The Missing Traveller

She? Not only did it strike Alister as suspicious someone was there to see him—he didn’t know anyone in Bastium outside of the inn—but why would a woman be here to see him? Did the Defenders have women among their ranks as well? He hadn’t seen any so far. I’ll have to be on my guard.

Alister grabbed the shirt he’d worn yesterday from the floor and pulled it over his head. He stepped into his boots and didn’t bother to fasten the buckles. Alister shuffled to the door, thanked a tired but curious-looking Ethan, and trudged down the stairs of the inn, his mind waking up due to suspicion.

Sitting in one of the tables of the common room, and looking thoroughly out of place, was a beautiful woman. Her reddish blonde hair was a waterfall down her back and over the intricate layers of her dress. Delicate lace of her sleeves matched her bright blue eyes exactly, and her presence seemed to enrich the entire room. Alister had only caught glimpses of some of the higher-class women in Bastium. This girl, by the looks of her, was of the highest class.

His eyes were torn away from her by Ronan, perched on the chair opposite her. Alister’s eyes widened and he refrained from calling out. She must be a Defender if she has Ronan. But why is she here? And why is Ronan not in a cage? His mind raced for possibilities, and his eyes searched the room and planned his escape, if it were necessary.

Her steady gaze fixed on him when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and a frown touched her lips. His face heated at his wrinkled shirt and torn breeches.

She has to be a Defender. Why else would she want to see me?

“Are you Alister Kinross?” It was as if she sung the words. He nodded rigidly before he knew what he was doing, and his mind raced. How did she know his full name?

“Then you have some answers for me. And I’ve some for you.”

“Who are you?” Was that ill-mannered? If he acted disrespectful towards a woman of a higher class, she didn’t show any signs of offence. What does it matter, if she’s a Defender? Why doesn’t she just arrest me?

“I’m Mirielle Artron. If I am not mistaken, you’re looking for someone you call Lark.”

Alister managed not to blurt out his whole story despite something compelling him to, but instead narrowed his eyes. She must be from Deemstun.

“What makes you say that?”

Mirielle tilted her head, and then laughed. “Oh, there’s no need to be suspicious, Alister. I’m not a Defender, and I’m not going to run off and tell one of them about Ronan, here.” She smiled. “I’m on your side.”

Alister remained silent. People in Bastium weren’t as honest as he was used to. He glanced down at his bare wrist, where his father’s timepiece was tied when it was stolen.

She frowned and dug through her jewelled satchel, then placed three papers on the table in front of her. “Have a look at these. I knew…Lark…before he became a merchant. Ronan found me the night before last and led me back here.” Mirielle held out her arm and Ronan flew to it at once. It took Alister Lark’s whole first visit to get Ronan to fly to his hand. The bird knew and trusted Mirielle.

Still wary, Alister walked to the table and examined the papers. They were faded photographs, and Alister’s eyebrows disappeared into his fringe when he saw who they were of.

It was a younger Lark and Mirielle, arm in arm and no older than Alister was. Another photograph showed them in a suit and gown on a staircase, Mirielle’s hand looped through Lark’s arm. Alister had never seen Lark wear something so extravagant. The last photograph was them and Ronan standing in a huge, beautiful garden, laughing. Nowhere in the Union was there enough space for a garden like that, except…

Alister’s eyes widened. “Lark used to live in Bastium?” The merchant never did talk about his past, but of all the cities, Alister never would’ve guessed Bastium was his home. He sat next to her.

“For the first eighteen years of his life. He never told you?”

Alister’s brow furrowed. “How did you know my name? And how did you know Lark? How can I know you’re really on my side?”

Mirielle sighed. “I met Jondar at one of my parents’ many social galas—”

“Jondar?” Alister interrupted. “That’s Lark’s real name?”

She laughed. “Jondar Marinus, prodigy of Silvian academy and apple of his father’s eye.”

Alister’s mouth fell open. Prodigy? Apple of his father’s eye? Silvian academy? It was so far from the carefree, unruly Lark he knew, Alister almost laughed.

