On the Hills of Eden

“You and Rumi did a pretty good job staying on course,” Pallas acknowledged as she pulled her vest together, popping the big round mahogany buttons through their holes.

“Thanks. She did really well, everything considered,” Soleiman replied.

Rumi beamed a smile in return.

“You sure you’ve gotten enough sleep?”

“Ah, well, probably not. But Qingxi said she’d make us some special energy tea as soon as she gets her hands on a tea set.”

Qingxi nodded.

“Energy tea?”

“A brew made from high quality matcha,” Qingxi responded. “A specialty my mother used to make to keep me up whenever I was tired. One we would always drink together,” she added, her voice trailing off as she seemed to fade away into the past.

The four of them sat in silence for a moment, the air filled with naught but the sounds of the waves gently lapping away at the catboat’s sides.

“Well,” Soleiman managed. “Thank you, Qingxi, we really appreciate it,” he added, his body angling to the side as though he felt the need to exit the conversation before it got any more quiet.

Qingxi nodded in acknowledgement.

“Alright. Rumi, you want to come help me count the supplies?”

“Sure!” She replied, shuffling across to the other end of the catboat, where she and Soleiman then immersed themselves in the several crates of supplies and sacks the Thosmodenes had left for them.

The two fighters now left in their silence, Pallas decided to shuffle over to where Qingxi sat.

“Is your wound any better now?” Pallas asked, shooting a glance at the several layer thick coil of bandages that Rumi had strapped about Qingxi’s abdomen.

“It’s okay,” she responded. “But I won’t be able to fight if we don’t get some Edenberry paste soon. Same goes for Rumi.”

“Mm. Alright. I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out.”

…

“Did we do the right thing, Qingxi?”

“About what?”

“About… yesterday.”

Qingxi sat on her thoughts for a while. They let the winds talk for them for a moment, its shifting currents playing and dancing alongside the waves below.

“We did the best we could, Pallas.”

“Even though we got caught and nearly died?”

“That’s just how it is. Not everything will go right. Sometimes no matter how committed you are to getting things done right, to working towards what you want most,” she said, her chest sinking a bit, “Things may still not turn out your way.”

“...I just,” Pallas sighed, the memories of last night breaking through the silent peace of her morning grogginess. “I feel wrong.”

“Are you afraid we’ll end up in the same situation again?”

“Yeah.”

“...Me too,” she replied. “But it’s alright to feel afraid, Pallas. That is a part of this life we lead.”

“Even though it feels so horrible?”

Qingxi nodded.

“That’s what allies are for. To be there so you don’t have to be scared alone,” Qingxi said. “And I’m sure one day, so long as we keep going, the both of us will be able to get what we want.”

“Mmh, alright,” she replied. “Thanks, Qingxi.”

“Happy to help.”

“...Could you tell me a little bit more about your teas?”

As the empty Kardic port drew closer, the horizon growing increasingly populated by the myriad of stout shophouses along the coast, the four of them made preparations to disembark.

With Pallas, Soleiman and Rumi now all in brilliant matching Thosmodene mercantile attire, they stood tall as they drew near the coast.

Approaching one of the piers that stuck out into the waters, they watched as a single cloaked figure, their hood down, stood tall before their arrival. In their hands they clutched a hempen cord, presumably ready to moor their catboat to the pier.

Soleiman rather hesitantly put a foot on the boat’s gunwale, calling out to the presumably lone Hashashin manning the entire dock.

“Hello! Sir! We would like to dock, please!”

In response, the figure waved his hand to beckon them closer.

As the wooden hull of their vessel knocked against the planks of the pier, the figure threw the lasso out, tightening it around a hook by the boat’s bow and securing it in place.

Before they could disembark, though, the man stuck a hand out, gesturing to them to stay where they were.

“Purpose of visit?” he mumbled, his mouth half full with a chew bar of tobacco.

“To liaise with the Thosmodene mercantile family on behalf of Duke Thosmodeus, Sir.”

“Do you have any official documentation?”

