by Jeff Kish
Era leans forward as Fire recalls her first day in the market, the trepidation with which she entered that dank bar, the smell of its liquors still burned into the recesses of her mind, and that first moment she met her red-haired partner in all her festive glory. “Hallie was my partner from the first day I entered the Merc Market. We took a mission to find a lost sky boat load. Two novices tromping faithfully toward the completion of our first mission.”
“Wow,” Era replies, “you two were skilled enough to complete a mission on your first day?”
“Far from it,” Fire bluntly replies. “We took the listing at face value… a rookie mistake. Turns out the owner reported the crash to keep the load for himself. Even posted the market job as an alibi. We found out by way of the obnoxious barkeep. Didn’t see a venni.”
Era can’t hide his fascination as Fire recounts tales from her past. “To think that the formidable Fire’s first job was such a failure.”
“Wasted ten days and a fifth of my savings on it,” she recalls, again gripping the bandanna on her arm. “Hallie and I were in over our heads, but hiking so many hills together forged a strong bond. We were determined to make a splash in the market.”
He offers a warm smile. “See? You did have a Jem.”
Fire’s eyes narrow as stories from her past come rushing back, as if flipping through the pages of a book long left unread. “Hallie was just what I needed. Without her, I… I can’t even imagine what my path would have been.”
“So then you tried your hand at assassination?”
“No, moron, we took smaller jobs. Ones we could actually accomplish, and we did well for a time. Earned ourselves some respect from the local market patrons. It was when we attempted higher-stakes jobs that things started to get difficult.”
Era raises an eyebrow. “Trust became an issue?”
Fire grimaces. “No, Hallie was the most trustworthy, most sincere person I had ever met. I thought she was one-of-a-kind until I met…” She glances at Era, suddenly sheepish. “Well, let’s just say you come pretty close to her level of stupid.”
“Thanks,” he remarks. “So what happened to her?”
“We parted ways after a botched job. I was left alone, desperate for a faster means to cash. So I pulled a few strings and was able to take on an assassination.” In a low voice, she says, “I know you think ill of me for devaluing life and all that garbage, but some awful things happened. When you’re at the end of your rope, you do things you never thought you would do.”
Era swallows hard, wondering what level of desperation one needs to push into such work, and, in this moment, he decides he would rather not know. Instead, he asks, “How long ago was your first job?”
“Just over a year ago.”
“A-A year?” Era stammers. “You were a rookie a year ago?”
Fire isn’t sure how to take his comment. “Why do you ask?”
He hangs his head and sighs. “I feel like I’ve been a rookie thief my entire life. Errr… well, whatever amount of my memories are real, I suppose.” Placing his hand to his chin, he says, “I know Jem is real, so it’s at least two years.”
Fire thinks back on her past. “Well, assassination is literally a kill-or-be-killed occupation. You learn quickly or you die. I learned quickly.”
After a moment of silence, Era asks, “Fire, why are we going to Alleria?”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” she growls. “We’re hiding from the-”
“That can’t be the reason!” Era argues. “If that was the truth, you would have filled us in from the beginning. You hid your intentions on purpose, and I want to know why.”
“Just because you had to leave your precious book behind-”
“It’s because you’re my friend!” he interjects. “I care about you, okay? You nearly gave everything for me. It’s difficult to understand how you could do that, only to keep me at arm’s length.”
The crashing of the waves is the only sound on the abandoned deck, and Fire averts her eyes as she spins her bottle back and forth in her hand. “I’ve really lost my focus,” she mutters. “I dedicated my life to a specific purpose, and I lost sight of that after meeting you. The fact that you consider me a partner or… friend is proof enough of that.”
Era rolls his eyes. “A market assassin can’t have friends?”
“That’s not what I mean,” she says. “I only entered this trade for the money and experience. What I’m doing with the money and experience is what matters.”
He leans forward, suddenly interested. “And what’s that?”
“Someone in Alleria needs to die,” she whispers. “By my hand.”
