In Which a Partnership is Formed
Jade felt like she was falling. It seemed to last forever. In complete darkness, she couldn’t be sure she was moving at all. The agent had said she might experience something strange. It varied from person to person. She tried to keep calm. For a time, breathing deeply seemed to beat back her rising panic. It didn’t help as much when she saw the rapidly approaching brick wall. Her calm murdered by lurking panic, Jade flailed desperately to slow or divert her fall. The wall raced to meet her; she clenched her eyes closed just before impact.
In an alley late at night, a tear in time and space opened. It was a ragged hole, like a hole in the knee of a pair of jeans. The edges quivered like a living thing and it was filled with an angry, roiling storm that howled like a daemon denied. The tear hurled a single figure from its depths, like a child would discard a broken toy.
Jade struggled to her feet and then promptly emptied the contents of her stomach on the cobblestones. Inter-dimensional travel was just as unpleasant as people said. Her head spinning, Jade leaned against the wall and tried to regain her center. She took deep, cleansing breaths and forced herself examine her situation. No broken bones or lacerations. For a few days she’d be sore, but nothing serious. With great care, she examined her gear to check for damage. Her cloak was filthy from the accumulated detritus in the alley, but hadn’t torn. Her bow was in good shape, but she had landed on her quiver. Only two arrows had survived the impact. The long hunting knife at her side was fine, but her supply of food was pulverized. The packages of dried meat and fruit were burst open and the bread was reduced to crumbs. Thankfully, her meager hoard of coppers and a couple silvers was still safely ensconced in an inner pocket of her vest.
Shakily, she exited the alley. The street was lined with two-story shops and smelled like a stable. Jade sped through the street in search of somewhere to hide. The sounds of a festival or party resounded down the street. Curious, she followed the noise. In a town square of some sort, three entertainers competed for the attentions of a sizable audience. To Jade’s left stood a human dressed in voluminous purple trousers with matching tunic and feathered cap. He strummed a lute with feverish intensity, his face set in a contrasting look of serenity. The music he played was a jaunty tune intended to draw you in and get your feet moving. To Jade’s right was a goblin dancer. Dressed in a gown that seemed to be made from glittering scales, she moved to the time of her castanets. Her whirling and stamping dance drew in the eye and mesmerized the onlookers. As interesting as those performers were, the center one seemed to dominate the audience’s attentions.
Said performer was probably male and with a wiry build that could only be human or elven. He was dressed in an assortment of tattered finery with a hand carved mask obscuring his features. The mask was that of a grinning, white furred monkey with a small, three pointed crown on its brow. The monkey performer was juggling no less than fifteen different objects. They ranged from rocks and bottles, to knives and a small cartwheel. He executed figure eights and other, more complex designs. The sheer ease with which he manipulated the multitude of objects entranced the audience. The musician and dancer seemed to redouble their effort as more of the crowd turned to watch the masked juggler. With more than two-thirds of the audience’s attention, the juggler switched tact. He seemed to focus on something in the crowd, ignoring the prop’s descent. Rather than smash into the cobbles, each object floated to the ground soft as a feather. The audience erupted in raucous applause.
The crowd quieted as an elderly looking human stepped forward. With some kind of staff of office he indicated the lutist and the crowd clapped enthusiastically. He indicated the dancer and they applauded somewhat less loudly. When he indicated the masked juggler, the spectators unleashed a torrent of adulation.
It occurred to Jade that this was some type of contest. The crowd decided the winner through the volume of their applause, like some primitive form of American Idol. The monkey masked performer bowed elegantly to the assembled masses, then again to the staff bearing human. Graciously, he accepted a purse of coins and a silver pin in the shape of a harp. Finally he bowed to his competition. From his purse, he dropped a pair of coins in each performer’s bowl and then walked to a cart selling ale and wine.
