James

“I knew you would be back,” the proprietor said with a failed attempt at hiding a smirk.

“How?” James frowned.

He shrugged and tossed him the familiar key to his room. “You went east.”

James was too exhausted to figure out what the hell that meant and just nodded glumly, stalking off down the stairs.

“Kitchen closes in an hour!” the man called after him.

Thankfully, the owner of A’triyes’ finest (or at least most tolerable) establishment was a man who asked few questions and preferred it if you lied. So James told him he was in the Empire on business and in A’triyes on research and left it at that.

He had not planned on ever laying an eye on the Skipping Horse again after that first morning, but when a broken and defeated James came upon it again after a grueling couple of days courtesy of the Haweyne climate that forced him to backtrack, his spirits lifted considerably. Somehow, his room was still unoccupied.

James closed the door with a sigh, turning the lock. The bed squeaked when he threw himself onto it, letting out a satisfied groan. His aching back welcomed the relief of a soft mattress.

The humble lodgings looked almost silly with the brown satchel stained with red sand thrown over the back of the lonely chair, like a withered flower in a charred forest. Just like the patchwork on the cockpit chair in his shuttle.

“Wonder if it’s still there?” he mused.

It stung that he’d have to leave it in Kael-Vora. It was a good shuttle. He pushed the worry aside. No alarm, no harm. Probably.

After half an hour his stomach growled with such persistence that he decided to see if he couldn’t grab a bite before he’d start chewing on his own boot. Dusting off the bag the best he could, he swung it over his shoulder and headed out.

There was a mixed crowd at the lively roadhouse tonight. Students and less savory characters mingled in a fervent haze of booze and smoke. He grinned. This was his kind of scene. When the night was young, and the party was just getting started. He could feel his spirits lifting. A musician tuned their instrument center stage, promising an unforgettable evening that most would forget come daylight.

All his life James had been told of the akatian barbarians. Brutal and ambitious savages and megalomaniacs who wished to shape the universe in their own image, whatever it took. Stories of illevian heroes and akatian villains mingled in his memories with nursery rhymes of mythical ghosts pulling all their strings. As a boy, he’d wished for nothing more than to see Agartha. The supposed utopia. 

He knew the akati were evil, or evil-adjacent, but they were a necessary evil without which his people would never have risen to prominence. Hubris had pushed the akati too far. Tragic, really. And it was a universal truth that all societies have a darker side; that much was plain even in this room. Equally true was that all power needed to step on a few toes. Nothing was ever all roses and sunshine.

A flicker of movement caught his eye on the balcony above him. Even as he turned to look a small voice in the back of his mind said that there was no reason for that particular movement to interest him. That voice was silenced when his eyes landed on a gorgeous young looking woman leaning an elbow on the railing. She was looking straight at him from across the stage with a dark, unwavering gaze. Helpless to resist the pull, his knees nearly buckled.

He glanced around. After all, there were balconies above and below. That gaze could be meant for anyone. Maybe she was looking at a friend?

She giggled and shook her head slightly, causing her fringe to fall into her eyes and away from the small curled horns on her head. Bad idea. She beckoned again.

What the hell was he doing? Reaching out to other patrons? He was meant to be keeping a low profile. She cocked an eyebrow, smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Low doesn’t mean dead, right?” he muttered.

“Right!” came a slurred, enthusiastic reply from somewhere at his elbow.

James laughed with the rover dancing beside him like nobody was watching, getting swept into a bear hug that almost cracked his ribs. Still chuckling, he firmly disentangled himself from the man and looked back toward the balcony.

She was still there. Watching. Waiting. He grinned at the woman. Gods help him, he started toward her.

The dense, stumbling crowd slowed him down, forcing him to weave between bodies like flotsam in a tide. Every so often he found himself glancing over to make sure she was still there until the balcony was out of sight and he was making his way up some stairs, dodging a large spill in the middle of them.

