richer. ¡°Sometimes I make more money here than I do from an honest day¡¯s work,¡± he said, sitting down. ¡°Drinks are on me. It is your birthday, after all, Elias.¡±


    ¡°I thought my birthday gift was cake,¡± Elias mentioned.


    ¡°You are allowed more than one birthday gift, my friend.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Bertrand. That¡¯s very generous.¡± Elias promptly ordered another. He was starting to feel it, truth be told, but what were eighteenth birthdays for if not drinking to excess?


    Drinking wasn¡¯t the only reason Elias had gathered his friends together, however, not that they needed any occasion. He leaned forward, elbows bending on the table, and said, ¡°So, I¡¯ve been thinking about something, and, well, I have a plan. It¡¯s a big one.¡±


    ¡°Going to need more intel than big plan,¡± Briley said.


    Elias let the mystery work its magic before finally asking his impatient companions, ¡°What is it you want more than anything?¡±


    ¡°Is that a rhetorical question?¡± Briley was no fan of rhetorical questions.


    ¡°Just answer it,¡± he said.


    She took another swig of beer and shrugged. ¡°I suppose I want¡­ freedom. My own business. My own purpose.¡±


    It was exactly the answer Elias had hoped to hear as he turned to Bertrand.


    ¡°That sounds nice, I guess,¡± his larger friend answered.


    ¡°What if I told you that freedom was within our reach? What does every new venture require?¡±


    ¡°Money,¡± Bertrand said.


    ¡°Or a way to make money,¡± Elias shot back. ¡°Like an airship.¡±


    ¡°An airship costs money.¡± Briley seemed to be siding with Bertrand.


    ¡°Or does it?¡±


    ¡°Enough with the endless questions,¡± she exhaled. ¡°Just tell us this damn scheme of yours.¡±


    ¡°This might sound ludicrous, but hear me out,¡± Elias said, not off to a great start. ¡°Bertrand and I were chatting with his friend, Noah, the other night at the Solstice Eve Ball. Noah said the Graystones are about to acquire an airship without paying a copper in tax. Basically, they have the ship legally abandoned in their junkyard, then simply discover it rather than purchase the thing. No money exchanged¡ªno tax paid.¡±


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    ¡°Why would someone abandon a perfectly good airship?¡± Briley asked.


    ¡°Because the Graystones paid for it in other ways, cutting this other company deals, shipping their wares for free. Eventually, all these favors add up to the price of an airship, I guess. But favors aren¡¯t taxed, and neither is an abandoned airship.¡± Elias could tell he had Briley¡¯s attention¡ªand Bertrand¡¯s very furrowed brow.


    ¡°Go on,¡± she said.


    ¡°I did some digging,¡± Elias went on. ¡°No one technically owns the ship right now, at least not until the Graystones remove it from their junkyard and register it as their own. Until then, it¡¯s still finders, keepers. The only thing stopping someone else from nabbing it first are the walls of that junkyard and the ability to pilot it out of there. Think about it.¡± He slapped the table with both hands, rattling their half-empty pints. ¡°With a ship, we could start our own business. Freedom and purpose, as you put it, Briley. Our own venture.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Bertrand said. ¡°This does sound ludicrous.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Elias admitted. ¡°But if I was afraid of a promising idea just because it was a little ludicrous, I¡¯d still be in Acreton right now, stuck in a muck of meaningless work with nowhere to go.¡±


    ¡°It costs nothing to entertain an idea, Bertrand,¡± Briley inserted, ¡°even an outlandish one.¡±


    Elias nodded his appreciation and continued his pitch. ¡°How often does one stumble across a chance to acquire a free airship?¡± he asked them, and this time the question was rhetorical.


    ¡°Nothing is ever taken freely,¡± Bertrand said, still plainly unconvinced.


    ¡°And nothing is ever won with excuses,¡± Elias retorted.


    ¡°The Graystones will make us pay, one way or another. They won¡¯t publicly admit they¡¯re evading taxes, but eventually¡­ they¡¯ll find a way.¡±


    ¡°Edric Graystone will gleefully screw you over the first chance he gets, Bertrand, whether or not we do this,¡± Elias reasoned. ¡°Plus, I already punched the guy, and I don¡¯t think he likes Briley either. Powerful people want you to play by their rules, even the rules they break, because that¡¯s how they hold onto their power: by keeping everyone else in line. I say we step out.¡±


    Something in Bertrand had shifted, if only by an inch. ¡°Even if I agreed with this insane idea of yours¡ªand I¡¯m definitely not agreeing¡ªhow the hell do the three of us steal¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not stealing,¡± Elias interrupted.


    Bertrand rolled his eyes. ¡°How the hell do the three of us move a massive airship out the Graystone¡¯s walled-off, well-secured junkyard?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still working out those details,¡± Elias said, ¡°but I think it¡¯s doable. Give me a few days, then hear me out. That¡¯s all I¡¯m asking right now, for you to hear me out. As for your role in this, Bertrand, you don¡¯t even have to take part in the¡­ moving. We only need you for a little¡ªwhat was it you said Bertrand was skilled at, Briley?¡±


    ¡°Subtle manipulation,¡± she said.


    Bertrand recoiled in his seat. ¡°I¡¯m not manipulative.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a criticism,¡± Briley added. ¡°We all have our skill sets.¡±


    On that rather appropriate note, the blonde woman from the Sirens table tapped Bertrand on the shoulder and demanded another round. Bertrand looked at the pile of relics he had already won from them, glimmering orange in the firelight, before scooping them into his pocket. ¡°These guys love losing money,¡± he said, standing up and leaving Elias and Briley to their scheming¡ªleaving it unclear as to whether he would take any part in it.


    Briley, whose scarlet complexion burned even redder after a few ales, chuckled and seemed less bothered by Bertrand¡¯s sudden departure. ¡°He¡¯ll take some convincing,¡± she told Elias. ¡°Bertrand isn¡¯t like us.¡±


    Elias was glad Briley felt they had something unique in common, though he wondered which particular qualities she was referring to. ¡°How do you mean?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You and I come from nothing,¡± she said. ¡°You grew up in a nothing town way over there.¡± She pointed southeast, assuming her drunken internal compass could be trusted. ¡°And I grew up in a nothing town just over there.¡± She pointed true east, or at least that was the intention.


    ¡°And Bertrand grew up here,¡± Elias added, connecting another boxcar to Briley¡¯s zigzagging train of thought.


    ¡°Precisely,¡± she said. ¡°Young Mr. Fairweather will inherit his father¡¯s company. He need only build in himself the virtues of a businessman. You and I must build the business too¡ªor else toil in the shadows of other men for the rest of our lives.¡±


    Elias¡¯s head nodded for him, bobbing up and down as he chewed his bottom lip, as if Briley¡¯s words were gospel, as if their shared ambition were a religion, and perhaps it was. ¡°Amen,¡± he said to her.


    Briley could see through the bottom of her pint as she asked, ¡°Acreton, right? The town you grew up in.¡±


    ¡°The jewel of Sapphire¡¯s Reach,¡± Elias joked.


    ¡°Hamford.¡± Briley said it like a confession whose utterance required a few drinks. ¡°A coastal town in the Broken Isles. Literally, I grew up on the edge of the world. I used to stare out at the ocean, pretending something else existed out there.¡±


    Elias, who had similarly grown up with a wandering mind, knew geography better than most. He knew the republic was a small island nation off the eastern edge of the Great Continent, only a few borders from Sapphire¡¯s Reach. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to visit the Broken Isles,¡± he said.


    ¡°Is there anywhere you don¡¯t want to visit, Elias?¡± Briley smirked.


    Elias smirked back.


    While the two friends had spent many an hour alone with only each other¡¯s company at Fairweather Provisions, Elias had never connected with Briley on this level before. For once, they didn¡¯t talk about the business or local gossip. They dreamed of the future, and yet on the evening Elias turned eighteen, they spoke bittersweetly about the past.


    Another two hours slipped by before they stumbled out of The Thirsty Eagle, an hour later than Bertrand, who had left for home ¡°utterly exhausted¡±¡ªbut also, once again, a few relics richer.


    Briley lived in a cramped apartment with two roommates¡ªthe only accommodation she could afford in Hightown¡ªbut her modest dwelling was at least conveniently close by. Their walk home was mostly the same, and they continued their compelling conversation until finally fated to part ways.


    Maybe it was the rare bond of a parallel past. Maybe it was her infectious confidence or the confidence of booze. Maybe it was the blush in her cheeks or the elegance of her sharp features in the soft light of an oil lamp that marked their diverging paths. Maybe it was all of these things. But in that moment, Briley Soren was suddenly the most beautiful young woman Elias had ever seen.


    They were already standing close to one another, but Elias leaned a little closer, until her lips were inches from his and he found himself kissing them without thinking. She didn¡¯t retreat, but she also did not kiss him back.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Elias said instinctively. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡± He stopped himself, unsure what exactly he hadn¡¯t meant. He was pretty sure he had meant it.


    Briley sighed a sober sigh. ¡°It¡¯s not you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to spare my feelings.¡±


    ¡°Truly,¡± she insisted. ¡°You¡¯re a fetching lad, as far as lads go. I¡¯m just not interested in men in that way. Something else we have in common: our taste in women.¡±


    It took Elias a few seconds. ¡°That¡­ makes sense.¡±


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d figured it out,¡± she said.


    ¡°A little too late, it would seem.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, you probably would be my type otherwise. You¡¯re kind of pretty.¡± She patted his shoulder, and the only thing Elias could think to do was laugh. ¡°Use that ambition for your ludicrous plan,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s a good one. Or a terrible one. Plans are best evaluated in retrospect.¡±


    Elias peered up at the starless city sky. ¡°Good night, Briley,¡± he said.


    Briley turned toward the direction of home. ¡°Night, Elias.¡±

 Chapter 16: Shattered Knowledge

    Chapter Sixteen


    Shattered Knowledge


    Jalander¡¯s second, less ominous letter arrived a week after their first moonlit meeting, requesting Elias visit him once more in order that they may continue their ¡°important conversation.¡± At least this time, there were no puzzles to solve, though Elias would have unraveled a hundred riddles if such was the price of new knowledge.


    ¡°Tell me more about ascending.¡± He leaned forward in Jalander¡¯s creaky wooden chair, once again enjoying the warmth of his fireplace and a cup of hot tea that seemed to flow through his whole body with each sip, roiling inside him like medicine against winter¡¯s unrelenting cold. ¡°You mentioned increments of power. Let¡¯s say I scrape together a few thousand relics, enlighten myself accordingly, and ascend. Is that it?¡±


    ¡°You are getting ahead of yourself, but no,¡± Jalander said. ¡°Ascension is closer to the beginning than the end. There are four stages in total. First, you must awaken.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty awake right now,¡± Elias inserted. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve already awoken.¡±


    ¡°There will be no mistaking it when, and if, it happens.¡± Jalander struck Elias as the sort of man who enjoyed spoiling parties. The elder collector went on: ¡°Once you have awoken, you will be able to call upon the power you experienced at will, no relics required. As I mentioned before, your adolescent abilities will help with little more than trivial tasks. Ascension is the true mark of a serious collector, though most progress no further. The few who defy the odds become transcendent, possessing power unlike anything you¡¯ve experienced thus far. Finally, those who achieve their full potential¡ªand become truly whole¡ªare called divine. They say a divine can thread the very fabric of time and space. Though only one such man exists, and his identity is known to very few, so who the hell knows?¡±


    ¡°And which are you?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°I am ascendent,¡± Jalander said. ¡°Just another ascendant, and ascendant I shall remain. Your father, he was transcendent. This made him very valuable to the Valshynar, and his level of power wasn¡¯t the only reason¡ªbut also his type of power.¡±


    Elias didn¡¯t even need to ask the question. As Bertrand would say, people wear certain qualities like the clothes on their back.


    ¡°Many years ago, there existed different schools within our community,¡± Jalander explained. ¡°Among these were the Five Great Schools. While all collectors grow stronger, faster, and smarter, everyone has their particular aptitudes. The Dragon Fire School recruited collectors of exceptional strength, collectors who could upturn entire carriages. The Silver Sanctum School emphasized collectors of unparalleled speed¡ªyou do not wish to cross rapiers with these folks, believe me. The Valshynar School believed a sharp mind to be the most dangerous weapon, and in retrospect they were not wrong. And I would be remiss to forget the Four Winds School, welcoming haven of the well-rounded collector and, it was often remarked, the rejects. They were good folk. Less pretentious than the others.¡±


    Jalander paused, twirled his hands with ironic enthusiasm, then pointed both at his own chest. ¡°Last but not least, the smallest but most interesting of the Five Great Schools. Can you guess what we were called?¡± A wisp of smoke rose from the pipe he cradled.


    ¡°The Serpent Moon School,¡± Elias said, squinting. ¡°It was on the plaque outside.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Jalander cleared his throat. ¡°The Serpent Moon School recruited collectors with the rarest aptitude of all, collectors who could glimpse time and space itself. Indeed, while all who collect grow stronger, faster, and smarter, only some possess the sight. Those green lines you saw. You have the gift, no doubt inherited from your father. In that moment you aimed for the seventh bottle, you wished to see the path to a particular future, a future in which your bullet would strike that bottle and win you the competition. And that, young lad, is precisely what you saw.¡±


    For some reason, it was this explanation that Elias found hardest to stomach, perhaps because it had been his experience, and he had never thought about it this way before. ¡°That line was the future?¡±


    ¡°It is the past now,¡± Jalander said, ¡°but it was a future¡ªthe one you made come to pass. Those with the sight are deadly from a distance. Not only good with a gun but also expert navigators. Which is why your father was so valuable to the Valshynar. You can count the number of ascendant Serpent Moon collectors on one hand. Tell me more about your experience in the sky rift.¡±


    Elias wasn¡¯t sure what to add. ¡°Everything was just¡­ dark,¡± he said. ¡°Darker than I knew dark could be. Then, out of nowhere, this extraordinary airship appeared. My friend Bertrand said they were the Valshynar. They boarded our ship, and a tall woman spoke to me for a spell, asked where I was headed, what my plans were. I couldn¡¯t understand why she had singled me out, but now it makes sense. She was unnaturally strong. I remember that. Afterward, they led us out of the sky rift. They saved us. We couldn¡¯t see a way out of there, but they could.¡±


    ¡°She could,¡± Jalander corrected him. ¡°Her name is Constance Eve, the woman who questioned you. She has the sight, though she was only a child when the Five Great Schools were disbanded, not that I was much older. Like your father was, she is transcendent and very valuable to the Valshynar. Sky rifts are tears in reality, by-products of the shattered world. They are also incredibly useful, if you know how to navigate them. Sky rifts appear empty because they are. Utterly so. There are no waypoints in sky rifts, no stars, no signposts, no sounds of running water. If you rely only on your eyes and ears, your crew will drift aimlessly until you all die of thirst or otherwise kill each other. But those with the sight¡­¡±


    ¡°Can see the future they wish for,¡± Elias finished his sentence.


    ¡°Exactly right.¡± For the first time that evening, Jalander beamed a little. ¡°The sight gifts collectors like Constance, like your father, like me, and I believe like you the ability to see pathways through an otherwise impenetrable abyss. Not only pathways, but shortcuts through space itself. The Valshynar use sky rifts to travel all over the Great Continent, sometimes in a matter of hours.¡±


    Not weeks. Not months. But hours. It suddenly all made sense to Elias.


    ¡°Every Valshynarian ship has someone like Constance on board, but it wasn¡¯t always so.¡± Sitting in a chair across from him, Jalander scootched forward and grabbed Elias¡¯s hand. The teenager recoiled instinctively, and then he saw the bittersweet longing in Jalander¡¯s eyes as the older man peered down at Elias¡¯s damaged ring. ¡°That ring once saved your father¡¯s life,¡± he said. ¡°Or at least, it saved his finger.¡±


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    Elias had always thought of his mother when he slipped on his silver ring each morning. Would he now wonder about the man who originally owned it? Would he wonder about the father he barely remembered?


    ¡°Of course, the schools were all disbanded by the Valshynar, save their own.¡± Jalander released Elias¡¯s hand and leaned back in his chair. ¡°They absorbed the Serpent Moon School first, claiming those with the sight as their own. It was only a matter of years before all collectors were united under the scholarly school¡¯s gold and green banner. Our practice is now heavily centralized¡ªand controlled¡ªby them. They won a war the rest of us didn¡¯t realize we should have been fighting, until it was too late. I guess they truly were the smart ones. That was three decades ago now. Our once secret schools are no more, and the Valshynar have since introduced themselves and their technological marvels to the world. This used to be the Serpent Moon School headquarters.¡± Jalander gestured toward the walls and ceiling. ¡°Small, like the school itself. I somehow convinced the smug bastards to let me keep the sign out front, called it harmless nostalgia.¡±


    ¡°Do you know what happened to him?¡± Elias asked. ¡°My father. They say he drowned in a shipwreck.¡±


    ¡°They do say that, and I don¡¯t know any better,¡± Jalander replied.


    Elias stared into his serpent ring one more time, its unpolished surface reflecting the dull light of a fading fire.