Now needing to earn their bread in the traditional manner, the dancer and lutist joined efforts and continued the show. Jade continued to watch the monkey masked juggler. There was something strange about the way he moved. Almost as if his mask was more than just an affectation. Curious, she moved forward to talk to him.
After taking no more than a step, Jade felt a chill run down her spine. In the corner of her eye, she saw two men in plain black suits, Reasonable Men. Heading straight for her, they cut through the crowd as if it didn’t exist. They carried amulets that made the eye want to slide past, she was lucky to notice before they ambushed her. Acting as if she hadn’t seen the men, she walked deeper into the throng. Once she was out of their line of sight, she hastily veiled herself. Not bothering to see if they still followed, Jade charged through the mass of people, elbowing and pushing where she couldn’t find gaps. The sound of expensive Italian loafers on cobbles chased Jade as she ran from the square. She entered the first alley she found and hid behind a stack of discarded crates.
The Reasonable Men entered a few moments later. The sound of loud sniffing accompanied their approach. In both dress and facial structure, they were nearly identical, the only discernable difference being hair color. Their faces were stretched in the same inhuman smirk.
“I say, Mr. Red,” said the blonde one, in a grating voice, “The young lady appears to be hiding. Perhaps she’s frightened?”
“Perish the thought, Mr. Blue” Mr. Red replied in that same unsettling voice. “We should find her and ‘reassure’ her of our good intentions.” The two of them then shared a disturbing laugh that seemed to claw at her eardrums.
The prospect of dealing with a pair or Reasonable Men in close-quarters was terrifying. As quiet as possible, Jade nocked an arrow. With only two arrows, her chances of killing them both were slim, so she cheated. With a gesture, she hurled a glittering ball of red and blue in their midst. The ball erupted like a fireworks display, blinding them both. Her first arrow punched through Mr. Blue’s up flung right hand, entered his eye socket and exited the back of his skull. Mr. Red charged her blindly, his mouth opening impossibly wide and wicked claws extending from his fingers. By pure luck, he managed to avoid a head shot. Instead, the arrow struck his chest. Her arrows spent, Jade resorted to her knife.
His wound, though grievous, was not immediately lethal. Black blood spilled from his lips as he flailed at her blindly. Jade dodged and blocked his flailing, acquiring a number of cuts on her forearms. She kicked a loose crate under his feet. Caught by surprise he slammed to the ground. Jade didn’t hesitate, her knife slammed into his eye socket. Mr. Red’s lifeless body dropped to the ground limply. Winded, Jade fell to the ground beside it.
Her sleeves were shredded and bloodstained and retrieving her knife proved surprisingly painful. The flaming pain of Mr. Red’s poisoned claws radiated from her many cuts. Without treatment, the poison of a Reasonable Man could kill you in a matter of minutes. Jade stood up too fast and fell back to the ground, weak and dizzy. Her blood loss combined with poisoning seemed to guarantee her demise. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the rapidly decomposing bodies of her attackers.
Zephyr was doing great. His routine was perfect. His reactions were razor sharp, and the crowd loved it. His mind was in a meditative, almost trancelike, state. Objects fell. He caught them and threw them again. He had it down to a science, an art.
When he sensed an alien aura in the audience, Zephyr’s concentration was shattered. Props forgotten, he cast his senses wide, in search of the strange aura. It lacked the taint of the Shattered East, but still possessed an otherworldly quality. The aura proved to be a cloaked elf in the audience. She shined like the newly possessed or as if she had just stepped through a portal. Distracted, Zephyr remembered his makeshift props just in time to slow their fall with a cushion of air.
After winning the contest by popular acclaim, he went through the forms of a gracious winner mechanically, his focus elsewhere. To better survey the crowd, Zephyr walked over to a vendor on the edge of it. His eyes swept ceaselessly for the elf with the otherworldly aura. To his surprise, he found her along with two other, more sinister energy signatures. His curiosity piqued, Zephyr moved to pursue. The girl disappeared into the crowd and the other two auras, unseen but still detected, followed.