Sense told him to just grab his bite and his pint and retire, but sense was not driving this ship. A bit of company could not hurt. Especially not the kind that might be coaxed into sharing a little intel about the ways of the land, the customs, routes, stuff like that. Dangerous? Sure. But the badder the sweeter the reward.

When doubt had been rationalized and wrestled firmly into a corner, he reached her table, and the last of his caution evaporated. While not traditionally beautiful, she owned her presence like few he’d ever seen. With the quiet confidence of someone who had never once apologized for existing. Dark-skinned and glowing, her cheeks rosy from too much drink.

“My lady called?” he said with a playful bow.

“Her lady is deaf,” came a voice just behind him. “Coming through, pardon!”

He turned to see a young man making his way past the thick of patrons, gingerly cradling two beakers with a frothy golden liquid that smelled of sunshine and wild honey.

“Ah, right.” James fumbled, looking between them. “Here. Let me help with that.”

“Thanks, mate.” The man grinned, relinquishing a beaker with a grateful nod.

The woman started gesturing quickly, her fingers dancing in the air in elegant patterns, weaving meaning in a language that he longed to touch, know, feel. James blinked and the world cleared again.

“What was that?” he wondered. “Are you casting a spell on me?”

“Vee would like you to join us,” the young man said, glancing at her. “Says you look like a lost puppy.”

“Ouch.” James clutched his heart, earning a giggle that made his ears hot. “Looks like you owe me a drink, if you’ll have me.”

The man kicked a stool out from under the table. “More the merrier. What is your name, mate?” His hands were also dancing in those same patterns, though a little less elegantly.

“James.” He slid onto the stool. “Cheers.”

The woman extended a hand to shake, signing with the other.

The young man translated, wiping the condensation off his drink with the edge of his sleeve. “Well met, James. I am Veth, daughter of Aadam and Roya with a little spicy gift from the former, the eyes of the latter, and a penchant for a good time from myself. My friend here is Max. He is an Ignis.”

Max scoffed, shaking James’s hand. “Does not mean I cannot throw a party. Only means my parents do not.”

James scoffed. “Noted.”

Max leaned closer, lowering his voice with a wink. “Also, it is absolutely true. Watch out for this one, mate. Before you know it, she has snared you in a web of no escape, trapping you forever in her service.” Seeing Vee squint at him, he grinned and flicked his fingers. “Nothing.”

Vee pursed her lips, shaking her head. Her fingers flickered. “What about you, James? What is your story?”

“Son of traders,” James lied easily as Max translated. “Grew up on the trade routes. Took over the business when the old man called it in.”

Even James caught the extra padding Max added on afterward, wondering what could have sparked that subtle shift in their expressions.

Vee leaned forward with an eager look in her big eyes. “You must have heard so many stories.”

“True.” He shrugged. “But I’d rather hear yours. What did I walk in on?”

Max rolled his eyes, earning a hard slap on the arm from Vee. He yelped, signing something too quickly for James to follow. A heated exchange followed, though it felt like an ongoing argument that was well-worn, but with a healthy dose of warmth and humour. Familiar heat, not true anger. James’s shoulder blades relaxed a little more.

Vee turned back to him and started signing. “Sorry about that. It is an age-old argument. We were talking about the Old Guard. I have a theory that they are real.” Max translated and then paused, signing as he spoke for himself. “I on the other hand do not believe in fairy tales.”

“There is too much proof to be a coincidence.” Vee took a big sip and signed irritably. “And I do not believe in coincidences. So you see, James, we have found ourselves at a bit of an impasse, and in dire need of a mediator.”

“The Old Guard?” James tried to recall where he’d heard the phrase before. “Wait. You mean as in that old nursery rhyme?”

They both looked at him. “Yeah, yeah, I am asking. What nursery rhyme?”

“You’ve never heard it? The one about the Eight? The Eight of the Old Guard?”

Both of them stared back, blinking slowly. James wet his throat with a sip from Max’s drink and recited the first two verses:

Guess what I heard in a smoky bar?