    Jalander rose and fed the hearth another log before sitting back down. ¡°Is there anything else you wish to know, lad?¡± He sounded tired. ¡°You may not have this opportunity again for a while.¡±


    Elias was quite certain he had a hundred questions and that he wouldn¡¯t think to ask most of them until it was too late. He settled on the most obvious. ¡°How did you find me, and how do you know so many things about me that no one else does?¡±


    ¡°It is my role within the Valshynar to be eyes and ears in Sailor¡¯s Rise,¡± Jalander explained. ¡°There is no leaving the Valshynar once they have you in their rigid claws. I¡¯m sure they would rather have me on one of their ships, but an old, rather influential friend arranged these accommodations for me. She told them I wasn¡¯t a particularly capable navigator, which is not untrue. It was she who found you: Constance Eve. We go back, she and I, though we have our differences. She suspects you are one of us, but she is not certain.¡±


    ¡°And you are?¡± Elias turned from the fire to see the truth in his reaction.


    ¡°I know something they do not,¡± Jalander said. ¡°I know that you are your father¡¯s son. The skill is not always passed down, but I knew if I sent that letter and you found me, I would have my answer. And here you are.¡±


    ¡°Will you tell them about me?¡±


    ¡°Not unless you wish it.¡±


    Elias found that hard to believe. ¡°Why would you keep my secret from them?¡±


    ¡°Because I made a promise to your father, and my promise to a friend is more important to me than my promise to the Valshynar,¡± Jalander said. ¡°You could, if you wish, tell them yourself. They will happily accept you in their ranks, especially if you do indeed have the sight, but understand what that arrangement entails. Your life will no longer be decided by you. You will not get to choose where you live or whom you marry. You can collect, but only as much as they permit. Most Valshynar ascend, but few are allowed to transcend, even if they could. Power is managed in the Valshynar and determined as much by politics.¡±


    ¡°I spent my entire life trying to escape what felt like a prison,¡± Elias said, staring back at the flames, watching them dance freely in their brick cell. ¡°I¡¯m not volunteering myself for another life I didn¡¯t choose.¡±


    ¡°Then keep your head low,¡± Jalander insisted. ¡°Do not draw attention to yourself, and especially don¡¯t draw attention to your newfound abilities, or they will find you, Elias, and I won¡¯t be able to keep your secret any longer.¡±


    Could one build the greatest company Sailor¡¯s Rise had ever known while not drawing attention to oneself? Elias had his doubts, but he gave Jalander the nod of understanding the concerned collector was no doubt looking for. Words would have felt like a lie.


    Elias stood up and stretched his cramped limbs. He could feel his fingers and toes again, and he no longer worried his ears might fall off from the cold. He asked if he could look around.


    ¡°Be my guest,¡± Jalander said. ¡°I¡¯m going to pour more tea.¡±


    There was not much to look at, granted, besides a mess of books and incomprehensible notes. Some people were quite comfortable living amid chaos, though Elias did not count himself among them. On the contrary, he considered himself an orderly person, though with so few possessions, it wasn¡¯t exactly difficult to maintain his tidy existence.


    Elias did eventually stumble upon one thing that snared his attention. The large scroll looked vaguely like a map of the Great Continent, though unlike any he had ever seen. He flattened its curled edges, and Jalander told him to be careful: ¡°That map is as old as I am¡ªand far more valuable.¡±


    Elias removed his hands from the artifact and apologized. ¡°Is this a map of the stars?¡± He tried to place a few without avail. Hundreds of circled dots speckled the continent, connected by lines that might have been constellations, only there was no recognizable shape to them. Where was the Wandering Stag, the Diving Eagle, the myriad constellations he¡¯d learned about as a child staring up at the starry skies of Sapphire¡¯s Reach?


    ¡°A clever guess, but no.¡± Jalander handed him more tea, then pushed the steaming cup in Elias¡¯s hand a foot back from the map. ¡°When your merchant ship escaped that sky rift a few months ago, did you exit where you had entered?¡±


    Elias shook his head. ¡°I thought so for a second, but the mountains were different.¡±


    Jalander pointed at one particular dot on the map, halfway between Acreton and Sailor¡¯s Rise. ¡°I suspect you entered this sky rift¡±¡ªhe dragged his finger two inches¡ª¡°and exited this one.¡±


    ¡°So, the Valshynar use maps like this to travel all across the Great Continent,¡± Elias inferred, correctly this time.


    ¡°As I said, it is a very valuable map,¡± Jalander confirmed.


    ¡°Earlier, when you mentioned sky rifts, you said something about a shattered world,¡± Elias said. ¡°What were you talking about?¡±


    ¡°The dawn of air travel a century ago revealed yet another by-product of our broken past,¡± Jalander replied. ¡°Sky rifts had gone undetected for millennia, but Valshynarian scholars believed that they too were caused by the shattering. The even greater discovery, however, was their utility. Collectors with the rarest gift of all¡ªthe sight¡ªcould navigate these sky rifts, creating shortcuts all across the Great Continent. As for the shattered world that was, well, that is one question we will not have time for tonight. And it is a question whose answer you must experience yourself. The dream will answer these ancient inquiries better than I ever could, if indeed you are destined to become a collector.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound like I have no say in the matter,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°On the contrary.¡± Jalander savored his tea. ¡°Destinies are chosen. Destinies are achieved. If you want something badly enough, I imagine you¡¯re a resourceful young man. I¡¯ve shown you how to collect relics, but I cannot help you with the rest. Not until you¡¯ve awoken. The dream will answer some of your questions¡ªand raise new ones.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s say I dream this dream. What then?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°Then, as a fellow collector, I shall lend you some reading material.¡±


    ¡°Exciting.¡±


    ¡°But not until then,¡± Jalander added, lest his fledging apprentice get ahead of himself. ¡°I was your age too when I first noticed the inexplicable disappearance of a hard-earned relic, and then another, and another. Some collectors discover their gift a little later in life, and a few may even sense it sooner. In each case, the moment only arrives after they have left adolescence behind. A child is by definition incomplete, and so he cannot sense the deeper incompleteness required of our craft.¡±


    Elias digested Jalander¡¯s words like a difficult poem, finally concluding, ¡°I think I understand.¡±


    ¡°Keep thinking.¡± Jalander unsubtly eyed the front door. ¡°Nighttime strolls are ideal for such contemplation. Also¡±¡ªhe sighed¡ª¡°I know I¡¯m wasting my breath even saying this, but if you never dream the damn dream, a wiser man might consider himself lucky.¡±


    ¡°A wiser man, maybe.¡± Elias grinned.


    And in spite of himself, Jalander grinned with him.

 Chapter 17: Subtle Manipulation

    Chapter Seventeen


    Subtle Manipulation


    It was once remarked by his old friend, Noah, that Bertrand Fairweather was surprisingly unintimidating for a young man of his size and stature. A more insecure teenager might have mined only offense from this comment, but as the years matured him, Bertrand learned at a relatively early age that intimidation was a poor currency indeed. Battles in Sailor¡¯s Rise were won not through brute force¡ªbut through invitation.


    As a man-sized teenager, Bertrand had negotiated contracts and even found new work for The Fairweather Company, his father having recognized his son¡¯s proclivity for business development and marketing¡ªif not everything else required of a sailor. Irvin Fairweather was one of the Rise¡¯s finest ship captains, but the veteran sailor treated business negotiations in the manner of his peers: like duels to be won with carefully targeted shots and quick, opportunistic strikes. Bertrand, on the other hand, discovered the terms were often better when you simply disarmed a fellow.


    Briley recently described his skill set as subtle manipulation, and Bertrand had to remind himself once more not to be offended. They all had their words for it, though he preferred the classic one: charm.


    And it was this very charm that his friends and future business partners relied upon now. Bertrand¡¯s charm would get them into the Graystone Junkyard and out of it with a new airship, assuming Elias hadn¡¯t missed or misconstrued some important detail, assuming this plan of his was only half as ludicrous as it sounded.


    They would find out soon enough.


    The junkyard in question, the only one in Sailor¡¯s Rise, was situated along the edge of Hightown in a rather bland district of blocky warehouses. The Fairweather Company was not large enough to require its own warehouse, though business had brought Bertrand here on a few occasions. He knew where to find the Graystone Junkyard, in any event, not that it would have been easy to miss. Its snow-covered brick walls made the facility stand out like a fortress, as if a junkyard was the castle to which this boring neighborhood paid fealty. Bertrand supposed it was, in the end.


    He approached the facility, brushing snow from his damp hair, which appeared more brown than blonde in the current weather. The junkyard¡¯s oversized wooden entrance was closed and locked, guarded by a bag-eyed attendant who scrutinized Bertrand from behind a window of metal bars. While the poor bloke resembled a prisoner, Bertrand knew it was the opposite, that he would need to make a compelling case for why this weathered-looking man ought to let him inside, junk-free as he was.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± Bertrand said, approaching the bars.


    The man nodded for him to go on.


    ¡°I was hoping to inspect your facility,¡± the teenager explained. ¡°I work for The Brookfield Company. Lester Brookfield.¡± Bertrand reached a red-knuckled hand through the bars between them and waited for the man to awkwardly shake his fingertips. ¡°We have an old airship that, well, I¡¯ll tell it to you plainly, sir. Our men struck a damn cliff on a recent trip back from the Southlands. The vessel was nearing the end of its life, so we¡¯re not entirely heartbroken, but the damage does make disposing it a tad more complicated.¡±


    ¡°Fly it around back,¡± the attendant said.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I would like to ensure there will be enough space.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll make room,¡± the man insisted.


    ¡°As I mentioned, the ship has seen better days.¡± Bertrand sighed a dramatic sigh. ¡°Truth be told, I¡¯m worried the bloody thing is one hard turn away from falling apart. If I could quickly confirm that the space you have is adequate¡ªthe vessel is rather sizable¡ªit would put my troubled mind at ease.¡±


    The attendant hemmed and hawed before finally waving Bertrand¡ªor Lester Brookfield, as far as he knew¡ªthrough the large wooden doors he unlocked and pulled open.


    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± Bertrand said, and it really sounded like he meant it.


    Inside, the junkyard was a veritable mountain range of garbage, housing everything from broken carriages to shattered pots to literal mounds of dirt. If one looked closely at any particular pile¡ªthe tarnished silverware, the ripped canvas of an unloved painting¡ªone might write a small story about where this or that had originated, why it had been discarded, by whom, for what reason. Every graveyard had a hundred life stories, but this junkyard contained countless intimate ones, tiny tragic tales of things tossed aside, abandoned to be forgotten.


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    Bertrand could indulge his imagination later.


    ¡°This way.¡± The attendant beckoned him through a snaking path between piles. ¡°Where was it you said you worked again?¡±


    ¡°The Brookfield Company. Have you not heard of us?¡± Bertrand feigned surprise.


    The man cleared his throat. ¡°Of course. Of course I have,¡± he said. ¡°Just so many companies to keep track of these days.¡±


    ¡°The Trader¡¯s Guild is certainly turning a tidy profit,¡± Bertrand replied.


    The attendant chuckled. ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it.¡±


    ¡°Question for you,¡± Bertrand said, partway to their destination. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have a lavatory I could use? It was a rather long walk over here.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a junkyard,¡± the man said. ¡°Piss where you like.¡±


    Bertrand crossed both hands over his bladder. ¡°I would, truly, but, well, it is quite cold, and I much prefer privacy.¡±


    His guide examined him up and down, wondering once again if he should let this harmless-looking young man wander through yet another door not intended for outsiders. ¡°I¡¯m a shy pisser myself,¡± he conceded. He pointed to a brick building built into the junkyard wall. ¡°Head to the office, take a right. There¡¯s a privy.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an understanding man.¡± Bertrand bowed an inch. ¡°I¡¯ll be hasty.¡±


    And hasty he was, skipping toward the lavatory and briefly out of sight. Beside the brick building and behind the wooden privy, Bertrand found what he was actually searching for: a side door exiting the junkyard. Briley had scouted the locked door from the other side two days earlier, determining that it was the least conspicuous entrance into the facility. As for whether Bertrand would be able to unlock it from inside¡ªwell, this was hardly the only uncertain part of today¡¯s plan.


    He whirled around, ensuring the attendant hadn¡¯t followed him, before unbarring the wooden door quickly and quietly. Both friends were waiting with crossed arms, shivering in the biting shadow of a snowy day. Bertrand waved them in, closing the door behind them.


    ¡°Go that way,¡± he instructed them. ¡°Not that way.¡±


    Briley nodded as Elias stared stoically onward.


    ¡°I actually do kind of need to piss,¡± Bertrand whispered.


    ¡°Piss later,¡± Briley whispered back.


    ¡°If we¡¯re caught, I suppose I¡¯ll just piss myself,¡± Bertrand acquiesced. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    And with that, they were off, crawling over a low pile of junk to stay out of sight before disappearing behind another. Bertrand considered slipping into the privy for a swift pee, despite Briley, but he knew he would never hear the end of it if somehow his bathroom break was the thing that spoiled their plan.


    And so he returned to the attendant, acting relieved. ¡°Much better. Shall we?¡±


    The man continued their tour, adding, ¡°Nothing like a hot piss on a cold day.¡±


    ¡°Nothing, indeed,¡± Bertrand said. ¡°Nothing, indeed.¡±


    At last, they arrived at the edge of the junkyard. It was the only edge without a two-story brick wall, as the sheer mountain cliff evidently provided a sufficient barrier against the city¡¯s plundering poor. The open edge was both economical and practical. The junkyard had its own dock, extending into the open air, so clearly not everything was delivered and unloaded through the front gate. That made sense, Bertrand thought. The dock was currently unoccupied.


    And yet he could see an airship, this one grounded inside the facility. He couldn¡¯t get a complete view of it from their present vantage point, but the vessel barely looked a decade old¡ªit certainly did not look like junk. Indeed, there was no doubt about it: this was their future airship, assuming all went to plan.


    ¡°As you can see, we have room for ships of all shapes and sizes,¡± the attendant commented.


    And just as the grizzled man turned back toward Bertrand, our story¡¯s subtle manipulator spotted his friends sprinting out from their hiding spot, scrambling up the ship¡¯s slender hull.


    ¡°Looks like you have some room over there.¡± Bertrand pointed in the direction opposite of the attempted hijacking, Elias¡¯s voice playing in his mind: ¡°It¡¯s not stealing.¡± He wandered his way toward a large clearing, trying to kill time. ¡°Are you a family man?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°Not really,¡± the man said.


    Bertrand needed another distraction. He walked to one edge of the clearing and eyed the other, then slowly, step by step, pressing the heel of one boot against the other¡¯s toe, he began counting steps. ¡°Just want to make sure it¡¯s large enough,¡± he said, ¡°while we¡¯re here.¡±


    The attendant shrugged. Like he had nothing better to do than standing out here in the uncomfortable cold, watching this tall stranger move glacially, cumbersomely, as if balancing himself on a tightrope.


    ¡°Shit. Lost count.¡± Bertrand slapped his forehead and started again. ¡°Apologies.¡±


    Alas, he could only lose count so many times. He was afraid that if they turned around, the attendant would find Elias and Briley tinkering away at the helm of the abandoned vessel. Bertrand couldn¡¯t make out what exactly his friends were attempting from afar, nor did he want to give them away with an obvious stare. He focused on his steps.


    And yet, despite his best efforts, Bertrand¡¯s performative distraction soon became moot. The sun had snuck through an open patch in the sky¡¯s quilt of clouds, and now there was no distracting anyone from the airship ascending out of the Graystone Junkyard, casting its shifting shadow over them as the attendant whirled around, hand over brow.


    It was a fine ship indeed, Bertrand observed from below, only a little smaller than The Sleeping Sparrow. Noah had told it true: no one would abandon such a vessel as junk.


    The man turned back toward him, looking less surprised than Bertrand anticipated. ¡°Thought they were moving her tomorrow,¡± he said, shrugging again. ¡°They never tell me anything.¡±


    Bertrand stopped counting steps and smiled. ¡°I suppose there¡¯s certainly room now.¡±

 Chapter 18: Cold Ascension

    Chapter Eighteen


    Cold Ascension


    Melo had once remarked, in his easygoing fashion, that Elias was competitive in the way that birds have wings. It wasn¡¯t so much an attribute he possessed as it was a fundamental part of his very being. Absent his competitive nature, Elias Vice¡ªor Fisher at the time, before that name was outcompeted too¡ªwould simply be another man. Bertrand may have been surprisingly unintimidating, but Elias could be quite the opposite in moments when he forgot his manners.


    Elias savored his victories as much as he was spurred by his failures, but it was the latter that branded in him searing lessons he vowed not to learn again. For example, he had learned to never celebrate a win before the game was won.


    Briley, a not uncompetitive person herself, evidently hadn¡¯t learned this lesson. ¡°We pulled it off,¡± she said. ¡°Your ludicrous plan actually worked.¡±


    Elias felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He forced himself to contain it.


    And yet, the hard part was over. At least, the part he had believed would be hardest. Indeed, it had taken them longer than expected to deflate the ballonets¡ªor, as Briley had explained in simpler terms, ¡°the small balloons inside the big balloon.¡± The ballonets¡¯ denser air weighed down the airship and kept it grounded, Elias had been told, while deflating the air bags had the opposite effect, allowing the larger hydrogen-filled balloon to win a sort of skyward tug-of-war.


    Elias took a moment to appreciate the medium-sized vessel now in their tenuous possession: its surprisingly aerodynamic oak hull and the cedar planks that groaned under his footsteps as he went to inspect the ship¡¯s great cabin. He wagered it could comfortably carry a dozen crew and passengers, depending on their cargo, which was only a little less than The Sleeping Sparrow.