It took maybe a minute for Zephyr to clear the crush of bodies in the square, but it was already over when he found them in the alley. Two sets of empty clothes and the elf, motionless on the ground. The air stank even worse than an alley should, a rotten meat scent comingling with the more common fetid smells.
The girl’s heartbeat was weak and her wounds didn’t account for such a state. Zephyr wasn’t a healer, but he knew enough to know she wouldn’t last long without aid. Delicately, he hoisted her up and went in search of a friend.
Minutes later, Zephyr was hurriedly knocking at the backdoor of a small chapel dedicated to Elara. A sleepy eyed priest greeted him after a few moments. “Elf? What do you want?”
“A favor for a friend,” Zephyr whispered urgently. He brushed past the priest and set the girl down gently. Her face was bloodless and her breathing shallow. “Her life-force is draining fast Holt.”
The priest leaned forward and examined her wounds with cool detachment. “You were right to bring her.” He said, gravely, “The girl’s body is being consumed by a deadly poison.”
“Can you cure it?” asked Zephyr.
“I can try,” Holt answered. He drew an intricately carved medallion in the shape of a sunburst from the front of his robes. With a sense of ritual about his movements, Holt laid the medallion on the girl’s forehead. He chanted in the language of Elaran clergy, petitioning the sun goddess for a boon. From Zephyr’s perspective, it seemed to take an eternity, the seconds dragging into hours. In Zephyr’s opinion, it seemed that gods needed a great deal of ego stroking before they would do anything of use. Finally, Holt’s prayers started to have effect. A corona of light crowned his head, illuminating his aged features in harsh relief. An accompanying light started to emanate from the sunburst, sheathing the wounded elf in the sun’s healing rays. Soon her body glowed like an oblong star fallen to earth.
Zephyr watched, powerless to assist. He could hear the brief sizzle of the poison being burned from her blood accompanied by an acrid tang similar to burnt hair smell. The light extinguished soon thereafter, revealing a haggard Holt, and a much improved elf. Her cuts were gone, her breathing was stable and her skin acquired a bronzed tone as a side effect. Zephyr walked over to the altar and left a handful of coins as an offering. He knelt next to the weary priest. “Will she recover?”
Holt stood up and yawned hugely. “She should be fine with a little rest. That poison was a vicious one; I had to repair an extensive amount of damage after neutralizing it. She’ll sleep for at least a day. The spare room is unoccupied: she can rest there, until she recovers.”
“Thank you Holt,” Zephyr said gratefully, “I’ll need to gather my things. Please put a chair in ther my return.”
“You must care about this girl, to go to such trouble,” said Holt.
“Never seen her before,” Zephyr replied cheerily, “I don’t even know her name.” He stepped out of the chapel and made his way over to the inn he’d been staying at.
On the way, he stopped in the alley where he had found the elf. Now that a life was no longer in danger, Zephyr took his leisure to examine the unusual garbs on the ground. The alley stank just as bad as earlier, perhaps worse. He conjured a gentle breeze to clear the air. No longer distracted by the stench, he turned his attention to the clothing. The cloth was surprisingly soft and most made from materials that were completely foreign to him. They were stained black in places, like blood, and one set was pierced in the chest by an arrow. Most interestingly, and perhaps importantly, both sets of clothing were steeped in residual extra-dimensional energy. Whoever had been pursuing the elf was wearing these clothes. Ruefully, the mage lamented not reaching the fight more quickly, if only to see the assailants. Along with the clothes, Zephyr collected the longbow he found. If it was the girl’s he would return it, and if not, he could sell it. His curiosity more piqued than sated, Zephyr left the alley and continued to the inn.
He entered the establishment by the side door, as was his habit. He nodded to the kitchen staff in passing and received friendly smiles and a few words of congratulations in turn. He ascended the stair to the second floor and entered his room, careful to deactivate the wards he’d placed on the door first. Once inside, Zephyr changed from his costume to a more comfortable outfit. A pair of loose cotton trousers and tunic replaced his tattered crimson robes, and his acrobat’s slippers were replaced by light leather sandals. His mask also changed, losing the monkey features. It became smooth and black with silver-white points that resembled stars. Zephyr also put on a number of amulets and other charms with useful properties.