“Anyway, we both held a certain disdain for the way our family and district tried to mould us into the perfect people. I was a singer, a good one, but they always made me use candra to enhance my performances. Jondar’s family began to push him into the Council, presenting him as an honest, fresh-faced diplomat. But soon enough, his advisors and father encouraged him to lie and manipulate just like all of the others.” She looked down at the photos, her eyebrows pulling up at the middle. “We courted for a little more than a year. Our parents themselves couldn’t be happier, of course; my family and his are both esteemed in Silvian and the rest of the city. We put up with the dinner parties and balls. It was a lot easier to get through them together.” Mirielle’s lips pulled into a soft smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She slipped a thin gold bracelet off her wrist and spun it slowly around her fingers in a way that was too fluid.

“So how did he become a travelling merchant?”

“The way Bastium, especially Silvian, forces everyone into little boxes always annoyed Jondar more than it did me, but I still didn’t see it coming when he decided to leave. He turned up at my house late at night in a frenzy with a huge pack and his wind-chaser. And Ronan, of course. He said he was done with all the lies and manipulation and restrictions, and he was going to explore the Union and become a merchant after he ran out of coin. He wanted to be free.”

Mirielle paused, her eyes fixed on the photographs. Alister followed her gaze. The flying merchant he knew had been trapped in Bastium. Lark told him before Alister reminded him of himself when he was younger. After Mirielle’s story, Alister was unsure if Lark had said it out of fondness or pity.

“So he just left?”

“He asked me to come with him, but…” Mirielle’s cheeks reddened, and she slipped the bracelet back on. “I’ve quite an aversion of heights. And, although the city frustrates me as well, it’s still my home. Jondar was so frantic that night. I think he frightened me a little bit.”

They sat in silence, and Alister let the story sink in.

Who else would become a travelling merchant, bound by no home and always flying from one city to the next, but someone who had been trapped for eighteen years? Lark lived his dream. Until it got him into trouble with one of the most powerful cities in the Union. Alister ran through his conversation with Mirielle in his mind.

“Wait, so how did you know my name?”

Mirielle rubbed her arm and glanced away. “The last time I saw Jondar wasn’t the night he left. It was two years later, when he was in Bastium to trade. He sent Ronan to find me. He told me all about the Union and his trade, and he mentioned a young boy called Alister Kinross from Rindor, who got along well with Ronan and picked up wind-chasing quickly.”

Alister grinned in spite of himself. “Lark talked about me?”

“Amongst a few others around the Union. But I think he saw some of himself in you. Jondar and I spent the three days he was in Bastium together, but…I haven’t seen him since.” She looked up at Alister, her eyes hard.

Lark went through Bastium twice a year, but Mirielle had only seen him once? Mirielle went on before he could ask about it.

“Anyway, when Ronan led me back here, and I asked the boy at the door if he knew whose it was, he told me a young traveller named Ali was looking for him all day. And then I saw you and you looked about the age Jondar said you were.” She smiled. “It was a little farfetched, but I suppose I was right. I thought, at first, maybe Lark was back in Bastium.”

Alister nodded and stared at Ronan while he thought the situation over. “Wait, you said Ronan led you here? Did anyone see?”

Mirielle shook her head. “Of course not. I left Al’Silvian hours ago, so I’d arrive here before sunrise. There’re few Defenders patrolling the streets at night, but even so, he flew high enough to be mistaken for a kite flier or another bird.”

“So you know they’re looking for him?”

“Yes. And here’s where you have answers for me. Why do you have Ronan? And why are the Defenders here in Bastium looking for him and you?”

Alister checked over his shoulder. The common room was indeed deserted, but he lowered his voice anyway and told Mirielle almost everything. He omitted his reason for leaving Rindor, but told her of all Lark taught him about Deemstun, including his claims of knowing more than even the citizens of the city, how Ronan found him and the state the bird was in, Lark’s cryptic message and its meaning within Geological Phenomenon: Magical Cataclysms Throughout the Union, and the Defenders in Delemor searching for Ronan. He finally told her about Baudouin’s plans to control the Union with the Stone.