    Briley stopped him before he got to the door. ¡°The steam engine,¡± she said, spinning the wheel as the ship tilted and followed the wind. In their effort to escape the Graystone Junkyard silently and swiftly, they had left the engine cold. They would need to fire it up if they wished to actually sail this thing to their intended destination.


    ¡°One of us should stay up here.¡± Briley was already holding the wheel.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it,¡± Elias confirmed.


    ¡°Do you know where it is? Do you know how?¡±


    ¡°Bertrand gave me a tour of The Sleeping Sparrow,¡± he explained to an unconvinced audience. ¡°Get a fire going, shovel in some cobrium¡ªhow hard can it be?¡±


    ¡°Even a cobrium engine takes a while to get going,¡± she said soberly. ¡°We¡¯ll be floating aimlessly until then.¡±


    ¡°Then I shall get right on it.¡± Elias peered over the bulwark before he did so, observing the industrial neighborhood shrinking below them, its flat, snow-covered roofs turning into a game of white tiles. He searched for Bertrand without avail. Was their friend still lingering in the junkyard? Would that fortress become his prison? Elias desperately hoped not.


    ¡°I thought you were getting right on it,¡± Briley remarked.


    Elias nodded, abandoned his worry, and quickly found the companionway to the lower deck. He heaved open its heavy hatch doors before disappearing into the ascending vessel¡¯s unlit hull.


    Beams of dust-speckled light shone in through the portholes of an otherwise lightless lower deck. Elias caught the glint of an oil lamp resting on a wooden table, then dug through his coat pocket until he found an old tinderbox. Striking flint against steel, he birthed a small flame and carried it carefully to the lantern on a sulfur spill.


    ¡°There we go.¡±


    The oil lamp cast the lower deck in a warm amber glow. Elias examined the space in a new light, spotting half a dozen bronze cannons stored neatly in a dim corner. Even merchant ships required protection from pirates, though weight was always an issue. Protection came with a price.


    He could analyze the ship¡¯s inventory later. Elias had an engine to find. He found the engine room easily enough, through an arched door at the back of the ship, but finding the complicated contraption wasn¡¯t the tricky part. He had never started a steam engine before, though he fancied himself clever enough to figure it out, often preferring to teach himself new skills rather than learn them from someone else¡ªeven when it was to his own detriment.


    The problem was that he couldn¡¯t find any cobrium: the pale green rock used to power modern airships. Some still ran on coal and a few even used wood, but Elias couldn¡¯t find fuel of any sort anywhere. He opened every door and rummaged through every empty cabin, getting an impromptu tour of the relatively compact vessel, if nothing else.


    He wandered back to the engine room and crossed his arms, staring and sighing at an unfed furnace, at the metallic valves and cylindrical pistons he couldn¡¯t truly decipher. Briefly and vainly, he entertained the idea that perhaps his newfound talent might provide some utility here, but how would good aim get a couple of propellers turning?


    Their plan had hit a snag.


    Elias returned to the main deck wearing the appearance of someone who had just been punched in the face, metaphorically speaking. ¡°We have a problem,¡± he said.


    ¡°I can see that.¡± Briley already looked disappointed, though not entirely surprised. Granted, Briley never looked surprised, even when she was. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no cobrium on board, or coal, or anything to get the engine going,¡± Elias explained.


    ¡°That is a problem,¡± she agreed. It was not an easily solved problem either. ¡°I can land this thing once the wind blows us over a clearing, but it¡¯ll be a free meal for pirates.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he said, thinking.


    He squinted out over the ship¡¯s smooth oak edge for answers. Elias had not seen the city in full view since the day he first arrived here, back when its winding streets and cramped buildings were still a foreign maze to him. Now he searched for familiar sights. He had no trouble identifying Bartholomew Grimsby¡¯s expansive estate, the venue of the Solstice Eve Ball he and Bertrand had attended a couple of weeks earlier¡ªwhere Elias had acquired the intel that led them to this fateful moment.


    The Fairweather¡¯s estate was harder to find, though he more easily eyed The Sleeping Sparrow hovering next to its medium-sized berth, the protruding pathway upon which Elias had arrived two seasons ago. He had found the ship as a child reads the ticks on a clock, his gaze circling the city before finally landing on the appropriately placed pier.


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    Had that modest dock been his entrance to this maze, to the city he once dreamed about, to a mountain metropolis shaped like a ship¡¯s wheel? And had Elias finally found the prize that all mazes purport to hide, for why else would one enter a maze? Why else, indeed. Their present predicament certainly carried the illusion of freedom, but with no engine to guide them, he wagered they were simply drifting toward another, albeit spectacular dead end.


    Briley had stopped the ship from ascending, but the wind was slowly moving them across the city until they would pass by it completely. Certainly, they would miss the landing spot Elias had picked out for them, probably by the better part of a mile.


    The landing spot in question was another clever solution to a problem they had pored over two days earlier. It took time to register a ship, a few days at least. Until then, the vessel wasn¡¯t really theirs, and the Graystones could ¡°steal it back¡± as easily as they had ¡°not stolen it¡± in the first place. Hiding it was one option, but hiding a ship wasn¡¯t like hiding a coin in one¡¯s coat pocket. The solution: a mechanic in Lowtown. Bertrand had told the mechanic their recently procured airship required a thorough inspection to ensure it was airworthy, adding that they still needed to rent a berth for the vessel¡ªtechnically true¡ªand could they store it inside their hangar for a few days? An additional fee made it so. Once the ship was registered, they would pay the mechanic and find it a new home.


    Yes, it was a great plan. They really had thought of everything¡ªeverything except for cobrium.


    ¡°I guess we¡¯re fucked, then,¡± Briley said.


    Elias didn¡¯t want to believe it. He dug through the deepest recesses of his mind, desperate to excavate something, anything. His thoughts kept gravitating toward his skills as an amateur collector, as if trying to tell him something. The first time they met, Jalander had explained that his gift helped Elias find the Serpent Moon School. ¡°You sensed it,¡± he had said, ¡°the path that brought you here tonight.¡± Was Elias sensing something now, or was he just all out of ideas?


    Both could have been true. He reached into his coat pocket anyway and felt the jagged edges of two relics. He squeezed them together and closed his eyes, practically praying. Praying to money. It might have been a laughable clich¨¦ were the situation not so dire.


    Suddenly, the relics disappeared.


    Elias relaxed his empty fist. There had been two this time. He had never made two relics vanish together before.


    He turned back toward Briley, who remained utterly oblivious to the goings-on of Elias¡¯s coat pocket, and then saw it: the answer he hadn¡¯t been able to find, an answer perhaps no one could have found¡ªno one without his gift of sight. A faint green line appeared over the ship¡¯s wheel Briley still clung to, flashing in and out of existence like a shooting star.


    It was a direction. Of course. They didn¡¯t have a working engine, but the airship still had a rudder and, as Briley had pointed out, the ability to adjust altitude.


    ¡°Turn the wheel to the right.¡± Elias approached her. ¡°Quickly.¡±


    She looked, understandably, confused. ¡°Your right or my right?¡±


    ¡°My right,¡± he confirmed.


    ¡°So, left.¡± She turned the wheel left.


    Another green line appeared. ¡°Lower the ship a bit,¡± he instructed her next.


    ¡°Lower it how much?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ll tell you when.¡±


    Briley rolled her eyes but, absent a better plan, entertained whatever this was. The airship slowly descended as they filled the ballonets. ¡°If I go any lower, we¡¯re going to crash into Mr. Grimsby¡¯s estate,¡± she said, easing their descent.


    ¡°Just a little more,¡± Elias insisted. ¡°There.¡±


    They noticed it together: the wind had changed direction and the drifting of their ship with it. ¡°You¡¯re going to float us there?¡± Briley asked incredulously.


    ¡°You got any other ideas?¡± Elias asked in return.


    They were now hovering westward over Sailor¡¯s Rise¡ªand closer to the city than was considered polite. Close enough that Elias could see people staring up at them as he leaned over the bulwark. The sun had found another break in the clouds, and the shadow of their vessel raced and warped itself across roads, rooftops, and crowds of befuddled onlookers. But they were heading in the right direction.


    Elias was hopeful once more, though he couldn¡¯t tell if Briley shared his enthusiasm. He opted against explaining precisely how he had known to adjust the ship just so. Let her think he could read the wind like a book, or let her think it was a coincidence, so long as they arrived in the right place in one piece.


    At their current pace, they could stick with this trajectory for a few more minutes, though Elias kept an eye on the wheel and the lever that controlled the ballonets.


    The silence of a still moment beckoned him to say something. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the other night.¡± He was not sure why he went with that, why he felt the need to bring it up again. ¡°I don¡¯t know what got into me.¡±


    ¡°About seven beers, give or take,¡± Briley replied. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Elias. Believe it or not, I¡¯ve been in your shoes before. Only in my case, even when they are interested, they aren¡¯t always open to being interested.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow,¡± Elias admitted.


    ¡°People conform to what¡¯s expected of them,¡± Briley said. ¡°Cute girls are supposed to like cute boys¡ªboys like you.¡±


    Elias chuckled, a little flattered. ¡°You should tell them that.¡±


    ¡°You could be a bit less intense.¡± She grinned a half-grin.


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± he said, then added, ¡°Let¡¯s start lowering the ship again.¡±


    They were nearing the docks that ringed the edge of Hightown as the green lines that had guided them this far flickered more faint instructions. As they descended farther downward, Briley still visibly skeptical, the piers of Sailor¡¯s Rise took on another identity. They were Lowtown¡¯s wooden canopy, casting their long shadows over its poor, haphazard neighborhoods. Elias hadn¡¯t spent much time in Lowtown and felt, once more, like a tourist as he analyzed its streets and citizens from above.


    They soon spotted their destination: the exhaustively named Mr. Mason¡¯s Ship Repair and Other Services. Elias made a few more adjustments as they neared the mechanic¡¯s shop, a single wooden hangar beneath the eternal shadow of a large, looming dock. He could hardly believe this had worked¡ªsailing unforeseeable winds between opposite ends of the city¡ªand, by the looks of her, neither could Briley.


    ¡°How¡ª¡± She searched for words. ¡°How did you know where to steer us? I thought it was just dumb luck when the wind first changed. Now¡­ I don¡¯t know what to think.¡±


    Elias nearly spat out the truth then and there. Would Jalander, the man who had insisted he ¡°keep his head low,¡± have approved of him telling people the truth? Certainly not. Did Elias care about Jalander¡¯s approval? Only slightly, but eagerness had undermined his efforts before. Eagerness was the caged animal inside of Elias, rattling the bars in moments such as these, desperate to be heard and understood. Would Briley have believed any of it?


    ¡°It¡¯s not something I can really explain,¡± he eventually blurted out.


    Briley cocked an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. ¡°Clearly.¡± She quickly shrugged it off. ¡°Well, time to land this thing in front of that hangar. What next, wind reader?¡±


    Elias looked for answers, for the green lines that had pointed him in the right direction and taken them this far. Only they were not appearing this time, and Mr. Mason¡¯s Ship Repair and Other Services was fast-approaching. A stiff wind shifted their trajectory. Briley seemed to notice his sudden concern as Elias told her, ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I think we¡¯ll have to wing it.¡±


    ¡°I thought we were already winging it.¡± Briley gripped the wheel extra tightly. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll¡­ wing it.¡± She lowered the ship at an even pace and started turning the wheel. The wind picked up, tousling Briley¡¯s normally neat hair. She was struggling now, struggling to outmuscle the wind, to align their ship for a soft landing.


    Elias sprinted forward and seized the other side of the wheel, pushing it in the direction that she pulled. The wheel finally turned as his strength surprised them both. Another benefit of the relics, perhaps? Jalander had foretold as much. It wasn¡¯t just sight they granted him, but strength, speed, and intelligence too. Of course, his was a temporary high. He wondered how long it would last¡ªlong enough, he hoped.


    The entrance to the hangar was only a stone¡¯s throw ahead of them now, but they were still two stories too high. Distracted by the wind, Briley hadn¡¯t lowered their altitude hastily enough. She did so now, as fast as she could, as fast as the ship would allow.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she pleaded.


    The airship descended. Elias and Briley both clung to the wheel, met eyes, and braced for impact. Their hydrogen balloon struck first, bouncing off the hangar door. The bounce sent them backward as Elias heard the hair-raising melody of a ship hull grating against the rough ground. They struck a fence. The fence fell¡ªand so did Elias¡ªas the vessel finally stilled.


    It wasn¡¯t quite the soft landing they had hoped for, but it was, at least, a landing. Elias picked himself up and peered out over the bow at more bemused onlookers, at the old man and the young girl who ran forth from the wooden hangar. He waved at them as the man crossed his arms and shook his head. The girl waved back.

 Chapter 19: Galloping Grasshoppers

    Chapter Nineteen


    Galloping Grasshoppers


    The old man had a limp and a cane that didn¡¯t seem to slow him down. He waved the latter toward them threateningly. ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± he yelled up at Elias and Briley, both of whom still stood atop the grounded airship.


    ¡°Parking,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°Crashing is more like it,¡± the man said back, stabbing empty air with his walking stick.


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Briley chimed in. ¡°We had¡­ engine problems.¡±


    The man crossed his arms, returning the tip of his metallic cane to the dusty ground. Bertrand had made the arrangements, and neither Elias nor Briley had ever met the man before today, though he matched their friend¡¯s description: old, bald, with an eyepatch and a cane. Bertrand hadn¡¯t mentioned the man¡¯s anger, though that may have been circumstantial. Nor had he mentioned the wiry girl beside him. She looked twelve perhaps, with mousy brown hair and a layer of soot obscuring her button-nose face and her balled-up fingers.


    Not that either Elias or Briley looked any better at present, their cheeks and ears burning red from the cold, their hair windswept from the journey over here. Briley climbed down first. They approached the mechanic, who¡ªdespite his large presence¡ªwas a head shorter than medium-sized Elias, losing a few of those inches to bad posture. The girl, standing there straighter than a newly forged nail, was nearly the old man¡¯s height.


    ¡°Mr. Mason, I presume,¡± Elias said.


    ¡°That is the name on the sign,¡± Mr. Mason more or less confirmed. ¡°Call me Jasper. The girl is Gabby. What business do you have with us?¡±


    ¡°I believe you met my colleague, Bertrand Fairweather.¡±


    The mechanic squinted, scrunching his nose, as if he might see or smell the truth of it.


    ¡°Blonde,¡± Briley added. ¡°Yay high.¡± She lifted her hand higher than any of them. ¡°Hard to miss.¡±


    ¡°Bertrand.¡± Jasper gargled the name. ¡°Big fellow. Yes, he was bringing in a ship for inspection. I assume this is the vessel?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡± Elias nodded.


    ¡°And where is your friend? Where is Bertrand?¡± The old man looked around for him, mumbling something incompressible.


    ¡°On his way,¡± Elias said, ¡°I think.¡±


    Jasper inspected the hangar door that had been struck by their hydrogen balloon, sending them backward. He poked it with his cane, thumping the wood for good measure, before pointing the latter in the direction behind him. The door appeared undamaged, but the same could not be said for the barrier they had bounced into. ¡°You broke my fence.¡±


    ¡°Apologies for that.¡± Elias grimaced. ¡°We had¡ª¡±


    ¡°Engine problems, yeah, yeah.¡±


    ¡°Add it to the invoice,¡± Briley inserted.


    ¡°I will, darling. I will.¡±


    Briley, for whom terms of endearment were terms of war, let this one slide.


    ¡°Your hull took damage.¡± Jasper pointed again, this time toward the bottom of their newly acquired airship, just out of view for Elias, who followed the trail until he saw the damage himself. The hull had struck a large boulder as they were skidding backward along the uneven ground. Its smooth oak surface had been split open, fashioning a ragged porthole in three boards that would need to be replaced. ¡°We can make her like new, but not for free,¡± the old man added. ¡°That should be repaired before you fly this beauty anywhere else. This is a fine vessel. Wouldn¡¯t want to risk it.¡±


    Elias gulped, tallying the new bill in his head: the fence, the hull¡ªwhat else?


    ¡°Gabby, give the guts a quick check,¡± Jasper told the girl, who promptly leapt and climbed her way onto the ship before heading through the companionway into the lower deck.


    ¡°Your daughter?¡± Elias inquired.


    ¡°More years have gone by since I¡¯ve lain with a woman than she¡¯s been alive,¡± Jasper informed them.


    ¡°Granddaughter?¡±


    ¡°Adopted. Since she was five. She¡¯s twelve now.¡±


    It was often said that Sailor¡¯s Rise was the world in a city, and Gabby looked like the world in a human child, her cultural heritage as indistinguishable as it was, perhaps, untraceable. Still, Briley couldn¡¯t help but wonder whether this worldly twelve-year-old had the professional experience necessary to properly inspect an airship.


    ¡°She works here with you,¡± Briley commented. ¡°A little young, isn¡¯t she?¡±


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    Jasper coughed a chuckle. ¡°You won¡¯t find anyone with a better eye in all of Lowtown, me included. These modern airships aren¡¯t like the vessels I first learned to repair. I can barely keep up nowadays. All these new upgrades, new materials. Kids learn things faster than old men like me. Her age ain¡¯t a problem¡ªit¡¯s a solution.¡±


    Before any more words could be exchanged, a familiar, rather large man appeared beside the hangar, resting a hand on its wooden wall as he caught his breath. Bertrand, panting and sweating despite the cold, spotted Jasper and apologized for his lateness.