One charm, a silver stud in his left ear, sent a warning vibration through his skull as soon as he put it on. The charm in question was designed to detect a very specific threat. Cautiously, Zephyr peered out the window. In the shadows, sniffing along the ground was a massive black hound. The thing was grotesquely bulging with muscle. In places its fur was breached by pink, glistening muscle. The infernal thing had his scent. It was only a matter of time, if it actually saw him its master would be here in hours.
Zephyr whistled sharply. His chest, containing all his worldly possessions, stood up on eight spindly spider legs. With another whistle, the chest dutifully approached its master. It was a strange sight, a sturdy traveler’s chest moving smoothly on wire wrought legs. The construct possessed the intelligence of a bright dog. It followed commands and was fast and sturdy enough to keep up with Zephyr.
Zephyr patted the chest absently, as one would a pet. He opened it and extracted a flute carved from an eagle’s thighbone. The flute was etched with runes interspersed with clouds and forks of lightning. The mage always took pride in the crafting of his tools. He played with quiet intensity, weaving the notes with power as he went. The melody was ponderous and strange; it seemed to gather power with every note. It evoked dark skies and clouded senses. With a final sharp note, Zephyr ended his eldritch tune and his massed power was released. The air was steadily filling with fog. After a few breaths, the entire street was engulfed by a fogbank that blotted out the stars and dampened Zephyr’s scent. Zephyr and his loyal chest then dashed down the steps and exited by the aforementioned side door.
The charge through the labyrinthine fog was nerve-wracking. The hound’s sense of smell was nullified, but its hearing was still razor keen. With every passing stride, the breathless elf expected to feel the hound’s crushing bite. He reached the chapel lathered and a little weak in the knees. Zephyr reflected that he had not run like that in more than a decade and perhaps not since his days among the Wardens. Tiredly, he entered the chapel and barred the door. He caught his breath and walked to the spare room. Not bothering to remove his sandals, the tired mage collapsed into eager oblivion.
Jade started awake with a feeling like cotton stuffed in her skull. The sound of a flute or some such, in surprisingly close vicinity interrupted her rest. With herculean effort, she cracked a single eyelid. A masked man played a set of absurdly large panpipes with great enthusiasm and some amount of skill. Though he was dressed differently, she recognized him as the juggler she had seen briefly performing the previous night.
In a voice that would not seem out of place coming from a woman of advanced age, Jade croaked, “Water, please.”
The juggler ceased playing and poured water into a shallow bowl. With a great deal of effort, and a little help from the performer, she was able to moisten the desert that was her throat. “Thank you,” she said in a much improved voice.
The man nodded his head once. “Would you like more and perhaps some food?” he asked attentively. Jade nodded weakly. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said gently, “Just rest until I return.” He exited the room with uncanny simian grace. Jade tried to stay awake, but without the distraction of another person, her eyelids became too heavy to support.
Sharp pangs of hunger woke Jade again. The masked man was not in evidence, but a platter of assorted fruits, and cold meats was on the bedside table. Her hunger overruling her weakness, Jade struggled to a seated position. The food was simple, but to Jade it was ambrosia. Once her hunger was sated enough that she could think, she wondered where she was and why she wasn’t dead. Her arms were no longer covered in gashes and she wasn’t even sore from her inter-dimensional trip any more. Whoever had found her must have been a skilled healer, though she had no idea how she had acquired a tan.
Maybe a half-hour passed as Jade contemplated her situation. Her ruminations were interrupted by a solicitous knock on the door. “Come in,” Jade called.