Tales of shadows deep, woken from the past

Hunters of old, falling where they go

The Eight are awake, winter in their wake

Guess what I heard moving through the dark?

Falling stones of fire and burning hearts

The phoenix is rising from ashes old as time

The Eight are awake, winter in their wake

Yes, the Eight are awake, a pound of flesh they’ll rake

Vee remained silent, tracing the rim of her glass, making it sing.

Max grimaced. “Ignis, that is gross.”

“Hey, I didn’t write it.”

Suddenly, Max blushed so hard both Vee and James turned to see what he had spotted. A very familiar face had popped up in the crowd not far from their table, eyes wide and rosy cheeks.

“Elina. She came,” Max mumbled. “Excuse me a moment.”

The stool scraped against the ground when he bolted. James gave Elina a small wave before she, too, disappeared in the general direction of Max’s wake.

He fidgeted with the half-drunk glass Max abandoned, scratching at a scab forming on his knee while Vee mused in silence. For a while they just looked at each other. A long while. The party was ramping up now. The musician had fired up the crowd into a joyful frenzy.

“I can read lips, you know.” Vee smiled when he did a double-take, knowing there’d been no way for him to know that.

“You can speak?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Never had he wanted the ground to swallow him up so fast. To her credit, she ignored his embarrassment with a small shrug, adjusting a stray strand of hair over her horn.

“Only if you stick to Common, please. And I was not always deaf entire.” Vee’s speech lilted ever so slightly, and the sounds were distorted, but completely legible. “My uncle’s blind. Tactile doesn’t quite work on projections just yet. Practice helps. Just don’t tell my friends.”

“He’s not around then? Your uncle?”

“Only occasionally.” She leaned closer. “Now, how about that drink I owe you?”

He leaned in too, feeling brash. “How about you teach me some of your language?”

“How about you earn it?”

James snorted and raised his hands in capitulation.

Minutes later two new beakers of liquid sunshine stained the table with their condensation. Around them the Skipping Horse roared, but their table became its own little oasis. She laughed every time he suddenly jumped at a strange noise, teasing him with questions about the ongoing gossip from nearby tables or the song of the bards.

Of the many things James learned about Vee that evening, there was one quality that drew him like a moth to a flame. Within her eyes there was a quiet steel wrapped in fire, tempered only by humble generosity and beautiful courage.

They met often after that, and before he knew it Cye had been around for more than a week. What a month it had been since he left Base 19. He knew he should be focusing on the mission, of laying low and gathering intel. But he found it less and less important. Instead he looked forward to the times they’d be sharing a meal, drinks and conversation. Whenever she didn’t show up, he’d be in a funk all day, roaming the library for distractions.

His lessons in akatian sign language progressed well enough, though not fast enough for his liking. It was too far removed from the illevan sign language that he had trouble keeping them apart, accidentally adding in illevan or thieves’ cant instead. Did she recognize the slips? The strange turns of phrases, the foreign gestures? If she did, she never commented on it. Though once he thought she’d seen a startled flicker flit across her expression.

It had taken him two full days to master the one-handed alphabet, but after that he’d improved slowly but steadily. “What does this sign mean?” he’d ask with his hands. “How do I sign this?” To his delight his hands remembered the language well and soon his eyes followed until he could tell her mood just by watching the way her fingers traced the space.

“You are a quick student,” she told him one evening when they were sitting outside, watching the river with a simple picnic half-eaten between them.

“You are an excellent teacher,” he said, throwing her a crooked smile.

The more he got to know her, the more he fell in love with her voice. Her own voice, not that of a translator’s. Though Max was quite similar to her in attitude and the three had a lot of fun together, though Max’s worry about his finals consumed him. James suspected he wasn’t entirely disappointed when his services became less in demand. And it wasn’t the same, anyway, listening to his voice instead of hers.

Of course, it could never be the same. Hers was passionate. As unpredictable as the crashing tide. He never knew when she had swept him off his feet, but damn, Base 19 and Alex felt liberatingly far away.