James

“Oh, come on! What the fuck?” James groaned as the alarm woke him up from a perfectly fine slumber.

Even though the ship piloted itself, he grabbed the controls and slammed every surface and button before the noise quit.

“Bloody hell, Arman!”

Bastard must have given the ship some sort of proximity alarm when he was nearing the wards of the Akati Empire. Knowing James had a tendency to get bored and distracted a lot, especially on long hauls like this one.

Silent and lean, this was a dragonfly among skyships. No more than fifteen feet in length, with a curved hull shaped like a blade made from pale wood and frozen quartz that kept it in the air.

A one-seater for sure, though if one were friendly with one another, a second wouldn’t be too much of a squeeze.

Canvas stretched taught over a frame of shattersteel shaped the wings. When unfurled, they shimmered like oil on water. It was a ship meant to pass by quietly through storms and shadows alike. No cannons or weapons were mounted save the ones the pilot carried. No, this was a vessel that had one job, and James O’Hagan flew it like a man who didn’t plan on being followed.

Sightseeing was, however, a perk of the job. Nothing could beat real daylight after the grit and the dirt and the constant fear for one’s life that was everyday existence on the sangoran plateau he’d called home. James snorted, his lips twisting with tempered bitterness. Home. Now that was a complicated word.

Back into the mental box it went. James was good at compartmentalizing, after all. And this here was a view to die for.

Back there, most mountains were worn to hills, save the fire valley where peaks rose sharp as grass. Every single one covered with glowing lava and soot that seeped into the very building blocks of the surviving vegetation.

Here, valleys were almost dark compared to the peaks, but not black. They were dark green and gold, like forgotten cracks snow had yet to reach. Did it ever snow here? The mountains so bare and lush with vegetation, and colorful lichen even at the peaks.

“Now that’s what I call spectacular.” James smiled, even as the silence deepened in the cockpit. “Wish you could see this, friend.”

Mountains rose and valleys opened, and rivers ran like stark blue and silver ribbons across the landscape. Staring at the first sights of Oliria, it surprised him how far he could see. The mountains grew a deeper and deeper shade of blue the further away they were, and it was so breathtakingly beautiful. If Dari or Morwyn could see this, they’d mock him, but they’d love it too.

“I didn’t know places like this existed.” James’s voice was strained as the implications hit him one after the other. Paintings he’d seen. Projections. But in real life? He could almost understand the difference between their peoples by their choice of home. Khorun versus Oliria. Illevan versus Akati. One cursed, the other gifted.

A low growl escaped him. It was unfair. And he was there to rectify it. Bright reflections caught his eye from somewhere down below.

There it was. Kael-Vora.

Self-proclaimed Gate to the Empire. Complete with sharp cliffs and a thunderous waterfall where Ran Fy’eir dropped three hundred feet before continuing on its merry way west towards the Morimyr Ocean. Somewhere at the foot of that fall lay his mission.

Carved into the mountain itself, the city looked like a great amphitheater of stone where the riverside port was the stage. Terraced balconies and spires loomed above the harbor. Statues of lions, dragons, and people who had to mean something lined stairs leading from the lower districts to the upper, where roofs were covered with copper plates, turning green with age.

With a flick of a switch, the autopilot disengaged, and manual control brought the ship down towards the skyport. From his research, James knew the best action would be to dock in the upper port where the rich arrived.

“Finally.” He dug around for the credentials they’d forged back at Base 19.

The journey had dragged on longer than anticipated, but that was kind of his fault. Since he’d made such good time, he’d figured a small smuggling run to line his purse couldn’t do much harm. Except it was a trap. As soon as he was clear with the loot, there was a target on his back the size of a mountain. Set there by his employer. Gods damn that scoundrel and son of a bitch!

No chance he’d see the rest of that money, but he managed to carry the cargo past Varu. Ten cases of fortified alloy, which a dimwitted smuggler with green hair traded in for rations and a beautiful dagger that must be worth a fortune. Balance was good, and it was sharper than a normal steel blade.

“What’s it made of?”

“Celestial steel, mate.” Grinning, the green-haired man winked twice.

“Right.”

“Worth a fortune.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hard to fence, had it for ages. It’s not something one wants to be associated with if it’s not your own. I’ll throw it in as a bonus if you lower the price to 65% of market.”

Though it went against every fiber of his body, James took what he needed and left without much haggling. There was a time-sensitive mission on his conscience, and he’d already lost half a week to the whole affair.

On paper, the mission was simple. Steal a Ward Orb before their precious ceremony. In and out without a trace. Usually a mission suited for an apprentice, but Alex had insisted it be him. Alexandre. Also complicated.

Grey clouds carpeted the skies when James O’Hagan made his last preparations. Kind of clouds that threatened either storm or revelation. When his boots hit the ancient stone of the merchant’s promenade, it was with the weary certainty of a man who had walked too far, with too many names.

No one challenged his arrival, nor his paperwork. Much less his coin. Over his armor hung the loose saffron tunic of the tradesmen from Barthen Isles, complete with a cloak and a satchel marked with forged sigils.