A middle aged human walked in with another tray loaded with food. The food still steamed, fresh from its source. The human was dressed in religious vestments with sun designs on the chest and sleeves. He set the tray before Jade with a courteous smile. “Here you are dear. I figured you might need something a little more substantial. You’ll need plenty of nourishment to restore your strength.”
“Thank you,” said Jade. Carefully, she added, “I’m sorry but, who are you and where am I?”
“My name is Holt and this my chapel, dedicated to Elara,” he said, with a bit of pride in his voice.
“Are you the one who healed me?” she asked.
“Yes, no need to thank me though. I was just doing what was right. Besides it was Zephyr who found you. Without him you wouldn’t have survived the night.” With a attentive gesture he urged Jade to eat.
Between mouthfuls of roast chicken and potatoes, Jade continued her questioning. “Who is Zephyr?” she asked curiously.
“That’s right,” Holt said with a snap his fingers, “He said you’d never met before. He’s a tall Rhys, who takes to wearing a monkey mask when he performs. Folks call him the Monkey King.”
“The juggler from last night?” Holt nodded, “Why was he in my room last night?”
“He was concerned for your wellbeing,” priest explained, “Said something about not giving your attackers a second chance. He was serious about it, didn’t leave your side for the whole time you were unconscious. He spent the whole time setting wards around the room.”
“I thought you said Zephyr was a street performer,” said Jade, confused.
“He is a street performer, but,” he added confidentially, “I suspect he does that more for fun than anything else.”
Zephyr swept through the streets in a hurry. He was weighted down with a rucksack loaded with supplies. The day was already past noon and he still had so much work left. Every second precious, the harried mage redoubled his pace. The docks in Cliffside were modest, much like the town itself. Currently only two ships of any size were moored. Zephyr walked to Cliffside’s only dockside tavern, The Rusty Anchor.
The Anchor’s interior stank of unwashed bodies and too much pipe smoke. The three long tables that dominated the common room were packed with sailors. The usual sea shanties and bawdy tavern songs were being shouted with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Sitting in the far corner of the tavern were a pair of softly conversing men, a human and a goblin. The goblin, male, was dressed in the short trousers and silk shirt of successful merchant sailors. He wore military piercings in either ear. The human wore tough canvas trousers and a loose fitting white shirt. They spoke of serious business while the rest of the crew loudly caroused.
Having located the probable ships’ captains, Zephyr picked his way through the crowd to the bar. The barkeep was a grizzled goblin of advanced years. Three of his four hands ended in hooks and his cheek bore a ragged scar. He nodded to Zephyr in vague recognition. “What can I get ya?” he asked, indicating the dusty shelf of spirits behind him.
“Nothing, I’m here on business,” he placed a silver coin on the bar meaningfully. “I was hoping to make use of your stage.”
The goblin looked at the single coin and pursed his lips pensively. When Zephyr added the second coin, his expression brightened. The barkeep disappeared the coins with a well-practiced swipe of his hand. “Anything would be better than their horrid wailing,” he said indicating the raucous sailors.
“My thanks,” said Zephyr with a bow of his head. He stepped onto a small raised platform opposite the door. He produced his flute from an inner pocket of his shirt and started to play. His first song was the melody of one the filthiest songs Zephyr had ever learned. It was infamous among sailors and outlawed in several cities. Even without the words, the seamen laughed and stomped their feet. His next tune was a rapid thing, light and cheerful. It moved through the air like a living thing, pushing men to their feet and driving them to dance. The inebriated sailors shook the tavern with their enthusiasm. The song ceased amongst thunderous applause and extortions for more. Zephyr was only too happy to comply.
His next song was a dirge for lost love. It started light and barely perceptible. The tavern became as silent as a sulking teen, in an effort to hear the lament. It spoke of deep love and deeper sorrow, the agony of separation and the joy of reunion. Every note became louder and more intense than the last. The requiem ended with the most final of separations, death. The sailors looked at Zephyr in awed silence. Almost reverently, a sailor approached the masked flautist and set a single gold coin at his feet. Many with tears in their eyes, the sailors lined up and set coppers, silvers and a few more gold on the stage. A few, bereft of ready coin, instead gave rings and other jewelry. Zephyr bowed once elegantly, and then scooped the small fortune into his purse.