    The old man blinked and shrugged. Elias, at least, was relieved to see that his friend had freed himself from his junkyard prison. The Graystones didn¡¯t suspect anything yet, though they would soon enough. Too bad for them: he thought the words and smiled inwardly.


    Gabby returned from the lower deck and traded glances with her adopted father. She nodded from the bow and said in a high voice befitting a twelve-year-old girl, ¡°I¡¯ll give her a closer look tomorrow, but she seems healthy.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky it¡¯s just the hull that took damage.¡± Jasper turned toward them. ¡°She¡¯s an impressive lady. Expensive.¡± He looked them up and down, each teenager like a different cut of meat, no doubt questioning their age as they had questioned Gabby¡¯s. But Jasper wasn¡¯t in the business of evaluating his clientele¡ªonly their ships, and this was a fine one indeed.


    ¡°The hydrogen balloon is made of spider¡¯s silk,¡± he said as Gabby climbed her way back down. Elias had heard of spider¡¯s silk, its colloquial name a reference to the manufactured material¡¯s strength rather than its relationship to actual spiders. ¡°The material in that balloon alone is worth more than entire airships. Impenetrable to bullets. Can even survive cannon fire. But I¡¯m sure you already know that.¡± Jasper didn¡¯t sound sure.


    Elias reexamined the balloon, acting unsurprised. It was the color of chestnuts, a tough-looking glossy brown, and much sleeker than The Sleeping Sparrow¡¯s.


    ¡°Gabby and I will need a full week with her,¡± Jasper explained. ¡°I know that¡¯s a few days longer than we discussed, Bertrand, but¡±¡ªhe looked at his fence¡ª¡°circumstances have changed. As has the cost. I wager we can finish our inspection and fix everything for¡±¡ªhe chewed on the price¡ª¡°three hundred relics, considering the materials I need.¡±


    ¡°Three hundred?¡± The weight of that princely sum dangled from Bertrand¡¯s open jaw, while Elias and Briley appeared stricken by it.


    ¡°As I said, circumstances have changed,¡± Jasper said. ¡°Blame that on your parking job.¡±


    Briley beckoned them into a huddle beside the ship, out of the old man¡¯s earshot, though Elias imagined the girl had sharper senses.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± a crestfallen Bertrand asked them.


    ¡°There¡¯s no backup plan,¡± Elias said. ¡°We need to pay him. I can contribute eighty relics.¡±


    ¡°Seventy,¡± Briley added. ¡°It¡¯s everything I have.¡±


    ¡°I could throw in a hundred,¡± Bertrand said before thinking about it, counting in his head, and then confirming the number again with a sharp nod.


    ¡°Generous of you, but that¡¯s only two hundred and fifty,¡± said Briley, who was better at math than Bertrand. ¡°We¡¯re still fifty shy.¡±


    ¡°We can negotiate,¡± Elias insisted. ¡°You can always haggle with these folks. They need our business as much as we need their services.¡±


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re right,¡± Bertrand said as they set out to prove Elias¡¯s theory.


    ¡°Well?¡± Jasper was still waiting, though Gabby seemed more interested in the features of their ¡°impressive lady¡± than in the minutiae of business.


    ¡°We can do two-fifty,¡± Bertrand told him.


    ¡°Two-fifty barely covers my costs,¡± Jasper countered. ¡°Three hundred is a fair price. Two-eighty is a bloody fire sale. I can¡¯t do anything less.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll pay you two-fifty when you fix the ship,¡± Elias inserted, ¡°and we¡¯ll get you the remaining thirty within three months.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t no loan shark,¡± Jasper said.


    ¡°I never said we¡¯d pay interest.¡± Elias flashed a grin. ¡°Consider it an investment in future business.¡± He watched the mechanic consider their offer carefully: the way he rolled his remaining eye, hemming and hawing, though Elias knew it was all for show.


    ¡°We¡¯ll move her into the hangar,¡± the old man finally said, ¡°but you¡¯re going to get us the first half of that two-fifty today¡ªand you better not cheat me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a deal,¡± Bertrand said for them, and so it was.


    Elias exhaled his relief. They still needed to register the ship, but this time he couldn¡¯t help but celebrate their victory, the excitement of it rising in his chest, overwhelming his caution. ¡°We did it,¡± he said as they turned back toward their prize: not just any vessel but an expensive, well-equipped one at that.


    ¡°I can hardly believe your plan worked,¡± Bertrand replied, sounding as if he hadn¡¯t been convinced until this very moment. Suddenly distracted, he narrowed his gaze and trudged through the yard to the back of the ship, nearly tripping over a splintery piece of broken fence. He stopped and stared, facing the stern. ¡°The Lucky Ducky,¡± he read the ship¡¯s name aloud. ¡°Did a fucking five-year-old name this thing? That won¡¯t do. That won¡¯t do at all.¡±


    The Graystones would eventually figure out who had taken their ship, Elias figured, but they didn¡¯t need to make it easier for them, and Bertrand was right¡ªit was a terrible name.


    ¡°Jasper.¡± Bertrand waved the old man over. ¡°Do you paint? Just the back here. We¡¯re renaming the vessel.¡±


    Jasper limped his way toward the stern, then grunted the name in question. ¡°The Lucky Ducky.¡± He twitched an uncharacteristic smile. ¡°You folks really are young, ain¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t take credit for this one,¡± Bertrand clarified.


    ¡°I have some skill with a brush,¡± Jasper said. ¡°Fine,¡± he sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll throw that one in for free, but no more special deals. I mean it. You kids are robbing an old man blind.¡±


    Elias and Briley joined them, snickering. ¡°What shall we call her, then?¡± Briley asked.


    ¡°I believe Bertrand is in charge of marketing,¡± Elias said.


    With both hands on his hips, Bertrand licked his lips, cleared his throat, and then unflinchingly christened her ¡°The Galloping Grasshopper.¡±


    There was a moment of silence, the low hum of Lowtown filling the void of an imagined applause. ¡°Do grasshoppers gallop?¡± Elias eventually asked. ¡°Horses gallop.¡±


    ¡°Grasshoppers also don¡¯t stay airborne,¡± Briley pointed out.


    Bertrand shook his head, looking flustered. ¡°Give me a second, will you? I think in alliterations.¡± He paced past them, several times, until another spark had been lit, and now Bertrand was beaming with confidence.


    He spoke the name as if it had been carried here on the wind. ¡°The Sapphire Spirit.¡±


    Briley didn¡¯t say anything, which in Briley¡¯s parlance probably meant she liked it.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d left my past behind,¡± Elias remarked.


    ¡°No one leaves their past behind,¡± Bertrand said knowingly.


    ¡°So I¡¯m told. The Sapphire Spirit.¡± Elias could almost see the unpainted words shining freshly where they were soon destined to be. ¡°It works.¡±


    Bertrand appeared pleased with himself. Briley, crossing her arms, seemed content.


    It was a symbolic start for all of them. The Sapphire Spirit would be the foundation upon which their future business would be built. To what heights, Elias could only imagine.


    And yet, it was more than that for a certain young import from Acreton. This ship meant relics, and relics meant power in a way Elias had never previously imagined possible. He had inherited his drive from his mother¡ªthat was still true. But the emptiness that needed filling: he now knew that emptiness had been passed down from his father. And he finally knew how to fill it.

 Chapter 20: Broken Worlds

    Chapter Twenty


    Broken Worlds


    Elias was standing in the middle of a sky rift, assuming sky rifts had middles. He suspected they did not, that the blackness simply stretched as far as one could wander. He looked for answers to his left, for anyone else to his right, but there was nothing and no one but blinding blackness as he spun in circles. Or almost blinding. He could see himself. He stared down at his hands, mapping the topography of his palms, attempting to unearth the larger truth of his present situation in its smallest details.


    In the sky rift he¡¯d flown into with the crew of The Sleeping Sparrow, Elias hadn¡¯t been able to see anything¡ªhimself included¡ªuntil the first oil lamp had been lit. Of course, this was no sky rift.


    Elias was vaguely aware that he was dreaming, and yet that fact seemed secondary, for he simultaneously felt that he truly was somewhere. Somewhere outside of him, or perhaps somewhere deeper inside than he had been before. The other thing about sky rifts: there was no ground on which to walk, but walk he did, on a surface he couldn¡¯t see, aimlessly in a direction that scarcely mattered.


    Until Elias saw another golden star, shining faintly in the distance. Were the Valshynar coming to rescue him once more? Did he even need rescuing? He traveled toward it, beckoned by the mystery of a strange beacon. Maybe it was a lighthouse for wanderers, he mused, meant to guide him through this ocean of black.


    Elias walked and walked and then he walked some more, but the golden star retained its elusive form: the distant promise of daylight through a pinprick. Increasingly, he felt a rising certainty that he did indeed need to reach it, but while that feeling grew, the star did not. Perhaps there was another route, he wondered¡ªsomething less direct.


    Elias heard a woman¡¯s whisper, interrupting the sky rift¡¯s perfect silence, and whirled around.


    No one stood behind him, and yet the voice spoke again. ¡°To understand your power, you must start at the beginning,¡± it said.


    There was something familiar about the voice that he couldn¡¯t at first put his finger on, like a childhood flavor only his palate seemed to recall. When he turned back around, however, Elias saw something he recognized vividly. It was a small house.


    Specifically, it was the house he and his mother had lived in together over the years before she died. The clay home looked like many other clay homes around Acreton, but this one had been theirs. His mother had painted dozens of landscapes from its simple, square garden, ones she could see and others she could not. And would not. Elias recognized the back of her easel splayed upright on a patch of yellow grass alongside the bright red tomatoes they had grown each summer.


    Well, for three summers. They had gotten three summers in that house of theirs, a house she had spent so long saving for, a house that had promised them stability at last. Elias sold it six months after her death. He hadn¡¯t wanted to sell the place, but he could not make the payments on his own, and he had needed the relics. One always needed relics.


    The house stood solitarily amid the endless darkness of the sky rift, an inviting orange flickering from its cloudy windowpanes. Elias approached the familiar yet foreign scene. And as he neared his childhood home, he thought he could hear a woman singing inside, the laughter of a boy¡ªwords and sounds he couldn¡¯t quite decipher. He opened the driftwood door and stepped through.


    ¡°Do you remember the promise you made?¡± That voice again. He recognized it now: his mother¡¯s, and yet it wasn¡¯t quite right. It wasn¡¯t quite her.


    Inside, the house was dim and candlelit. Unframed paintings hung from every wall, including one of him as a boy. She would have wanted him to keep that painting, if not the others. Alas, he had sold them all. So many rash decisions he¡¯d made, but he had been a teenage boy treading water. He still dripped with the guilt of it.


    Elias made his way toward her bedroom, past an unfinished puzzle on their kitchen table, old floorboards creaking under each slow step forward. The bedroom door groaned too, as he gently pushed it open, revealing a ghost.


    She was lying in her bed, turned away from him, covered in a white sheet. Even still, Elias recognized the shape of her. His approach now was a cautious one. Her shoulder shifted slightly, confirming she was alive¡ªor rather, alive in this dream. And then she asked, ¡°Is that you, Elias?¡±


    He stopped. ¡°Yes, mom.¡±


    She twisted herself to face him. ¡°You woke me,¡± she said, smiling. ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡± She looked pale and sickly, sweat beading her face and chest as if she had recently stepped out from the rain, and yet she was beautiful in spite of her condition. ¡°Always beautiful,¡± as Mr. Humbledon once said in the wake of her passing. Dressed in her nightgown, she seemed younger than Elias remembered her. Only three years had gone by since he¡¯d last seen her alive, but he had aged along with his perspective, and his elders had gradually grown more youthful.


    ¡°Would you fetch me some tea?¡± she asked him.


    Elias wandered back into the kitchen and found a black kettle already blowing steam atop their wood-fire stove. He prepared her tea in a porcelain mug and returned a moment later with a whispered ¡°here you go.¡±


    She was sitting up now, her back propped against the wall, accepting the tea with both hands, with another smile that was all the thanks her son needed. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about something,¡± she said contemplatively.


    He nodded for her to continue as he seated himself on a wooden stool.


    ¡°My parents had dreamed of a better life for their daughter, of something more than they had, though they didn¡¯t have very much. Less than we do, even.¡± She sipped her tea, savored it, then sipped some more before adding, ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering whether I lived the life they once wanted for me. Or am I simply now passing on the curse of expectation to my own child? That is the nature of life, isn¡¯t it? Skating upon a thin sheet of hope, even when faced with death. I still have hope, not for myself but for my child. For you, Elias.¡±


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    Elias choked on his initial response. He slowly dug out another. ¡°You were a great artist¡ªare a great artist.¡±


    ¡°I am too tired to paint,¡± she replied, then reached for his hand, clasping it between both of hers. He could feel the gray fever in her spectral fingers. ¡°I want you to make me a promise,¡± she said. ¡°Live for me. Live better than me. Live for your parents and our parents and a thousand dreams unrealized. You are so good at dreaming, my sweet boy.¡±


    With his hand still entwined in hers, Elias descended to his knees and dropped his head as if praying. ¡°I would rather you live for yourself,¡± he said, and that too was a futile prayer.


    ¡°I love everything about you, for you are my son, but most of all I love your wild thoughts,¡± she said. ¡°The wildest ones are my favorite, each one bounding ahead of you like a deer in a forest, hiding and revealing itself in flashes, always drawing you forward.¡± What she could no longer create with a brush, his mother crafted with her words. ¡°It is why I have hope. Some who are marooned sink. You will skim the water like a dragonfly.¡±


    She leaned closer to him, wincing, and whispered once more into his ear, ¡°Make me the promise.¡±


    Droplets dangled from his eyelids. They broke into racing tears he wiped quickly with the back of his free hand. ¡°I promise,¡± Elias said, matching her gaze, her unforgettable smile, though his was forced and fragile. ¡°I promise.¡±


    Elias heard a crack, like a tree after a storm, and then another. He felt his body drop a few inches. The floorboards beneath him were splitting, splinters popping up like spikes. He looked to his mother for answers, but instead he fell farther. He fell, entirely, through the floor.


    Remnants of the room fell with him: broken floorboards, gliding canvases, twirling candles. Elias was spinning himself, flailing as if one might swim through the night sky, for that was where he now found himself¡ªfalling from the heavens. Luminous stars speckled the black expanse above him, fading into the navy horizon that circled everything. He thought he saw something far below his plummeting body, but he could not quite make it out, shrouded in clouds or mist or the mere mystery veil of a dream.


    ¡°To understand your power, you must start at the beginning,¡± the voice from nowhere said again. It was his mother¡¯s, yes, but the inflections were off, as if her vocal cords had been borrowed by someone else. This was not the woman Elias had left lying in that bedroom, if she was a woman at all.


    ¡°Gaze down,¡± the voice said. ¡°See the world as it once was.¡±


    The clouds below began to part as Elias steadied himself. He could now see the faint outlines of a landmass, the orange dots of a civilization. He had always love staring up at the stars, and now he stared down from them. The view was not so different from the top of the world, for the flames of man formed an earthly starlight beneath the celestial one.


    He was falling toward them, toward the ground mortals were meant to occupy, but it was still a long way down, and the voice still had lessons to impart. ¡°You know it as the Great Continent, but millennia ago, we knew this world as the Great Mountain.¡±


    Elias could map the shape of it now: a mountain as colossal as a continent, its singular summit rising from the ocean like an unimaginable ziggurat.


    ¡°In the old world¡ªthe world once unshattered¡ªeveryone had the power within them to become divine,¡± the voice said. ¡°The Great Mountain was a land of gods. Godhood was not merely imagined in the unshattered world. It was cultivated.¡±


    From his ever-shifting vantage point, Elias could see their winding roads weaving like rivers down the mountainside, weaving through sprawling cities and towering temples.


    ¡°But Godhood came with too high a price,¡± the voice went on. ¡°Even the most altruistic divines could not do enough good to counteract the evils of their selfish peers, for it is far more difficult to grow a garden than to destroy one. Evil always had this advantage, and thus evil needed to be severed from its power source.¡±


    Elias braced against the wind blasting his face and body as the air grew warmer, as the scene below him slowly stretched across his vision.


    ¡°In the end, there was only one way to ensure such an outcome,¡± the voice explained. ¡°The power once possessed by all earthly beings was shattered. The event was cataclysmic. The Great Mountain cracked to its volcanic core.¡±


    The boom sounded to Elias like distant thunder. A plume of charcoal smoke grew into a dark cloud as the expanding landscape started bleeding, as the winding roads that weaved liked rivers transformed into actual rivers of lava.


    ¡°Cities crumbled,¡± the voice said.


    Elias was close enough now that he could see the fires that engulfed them.


    ¡°Temples collapsed.¡±


    Pillars and boulders rolled down the mountainside.


    ¡°Countless died as the mountain fell under its own weight.¡±


    And as she foretold, the world began to flatten, avalanches of rolling stone and molten rock splashing and sizzling into the ocean as the Great Mountain collapsed into the rough-hewn foundation of a future Great Continent.