“…So I don’t know if the crimes the Defenders said Lark committed are true or not, but I think he found out about Baudouin’s plans to release the Stone, and maybe even stopped him from moving forward with them. Lark always said he knew more about Deemstun than even those living there. By the sounds of Baudouin, he doesn’t like his secrets told. It’s serious enough he sent Ronan to me as a last resort, and the Defenders are scouring the Union for any connections to Lark. If we’re seen with Ronan, I think we’ll be held in Deemstun beside him. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about the Stone, but I have to do something. The first step is getting Lark out of Deemstun. He knows more than I do.”

Mirielle eyes widened. “Do you know what’s the most disconcerting about all of this? I met Baudouin four years ago.”

“You—you what?”

“He was in Bastium for a meeting with the leaders of the Union. And my parents hosted a ball for them. I performed, of course, and met quite a few of the Union’s mayors. Baudouin seemed so genuine, so thoughtful. He was so much more charismatic than his uncle had been.” She shuddered. “I can see why the Union is falling for his ploy to win them over. He’s the last person you’d suspect of releasing the Stone’s power to control the Union.” She frowned. “But Gamaliel destroyed himself when he touched the Stone. Hmm. How will Baudouin control it?”

“I don’t know. But I met a Zyrulian archaeologist who said Baudouin always pressed them for information about what they were mining. She spoke of a fabled stone, belsandra, which could allegedly be used to store sura and candra, so…if it’s real and Baudouin found it, he could use it to break through the wards at the centre.” His eyebrows furrowed. A dangerous, ambitious leader who came across as a charming and kind man. That is disconcerting. “Do you know anything about the meeting with the other leaders?”

“Unfortunately, no. I wasn’t a diplomat.” She fell silent for a moment. “So how will you get to Deemstun?”

Alister raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t coming?”

Mirielle set Ronan on the chair next to her. “I’ll help you in any way I can, Alister. But I can’t leave Bastium.” She frowned. “It’s not so bad here.” Mirielle sounded so insincere Alister considered whether she was being sarcastic. “So how are you going to get to Deemstun?”

Alister’s shoulders slumped. I suppose I’ll be travelling alone again.

He sighed and went on. “I was hoping you would have some idea. I went to the House of Travels earlier in the week, and aside from the fee of three marks, I have to provide documentation that proves I’ve family to visit over in Deemstun, or a job which requires me to go. I have neither of these, or the coin.”

Mirielle waved a hand. “Coin is no issue. I said the Artron family is one of the most esteemed in Bastium, and I meant it.” She frowned. “But there’s no way you’ll be able to get into Deemstun by sneaking in; the city is on far too high alerts. You’ll have to get that Seal Card, one way or another.”

“But I don’t have family there, or a job.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re in Bastium now, Alister Kinross. If you want something done, I can guarantee you can find someone to do it for a price. I may be from Al’Silvian, but I know for a fact you can get some convincing counterfeit documentation in Bastium. The real question is how to know who does the best ones.”

Alister stared at his hands. “I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I?”

The corner of Mirielle’s mouth twitched. “Jondar said you were like him, but you’re quite different. He would have no trouble breaking some rules.” Her eyebrows were raised in a challenge.

“It’s not about the law. I just don’t like being dishonest.” Alister scowled. Dishonesty was far from the worst thing he’d done that month.

“It’s not ideal.” Mirielle’s eyebrows knitted togther. “What are you planning to do when you arrive in Deemstun, anyway?”

Alister sighed. “I don’t know. I hardly knew Lark. For all I know, he doesn’t know anything about Baudouin’s plot, and he deserves whatever is happening to him. But if he does know, then he’s the only one who can help me. Help all of us.”

Mirielle leaned forward, eyes hard. “I’ve barely seen Jondar in seven years. But I can assure you his supposed crimes are either exaggerated or twisted versions of the truth. He may not mind breaking a few rules here and there, but he always held to what was truly right. That’s why he had to leave Bastium. Jondar hates when leaders lie to their people. It makes sense he’s being held in Deemstun because he knew too much about Baudouin’s plans to…to release the Stone of Dominus, and I’d be surprised if he didn’t do anything to stop it. He learned quite a bit about Deemstun when he was a diplomat, and even though that was when Garron was their leader, none of what he heard of their ambitions were good.” She drew a deep breath and looked away again, her eyes downcast.