The tavern held a subdued air of introspection as Zephyr approached the bar. The stunned barkeep wordlessly set a goblet on the bar and refused payment. A beckoning wave drew his attention to the supposed captains’ table. With a nod of thanks to the barkeep, Zephyr glided over to the men’s table. “You beckoned?” he inquired smoothly.
“Indeed,” said the human, a man with a close cropped beard and a smooth pate. “You put on quite a show there. I’ve never seen the like before,” he declared, clearly impressed.
“You are too kind,” said Zephyr with another bow.
“You managed a feat,” said the goblin, “in the space of three songs, you had our crews at your mercy. Sailors are not known for their generosity,” he added with a chuckle.
“I only seek to entertain,” said Zephyr
“That you did,” said the goblin quietly. “Tell me,” he forged ahead, “are you the one they call the Monkey King?”
“Indeed I am,” Zephyr replied.
“You have acquired quite the following Master Monkey,” declared the goblin, “I see it is well deserved.” He brought both sets of hands together, palms flat, fingers pointed forward, in formal greeting, “My name is Captain Glim of the ship Kraken’s Folly, loyal son of the Broken Teeth.”
Zephyr returned the gesture and in the Captain’s native tongue replied, “Fair winds and calm water, to you and yours,” in a formal tone.
Clearly impressed by his mastery of what is a difficult language, Captain returned, “And to you and yours,”
The human slammed his fist into his chest in a common human greeting, and said “And I am Captain Jarek of the ship Fair Water.”
Zephy returned the gesture, and replied, “An honor.”
Introductions out the way, Zephyr took a seat at the table “Can I assume, honored captains, that you wished to do more than stroke my artistic ego?”
“True,” answered Captain Jarek, “I appreciate such plain speech. The truth is; we both wish to hire your services.”
“Truly?” said Zephyr, feigning surprise, “I suppose I did impress you then.”
“We have both found an entertainer aboard helps the morale of the crew,” explained Captain Glim. “I would pay a hefty sum to one willing brave the rigors of life at sea.”
“And I would match it,” added Captain Jarek hastily.
“I am truly flattered by your offers Captains, but,” he added, “I’m afraid that your destinations are of greater concern to me; As well as your dates of departure.”
“My ship leaves three days hence, east towards New Haven,” said Jarek, hopefully.
“And you, Captain Glim?” enquired Zephyr.
“We ship out in five days, to Es-Kavros, The Hundred Islands,” replied Captain Glim.
Zephyr hesitated. He wanted out of Cliffside as soon as possible, but New Haven held nothing but problems for him. The Hundred Islands though… It had been many years since he had trod its shores. Perhaps an ocean would hold back the hounds for at least a time. “Would you have space aboard for another, besides myself?”
“You have a traveling companion?” asked Captain Glim.
“An apprentice,” he lied smoothly, “she is a recent acquisition, but shows much promise.”
“I’m sure we could make space for your apprentice” Captain Glim assured him.
“And I as well,” Captain Jarek was quick to add.
“That’s very accommodating of both of you,” he stopped and pondered a moment. “I have made my decision,” he said, somewhat dramatically, “I would be honored to sail with you, Captain Glim.”
“Thank you, Master Monkey, you won’t regret this,” he said gratefully.
“I don’t doubt that,” Zephyr returned. With an elegant half bow to either captain, he took his leave. As he left the tavern, he noticed a sketch nailed to a public board. Walking closer, he cursed softly and elegantly under his breath. The sketch was a very accurate depiction of his new “apprentice”. The poster promised a large sum in exchange for her safe return. Getting this girl to safety would prove a greater challenge than he thought. Zephyr couldn’t help but grin.