Era furrows his brow. “What is this? Revenge or something?”
Fire hurls her empty bottle into the darkness of the waters with a grunt. “My focus was supposed to be on finding her. You and the brat were supposed to be my ticket across the border, but you became a distraction. I-I even dove off a sky boat for you! How did I let myself…?”
Era isn’t sure how to take her words. “Maybe you were looking for something more meaningful.”
Fire shakes her head. “The only thing I need is to see this through.”
“No!” he shouts. “You can’t waste your life on something as petty as-”
“PETTY?” she screams as she jumps to her feet. “Don’t you dare try to impress your ideals on me. You and your fake father and his made-up wisdom… give me a break! You’re not even human, so quit judging me like you know anything about me.”
Fire’s outburst pierces Era to his core, and the doubt causing his sleepless nights floods once more to the forefront of his mind. He hunches forward, his elbows on his knees, and his eyes drop to the deck as his spirit retreats.
Fire marches away, but she slows and glances back to find her victim in shattered despair. Reluctantly, she returns and faces him. “I… I shouldn’t have said that.”
Era doesn’t look at her. “But it’s true. I’m not human, so what do I know? All that fluff my fake father told me about valuing lives… it’s not even real. You’re right.”
Fire leans against the rail next to him. “No, I’m not right. The truth is that you… intimidate me, Era.” Quickly, she adds, “Not as a combatant! I mean your morals and values and bile like that. You’re far too much like Hallie, which… maybe that’s why I…” Softly, she finishes, “I’ve allowed myself to get distracted. By you.” With that, she leaves Era and disappears into the nearest companionway.
An unexpected smile tugs at Era’s lips, but Fire’s half-apology fails to negate the truth she spoke. He shifts his gaze to the ocean, absorbing the great unknown lurking beyond the empty horizon. As the identity for which he longs continues to elude him, he wallows in the darkness of the night, longing for daybreak to come.
Chapter 6
The rattling of the car on the tracks stirs the youth from his deep sleep. Though first loosing a yawn, Alam becomes alarmed when he finds his wrists bound to the arms of a wooden chair. Sitting nearby is Di, reclining in a chair and reading a thick book in the light of a lantern. The pungent odor and bare furnishings tell him this is no luxury train.
Alam quietly pulls at his restraints, and his chest throbs as he twists. “Okay, I’m confused,” the teen admits aloud, announcing his consciousness. “Did you… Did you beat me?”
“I did,” Di answers, not looking up from her book.
“What did you do?”
“I merely punched you. You have quite the glass jaw.”
“You knocked me out with a punch?” he asks in annoyance, though his lips curl in amusement. “If so, I can only imagine the jolt you got by making contact with me!”
“Your charge never touched me,” she replies.
“Liar! I know my limits. You could have been wearing thick rubber gloves and I’d still-ow!” he yelps as an invisible object jabs his forehead.
“How about thick gloves made from shaped air?” she retorts, her finger extended to him. “I h
ave a rather high limit, myself.”
He gapes in amazement. “You’re shaping the air? From that far away?”
“You’re smarter than I thought,” she cajoles, jabbing him again with the long, glasslike rod extended from her fingertip.
“Gyah! I hate air shapers!” he squawks while tugging fruitlessly at his restraints. “Why did they send a demon girl after me!?”
Di snaps her book shut in contempt. “Watch your tongue or I’ll be forced to teach you another lesson.”
“Help! Help!” he cries, but the dim train car fails to offer a response. They are the only two passengers in the otherwise empty vessel, and Alam’s stomach looses a growl that dwarfs even the sound of the train on the tracks. “Ugh,” he groans, “never got a meal today.”
“Oh, right,” his captor responds as she reaches into a satchel. “I forgot I was given this for you.” With that, she withdraws a crusty roll.
“You forgot about FOOD?” he nearly shrieks, startling Di. “How could you possibly do something like that?”