Alister studied her worn expression for a moment. “If you say so. You don’t think he would’ve changed since you last saw him? It’s been years, after all.”

Mirielle shook her head. “Believe me, if you’re open to change your mind about anything moral for the worse, Silvian is the place that’ll do it.”

Alister rubbed his chin. “So we need to find someone to make counterfeit Seal Cards.” The corners of his mouth pulled into a smile. “I know just the man to ask.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair and grinned. “I’m beginnin’ to like this new Alister. Counterfeit Seal Cards and papers? They’re tricky, and if Deemstun is anythin’ like what you say, then you’ll be needin’ the best of the best.” He flung a hand out to Alister’s desk to balance himself, before he let all four chair legs rest on the floorboards again. “I don’t personally know the best forger in Bastium, but Marino will.” He glanced away from Mirielle to Alister. “Vince Marino, the fellow what taught Nellie to defend herself. He’s connected to everyone shady on and off the streets.”

“And that’s how you know him?” Alister leaned forward from his seat on the bed. They’d woken Ethan up at dawn and dragged him into Alister’s room to discuss the Seal Card. Ronan was perched back on the hatstand.

“Aye.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You want my help or not?”

At Mirielle and Alister’s nods, Ethan continued. “Marino has a place on the edge of De’Rogier. We can go there later today, but he only discusses…business deals…after the seventh hour of noon.” At Alister’s questioning look, he laughed. “What, you think I’m goin’ to let the two of you go alone? You need my help. He’ll probably request a small fee, as well.”

“Coin is no issue.” Mirielle clutched her jewelled satchel.

Ethan eyed the satchel. “Good. Well, that’s all we can do for now. See you at sundown, Miss Artron.” He got up and made a quick bow with a grin. “Ali, are you goin’ to help me today or do you need to discuss things further with this fine lady?”

Alister raised his eyebrows at Mirielle.

“I’ve a few more things I need to do today.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “I’ll return before sundown. It was nice to meet you both.”

Ethan followed her to the doorway and stared down the hall she walked down. “She’s somethin’ else.” He glanced back at Alister and strode down the other direction. “Come on, then! We got work to do.”

Alister followed Ethan to bring out food from the kitchen to the common room for breakfast.

Ethan nudged him as they passed between rooms. “Remind me again how you got an Artron lady to come from Al’Silvian to De’Rogier.”

“She used to know…” Alister hesitated as they gathered steaming plates from the kitchen; Sarila glanced at him. “The merchant. And Ronan recognised her.” At least the Defenders aren’t asking for Ronan’s name.

“Aye, I know.” He waved a hand. “I just don’t believe it. Do you know how much coin her family has?”

“Enough to pay for the services we need.” Alister he laid the plates onto the table that was already full of food.

Ethan snorted. “Enough to pay for a couple of blimps, too.”

Alister stared. “Blimps?” He’d heard the word, probably from Lark, but its meaning escaped his mind.

“Aye, you know. Huge balloon things used only by the richest people in Bastium? They’re awful impractical, and use up more myrres in ten minutes than most kite fliers use in a year, but families like the Artrons have enough coin that it don’t matter one way or another to them.” Ethan laughed bitterly. “Just think how many people they could give homes and food to, if they wanted to be generous.”

“I don’t think Mirielle is much like her family.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, she seems real nice. But she was still brought up in Silvian. I’d bet you anythin’ she ain’t never been without at least six marks in that jewelled bag of hers.”

Alister shrugged. “She’s generous enough to give some to us. Just minutes ago you were calling her a lady.”

Ethan’s mouth twisted into a grin. “I never said what kind of lady.”

All of the plates were served, so the two of them leaned on the benches in the kitchen for a brief moment of silence.

“Do you really think they’ve two blimps?”