Jade was eating her fifth meal that day, when she heard a knock at her door. “Come in,” she said around a mouthful of fried fish.
In walked Zephyr. He was dressed much the same, but his mask was a square with a narrow eye slit. “You seem to be recovering nicely. I’m glad.” He took a seat on a stool opposite Jade. “My name is Zephyr, also known as the Monkey King,” he said by way of introduction.
“I know who you are,” Jade replied, “Holt has told me much about you.”
“Much of what he knows is only a fraction of what there is,” Zephyr commented mysteriously. “But you seem to have the advantage of me. You know of me, yet I know nothing of you, save your circumstances when I found you.”
“My name is Jade,” she answered.
“A pleasure to meet you Jade,” he informed her politely. “Tell me, from where do you hail?” he asked curiously, “I have never heard your particular accent before.”
“Nowhere special,” Jade answered vaguely, “I’m from a small village far to the…North.”
“Really?” he enquired, “I’m a well-traveled fellow. Perhaps I’ve heard of it. What’s it called?”
“Um…The Banana Republic,” she said hesitantly. A sinking feeling appeared in the pit of her stomach. He wasn’t buying it. The Rhys, whatever that was, obviously knew something. Jade felt a stab of dread when he tossed the poster to her. It showed her face with a very large sum under it promised to the ones who returned her in good health. Thank god for small mercies, she thought to herself.
Realizing her precarious position, Jade snatched her bread knife up and brandished it defensively. “Stay back,” she warned, “you’ll pay dearly for any reward you try to collect with me.”
Completely unmoved by Jade’s threat, Zephyr sat on his stool and watched her serenely. “I’ve no intention to deliver you to an unwilling fate after having saved you once before,” he calmly stated. "I merely showed you the poster to make clear the severity of the situation. Whoever attacked you before is trying a different tact to deal with you. I hope this will motivate you to be truthful so I can help you.”
Jade hung her head in defeat, so much for traveling anonymously. “Ask your questions,” she said in defeated tone.
“Your aura suggests you hail from a different world,” he said, “this is further supported by the residual energy I detected on the clothes of the constructs that attacked you.”
Jade’s eyes widened in surprise at the accuracy of Zephyr’s assumptions. “How could you know all that?” she demanded.
The mage shrugged eloquently. “You are not the first interdimensional traveller I have encountered, though you are the most pleasant,” he assured her.
“Comforting to know,” Jade sullenly replied.
“The more interesting question would be how we speak the same tongue,” he plowed on, “by some ridiculous twist of fate do your people also speak Denik?”
“Not exactly,” Jade answered evasively.
“Please tell me,” he asked, but his tone made it an order.
Realizing he wouldn’t drop this line of questioning, Jade relented. “I learned it from those who were native to this world, but travelled to my own,” she explained, not technically lying.
“There are those who’ve traveled between our worlds before?” asked Zephyr, surprised.
Jade nodded. “There are many people who have travelled between. On the other side we have groups who specialize in this type of travel,” she said, hoping to distract him.
“As interesting as that bit of knowledge is,” Zephyr said thoughtfully, “You have yet to explain your reasons for travel or why you were attacked.”
Jade cursed silently, this Monkey King was too damned stubborn. She didn’t dare tell him the whole truth, but lies by omission were a well-practiced skill. “I was being courted by a man,” she said haltingly.
“Was he that bad a kisser?” asked Zephyr teasingly.
“No, he proved to be a power mad warlock,” she said without a trace of humor.
“Oh,” said Zephyr, somewhat deflated.
“I saw him sacrifice a human being to fuel one of his rituals,” Jade said, in a deeply traumatized tone. She shivered at the remembered horror. “After I saw what he truly was, I knew I had to escape,” she explained, “Those things he sent after me have terrorized my home for decades. It was then I found out they belonged to him.”
“You had no one you could call on to shelter you?” he asked, skeptical.