    ¡°And yet many also survived, even without their power.¡± The voice struck a more hopeful tone. ¡°New trees took root. Old cracks filled with water, forming rivers and lakes.¡±


    Once again, Elias saw it unfold beneath him, wondering if he would ever hit ground.


    ¡°But power is never truly destroyed,¡± the voice added. ¡°A broken window leaves a trail of shards, and a shattered world would be rediscovered through the countless relics it left behind. Few inherited the skill, and fewer still learned to harness it. Those who did called themselves collectors. They were not so unlike their ancestors, and yet their power could no longer be sourced solely from within. Power, after all, had been broken and scattered. It needed to be found, collected, consumed.¡±


    Far below¡ªand yet ever closer¡ªthe Great Continent had fully taken form, its lush forests and verdant valleys, its winding rivers and presently puddle-sized lakes. Towns grew into cities, connected by sprouting roads that traced the changed contours of a remodeled world, drawing the constellations of a new civilization.


    ¡°Ascension, as it became known, required a great many of these relics,¡± the voice said. ¡°But while the shards of a bygone age became a global currency, collectors remained in the shadows.¡±


    Now Elias was falling amid a hail of shimmering relics. As the pale moon slipped away and the beating sun took its place, he caught flashes of jade and amber all around him, the hail getting heavier, the ground flying closer. He could no longer see the edges of it. The Great Continent¡¯s rolling hills had reached and reshaped every horizon.


    ¡°It is said that the unshattered world had but one destiny, and that too had been fragmented. Alas, the past is but a dream. And the future¡­ only those with the most unique gift of all might glimpse the future¡ªor futures¡ªthat await.¡±


    On this uncertain note, the voice trailed off. It was as if Elias¡¯s disembodied teacher had stopped falling with him. He supposed he would just have to face gravity¡¯s wrath on his own.


    It was coming for him quickly. He heard the voice one final time, a few seconds before the forest below would have swallowed him whole and cracked every bone in his body. The shadow of his dead mother whispered, ¡°Now awaken.¡±


    Elias rolled off his bed with a loud thud, landing on the floorboards in a tangle of blankets, sweating despite the cold hour.


    He was, he knew, no longer dreaming. Elias cradled what would be a bruised elbow tomorrow and hoped that the drumbeat of his dramatic fall hadn¡¯t woken the entire estate.


    Parched, he saw his glass of water sitting half-empty on the nightstand. The water was out of reach, but where his outstretched fingers ended, faint green lines continued, forming a wavering path between Elias and his heart¡¯s desire.


    The young collector grinned a beatific grin, his hand hovering in the air.


    Yes, he truly had awakened.

 Chapter 21: Melted Expectation

    Chapter Twenty-one


    Melted Expectation


    The naming of The Two Worlds Trading Company had unfolded with little pageantry and somewhat by accident. Certainly, it had not been the poetic crescendo of another near-calamitous airship heist, though time was of the essence. They needed to register their new vessel while it was still safely stowed within the wooden confines of Mr. Mason¡¯s Ship Repair and Other Services, and for that they needed a company.


    The discussion had gone something like this: ¡°How about The Crunchy Cricket Company,¡± Bertrand offered after four beers at The Thirsty Eagle. ¡°That was a joke.¡±


    ¡°Crickets are crunchy, so at least you get points for accuracy this time,¡± a bag-eyed Briley replied.


    Elias stared into his ale and shook his head. ¡°This really should be the easy part,¡± he said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t need to be an alliteration, Bertrand. Not everything needs to be an alliteration. It just needs to¡­ work.¡±


    ¡°Inspiring.¡± Bertrand cocked an eyebrow, then sighed and said, ¡°Look, names matter. What we call this company will stand the test of time, for better or worse. It needs to be clever yet obvious, precise yet flexible, small yet big. It needs¡­¡±


    ¡°To work,¡± Elias inserted.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Bertrand said. ¡°It needs to work.¡±


    Briley rolled her eyes. ¡°Small yet big,¡± she repeated. ¡°What world does this company exist in?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure Elias and I slipped into another world this past summer.¡± Bertrand did not need to mention the sky rift. Briley had already heard their tall tale a dozen times too many.


    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± Elias shot up from his seat, the backs of his knees knocking over his bench with a screech and a bang¡ªand the attention of the Eagle¡¯s rowdy patrons. He stretched his fingers and played the name like a piano song: ¡°The Two Worlds Trading Company.¡±


    ¡°The Two Worlds Trading Company.¡± Bertrand said it once to ensure he¡¯d heard it right, then again with a rising enthusiasm. ¡°The Two Worlds Trading Company. It¡¯s perfect.¡±


    And so it was. The perfect name for their company. Or rather, Bertrand liked it and Briley¡ªBriley didn¡¯t say otherwise.


    The Two Worlds Trading Company was registered the next morning and, after a few hours of paperwork that Briley insisted she handle, so was their conveniently discovered airship. Bertrand gave Elias credit for the company name, but he was still proud of The Sapphire Spirit.


    Elias was simply proud. The promise of greatness dangled in front of them, so close that he could almost touch it.


    It took them a month to acquire their first official contract, delivering lumber from a mill in the mountains about a day¡¯s ride from Sailor¡¯s Rise. The cargo was heavy, and delivering planks of cedar wasn¡¯t the most efficient use of The Sapphire Spirit¡¯s particular strengths, but they had bid low and won the contract on cost alone. They had to start somewhere, and evidently being cheap was the only competitive advantage an unknown venture had.


    Winter melted into spring, the season of promise, and yet they felt more like the snow. Once piled high, their hopes gradually grew smaller and crustier by the day. Few would even consider the young company and its young entrepreneurs, and those who did were inevitably tight on relics.


    Yes, the promise of greatness dangled in front of them¡ªif only they had realized sooner that they were the horse chasing a carrot on a stick.


    Revenue was inevitably undermined by expenses. Briley had found them an economical berth in Lowtown¡ªin the shadow of the sunnier, sturdier docks of Hightown¡ªthough the pier was barely large enough for The Sapphire Spirit. Theirs was undoubtedly the nicest ship in the neighborhood, a fact Bertrand bemoaned before accepting that this, alas, was their lot.


    Indeed, their worth was no longer an idea, no longer a dream. It was a numerical reality. One that Briley tracked precisely with quill and paper. To help them stay afloat, she and Elias still worked occasional shifts at Fairweather Provisions, while Bertrand had a foot firmly planted in both companies. Certainly, Elias was not consuming relics for anything beyond necessary expenditures. Ascension, he grudgingly accepted, would have to wait. And here he¡¯d thought the waiting part was finally over.


    On a more positive note, he had a new way to kill time. Alone in his bedroom and whenever he could steal a moment of privacy, Elias experimented with his permanent abilities as an awoken collector, no longer needing relics to glimpse fleeting pathways to the future. As promised, Jalander had also lent his impatient apprentice months of reading material. Words, at least, he could afford to consume.


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    Elias learned more about the Five Great Schools, their perennial squabbles, and the eventual rise of the Valshynar. In one text, the event sounded like an allegiance¡ªin another, an annexing. In the time it took him to power through every one of Jalander¡¯s dust-covered books, flowers bloomed, trees added leaves, and Elias found a cramped apartment in Lowtown to be ¡°nearer to the business.¡±


    Times were tough, tougher than they had anticipated. But the thing that soured him most was a thought that snaked into his tired mind during that first day of summer: that in many respects, his new life wasn¡¯t so unlike his old life back in Acreton.


    * * *


    Elias heard a sudden clamor and jolted upright, his chestnut hair disheveled, his lean body sticky with sweat as his bed sheet slid to the floor.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± the culprit said. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to wake you. I also didn¡¯t mean to knock over your jar of pencils. You have a lot of pencils. And drawings. You¡¯re quite good.¡±


    Elias shook his head to recalibrate and thanked her. He reached for the half-empty water glass on his nightstand, then chugged it in one gulp. ¡°Did I sleep in?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s stupidly early. I¡¯m just¡­ a morning bird,¡± said the young woman who, unlike Elias, was fully clothed. She flapped her hands like wings.


    What was her name again? He had it on the tip of his tongue. She had honey blonde hair¡ªwhich had probably been done up neatly the night before¡ªand a pretty face that reminded him of someone, though he couldn¡¯t say whom. He was trying to piece together the previous evening before she flew away.


    They had met each other at The Thirsty Eagle after Elias had wandered to the Hightown pub alone, not bothering to invite Bertrand or Briley (a habit he¡¯d formed since moving to Lowtown). Had he said something funny? Maybe. Or maybe he had just looked like a man who could use some company.


    He remembered now. The Eagle had a horseshoe-shaped bar surrounded by stools for lonesome and affable patrons alike. Elias¡ªwho was most certainly the former¡ªhad been sitting across from her, forming eye contact by accident whenever he looked up from his book and she from hers. The accidents increased as the night went on.


    At some point, he got cocky and ordered her a beer, then promptly lost his nerve the second the beer arrived. Elias recalled how he glued his gaze to the same page he¡¯d been staring at for ten minutes, flopped between his palms like a bad prop. Maybe the bartender wouldn¡¯t say anything, he told himself as the minutes passed ever so slowly, or maybe she wouldn¡¯t read into it.


    When he figured he must finally be in the clear, Elias looked up and immediately made eye contact with the young woman with honey blonde hair¡ªand this time, not by accident. She smiled, and he couldn¡¯t help himself.


    Nor could he help himself the next morning as he struggled to recall her name. ¡°Lela.¡± He snapped his fingers as he searched for approval on her grinning face.


    ¡°Sure,¡± she said. ¡°Call me Lela.¡±


    ¡°Can I get you something?¡± he asked before realizing he had nothing to offer.


    She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, looking either flattered or humored or some other emotion Elias wasn¡¯t yet familiar with. ¡°You¡¯re a sweet boy,¡± she said, ¡°and a fine young artist, but I¡ªI have to go.¡±


    ¡°I could¡­ sketch you before you leave.¡± Elias was reaching desperately, wishing he had anything else to offer, something besides his services.


    She seemed almost tempted before sharply shaking her head. ¡°Let¡¯s not leave evidence behind. This was fun. I take it you don¡¯t invite many ladies to your humble abode¡ªdown here in Lowtown.¡±


    She had been the first, though not his first. There had been another in Acreton a year back, though that relationship had been, as Bertrand would say, much like the fruit fly. ¡°Not many,¡± Elias said. ¡°I thought you and I¡­ connected.¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± she confirmed, ¡°literally and metaphorically. But still, I must go.¡±


    ¡°Will I see you again?¡±


    She flapped her wings once more before seeing herself out, blowing him a kiss as she shut the door to his tiny apartment behind her.


    Elias couldn¡¯t decide if he ought to feel pride or rejection. He was often a mix of competing emotions these days. Instead of sorting it out, he attended to his more basic needs, standing up from his disheveled bed, stretching his stiff limbs, and finally peeing with great relief into his chamber pot.


    His new apartment wasn¡¯t much to look at¡ªor much to exist in. The square space was barely larger than the room he had occupied for half a year with the Fairweathers, and not nearly as nice, or as quiet, or a lot of things. But Elias had needed his independence, or so he¡¯d claimed. Every young hawk must leap from its nest in order to fly.


    Admittedly, he wasn¡¯t exactly soaring. His yellow (or yellowing) plaster walls had peeled to the point that they reminded him of the clay-laden soil around Acreton, of those imaginary islands he used to hop between. Sometimes, he leapt between the cracked islands that covered his peeling walls with two very acrobatic fingers. It was stupid, and it made him feel more like Elias Fisher.


    But Elias Vice was drawn to his writing desk. Not only to the dreams he sketched upon it, but to the few relics stowed in its single drawer, rattling like dice as he yanked the compartment open.


    He didn¡¯t need to count them, but he did anyway. Twelve relics. He hadn¡¯t been that poor since the summer he first arrived here. And yet it wasn¡¯t his meager balance that bothered him so much¡ªthey had bought themselves an airship, after all¡ªbut rather it was the lack of growth. His balance a month ago had been fifteen.


    Elias needed to grow, and yet he was shrinking¡ªshrinking in the unforgiving shadow of Lowtown. Whenever he spoke like this, Briley told him he was being melodramatic, though it bothered her too, especially as the company¡¯s self-appointed bookkeeper: their razor-thin margins, their lack of any kind of contingency fund. They were always one bad month away from losing what little they had. How could they run a trading business without a berth?


    One bad month. That¡¯s all it would take. One bad month and The Two Worlds Trading Company would become The No Worlds Trading Company. Maybe he was being a little melodramatic, Elias conceded with a sad smile.


    He picked up a single relic from his drawer and held it to the window so that he might catch a few glimpses of color¡ªits jade mysteries, its amber promises. Elias squeezed the relic in a tight fist before slowly releasing his fingers. He placed the relic back inside the drawer.

 Chapter 22: Adventurous Comforts

    Chapter Twenty-two


    Adventurous Comforts


    Elias felt like the biggest fool in the world.


    For months he had stared at that painting sitting atop her old dresser. For months. And while paintings seldom captured the true nature of a person, hers had been accurate enough. He could now see that with his own two eyes.


    He could also see the clear resemblances between Mable and her daughter, Sorea, who had finally returned home for a month while her husband had business in the United North. And if he was being honest, really honest¡ªand he hated to admit this, if only to himself¡ªElias could even see the characteristics Sorea shared with her brother. She was built nothing like Bertrand, but they had the same inviting eyes, blue as a summer lake.


    Those eyes that he had found so hypnotizing as his met them across the bar, the pages of his book resting unturned. Eyes he had wanted to sketch as she flew away too early the next morning. Eyes he had not expected to see twelve hours later, as they reunited for dinner at the Fairweathers, where Elias still had an open invitation to join the family whenever he desired the comfort of real food.


    ¡°Elias was staying in your bedroom, Sorea,¡± Mable mentioned for the second time.


    ¡°What,¡± Sorea said distractedly. ¡°Oh, you mean while I was away. Of course.¡±


    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t sleep there anymore,¡± her mother said, probably not intending for it to sound like an accusation, though it had the hint of one. ¡°It¡¯s such a lovely room, and Elias had nowhere to stay when he first arrived here. Now look at him, off running his own company with Bertrand and Briley. Have you met Briley? She¡¯s a sassy young woman, that one, but very capable. You two will hit it off. She¡¯ll be joining us momentarily.¡±


    Sorea appeared to be absorbing nothing her mother said. ¡°Right.¡±


    Elias, meanwhile, had his head bowed in devotion to the devouring of food. Eating was as good a hiding place as any, though the portions were finite and his stomach likewise. Mable had prepared dinner tonight: a squash soup served with fresh bread and creamy butter bought from the market that afternoon. It was, like everything Mable produced, perfect.


    There came a knock on the front door.


    Bertrand stood up first and offered to get it. ¡°That must be Briley.¡±


    In Bertrand¡¯s absence, Mable turned to Elias. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell Sorea about your new business venture.¡± She searched for the name. ¡°The Worldly Trading Company?¡±


    ¡°The Two Worlds Trading Company,¡± Elias corrected her.


    ¡°Creative name.¡± Sorea smirked uncomfortably. ¡°What is it you and my brother trade?¡±


    Now it was Elias looking uncomfortable. ¡°We trade¡­ a range of things,¡± he explained. ¡°Honestly, we¡¯ll take whatever business we can get at the moment. We have a fast ship, though. We¡¯re hopeful things will pick up soon, and then we¡¯ll figure out our niche.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better to be open than narrowly focused on a business model that may never come to fruition,¡± Irvin said, as he had said to them before. ¡°The Fairweather Company specializes in high-quality crafting materials and precious stones, but it wasn¡¯t always so. When you and your brother were no taller than this chair, Sorea, our clients were mostly nearby farmers. But one unexpected opportunity turned into two, and so it goes. Let opportunity meet you halfway¡ªthat¡¯s the best business model.¡±


    Sorea seemed less impressed by her father¡¯s sage advice, squinting instead at an appreciative Elias. ¡°I had heard about your new airship. You must tell me later how you acquired such a vessel.¡±


    It was not a topic Elias enjoyed bringing up. Irvin had warned them about the Graystones and the true price they¡¯d yet to pay, though he also had no sympathy for tax dodgers. Mercifully, Elias spotted Bertrand returning with Briley and said to Sorea, ¡°We met opportunity halfway.¡±


    Briley plopped herself onto the free seat opposite Elias, next to Sorea, placing a bottle of red wine down next to the candelabra¡ªand the other bottle they had already polished off. Sorea was a quick drinker, and tonight in particular, so was Elias.


    ¡°Apologies for my tardiness.¡± Briley had closed up Fairweather Provisions before heading over. ¡°I was, well, verbally chained to a rather chatty customer.¡± She reached across the table and grabbed the silver ladle, wasting no time serving herself soup. She was a few slurps deep before remembering to introduce herself to the woman sitting beside her.


    ¡°Pleasure to meet you too, Briley,¡± Sorea said, her eyes flicking back to Elias as they had been all evening.