Nothing about him invited scrutiny, which was exactly the point.

Cascades of mist and impressions assaulted his senses. So far removed from the brittle dankness of Base 19. Even the air made him dizzy with its cleanliness. Only stenches came from garbage and people, and those wafted by in pockets of air.

Convincing himself he had a few more minutes, James ordered a cup of tea from a vendor and slouched into one of the chairs overlooking the lower districts and the harbor.

“So many opportunities.” He sipped the hot drink, drinking in the view.

“Hey mate, mind if we grab the other half of your table?” The voice was cheerful, without looking, he could tell it was a youngling. Too much joviality left in that timbre.

Quite right, it belonged to a young half-elven man in fine attire, hovering next to his table with another man, much the same age. The pair looked old enough to grow a stubble, yet wide-eyed enough not to be what passed for middle age amongst humans and mixed races. Dressed in layers that showed off a little too much and with trays balancing cups and baked goods that smelled delicious, they grinned awkwardly at him.

It was stupid, really, how well you could tell those two had never spent a day in their lives doing any heavy lifting. Twins, he realized, as he eyed them. Studying them. Both blonde, though one ash and the other darker.

“Not at all.” James waved placidly at the empty space next to him, donning an air of arrogance neither picked up on.

One of them wooped and dropped his tray on the table before dropping himself into a chair. “Oh my gods, I have been on my feet forever.”

“Some sort of blockade down the lifts.” The man with darker blonde curls shrugged by way of explanation. “Line is atrocious.”

“Ah.”

Between bites, the first peered at James. “You do not know anything about it.” It was a statement.

James shrugged. “No. Came by air. Much quicker.”

“Oh! We have a stranger in our midst! Hear that, Alex, eh?”

“Wow, what a strange notion. Strangers in a tradestown. Call the newspapers.”

They laughed heartily and fell back into their chairs. Belonging to this place as surely as if they’d been chameleon shifters from Ututao. James eyed them, but sensed nothing malicious about them. With a pang, he realized they were just two friendly guys, genuinely interested in chatting to a stranger. It was such a foreign concept to him that it took a moment to process.

“How long are you staying then, mate?” the second continued. “I am Alex, by the by. That is Keenan.” He pointed to the first, ash blonde guy with his face halfway into his sandwich.

“James. Sorry, akatian is not my first language so my brain is a little fried at the moment.”

“Shit! Sorry!” Keenan exclaimed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I gotta practice my common anyway.”

“I should do that with my akatian, but thank you. It’s been a long journey.”

Alex held out one of the pastries. “Want one?”

James hesitated but took it. Still warm, sweet with a hint of cardamom, and flaky enough to leave crumbs on his lap. “It is good.” There was an ease settling in his chest he wasn’t used to.

The brothers peered at him critically and nodded. Keenan smiled. “Look at that, you have some color and a smile.”

James laughed at that. “I have been alone for two weeks in a cramped cockpit with nothing but clouds and birds for company. I am starved.”

“Everyone talks big about the salt pies and the razorfish stew around here.” Alex grinned. “But trust me. This is the soul of Kael-Vora. Streetside pastries and half-made friends.”

“You know, I got a brother named Alex.”

“Well, a good name is a good name. I can share.” Alex grinned while Keenan leaned back, knitting his hands behind his head.

“So, James, you headed anywhere specific or just here for the opportunities?”

“Yeah! How come you’re all the way out here looking like you’re just popping downtown for a bagel?” Alex wondered, looking at him over the drink in his hand.

He looked between them. They were both so carefree that James forgot all his worries. Glancing past the archway behind them, where the merchant’s promenade dipped before winding up again toward the other side of the Upper Districts, he weighed his options. In the haze it was possible to just make out the gleaming threads of water cascading down Rhendak’s Rise, the falls shining like molten silver in the late morning sun.

“My business is with the Empire and not with its border.”

Keenan’s brow lifted. “Ah. You are a tradesman. Barthen?”

“You know it?”

“Not really. Got this, though.” He held out his arm, and James nearly sucked in his breath. Wrapped around his wrist was a braided karai’i with several marbles and disks intertwined with copper wires and leather threads. They both had them. His stomach lunged. Human or not, Alex and Keenan were more than just young twins in a border town.

They weren’t military, so they must belong to the guilds then. Keenan pointed at a bright blue marbled thread. Alex’s posture became stiffer, more cautious. Waiting for an answer. Thank the gods for his smuggling expertise.

“Skyiron.” He reached out before changing his mind. “Sorry, you probably call it azurite. Damn, your folks must be rich. You got the stormglass too?”

Keenan grinned. “Heck yeah!”

“And no,” Alex added modestly.

The tea was getting colder, but it still tasted sweet, though a different kind as the temperature dropped.

“Where are you from?” Alex asked nonchalantly. “I can’t place that accent of yours. It’s very interesting.”