“I mean, you were asleep…” she mumbles as she moves toward him, and Alam watches with curiosity as she forms a blade along her index finger and cleanly slices through his bindings on one wrist. “It isn’t my fault you chose to skip breakfast and lunch.”
“Chose!?” he exclaims as he snatches the loaf and violently rips off a bigger bite than he can chew. “I din’ choo’ nuffin!” He swallows and snidely suggests, “You must not know what it’s like to live on the street!” before sinking his teeth once again.
“I do not,” she calmly replies. When the ravenous teen chokes on his bread, she offers a canteen, which he gratefully chugs.
“Wow, this is the best water I’ve had in a long time!” he professes with satisfaction. “Must be clean.”
“We have a water maker in our squad,” Di explains. “She makes it fresh every morning. Doesn’t get any cleaner.”
His eyes widen. “I’ve never heard of that,” he says before returning to his meal.
She leans forward, now showing great interest in her captive. “Tell me everything about yourself. What’s your story?”
The ragtag urchin swallows the last of his food and declares, “My name is Alam, but my friends call me Al.” Pausing, he clarifies, “You’re not my friend. Unless you have more bread.”
“Is there nothing else?” his questioner asks, yearning for more.
“What is this? An interrogation or something?”
“Yes, it is.” She pokes him with her blunt weapon once more and says, “I can make this sharper, you know? Tell me everything about yourself.”
Alam wrinkles his nose. “Fine, then. I obviously come from Maaman.”
“How long have you lived there?”
“All my life!” he beams. “I’m fifteen, you know. Far older and more mature than a runt like you.”
Di’s eye twitches, but she ignores the rub. “So you have memories from your entire life?”
He tilts his head quizzically. “Sure, doesn’t everybody?”
The air runic grimaces. “I had hoped you would have something authentic to share, but it seems you’re in the same situation as me.” She reopens her book and adds, “We are unique, Alam. All our memories have been faked.”
“Faked?” When it becomes clear Di is finished with the conversation, he shrugs off her confusing comments and grumbles, “Not sure what you mean, but it’s not like my memories are worth keeping. I’d be happy if they weren’t real.”
Di raises an eyebrow. “You’d be happy?”
“I’ve survived the streets all my life,” he explains. “My crummy parents left me in a ditch, or maybe they were gutted after crossing the wrong people.” Callously, he says, “I have no memories of them. Just the street and my fellow gang members.”
“Each of whom scattered the moment we came to town,” Di teases with amusement.
“Don’t remind me,” he groans. “To think how many times I’ve bailed them out of hot water!” Di keeps her eyes on her book, prompting him to ask, “Whatcha reading, anyway?”
“Military protocol,” she says.
“You like that stuff?”
“Hardly. I was ordered to read it in my spare time.”
Alam is unable to contain his curiosity about his captor. “So what’s your story? How does someone like you end up a soldier?”
Despite her efforts to squelch the thoughts bubbling to mind, Di can’t help but replay the emotional journey leading to her capture. She leans back and watches out one of the dark windows, her spirits soured. “You’ll know soon enough. The same thing is going to happen to you.”
“I’ll become a soldier?”
“More than that,” she explains. “You’ll be turned into an unparalleled lightning elementalist bound to the will of a war-mongering madman.” When met with a bewildered expression, she clarifies, “They’re going to make you into a weapon, Alam. You’re going to serve General Graff as his personal killing machine, just like me.”
A grin spreads across Alam’s face. “That’s amazing!”
“A-Amazing?”
“It is!” he cries. “I’m going to train to become a super-powerful fighter!”
“Errmmm… it’s not exactly training,” Di contends.
“Who cares? I’m going to become a soldier!”
“NO!” Di shouts, slamming her book shut. “You’re going to become a slave. There is nothing amazing about that.”
Alam sizes her up and scoffs. “You must have been rich when they took you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got the mark. The way you speak, the way you hold a book, the way you treat food… it’s all so wealthy.” He leans back in satisfaction and says, “You lost a bunch of stuff you cared about. I’m losing nothing.”