Soleiman retreated back into the ship, Rumi handing him the Thosmodene family crest before he went back to talking with the Hashashin.

“Here, Sir,” he said, presenting the crest to him.

The Hashashin leaned in closer, examining the intricacies of the metal crest and its colourful silky backdrop.

He huffed out as he stood straight again, handing them the crest back before folding his arms in resignation.

“Alright. Come aboard.”

The four of them stepped off their humble catboat, the vessel rocking as each of them stepped ashore.

“Hold it,” he cut in, stopping Qingxi before she could disembark with the others. “What’s a Chitite doing with your delegation?”

“Our personal detail,” Pallas countered.

“Miss, we reassure you, in Hashashiyyin territory you will need no protection,” he smiled, the stained blacks of his rotting teeth oozing the foul odour of tobacco.

They stood in a silent deadlock momentarily, no one quite sure what to say in face of the man’s suspicion.

“You three proceed with the delegation. We’ll hold the Chitite here a while longer.”

“But, Sir, she’s not very good with Plataic, she wouldn’t be able to understand you,” Soleiman said, the tone in his voice rising slightly in desperation.

“That will not be a problem.”

Qingxi tapped the Hashashin’s shoulder, prompting him to turn back to face her.

“Bribe,” she stated plainly, holding out a handful of coins before the man.

Stunned slightly, the man slowly reached out, grabbing the coins. He shook himself out of his stupor, bending over to somewhat discreetly count the coins in his hand.

And after a while, a stunned complexion reappeared across his face, and he pocketed the coins without further question.

“You may pass,” he said, stepping aside. “But,” he interjected, putting a hand on Qingxi’s shoulder as she moved to rejoin the rest of the group. “Try not to wander the streets too much. My fellows don’t take kindly to the likes of you.”

Qingxi gave the man a stoic look, her eyes squinted in suspicion as she nodded briefly before sliding from out under his grasp and shuffling forward to catch up with the party.

As the four of them made their way down the pier, the creaks of their footsteps soon were replaced with the tapping of boots against stone. Pallas turned back to face Qingxi, a slight look of annoyance now permanently etched across the latter’s face.

“We won’t be here very long, don’t worry,” she reassured Qingxi.

“I’d hope so.”

“Mm. By the way,” she added, “Just how much money do you have on you?”

The question broke the tension, its prodding having pierced the tangible thickness that hung about Qingxi.

“Oh, they’re just my savings.”

“Savings? You must have lived it high back in Shafraturriyah then, hmm?”

Qingxi winced slightly at the assumption. “Mmh, not quite.”

As they made their way onto solid land, the four of them looked about the wall of shophouses that faced the sea, most of them decrepit and disowned, some with their windows smashed in and others with their doors boarded up. Each and every one seemed a carbon copy of the other, the only differences between them being the few decorations each store had left remaining that hadn’t been smashed up or outright stolen- their faded colours the only remaining memories of the past.

“Well, if this place isn’t depressing,” Soleiman remarked, looking around in a mortified awe at the ruins of the presumably once bustling port city.

“Is every single one of these abandoned?” Pallas asked, walking up to a nearby window to peer inside.

“By the looks of it, yeah.”

The shop’s interior sat preserved in a thick, dusty atmosphere that almost appeared golden in the light of the morning. It was as if the room itself had been encased in amber, the silks and clothes hung about its walls and atop its racks lifeless and forgotten. And judging by the thin film of dust that glistened and gave the floor a golden aura, Pallas reasoned that the last breath of life that had graced the room must have been months back.

“Let’s go. We don’t have much time,” Qingxi urged them, tilting her head to gesture towards an empty street that led deeper into the city.

As the four of them rounded the corner and headed into the city’s main street, they were only half surprised to see it had been nearly entirely deserted. The atmosphere of defeat that the shophouses reeked with had found its way deeper inland, staining the very streets with desolation. They could even see the stone-paved path give up in its efforts, surrendering to trampled dirt barely only a few blocks further down the street.