    ¡°While you¡¯re all here, and on the subject of opportunities, I wanted to mention one out east.¡± Irvin often steered conversations like a ship¡¯s wheel, forcing them in a particular direction, a quality that seemed only natural for a captain and somewhat abrasive at social affairs. But there was no rule banning business talk over dinner at the Fairweathers, or else the quiet captain would have been about as vocal as a closed book. ¡°Have either of you ever been to Azir? I know Bertrand went with me two years back.¡±


    Elias and Briley shook their heads in unison.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think so,¡± Irvin continued. ¡°You may have a reason to change that. The sultan of Azir is a shrewd businessman. He never signs a contract, whether it¡¯s with a supplier or a trader, for more than a year. I recently received a letter informing me that The Fairweather Company is safe for this round. I¡¯ve been doing business with Sultan Atakan for almost a decade now, and the man is¡­ demanding but fair, and he pays on time. Once a year, he invites companies to bid on any contracts he¡¯s not completely content with, or if he simply thinks there might be a better offer out there. There are dozens of opportunities, and interested parties are invited to make their pitches in person. Azir is a major exporter and importer. There are always openings for traders.¡±


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    Elias, Bertrand, and Briley exchanged glances, trying to read one another and whether they were all on the same page.


    Briley must have thought so. ¡°Azir is far,¡± she said. ¡°How long is the voyage?¡±


    ¡°It takes The Sleeping Sparrow five days,¡± Irvin replied. ¡°Your ship might be able to do it in four, though I wouldn¡¯t leave anything to chance. The sultan will be receiving offers two weeks from today. You should make your decision hastily.¡±


    ¡°Will he take us seriously?¡± Elias asked. It was a good question, considering the length of the journey and their experience acquiring new business thus far.


    Irvin considered it carefully. ¡°He will take you as seriously as you take yourselves,¡± he said. ¡°Sultan Atakan cares about the fundamentals: whether you can do the job, do it well and reliably, and for a competitive price. Come prepared. He doesn¡¯t like presumptuous people. That is your advantage.¡±


    ¡°So, go low on price again,¡± Bertrand added. ¡°Same old tactic.¡±


    ¡°Not too low,¡± his father retorted. ¡°He¡¯ll want the job done well. His master of coin will be there. She knows the price of things. You should speak to her first. In any event, even the sultan¡¯s smallest contract would be bigger than anything you three have landed to date.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a low bar, father,¡± his son said.


    ¡°It is a lucrative opportunity,¡± Irvin insisted. ¡°Don¡¯t get complacent, son.¡±


    Bertrand turtled into himself. ¡°I wasn¡¯t getting complacent.¡±


    Elias needed no more convincing, but he stopped short of agreeing on behalf of his business partners. ¡°We¡¯ll¡­ very seriously consider it.¡± He shot them looks, though no one appeared to be resisting the idea.


    Returning from his shell, Bertrand offered to prepare dessert as Mable helped clear the table. Irvin attended to the fireplace, fetching a bundle of split logs from the backyard, leaving only Elias, Briley, and Sorea sitting with the wine.


    No words were exchanged between the three of them¡ªnot vocally, at least¡ªthough the same could not be said about glances. Sorea¡¯s stare was a magnifying glass with the full force of the sun. Elias could almost feel his skin sizzling as she silently mouthed, ¡°Don¡¯t. Say. Anything.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he mouthed back.


    As for Briley, her eyebrows mouthed something of their own.


    Bertrand returned a few minutes later with a tray of yellow custards, looking proud of his creations and then a little confused by the awkward tension that had settled upon the room¡ªthicker than his custard.


    The return of everyone to their respective seats seemed to cut through it. Elias stared longingly into his well-plated dessert, poking at the fresh berries with his spoon.


    ¡°How¡¯s life in New Garden, Sorea?¡± Bertrand broke the silence as silverware clinked bowls. New Garden was a neighboring state, known for its verdant hardwood forests, quaint countryside hamlets, and charmingly uncontroversial politics. Elias had never been before, though they had flown over it on their way to Sailor¡¯s Rise.


    ¡°Same as ever,¡± Sorea said. ¡°Pretty and¡­ pretty boring.¡±


    Sorea¡¯s husband was heir to a successful lumber company, and the two had made¡ªon paper anyway¡ªa respectable pairing. The Fairweathers missed her presence in Sailor¡¯s Rise, as she appeared to miss it herself, but at least New Garden was only a day trip on The Sleeping Sparrow. They visited when they could.


    ¡°It¡¯s so beautiful there,¡± Mable said. ¡°Peaceful. I think you¡¯ll appreciate the peace when you¡¯re older, perhaps after you¡¯ve pushed out a few children.¡±


    Sorea leered at her mother, ironically wide-eyed. She was only twenty, two years older than her brother (and an unspeaking guest she may have slept with), though Elias suspected that the real reason for Sorea¡¯s apparent discontent was something else¡ªand not merely the expectations of youth. ¡°Sure¡± was all she said.


    * * *


    The co-owners of The Two Worlds Trading Company gathered in Captain Fairweather¡¯s wood-paneled office an hour after dinner to discuss business. As the captain had explained to them, their decision would need to be made hastily, and until then¡ªand despite Bertrand insisting they enjoy the evening and leave such matters for the morning¡ªElias couldn¡¯t focus on anything else.


    Briley was leaning against Irvin¡¯s oak desk as Elias paced and eyed artifacts. He stopped and stared at an old tea-colored map of the Great Continent, his finger hovering near Sailor¡¯s Rise before inching leftward and eventually overtop Azir¡ªfar to the west, farther than Elias had ever been from the small pond that spawned him eighteen years earlier.


    Bertrand closed the door behind them and said, ¡°We¡¯ve never flown that far, just the three of us.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be a problem,¡± Briley replied, ¡°so long as we pack enough food and go prepared.¡±


    ¡°If something goes awry¡­¡± Bertrand trailed off. ¡°We¡¯re a small crew. We could be a target for pirates. It needs to be said. We have to think about these things.¡±


    ¡°The ship has cannons, Bertrand.¡± Elias equally felt the need to mention that. ¡°Do you really think we¡¯re going to get attacked by pirates? Has that ever happened to The Sleeping Sparrow?¡±


    ¡°Only once,¡± Bertrand said, ¡°but you¡¯ve seen my father and his crew. They¡¯re not an easy target. We will be, and you heard what Jasper said. The material in The Sapphire Spirit¡¯s balloon alone is worth more than entire airships.¡±


    ¡°That balloon is also our best defense,¡± Elias argued. ¡°She¡¯s a fast ship, and worst-case scenario, I¡¯ll have my gun.¡± He had acquired a cheap but functional flintlock pistol a few months earlier, though he hadn¡¯t yet found time for target practice. Still, they had seen him shoot.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get too cocky, kid,¡± Briley said. ¡°Bertrand actually makes a fair point. Normally, I¡¯d say we could hire a few crew members, but we all know that¡¯s not in the budget. We¡¯ll need to pilot this journey on our own, including loading and unloading. On that note, let¡¯s see if we can find anyone interested in shipping wares to Azir at a discount in the next few days.¡±


    ¡°I may know someone actually,¡± Bertrand added, joining Elias in front of the map. He uncrossed his arms and gave his friend a peace-offering backslap. ¡°Fine, fine, you guys. I¡¯m in.¡±


    Elias peeled his gaze from the map, beaming up at his big friend. ¡°I never doubted you for a minute.¡±


    ¡°Then I suppose we¡¯re headed on another adventure,¡± Bertrand said to them both, turning toward the bay window and all that lay beyond its paned glass. ¡°But first, I must venture to the lavatory.¡±


    With Bertrand departing for the bathroom, Elias and Briley found themselves alone together, both grinning big grins, though Elias may have misinterpreted the reason behind Briley¡¯s uncharacteristic display of delight.


    As he reached into his vest pocket, retrieved his lucky copper, and flicked it into a whirling blur, she pushed herself up from the desk and moseyed a few feet closer to him. She stopped and said, ¡°You slept with his sister, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    The coin bounced, flipped, and fell still on Irvin¡¯s ornate Azirian rug. Elias confirmed nothing. He suddenly felt like a sinking ship, wondering which holes to patch first, wondering if he might stop the sinking. Not with Briley, he knew. She enjoyed the spectacle of a good disaster too much. She would wait until the water was up to his neck.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± Elias ultimately pleaded. ¡°She was just a stranger at The Thirsty Eagle. She told me her name was Lela. I didn¡¯t know she was his sister. I didn¡¯t know she was married. I didn¡¯t know!¡± He was whispering and somehow yelling at the same time.


    Briley simply nodded as her smile took on a whole new meaning.


    ¡°You can¡¯t tell him,¡± Elias warned. ¡°Not ever. I mean it, Briley. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll kill you. And then I¡¯ll kill Bertrand for knowing. And then I¡¯ll kill myself for having killed you two.¡±


    She actually let out a chuckle. Briley Soren let out a chuckle. ¡°I won¡¯t tell him, Elias,¡± she finally said a few seconds before he would have drowned himself. ¡°It would be bad for the business.¡±

 Chapter 23: Celestial Sights

    Chapter Twenty-three


    Celestial Sights


    Over the course of their first two days sailing toward Azir, Elias often leaned over the bulwark, staring down at the Great Continent drifting and shifting far below them. He would confirm the patchy lakes and mountain ranges he saw in person with the map they kept stored in the great cabin, where Elias slept each night after having won a coin toss.


    Briley had accused him of cheating, of course, before checking the copper and confirming it possessed two distinct sides. Technically, she wasn¡¯t entirely wrong either. Elias hadn¡¯t meant to cheat. He had merely hoped to win the coin toss¡ªas anyone would have, he later told himself¡ªand saw which way to flip it at the last second. His gift was proving itself useful in ways he had not foreseen.


    In any event, Briley backed off the matter when Elias reminded them that he had the worst living situation in Sailor¡¯s Rise, which no one could argue with. Let him have the nice room for a few days.


    Like his room back home, the cabin became something of an art gallery for Elias¡¯s myriad sketches. He decided to channel his mother¡¯s penchant for landscapes, sketching the world as it appeared before the horizon¡ªbut never beyond it. He was trying to ground himself in reality, in the beauty of things right in front of him. He drew scenes from the ship, too, and Briley¡¯s portrait at one point when she wasn¡¯t looking. He showed her afterward, expecting a rebuke, but she seemed almost surprised. Surprised at the sight of herself or perhaps by how someone else saw her.


    As for Bertrand, he had acquired as much information as he could about Sultan Atakan ahead of their departure, though it amounted to little more than what his father had already told them. They wouldn¡¯t know what work they might be bidding on until they connected with his master of coin, a woman named Saba Khali. After landing, assuming they arrived as planned, they would have two nights in Azir before making their pitch alongside any competition. That was another mystery. How many companies would be competing for the same contracts, and how would they compare to The Two Worlds Trading Company? Irvin told them not to waste time and energy worrying about it. And yet, for much of their journey, that¡¯s precisely what Bertrand did.


    Elias shared his friend¡¯s anxieties, but despite the high stakes, he savored a rare moment of peace each evening looking out beyond the bow. They were flying westward, into the setting sun, and there was something calming about twilight and the gradual dimming of the Great Continent, something that made the world seem inexplicably small and containable.


    He sometimes imagined their destination, Azir, hoping to see green lines guiding them toward it, but the ancient city was too far, and Elias was not yet that powerful, assuming he ever would be. As a point of comparison, when he focused on what was right in front of them, such as the gap between two approaching mountains they would soon fly through, his magic successfully revealed itself. His ambition could only reach so far. It felt like an apt metaphor.


    And a beautiful one. He had only thought of those faint lines as practical before, but high above the earth in dusk¡¯s dying light, they seemed almost celestial.


    While Elias was looking forward, lost in thought, Bertrand had evidently spotted something behind them. ¡°How long has that ship been following us?¡± he asked, snapping Elias out of his trance.


    ¡°What ship?¡± Briley stepped out from the companionway and followed Bertrand¡¯s finger.


    Elias joined them on the stern. ¡°She was flying southward before. Now it appears she¡¯s following us westward through that break in the mountains. Perhaps they¡¯re heading to Azir too.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Briley said, fetching the brass telescope she had set down by the ship¡¯s wheel. She expanded the instrument and adjusted the lens, her typically stoic face contorting into a mixture of uncertain expressions as she stared through it.


    ¡°Let me see.¡± Elias grabbed the telescope before Briley was done looking. He immediately shared her confusion. The ship trailing them looked at least a generation old¡ªperhaps the sort of vessel Jasper had learned to repair¡ªand not better off for it. It was small too, smaller than The Sapphire Spirit. There were a few crew members above deck, though he could hardly judge their character from here, aside from the fact that one of them, like Bertrand, was wearing a tricorne.


    ¡°They¡¯re not carrying passengers on that thing,¡± Briley deduced. ¡°Could be traders, but¡­ it is a tiny ship. Wouldn¡¯t carry much cargo, and no one would be out this far¡±¡ªthey were in the middle of nowhere¡ª¡°for a quick jaunt.¡±


    ¡°Could be merchants,¡± Bertrand muttered, unwilling to completely abandon that theory. They were all carefully avoiding the P word.


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    ¡°Let¡¯s stay comfortably ahead of it,¡± Elias said. ¡°That thing shouldn¡¯t be able to catch up to us.¡± He returned to the bow and peered forward as if searching for an escape route. Once they were past the two large mountains fencing them in, their view would be less obstructed.


    And then another airship appeared, small like the other one.


    It emerged from behind the northern mountain, slightly ahead of them, and suddenly their situation became viciously clear. Between two ships and two mountains, The Sapphire Spirit was cornered. They could ascend, but the vessel ahead was already higher, ready to intercept such an attempt.


    Bertrand joined him at the bow. ¡°I knew it! I told you guys¡ªI told you!¡±


    ¡°Fucking pirates,¡± Briley fumed.


    ¡°This is no time to panic,¡± Elias said, invoking the other P word. ¡°Briley, is there a way to evade them? We¡¯re fast, right?¡±


    ¡°We can try, but¡ª¡± She shook her head. ¡°Whether we go up or down, that one will cut us off, and the other ship will catch us if we turn around.¡±


    ¡°Try anyway,¡± Elias replied. ¡°Bertrand, go load the cannons.¡±


    ¡°The cannons.¡± Bertrand repeated the word like a joke.


    ¡°They won¡¯t load themselves.¡± Elias skipped into a jog. ¡°I need to fetch my pistol.¡±


    He grabbed his gun and a full powder horn from the great cabin, loading the weapon as quickly as fingers could fly as he returned to the main deck. As instructed, Bertrand had ventured below deck, hopefully to load the cannons. They all knew how to do so in theory, having made a point to learn a few months earlier, but they had never actually fired one before. Cannon balls were not as cheap as bullets.


    Briley, meanwhile, was maneuvering them to the right, attempting to slip between the pirate ship closing the distance between them and the sheer mountainside looming ever larger. The other vessel was fast too. Not as fancy as The Sapphire Spirit, but small and nimble, probably built for the purposes of piracy.


    It was already obvious that Briley was right: they would be intercepted. The pirates knew their trap well.


    Elias readied his pistol and eyed the oncoming vessel. The first ship was still a considerable distance behind them, but the one about to cut them off was coming into troubling clarity. Its crew members looked more disheveled than even Captain Fairweather¡¯s worst workers, as if they lived on the compact ship, and most likely they did.


    One of them stepped up to the bulwark and yelled something. He had to yell it twice before Elias could make out the warning over the hollow whistle of rushing wind. ¡°Throw your weapon overboard, and hand over the ship!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Elias yelled back, not taking a moment to consider the offer.


    ¡°You only get one warning, kid, and this is it!¡±


    ¡°Leave us alone!¡± No one had put Elias in charge of negotiations, normally Bertrand¡¯s purview, though it mattered little what he had to say or how he said it. They were pirates intending to steal, not traders out to bargain. ¡°We don¡¯t have any valuable cargo! We¡¯re humble travelers!¡±


    ¡°Not your cargo I¡¯m interested in! That ship is all the treasure I need!¡± Their negotiator was a bald man with a bird¡¯s nest of a beard that seemed to compensate for the hair he lacked above his eyebrows. ¡°Last warning¡ªI mean it!¡± He aimed his pistol at Elias. It would be a difficult shot, though not impossible.


    Elias counted six men aboard the other ship, twice their number and certainly more seasoned in matters of combat. Was that where this was headed? He wasn¡¯t going to give up The Sapphire Spirit. Not ever. And where would they leave them if he did? To die in the woods, no doubt.


    He briefly considered taking the initial shot, but alas, Elias would never know whether he possessed the nerve, for the decision was swiftly taken from him. He heard the thunderclap of the bald man¡¯s gun and the bullet strike their hull a few feet below him.


    And so Elias shot back.


    He aimed in a way most people never could¡ªnot only with a practiced hand, but with a unique gift of sight¡ªand fired.


    He saw only a hint of red bursting from the pirate¡¯s eyeball as the man tumbled lifelessly onto the planks. It was the first time he had ever shot someone, let alone almost certainly killed a man. That would be a lot to process¡ªat a later date. The situation unfolding around him was so unreal that he could scarcely register the gravity of it.


    Also, two more pirates were taking shots at him. Elias ducked behind the bulwark as a bullet pounded his wooden barricade and another flew over top his head. He began reloading his pistol, spilling black powder over his fingers as his hand trembled. ¡°Stop it,¡± he scolded himself. ¡°Focus.¡±


    Cautiously, Elias peeked over the edge and saw the enemy ship nearing them, no farther than the length of a pier, and apparently they had a walkway of their own. He met his navigator¡¯s terrified gaze. No longer a closed book was Briley, not now. She was crouching too, her right hand still clutching the wheel.