Ethan laughed. “One, for sure. Not likely two.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

Ethan rubbed his chin. “They flew one ’round at the Grand Tournament four years past. It was huge, probably about the length of this street. I don’t know why they flew it here when the Tournament was all the way in Clarendome then, but rich people do weird things.”

He went on to tell Alister all about the Grand Tournament, to be held in Bastium next year. It was only held every five years, each time in one of the four biggest cities of the Union, and only the winners of the annual Tournament of the Skies could enter.

When they had finished most of what needed to be done, Alister headed over to the torenn temple with Ethan. It would take his mind off the waiting, and the temple had returned to his mind often since they walked past it.

The inside was just as amazing and unusual as the outside. Weapons of all sorts and shapes lined the walls, aside from one with a row of black and white targets. A section of the floor held a large mattress where a couple of men practiced impossible-looking flips and jumps. Heavy bags hung from the ceiling in the opposite corner, and a muscular woman sparred with a rotating wooden pole which had smaller sections in different shapes that stuck out and whirled around after every strike.

An elderly man in a black robe and thin, white hair approached the two of them. “Are you interested in learning one of the torenn offered at this temple?”

Alister suppressed the overwhelming urge to scream ‘yes’ and kept his expression calm. “How much does it cost?”

Ethan met his eye and gave an approving tilt of the head.

“Three tenths for an hour private lesson in any discipline. Two tenths for any of our group sessions. Times of each class are posted on the board over there.” He gestured to the wooden board by the door.

Why is everything in this city so burning expensive? If only Eugene had come to Bastium with him, Alister could continue to learn Elin-tor for free.

The man held up a finger. “We offer a twenty-minute trial session free of charge.”

Alister nodded with a grin before he even thought about it.

Ethan stepped forward, his arms folded across his chest. “Why’s that free? What’s in it for you?”

The man drew himself up, but his features didn’t show irritation at Ethan’s suspicion. “My grandfather built this temple with his own two hands. It cost him every trace he owned, but he never charged more than was needed to get by. It was built because all people have a right to learn how to defend themselves. And so we offer twenty minutes for free, because twenty minutes is still better than none at all.”

Ethan’s mouth twitched at a smile. “Fair enough.”

Five minutes later Alister wore second hand breeches and the tunic the other students wore. Stench of sweat exuded from the clothes; Alister doubted soap had ever graced these fabrics. Ethan sat on the steps near the entrance of the temple as he watched Alister and the other students.

The elderly man—Irvine was his name—asked Alister to show him what he knew. Alister dried his palms on his pants and kept a mask of calm. He ran through the basic strikes, kicks and stances of Elin-tor, before going through Rolling the Boulder. Irvine watched with an expressionless face.

“I’ve practised sparring without weapons, and also with two staves.” Alister peered at Irvine to determine what he thought. He’d practised with the staves for a week, and he’d even managed to go through some strikes Eugene taught him with the staves.

The man nodded curtly. “You have practiced Rolling the Boulder many times. We’ll spar now.”

Still unsure as to whether Irvine was impressed or not, Alister took the two quarterstaffs he was handed. Irvine whipped around with the speed of a viper, and Alister yelled and only just deflected the blow that could’ve knocked him out. Without hesitation, the man swung his own staff again. Alister sidestepped and held his own staves ready. It was a mistake to underestimate this man due to his age. Irvine moved with deadly precision, the staff an extension of his arm. Alister was quick to dodge or deflect some of his strikes, but he wore a grimace for all the bruises he would see tomorrow. When the old man paused, Alister tilted his head in confusion.

Not a bead of sweat formed on Irvine’s wrinkled forehead, and there was no pant in his voice. “I want to see you attack as well as defend.”

Alister took a moment to catch his breath and gripped the staves with sweaty palms.

He moved through boulder into bel stance and flew the staff forward; the sixth strike. Irvine swept the staff away easily, and Alister struck again from the side. Every blow Irvine deflected, his expression unchanged. Alister gritted his teeth in determination and tried again. They sparred for what felt like half an hour, yet it had only been five minutes.