What city-goers that did roam the streets made a great effort to keep to themselves, eyes avoidant and their gazes skittish as they shuffled about without noise. Occasionally, they made eye contact with the party’s members, though those moments were scarce and fleeting. Whenever that did happen, they made sure to shuffle just a little bit faster to get out of the party’s way.

The houses that lined the street were all visibly less well-constructed than those that lined the coast. Their woods were rougher and their colours more rag-tag than the clean and formulaic- if not abandoned, shophouses. It looked as though each house had been slapped together with little to no thought, each one different from its neighbours as the city’s skyline jumped up and down with no semblance of respect for order.

Pallas looked over to check on Soleiman.

“Ughh…” he groaned slightly, wincing at the sight of the sad state of the supposed sister city, its ruins a stark contrast to the comparatively heavenly Porthopolis.

“So, you gonna ask one of them where the Estate is?”

“I… we can do that there,” he responded, perking up at the sight of a tavern that, at the very least, looked like it was being taken care of. “I just… didn’t expect this place to look so…”

“Dreary?”

Soleiman nodded.

“The Merkezi don’t hold back,” Qingxi said, looking dispassionately at the scene before her. “They get things done ruthlessly, those swamp dwellers.”

“Yeah. A real shame Minerva had to be caught up in all this.”

They soon stood before the tavern, its modest facade a beacon of hope in the ocean of slipshod shophouses and rickety looking saloons. Its windows were left unbarred, sparing the indoors from having to rely on firelight for illumination and bestowing the freshness of the outside to the tavern goers within.

As they stood before the pair of giant doors that led inside, their shade of wood a tad bit darker than the otherwise uniform facade, they noticed a sign had been put up for all customers to see.

KNOCK FOR ENTRY

And so they did.

Soon, they were surrounded by the neutral lighting of white stained glass lamps. The inside of the tavern was relatively serene- its atmosphere peaceful and reserved. There were only a few tables, and each one had been placed against the walls to make for an open space right in the centre of the room with an elevated platform. Above which floated a wooden chandelier tipped with old pink bulbs, their otherwise playful colouration dulled by a notable layer of dust and soot.

There wasn’t a single other customer at the tavern, and even the bartender seemed to have left his position behind the counter to go for a walk outside. Certainly a long shot from the stuffy warmth of the Big Man Diner.

Looking around, the party spotted a waiter sitting at one of the empty tables, blankly staring at the floor.

Soleiman signalled Pallas, and the two of them shuffled forward to approach the waiter as he woke from his trance at the sight of the oncoming visitors.

“Did you need something?”

“Uh, Sir, might you know where the Thosmodene Estate is?”

“The Thosmodene Estate? What, the merchant family?”

“Yes.”

“It’s by the west-side of the city- just make your way west along the piers and cut inwards at the end.”

“How long’s it take to get there?” Pallas asked.

“Around about ten minutes.”

“Okay. Do you know of any berry peddlers around here?”

The waiter looked slightly taken aback by the question. “No, Miss. The last of them left when the war began.”

“Right. I apologise.”

“No need. I’m sure the Thosmodenes have some on hand they’d be willing to cough up if you’re liaising with them, though.”

“Alright, thanks.”

The waiter bowed before returning to his trance.

They soon returned to Qingxi and Rumi, sidestepping about the raised platform in the centre.

“He said it's about ten minutes west via the pier,” Soleiman said as Pallas put a hand on the door’s handle.

Qingxi hummed in acknowledgement.

Pallas clicked open the door, stepping aside as Soleiman led the rest out of the diner.

“Shouldn’t take too long, so let’s get-”

Soleiman cut his sentence short the moment he left the diner.

Rumi squealed as Soleiman shoved his way back in, pushing the two of them back into the diner without so much as saying a word. And when the three girls looked to see the complete heart-gripping terror scrawled upon his face, he told them what he’d seen.

A ship. Docked by the pier. Flying the Gravitas purple.

Awkwardly, the four terrified fellows slowly turned their gazes to the waiter, the sheer level of his bewilderment now very clearly represented by how high his right eyebrow rose.

And then came the knock.