    Elias heard a loud creak and then a sudden crash, the latter sounding very near his head. A makeshift gangway had been affixed to the pirate vessel, on hinges that allowed it to be raised and dropped onto the deck of another ship flying in parallel, as The Sapphire Spirit was now.


    He knew he had to break that connection, and so he wished for it, harder than he had ever wished for anything. He popped his head up, along with his pistol, searching for an answer, for his sight to tell him where to shoot to stop them from boarding. And nothing appeared.


    There was nowhere he could shoot, not that would stop this.


    Someone noticed him. Elias fired back, unassisted this time, and grazed the man¡¯s arm. A rumbling of boots grew louder as the first skyjacker made his way over, Elias suddenly wishing he had saved his bullet for the man a few seconds away from grabbing him. Grabbing or, more likely, stabbing.


    And so he made another wish¡ªto find cover farther back without getting shot¡ªand this time his skill obliged, sending him toward Briley and behind the enclosed banister blocking the ship¡¯s wheel. Another bullet whizzed past him as he crouched down beside her.


    ¡°Do you have a weapon?¡± he asked, once again reloading his own.


    She unsheathed a slender dagger from her leather boot, barely bigger than a letter opener, though it looked sharp enough¡ªas sharp as the determination forming on Briley¡¯s face.


    ¡°Good,¡± Elias said. ¡°Use it.¡±


    And then, for but a fleeting instance, they heard the sound of hope. A startlingly loud bang erupted from below deck, startling even their pursuers, as the pirate ship swayed like a cradle. Bertrand had fired his first cannon ball.


    It wasn¡¯t enough.


    The two vessels remained connected, and Elias could hear those boots again, now pacing toward them across the deck of The Sapphire Spirit.

 Chapter 24: Crimson Survival

    Chapter Twenty-four


    Crimson Survival


    Briley couldn¡¯t see a damn thing. If she lifted her head to steer the ship, she might lose it, and so she simply held onto the wheel with one hand and her dagger with the other. Fighting back a crushing sense of despair, she suddenly realized there was still one direction she could set for them that wouldn¡¯t lead into the mountainside: up. Up was safe.


    As Briley flipped the lever to deflate the ballonets and send The Sapphire Spirit skyward, another bullet flew past them, fashioning a future scar across her bicep. ¡°Shit!¡± She dropped back to the planks, fully behind the banister they were using for cover, squeezing her injury before her hand recoiled on her arm¡¯s behalf. ¡°That¡­ hurt.¡±


    Elias examined the red-stained rip in her white shirt and the gash beneath it, ensuring that a scar was all it would leave. Not that he could do much to help her. Flesh wounds would be the least of their worries if things didn¡¯t go their way, and the odds were¡ªwell, Elias had never been a fan of odds.


    ¡°I sent us up.¡± Briley, who was looking a bit pale, pointed to the clouds with her uninjured arm and the tip of her dagger.


    Elias could feel the ship rising, the pressure in his ears building as they increased their altitude. The adjoining vessels were rising together, though not with perfect synchronicity. The walkway came loose, slipping off the bulwark and swinging downward, smacking the pirate ship with a shrill creak and a crashing bang.


    ¡°Nice one, Briley,¡± Elias told her as she focused on her breathing.


    With his pistol fully loaded, he was trying to determine where to aim his next shot. He had regretted the last one, and he wagered he couldn¡¯t afford to regret the next. He had caught a glimpse of another pirate leaping onto The Sapphire Spirit as their gangway fell out from under him. That meant two of them had made it over, though Elias held no illusions about this being a fair fight. The other airship was still near enough for bullets, if not a bridge.


    ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer!¡± he yelled from behind their cover. ¡°You saw what I did to your friend!¡±


    ¡°That was dumb luck, you little shit,¡± a deep voice responded in an accent Elias didn¡¯t recognize, or maybe it was just the way pirates spoke. ¡°Aye, you¡¯re still going to pay for it.¡±


    At least that left no room for ambiguity. Elias didn¡¯t doubt he could shoot one of them, but he was far less confident that he could break cover without getting shot in turn.


    And then Briley had an idea. She retrieved their telescope from her pocket, whose role in this situation wasn¡¯t immediately obvious to Elias, and tossed it away from them, giving it a strong backspin for added chaos. The telescope hit the planks¡ªand landed out in the open¡ªwith a jarring clatter.


    Briley¡¯s distraction worked. They shot at the instrument.


    Unfortunately, one of them actually hit it too. ¡°God damn it,¡± Briley growled from between gritted teeth. Add it to the list of things they would need to acquire in Azir: a new telescope.


    Elias attended to more pressing concerns. It was a short window before the pirates could reload their pistols and even less time if they decided to charge him. He didn¡¯t waste the opportunity. He popped out from behind the banister, confirmed his aim was true, and took the shot.


    His bullet struck the smaller of the two men, who fell backward onto the hatch doors of their companionway, a blot of crimson expanding across his chest like spilled ink.


    Elias quickly checked the threat to his left, ready to duck, but they had gained enough altitude that the pirates still aboard the invading vessel could no longer take shots at him. The Sapphire Spirit¡¯s deck was nearly level with the bottom of the other ship¡¯s hydrogen balloon, which unlike the former¡¯s, certainly wasn¡¯t made of spider¡¯s silk¡ªnot that he could do much to a balloon with a single bullet.


    Also, he didn¡¯t have a bullet at the ready. And more crucially, there was still one pirate alive on The Sapphire Spirit, and he was built like a bear. The hairy man also looked rather like a bear and, it turned out, charged like one too.


    Elias¡¯s best defense was instantly useless. The man would pummel him like an avalanche before he could so much as put a new bullet in the muzzle. Elias considered using his pistol as a club, but he didn¡¯t want to destroy the precious weapon in the process.


    And so he tossed the unloaded gun aside and kept his distance, dancing nimbly on his feet as the larger man stomped around on his. The pirate noticed a bloodied Briley recovering beside the ship¡¯s wheel, vulnerable and seemingly armed, and turned his attention toward wounded prey. Maybe it was also bait for Elias, who wasn¡¯t going to let that happen.


    Briley kicked the man¡¯s shin when he came too close, as Elias barreled forward with unexpected force. The pirate was ready for him, and yet the novice collector was stronger than expected, sending the bearish bloke staggering backward¡ªthough never losing his footing. He was probably twice his opponent¡¯s weight.


    Why hadn¡¯t Elias put a bullet through this guy instead, he asked himself, rather than the much smaller man bleeding out on the deck? It was another shot he could have been smarter about, a reminder that aim wasn¡¯t everything. So often quick decisions led to colossal consequences, but regret was a luxury he could only hope to indulge later.


    The big man unsheathed his cutlass. Elias had no blade, and Briley was more or less wielding a letter opener. She wasn¡¯t looking so good either as she stood up to create some distance between herself and the pirate. Elias knew Briley wouldn¡¯t back down from a fight, but she was in no condition for one.


    He could take this man, Elias convinced himself, blade or no blade. He was a collector. He was special. It wasn¡¯t just aiming and shooting the sight had proven useful for. He had danced once, empowered by his gift, and he could dance again.


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    The pirate swung his sword as Elias rushed toward him, the younger man veering right as the blade cut left. He punched his hairy chest, and that too was like punching a bear. He punched again, then something struck his nose¡ªthe hilt of a cutlass¡ªas the big man pulled back his arm too speedily for Elias. He stumbled backward, blood pouring over his lips and the back of his hand as he measured the damage and tasted iron.


    ¡°You¡¯re tougher than you look,¡± the pirate said, circling him until Elias was standing between this sword-wielding animal and the edge of their ship, ¡°but not tough enough.¡±


    Briley, who was now standing out of view, seized the opportunity. She sprinted forward, tiny dagger in hand, and plunged its thin blade into their attacker¡¯s exposed back. He straightened his spine with a high-pitched yelp that betrayed his stature. Briley stabbed again.


    Elias ran forward with another punch before grabbing the pirate¡¯s sword arm, attempting to wrestle the weapon out of his hand, once again revealing a surprising strength.


    As this was unfolding, Elias caught a glimpse of the companionway hatch doors reopening with considerable difficulty, the weight of the smaller, deader pirate pressing down on them. Bertrand forced the doors open as the body flopped to one side. Young Mr. Fairweather was, to say the least, surprised by the unexpected sight of a corpse by his feet, though no less so by the bloody battle he witnessed escalating sternward.


    With a bravery Elias hadn¡¯t realized Bertrand had in him, his large blonde friend charged forward. Indeed, he was almost as large as the bear-shaped pirate. Still grappling his sword arm as their attacker swatted at Briley and her hungry mosquito blade, Elias spun the man around, positioning his back toward the bulwark. He pushed him.


    It wasn¡¯t enough to put him over the edge, and the pirate looked almost humored by the effort, but Bertrand¡ªthe heavy weight of Bertrand struck like an oncoming train.


    The force of so much inertia and the man¡¯s high center of gravity sent him flipping over the side and out of view. Elias ran up to the edge to see him fall, but he was already far below them, spinning and seemingly miniscule against the backdrop of mountains.


    Bertrand collapsed to the ground and saw Briley bleeding. He crawled over to her, having apparently used up every last ounce of energy he possessed transforming himself into a human cannon ball. Despite his crippling anxieties and justified reservations, he had overcome his fear¡ªif only for a second¡ªand fulfilled his role as cannoneer dutifully.


    Of course, they hadn¡¯t escaped the proverbial fire yet. They were gaining altitude faster than the invading airship, true, but the parallel vessels were flying too close for comfort. The pirates could no long board them over their gangway, but Elias didn¡¯t doubt they were resourceful.


    He examined his friends with a heavy sigh: Briley with her bleeding arm, trying not to faint, and Bertrand, uninjured, but whose emotional pain seemed to manifest physically. Elias still needed their help.


    He knelt down beside them. ¡°Briley, our hull is level with their hydrogen balloon. Can you slow our ascent just enough to match their speed?¡±


    ¡°What for?¡± she asked.


    ¡°For Bertrand,¡± he continued. ¡°He¡¯s going to send a cannon ball through it.¡±


    Briley nodded as Bertrand picked himself up. It was probably the least controversial plan Elias had ever concocted. He nearly told them to hurry, but there was no need. No one questioned the urgency of their survival.


    As Briley eased their ascent almost imperceptibly, Bertrand stormed across the deck and back down the companionway, slowing his steady gait as he passed by the gory scene of Elias¡¯s second gunshot victim.


    Elias wondered if there might yet be a third as he began reloading his pistol, getting ready for something to go wrong, which was when he noticed a grappling hook biting into the bulwark. He had counted six men aboard their ship, three of whom had since met a grisly end. Still, that left three more.


    He primed the flash pan of his pistol, snapped the frizzen into place, and fully cocked the hammer. He strolled over, gun arm outstretched, and peered over the edge. Five feet from the tip of his barrel, a man had planted his boots against the hull of The Sapphire Spirit, pulling himself up a coarse rope connected to the grappling hook.


    It was an easy shot. A cloud of smoke erupted into Elias¡¯s eyes, dissipating before the big reveal: he had made the man disappear. A splatter of blood painted their oak hull a garish crimson, red streaks running down the side of their ship. He didn¡¯t look forward to cleaning that¡ªor explaining it.


    From his current angle, Elias couldn¡¯t see any other crew members¡ªonly a dangling rope¡ªas their deck was obstructed by their hydrogen balloon, which was still level with The Sapphire Spirit¡¯s hull. Level with Bertrand and his cannon.


    The blast was louder than last time, probably because Elias was standing right overtop it, as a cannon ball ripped through one end of their patchwork balloon and out the other. A single bullet couldn¡¯t bring down an airship, but a cannon that close was another story. A better ship might possess compartmentalized pockets of hydrogen within its shell, in case one is ever compromised, or¡ªif its owner had relics to spare¡ªa spider¡¯s silk skin, said to be impenetrable even to cannons.


    But this was a shoddy pirate ship, and one now destined for the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. The vessel didn¡¯t quite plummet like a man pushed overboard, but it did descend more quickly than would be advisable for a soft landing.


    Bertrand and Briley joined Elias on the port side to watch the show. They were flying higher than normal, almost as high as they could fly, having accelerated skyward for many minutes, though Briley had since leveled them off. After all, their attackers were soon half a mile beneath them.


    The distant sound of the defeated ship crashing against a bare-faced mountain carried through the empty sky like trees falling in a lightning storm. The ship skidded and toppled, tangling itself in rope and the remnants of its deflated balloon.


    Elias turned toward the stern and the vessel that had been tailing them this entire time. The bastards would never catch up now. They seemed to accept the truth of the matter, descending toward their fallen comrades, presumably to see if any were still alive. Elias couldn¡¯t say. Had he helped kill those ones too, he wondered, or had gravity pressed that trigger, wielded that blade? Perhaps not knowing was best.


    Briley turned around with sudden purpose, dagger in hand once more. She marched over to the dead pirate lying beside the open hatch doors. She kicked his shoulder. He flopped onto his back. She collapsed to her knees and plunged her knife into his heart, then again, and again, until his blood was running down her forearm.


    Elias said nothing.


    Bertrand tried to object and choked on his initial response. His voice breaking, he calmly exhaled a tired complaint: ¡°The man¡¯s deader than steak, Briley. Please. Stop.¡±


    Briley stood up, her blade hand dripping blood. ¡°I¡¯m not taking risks. Help me toss his body overboard, Elias.¡±


    She started before Elias could offer assistance, forgetting for a second that she only had one fully functional arm. She winced and fell back to her knees, her dropped dagger skidding across the deck. ¡°Fuck!¡± Her anger was a concoction of pain and fury.


    Elias stepped forward. ¡°Bertrand, help me lift him, will you?¡±


    Manhandling a dead body was probably the last thing Bertrand wanted to do right then¡ªor ever¡ªbut he did what he had to do, separating himself from the moment, trying not to look closely at the limp corpse as Elias lifted the torso and Bertrand grabbed the legs. As if the man were but a weighty, bony sack of trash, destined for the all-consuming sky.


    They swung him like a swing¡ªwith a ¡°one, two¡­¡±¡ªuntil the body had enough momentum to fly over the bulwark. Not even Elias bothered to watch him fall.


    Instead, he turned back toward the bow, searching for some reprieve in the calming ambience of twilight. They were finally through the mountains that had trapped them between life and death, and he could once again see the long, orange-tinted horizon of an airship sailor, waning like the embers of a doused fire.

 Chapter 25: Sandstone Silence

    Chapter Twenty-five


    Sandstone Silence


    Sultan Atakan¡¯s palace was a veritable, though very beautiful maze. Elias stared up at the domed ceiling of the entrance hall as they first stepped inside¡ªand maybe that was the moment the directions they¡¯d been given fell from his head¡ªletting his gaze wander through another labyrinth, this one formed of a thousand yellow and blue flowers and the swooping scripts of a language he had never seen written before his arrival in Azir.


    Saba Khali, the sultan¡¯s master of coin, had an office on the main level. As potential business partners of His Excellency, Elias, Bertrand, and Briley had been granted access to the royal residence and offered instructions that might have been clearer to fresher minds. Despite the pleasantness of their present surroundings, they were each still wading through an expansive swamp of trauma and exhaustion. They had barely slept. They had barely talked. They had barely made it to Azir alive.


    Saba, once they finally found her, was an obviously busy person who it seemed could only spare half her attention at any given time. She was a handsome woman of fifty or so, with silver-streaked black hair and orange-robed attire that, while fashionable, appeared almost modest compared to the clothing of some other palace dwellers they noticed on their way in. Perhaps her utilitarian outfit said something about the woman and her role here as the sultan¡¯s master of coin.


    ¡°Sailor¡¯s Rise, you said?¡± she confirmed as they sat down across from her, a wide marble desk keeping them at a comfortable distance. Her office was less modest.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, ma¡¯am,¡± Elias said, sitting between Bertrand and Briley.


    ¡°How was your journey over?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Not without a few snags, but we¡¯re here in one piece,¡± he answered.


    ¡°We were attacked by pirates,¡± Bertrand clarified.


    ¡°That is quite the snag,¡± Saba said. ¡°Did you fly through the Dry Ridge Mountains?¡±


    Elias and Bertrand confirmed as much. Briley wasn¡¯t speaking¡ªor at least seldom feeling the need to.


    ¡°Your timing was unfortunate,¡± she continued. ¡°The skies there are normally patrolled, being the fastest trade route to Sailor¡¯s Rise, but that responsibility lies with the Kingdom of Belrania. The sultan offers financial support to see it so, a generous arrangement considering protection from pirates benefits both nations, but Belrania has been undergoing an uprising of late, recently reneging on their agreement with us and using their airships to instead quell a great many dissidents. Things fell through only a few days ago, and pirates are nothing if not opportunistic. We have sent letters to our clients, advising an alternate route you may wish to take upon your return. It will add another day to your journey, but it will be safer. We do apologize. The timing has been¡­ very unfortunate indeed.¡±


    At least that explained a few things. They felt no less unlucky¡ªbut a bit less like idiots, like they had done something wrong, made a youthful miscalculation. It wasn¡¯t their fault. It wasn¡¯t Irvin¡¯s fault either. The letter wouldn¡¯t have arrived before their departure. Assuming it had by now, Captain Fairweather was probably worried sick about them. And Mable: Elias didn¡¯t even want to imagine.