“Says the man with the thickest akatian accent on this planet.” Keenan snorted, but Alex’s body language spoke of a sharp indifference. James had to watch his tongue around this one. Even at a café, sharing pastries, strangers meant danger. It had almost slipped his mind.

James gave an indelicate snort and shrugged. “That’s what happens when your father moves you around from place to place. I used to love mimicking accents as a kid, now I mimic them all instead.”

“Oh? Whereabouts?”

“Dashia, Lossorach.” His mind’s eye roamed the map of the planet. He’d just been to Lossorach, spending the Day of Reckoning in Pelveron, the capital. “We spent five years in Eryn, and a year in Sangora.”

“Sangora? Ouch.” Keenan grimaced.

Alex hummed. “Military?”

“Ambassador. You should see the parties.”

Alex chuckled and shook his head. Visibly relaxing as if James had passed some sort of test. Soon, the conversation veered off into less personal territory. Into admiring the mountains, river, and view, while Keenan and Alex compared legends that the landscape inspired.

It was like they just picked up in the middle of a conversation James had not been a part of. He couldn’t help but listen in fascination, absorbing every word, every myth, every twist and contradiction. There was so much about the akati he’d never known or cared to know.

Keenan’s and Alex’s joviality made it hard not to get swept away. After a while, the pair looked at each other in unspoken agreement. Then they got to their feet, stretched out their muscles. A little disappointed at the sudden end of their conversation, James leaned back in his chair.

“You don’t happen to know the way to the gate, do you?” He kept his voice even.

Alex gave him a look. “What business do you have with the Empire that could not be done at the border anyhow?”

“A letter from my father to the Guildmaster of the Golden Exchange and personal business with the A’triyes Academy. Might start there, actually.”

“That’s a good 5-7 days through the mountains, mate. Not exactly an easy route.”

James shrugged. “Going past AN would take me longer. Besides, I’m no stranger to such travel. Perhaps I will find a shuttle.”

Keenan finished off his tea and brushed crumbs from his clothes. “Do not mind my brother, he is a softy. You got the face of someone who knows how to walk a tightrope. Tell you what, we are headed up to Rhendak ourselves. We can walk you as far as the overlook path.”

James blinked. “You don’t have to.”

Keenan clapped him on the shoulder, hauling him to his feet. “Sure, we do. You shared your name, your story. That’s worth at least a good view and a few bad jokes.”

“And they will be bad.” Alex rolled his eyes but smiled a crooked smile, punching his brother on the shoulder. Keenan yelped, rubbing the sore spot with a scowl.

He fell into step with the twins as the crowd grew thinner near the inner edge of town, where the invisible wards shimmered faintly from the millions of droplets colliding with them. Pavement gave way to red earth and wildflowers, the roar of the falls rising steadily with each switchback turn.

“You still alive there, Jamie?” Keenan sniggered, looking back over his shoulder, hearing James’s wheezing.

“Barely,” he managed, clutching his side. “You know, islands are mostly flat where I come from.”

Keenan sucked his teeth. “And yet you want to go to a high-altitude academy?”

“It is the leading institute of arcane arts. I have questions, and there’s a Jira there who can answer them. Gods… This is a trial.”

“So,” Alex said as they rounded a corner and the full majesty of Rhendak’s Rise and Kael-Vora came into view. “What’s pulling you to the Academy? Just seeking answers or hiding from something, or just hoping the mountains will swallow you whole and give you a new life?”

James gave a tight smile. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Keenan hooted. “I like this one.”

“You like everyone,” Alex retorted, but smiled too. Definitely the older of the two.

For a moment, the three stood watching the cascade. Beautiful as only ancient things can be, like something left behind when the titans fled the world. Alex pointed toward a smaller, winding trail that led behind the rocks and vanished.

“That path will take you to the lift. Temple runners guard it, but they are more bark than bite if you are respectful and have your papers ready. From there, you are in their hands.”

James nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Keenan grinned. “And if you should mention this, tell people we were heroic.”

He clasped his hand. “Deal.”

Alex offered a casual smile when they shook hands. “Safe travels, James. Try not to step on any ancient curses.”

James smirked, adjusted the satchel and his tunic, and started down the trail. Behind him, he could hear the two brothers laugh at something and wished he knew what. But no, there was a mission ahead of him. Even a friendly enemy was an enemy to the Insurrection.

He let the drenching air soak through the lie he wore. For a moment, the old him, the broken boy from Japhaia’s ruins, tried to surface. He closed that door, keeping his eye on the trail.

As soon as he rounded a big slab of granite, guards in ceremonial tanned robes stepped in front of him. They questioned him briefly, glancing at his papers, his eyes, his charming smile. All of it offered with careful precision. The energy of the wards was tangible this close. Beyond them, the cliff dropped a hundred feet as sharply as it did on the town-side.

Somewhere inside this mountain lay the temple of Shimbhala, nestled in layers of rock and sacred secrets.

“Welcome to Hsi Ten, emissary,” one of the guards said, handing back the sigil-stamped papers.

James bowed and stepped through the merchant’s gate, aware that every step carried him closer to the point of no return.