“Stop.” Irvine stood straight again, and Alister loosened his grip on the staves. “You’re determined, and you know the strikes, kicks and stances well.” Between pants to catch his breath again, Alister smiled slightly. “But you’re not fluid in your movements, especially not with the staves. You spar with your mind and not your body. Perhaps if you learnt more forms it may become more natural to you.”

Alister nodded excitedly. “Which form will you teach me?”

“Eagle in the Hurricane. It’s primarily an evasive form, with sharp elements of attack throughout it also. Ideal for a beginner dual swordsman to practice, for your muscles to begin learning both attack and defence in Elin-tor.”

Irvine then took Alister’s staves and demonstrated the form. Alister frowned when he saw how often it used the Yena stance; he often struggled to balance with it. Irvine darted and whirled about, his arms close to his body for the most part, but occasionally striking out with much speed and precision. Alister’s eyes grew wide. The first time he’d seen Rolling the Boulder it looked impossible to master, but after breaking it down, it was quite simple. He wasn’t confident Eagle in the Hurricane would be. The staves moved in ways Alister hadn’t practiced before, blocking and attacking simultaneously, and constantly whirring strike after strike in a fluid sequence.

Irvine spent the last ten minutes of the free lesson going through the form with Alister, expressing the importance of holding the staves at the right angle. Although the staves were cylindrical, Irvine pointed out the black line drawn on one side to indicate where the blade would be. He insisted Alister would be thankful he concentrated on the angle once he used single-edged swords instead. It wasn’t a long form, and if he practiced it enough before he forgot it, Alister thought he might remember it properly. Irvine was a tough teacher. He snapped a wooden plank on any part of Alister’s body which performed Eagle in the Hurricane incorrectly, even if it was only off by half an inch.

Irvine folded his arms. “You have done well. But unless you’re prepared to pay for further instruction, I’ll have to ask you to leave the temple. We need the charges to keep the temple open. It seems people don’t find value in learning to fight, anymore.” His mouth twitched downwards. “We live in a city of diplomats and traders, unprepared for attack.”

Alister frowned. Not many people thought such a way. Even to Alister, it seemed paranoid. But he’s right. If Baudouin decided to take the Union by force, there wouldn’t be much to stop him.

Irvine went on. “Additionally, I don’t like my students to be distracted.”

Some of the other students had watched Alister curiously as he was taught the form. Alister nodded and reluctantly followed Ethan out of the torenn temple, with one last wistful glance at the rows of weapons lining the wall.

Ethan grinned at him. “How was it? Looked real painful to me.”

Alister rubbed his arms and winced. “It was. And I thought Eugene was a tough teacher.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow; Alister didn’t often mention people from his life before he came to Bastium.

“Eugene is the man who taught me the Elin-tor I knew already. He didn’t have time to teach me much, but I learnt the basic strikes, kicks, and stances, as well as a form and a bit of dual weaponry.”

They made their way back to The Kite’s Way, since Alister couldn’t afford another lesson.

When dusk came, Alister and Ethan waited outside the inn and watched the dwindling number of people passing by. Alister stared at a street pole with a light flask on top until a boy walked up the ladder and lit it. He wondered idly whether they used sura or a flint, and how many people in Bastium lit the street poles at dusk.

“It’s a low payin’ job,” Ethan said when he asked. “Couple of traces per flask, most done by young Conjurers.” He checked his timepiece. “Where is she? She did say she’d be here by now, right?”

Alister glanced at the time and his eyebrows furrowed. “She did.”

They waited another five minutes before a carriage led by a couple of bharals pulled up on the street. Mirielle stepped out in a woollen dress that looked much less out of place than the intricate gown she wore in the morning.

Ethan’s eyebrows met with irritation. “What took you so long? We said we’d meet—”

Mirielle flashed an icy look at him, and he trailed off.

“I ran into someone I’d rather not have seen.” Her musical voice was flat. “Now let’s go.”

Both of the boys knew better than to ask who she ran into, and they filed into the carriage. A light flask lit the inside to show the two wooden seats facing each other, a polished floor, and a small table next to the windowsills. Mirielle pulled the scarlet curtains shut, spun gold bracelet in that strange fluid way, and the carriage jolted forward.