“It’s not about the material,” she insists. “You’re going to lose your identity.”
“Sounds to me like I’m gaining an identity.”
“You’ll lose your will!” Di shouts. “You’ll belong to them. To him.”
“So?” he asks. “I’m fifteen years old. Always lived on the streets. Probably always would have. If what you’re saying is true, I’ll finally be given something better.”
“You don’t understand,” she says disdainfully, trying once more to return to her reading materials, “but you will soon enough.”
After eyeing her, Alam snidely says, “Once I’m all trained up, I’m going to beat you down for that sucker punch.”
“In your dreams.”
* * *
The train pulls alongside the antique wooden platform marking the end of the line. Di steps into the morning sun, still wiping the sleep from her eyes as Alam lags behind her, himself exhausted from the bumpy ride, not to mention the conversations that continued late into the night.
Commander Galen emerges from his train car clutching a lengthy rope, and he watches Alam carefully as he ties it to the youth’s bindings. “I trust the trip was uneventful?”
“Wish he’d stayed unconscious all night,” Di complains. “Kid can talk.”
“The kid’s calling me a kid?” he retorts.
“Stop making fun of my age, already!”
“I’m only doing it because you’re a shrimp.”
“And yet you couldn’t take me in a fight.”
“Sucker punches don’t count!”
Galen rubs his temple, grateful he missed out on whatever bickering must have transpired late into the night. With the two now childishly sticking their tongues out at each other, he snaps his fingers and orders, “Let’s move.” He leads his captive by the rope, allowing Di to take a rear position.
Alam marches vigorously, anxious to adopt his new identity, and Di’s breath trembles with frustration at his attitude, insisting to herself that he’ll soon regret his enthusiasm. The desolate wilderness brings with it a tragic familiarity to the air runic. It was in this rundown town of Grasis where she first met her conductor, and it was this same tre
k over hard earth that culminated in her enslavement. She glances again to the south, trying to make out the wastelands that are home to the ruins of the Third Kingdom, her purported origin.
The arid region known as the Berev is home to impressive rock formations, but only one has become the looming home to a sizeable military camp. No longer just the small platoon originally stationed here, it would now take a formidable army to overcome the encampment, making it clear that Graff is treating this location with the appropriate caution.
Galen sends his allies a series of hand signals for authentication, and he leads the way through the camp until he spots a young officer with shaggy blond hair. Unable to hide a smile, he salutes and says, “Good to see you, Lieutenant Commander.”
Bowen returns the gesture. “And you, sir. It seems you had success. Another kid, though?”
“Seems that way,” he replies. “I take it all has been well, here?”
“It has,” he agrees, “though the troops are restless. Despite my best efforts at educating, they fail to grasp the strategic nature of this location.”
“That is to be expected,” Galen says. “And the general?”
“He arrived a few hours ago. He’s inside.” With dismay, he adds, “He informed me that I was to remain outside in case of interference. I really wanted to see it, too.”
“Consider yourself fortunate,” his superior offers. “Some things are better left unknown. Take my word for it.”
“Aye, sir.”
They part ways, and Galen leads his small squad into the cavern carved within one of the towering boulders. The tunnel descends sharply to where Di had disintegrated the impregnable stone door, and they plunge into the catacombs now brightly illuminated by light runes affixed to the walls. Alam gapes at the ancient structure as they descend, but Di prods him along when he stops to admire it.
As they approach the end of the hallway, a menacing silhouette appears to greet them. Galen unbinds Alam and prompts him forward, while Di shudders at the appearance of her powerful owner.
“Welcome, young man,” General Graff booms, standing tall with his arms behind his back. The veteran’s graying hair and decorated uniform provide Alam with little doubt about his identity. The old soldier brings a hand to his clean-shaven jaw as he sizes up the new arrival with dark, brown eyes. “Seems you’re as young as our first weapon. What a fascinating design decision.”