    ¡°Now, onto business,¡± Saba said, her attention dividing once more. ¡°Tell me about The Two Worlds Trading Company.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not a big venture,¡± Elias admitted. Irvin had described Saba as a straight shooter, and he knew better than to stretch the truth. A stretched truth was bound to tear, and she was clearly searching for holes. ¡°We¡¯re still new¡±¡ªtheir age probably made that obvious enough¡ª¡°but we have a few regular clients and a fast ship, medium in size. We¡¯re quick and competitive on price.¡±


    ¡°And you can fend off pirates, apparently.¡± Saba smirked, rearranging a stack of paper. ¡°We have a couple of smaller contracts available that might be appropriate for a company of your size: seasonal deliveries to Sailor¡¯s Rise, one for spices and black powder and another for textiles and rugs.¡±


    ¡°Can I ask how much you¡¯re currently paying for them?¡± Elias inquired.


    ¡°You could, but that is not for me to disclose,¡± she said. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°We just arrived here a few hours ago,¡± Bertrand chimed in. ¡°Perhaps you could recommend somewhere a few weary travelers might find comfortable accommodation?¡±


    ¡°How comfortable?¡± She raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Not too comfortable,¡± Bertrand added.


    ¡°The Garden District,¡± Saba said. ¡°It¡¯s where most out-of-towners stay. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find something to your liking and budget.¡±


    They thanked her and escorted themselves to the door as she half-heartedly wished them the best of luck. It had been a quick conversation¡ªSaba was economical with her words too¡ªbut they now knew what contracts to bid on. It wasn¡¯t exactly an encyclopedia of knowledge, but it was a foundation upon which they could build a better plan, upon which they could figure out their price and their pitch.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    On their way out, navigating the domed entrance hall with a bit more spring in their steps, Elias nearly walked into a fountain, his attention drawn elsewhere. He recognized her instantly, for she was instantly recognizable: the woman that saved them in the sky rift. Jalander had said her name was Constance Eve.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Valshynarian lady.¡± Bertrand saw her too.


    Briley had heard their story second hand enough times that no additional context was required.


    Their haggard party of three already stood out amid the sultan¡¯s pristine palace, dressed and fatigued as they were, and stopping and staring only made them more conspicuous. The woman, Constance, took notice.


    She wasn¡¯t alone. There was a man next to her that Elias immediately recognized as a fellow collector: his emerald eyes, his Valshynarian outfit (a green waistcoat with a golden trim), and a certain intensity that radiated from him even as they stood about casually in conversation. He was younger than her, in his twenties perhaps, with a statuesque jawline and long flaxen hair tied in a neat ponytail. A single escaped lock brushed his collarbone as he turned toward them.


    Constance, whose expression upon The Sleeping Sparrow had been utterly unreadable, looked a little surprised, furrowing her brow as she met eyes with Elias. The man next to her observed this exchange with a charming curiosity. After a moment, she nodded toward Elias and Bertrand, and awkwardly and stiffly, they nodded back.


    * * *


    The ancient city of Azir, capital of the Azirian Empire, was older than any other major metropolis still standing on the Great Continent. The millennia-old empire had sprouted from the city itself, over hundreds of years and hundreds of wars, its border ever-shifting¡ªbut more often than not, expanding. And still, wherever its boundaries of the day were drawn, the desert empire¡¯s pale green heart had always been its capital.


    Every district they passed through provided a history lesson, some of them built as recently as a hundred years ago, while sandstone structures that had stood for over thousand dominated the city center. The oldest parts of Azir rose up from the delta between two forking rivers, though the sprawling city now encompassed the entire oasis that once encompassed it.


    The Garden District, where Saba had suggested they seek accommodation, was near the river¡¯s edge between two bridges. It was an older neighborhood, though not the city¡¯s oldest, brimming with ancient wonders and wandering canals. As the name suggested, it was a lush area too. Between inns, taverns, and a few brothels Briley eyed suspiciously, a multi-block plaza formed the verdant center around which the Garden District organized itself.


    They meandered along snaking pathways that led nowhere but around the bustling plaza, past towering palm trees that were taller than the buildings around them, around stone-rimmed water fountains where people from all walks of life rested their tired legs, laughing and gossiping as the expectation of a long day faded in the evening¡¯s dimming embrace.


    After booking a nearby room with three simple beds and a view of an alley (the cheapest-looking inn they could find still wasn¡¯t very cheap), three tired travelers found a small haven of solitude near the edge of the plaza: a circle of stone benches almost hidden between overgrown flowerbeds. The flowers were yellow and blue¡ªthe colors of sun and sky¡ªlike the ones whose likeness had decorated the domed ceiling of the sultan¡¯s palace. Summer nights were balmy in Azir and best spent outdoors.


    Bertrand stretched his legs, straightened his elbows, and reclined on both arms, digging his fingers in the soil behind him. ¡°Time to relax,¡± he said, ¡°though I¡¯m finding relaxing rather difficult at the moment, stressful even. I keep reminding myself that we¡¯re safe now, but my body doesn¡¯t want to believe it. We¡¯re definitely taking the long way back, Elias.¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Elias replied, unsure why he had been named specifically in that statement.


    ¡°Well, I never know with you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me for what happened. How was I supposed to know about civil unrest in Belrania? It¡¯s the same route your father normally takes. Maybe the sultan¡¯s letter arrived a day after we left. Who knows? We had terrible timing, but we survived.¡±


    Bertrand sighed and shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s not your fault. You just seem so, I don¡¯t know, cool under pressure¡ªlike what happened doesn¡¯t even bother you.¡±


    ¡°It bothers me,¡± Elias insisted. ¡°I¡¯ve hardly slept a wink since the attack. I may keep it together in the moment, but I pay the price every night.¡± He wanted to say more, wanted them to understand. He wasn¡¯t some emotionless killer, nor was he a fearless hero. It was neither savagery nor bravery from where he sourced his strength, if it was strength at all. More like a sad steadiness one acquires after their world has already trembled and cracked. No, he wasn¡¯t strong. He simply knew how to keep his balance.


    ¡°My mother was sick for a long while before she died,¡± he eventually said, ¡°and the last thing I wanted was to add to her worry. I knew I couldn¡¯t save her, but I could be her rock. I could give her that. That and a promise.¡± The promise, Elias kept to himself. Sorrow seeped from his words and into his body, as was its sneaky nature, and so he stopped there¡ªbefore the leak could drip. ¡°Some things stick.¡±


    ¡°I should probably be thanking you, not judging you.¡± Bertrand sounded reflective too, for openness was contagious. ¡°If not for your cool-headedness, I don¡¯t think we would have survived that attack.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have survived it without Briley¡¯s handiwork with a blade,¡± Elias said, his wave of his grief receding back into its ocean. ¡°She made a human pin cushion out of that pirate.¡±


    ¡°Three times.¡± Briley finally said something. ¡°I stabbed him three times.¡±


    ¡°Three is all you need, really,¡± Bertrand commented.


    ¡°And you, my friend, you sent that big bastard over the bulwark.¡± Elias smiled for the first time since the incident.


    Bertrand chuckled. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe it, truth be told. That moment feels more like a dream than a memory.¡±


    And just like that, without knowing it, Elias and Bertrand had each taken their first steps out of the swamp from which there had seemed no escape. It was only when they turned around that they realized one friend was still stuck in the mire, waist-deep, watching on.


    No one appeared more baffled by the sudden swelling of tears in her eyes than Briley herself. She tried to hide it by hiding her face. Elias and Bertrand said nothing, the latter nearly reaching over before thinking better of it. Briley wouldn¡¯t want a hug¡ªonly the space to pick herself back up.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong with me,¡± she said, sniffling, speaking about her emotions like a malfunctioning steam engine.


    Bertrand almost laughed at her as Elias said, ¡°Let¡¯s do something fun tomorrow. I know we have to prepare our pitch, but we can do that in the morning. We¡¯re only in Azir for a few days, and I dare say this city has even more to offer than Sailor¡¯s Rise.¡±


    ¡°We could check out the markets,¡± Bertrand suggested.


    ¡°We can do better than that.¡± Briley straightened her spine and pointed them toward the city center and the grandest sandstone structure of all, round like the base of a pillar and yet visible from every district in Azir¡ªa man-made mountain within and born of the flat metropolis. ¡°Like Elias said, we¡¯re only here for a few days. I say we go to the colosseum.¡±


    Elias needed no convincing, though Bertrand wondered if they hadn¡¯t already seen enough blood spilled for one week.


    Briley shrugged.


    Bertrand shrugged back. ¡°The colosseum, then.¡±

 An important announcement

    Update: I decided to delete this post given a recent change of heart, but apparently I can''t update the chapter without at least 500 characters. Understandable. Accordingly, here''s a sneak peek of my latest update:


    So, I changed my mind. It happens. It happens a lot if I''m being honest, but generally I''m not writing and publishing a web serial in real time, and no one else need ever know¡ªsave my wife and two lovely cats.


    I burned myself out. That''s the simple truth of it. I try not to burn myself out these days, but I still slip up on occasion. For the month I was rapidly posting and writing Sailor''s Rise, I couldn''t sleep more than five or six hours a night, knowing I had to write or edit or post a certain amount every morning before my busy workday began. I''m also a writer who is uncomfortable with imperfection, which means I''m constantly going back to old chapters and making tiny edits you probably never noticed. I think I rewrote the opening paragraph of one particular chapter a dozen times.


    Next Chapter to keep reading.

 Changed my mind

    Sailor''s Rise, I couldn''t sleep more than five or six hours a night, knowing I had to write or edit or post a certain amount every morning before my busy workday began. I''m also a writer who is uncomfortable with imperfection, which means I''m constantly going back to old chapters and making tiny edits you probably never noticed. I think I rewrote the opening paragraph of one particular chapter a dozen times.


    Trial of the Alchemist</a> while designing a print edition for it, which is more work than you think it is, unless you already assumed it would be a lot of work, which it is. (A quick, self-promotional aside: Trial was a Semi-Finalist in this year''s SPFBO, the big indie fantasy novel competition!)


    Trial, reflect, and slowly start writing again. I''ve since written three new chapters of Sailor''s Rise, all over the past month¡ªwithout compromising my sleep.


    Sailor''s Rise sometime next year, and then I will explore publication options. I don''t yet know what form that will take, but I will certainly let readers here know about it, so stay tuned.

 Should I relaunch?

    Hey. Long time, no update.


    Believe it or not, I never stopped writing Sailor''s Rise. I finished and fully edited book one, and I''m nearly 40% into book two of a planned trilogy. So, about... 170,000 words are written down. That''s a lot for me!


    I''m thinking about relaunching right after Writathon. I definitely need to write ahead more than most writers here (I have crippling standards), but I have certainly written ahead now. I could drop the entire first book pretty fast in the hopes of sparking a more successful Rising Stars run.


    Are people still here? 600 of you, apparently. What do you think? I''m giving myself an escape clause by not 100% committing to this plan yet, but I''m... feeling it.


    I wrote a new prologue for the book. What the hell, I''ll copy/paste it below.


    Prologue


    When Lucia Fisher finally admitted to herself that she was dying, she knew she needed a plan. Time had been an ocean ever since the day her husband died¡ªimpossibly wide, dangerously deep, and entirely directionless¡ªbut rather than sink, she had built a raft. For a decade now, she had been building that raft for her and her son. It gave her a goal, a renewed sense of purpose, something to hold her focus as the white-hot sun beat down upon her neck, as the flat horizon failed to ever return her stolen spouse, as the cold, reminding water splashed up to her ankles. Start with your hands, the head follows, and the heart comes last. This had been her unwavering philosophy.


    And it worked.


    Or rather it had worked. The symptoms overtook her slowly, subtly, as if by subterfuge, invading her slender body without a single commotion until the whole army had poured in through a crack in the wall. The gray fever had unceremoniously claimed her.


    Facing defeat, Lucia pivoted. Suddenly, time had never felt more finite¡ªless an ocean than a waterfall¡ªand yet her purpose had never been so clear as it was then. Her son was nearly but not yet a man, and she had but a few fleeting months to make him into one. And not just any man, no, for he was meant for more. Gifted was the word, in a way one could only inherit. She needed him to be the best version of himself. She needed him to not sink, to not be dragged down by the weight of loss that had almost dragged her down all those years ago. She needed her son to skim the water like a dragonfly.


    Lucia figured a well-rounded man was composed of three equal parts: his ability to fend for himself, his sense of higher purpose, and his eye for genuine beauty. This formed the foundation of her plan.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The first thing she did was acquire him a job. He would need money in her absence, and Lucia did not have much to leave him. The quiet tailor who had unrequitedly loved her for the past decade was happy to oblige. When he reported back that her boy was a proficient worker, her heart seemed to beat with new life, as if the news might have jolted into it another week or two. She kissed Mr. Humbledon on the cheek, and he blushed like a ripe tomato.


    Her second task was more difficult than her first. How would she instill in her son a sense of higher purpose? Lucia was already paying for his education, and he was a strong student, though she worried he would not graduate absent her financial support. Had he learned enough already? Over dinners together, she prodded him with questions. He possessed his mother¡¯s ambition and more, that much was plain, but still without a goal to guide him. She suggested maybe one day he could start his own business. Opportunity was limited in a small town like Acreton, he pointed out. ¡°Maybe one day you¡¯ll move,¡± she told him. ¡°But you¡¯re here,¡± he said. She smiled at that.


    Her third and final lesson was imparted with the greatest joy and the deepest love. Her son had been drawing with creative abandon since the day he first picked up a pencil, and though Lucia was a painter herself, she embarked to teach her budding young artist a few new techniques. He had always skipped to the exciting parts¡ªchasing his imagination, eschewing repetition¡ªand so, with an increasingly shaky hand, she slowed his eager one. ¡°Beauty breathes in the details,¡± she said, ¡°in light and in texture.¡±


    Of course, at the end of it all, Lucia was left to wonder whether she had truly taught her son anything he did not already know, but perhaps such uncertainty was every mother¡¯s curse to bear. It was another kind of evil spell that she could not overcome, pushing its poison through her. After a few more painfully brief months, she was not the only one who took notice.


    The hallmark symptom of the gray fever was an unmistakable pallor that was the reason for its name. The gray fever drained the color right out of you¡ªif only Lucia could have painted herself back together. She was moving slowly, too slowly for regular work, and soon every night she woke up beaded with sweat, adding to an already incurable exhaustion.


    She needed to tell him while she could still muster the right words. He was ready, she decided, because he had to be ready. Lucia had never been a religious woman, but this faith in her son she would take to her grave.


    In the golden hour of a golden day¡ªfor death had revealed another stroke of beauty seen only through dying eyes¡ªthey strolled side by side down the river out of town, listening to the evening crickets, her son waiting for her to say what he knew she was going to say. ¡°I¡¯m dying,¡± she told him. In weeks or in months, she wasn¡¯t sure.


    Unsurprisingly, he was not ready to give up on her upon hearing this news. He erected a sturdy facade, but in secret she caught glimpses of him chasing the impossible¡ªconsulting the physician who passed through town, reading every book the local library had on medicine¡ªand maybe this was his fourth and final test, though whether it made him more or less well-rounded, she would never know. He¡¯d inherited his mother¡¯s persistence.


    When at last he was ready to hear the truth that she had told him weeks earlier, she said it again with a gentle smile. ¡°Elias, I¡¯m dying.¡±


    He stared down at his empty hands and asked what he was supposed to do.


    She squeezed his shoulder with what little strength she had left. ¡°I want you to make me a promise,¡± she replied. ¡°Live for me. Live better than me. Live for your parents and my parents and a thousand dreams unrealized.¡±

 Sailors Rise has been relaunched on Royal Road as Two-World Traders

    Dear deeply appreciated, most beloved readers,


    For those of you who read my message the other day, I decided to just go for it. I''ve been wanting to do this for months. I''ve had the cover ready since January. I have AN ENTIRE BOOK written, polished, and ready to go. It will be updated quickly, and it won''t be long before you start seeing new chapters you haven''t read before. The old ones have been edited a bit more, and there''s a new prologue. I''ve toiled away in silence these past two years, putting hundreds of hours into this.


    My plan is to upload the entire book over the next month and a half (it''s about 130,000 words or close to 500 pages) before slowing down for book two (which I''m 20 chapters in currently).


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    As is ever the case, if you''re a fan of the series, I could use your help in the early days as I shoot for Rising Stars. Reviews are the gold standard, ratings are helpful, as are follows, favorites, and page views (whether you decide to reread the familiar chapters, maybe click through a few anyway!). I won''t beg. I don''t like to beg. But I will plead.


    You can dive back in here.</a>


    </a>

 A quick favor

    Hello again, friends. Last post about this, I promise. I''m in that critical period where the relaunched version of this story, Two-World Traders, is nearing Rising Stars but needs a little push to get there¡ªand ultimately really set sail.


    If you have not yet followed the new story but intended to at some point¡ªor even if you just want to do me a quick favor¡ªa follow and a few page clicks would really help in this moment. It only takes 30 seconds!


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    On that note, if you were waiting for completely new content before picking up the story again, we are already there! The last few chapters are completely new, and more new ones are coming daily.


    You can hop over here.</a>


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