“I couldn’t risk their lives that way!” she shouted, “He would kill them and I’d still be in his hands. My only chance was to cross over and hope he’d lose my trail.” Jade felt the embers of her anger stoked by the memories, only a few days old.
“Is he so powerful?” asked Zephyr, “No priest or mage could oppose him?”
“Magic is too rare there. He’s one of the most powerful mages in the city, and none of the others seem to care about his actions!” she said, her tone seemed angrier with every syllable. Her attention shifted back to the wanted poster and her anger was subsumed by quiet fear. “Should I be fleeing the city now?” she asked almost meekly.
“I wouldn’t be that concerned,” Zephyr reassured her, “You were only in town for one day. Not many saw you and you’re undetectable within this room.”
Jade felt a sinking despair. “What am I going to do?” she asked herself quietly. “I haven’t fully recovered from my wounds. I don’t know where I am. I can’t even afford traveling supplies.”
“I’m afraid it’s not quite as bleak as all that,” Zephyr interjected sanguinely. “I might have a solution to your problem,” he added, “If, you’re amenable to making an arrangement.”
“Go on,” said Jade, guarded hope in her face.
“I have secured passage on a merchant vessel headed to the Hundred Isles, the homeland of the goblins,” he explained.
“And?” Jade prompted impatiently.
“And,” Zephyr continued, “The captain is willing to take an additional passenger.”
Jade was stunned. “You want me to travel with you?” she said, her tone accusatory.
“Would that be such a terrible fate?” he asked, “I have already saved your life once.”
“I know nothing about you,” Jade returned heatedly, “How can I trust one who won’t even show their true face?” The irony of that statement jabbed Jade somewhat uncomfortably.
“It suits my purposes to wear the mask,” Zephyr answered cryptically. “I should think that one should be judged by their actions, not by what they choose to wear,” he said with a cold disappointment.
After a prolonged silence, Jade finally said, “I barely know you.”
“Are there those whom you know better in this world?” asked Zephyr. “The point is, that the only two friends you have here are myself and Holt, and only one of us will leave this town in the foreseeable future.”
“What do you want in return?” Jade asked, heavily.
“All I wish is to learn about your world,” he told her.
“Seriously?” said Jade skeptically.
“I am a slave to my own curiosity,” said Zephyr, with a shrug. “I have heard tell of other worlds and even encountered those who claim to have come from them. I am a collector of knowledge in whatever forms it can be found. Therefore, I am very interested in this world you have departed and how you did so,” he said enthusiastically.
To Jade, it was obvious his interest was something she could exploit. “That seems like a reasonable agreement,” she conceded.
“Excellent,” said Zephyr happily.
“For a time,” Jade added, “perhaps the length of the voyage would be a reasonable amount of time.”
“For what?” Zephyr asked in a wary tone.
“To pay you back for helping me, of course,” Jade replied in an innocent tone, “If you have any more questions after that, well, we’ll have to reach a more permanent arrangement.”
“Such as,” he prompted her.
She blurted out the next part before she could talk herself out of it. “Holt told me you were a mage. Will you teach me?” she said breathlessly.
Zephyr’s bearing shifted subtly to something more serious. He sat up straighter and somehow seemed to scrutinize her more closely. “You ask a great deal of me girl,” he said in a voice older and more ominous, “One does not simply buy an apprenticeship, you must earn it. Prove that you are worth my time.” He said in that cold, condescending voice men practice in front of a mirror.
Not terribly impressed, Jade replied, “If it’s a matter of talent, I possess it without a doubt.” She concentrated a moment and her mirror image appeared sitting next to her on the bed.
To Jade’s disappointment, Zephyr’s only reaction was to comment, “An illusionist, eh? A useful talent.”
“Well?” Jade asked, impatient.
“As I said,” he reiterated, “you have to prove yourself. The mere presence of talent guarantees nothing.”
“How?” asked Jade.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way, during our voyage,” Zephyr replied, “A month is a plenty of time. Get your strength back; we leave in five days’ time.” He left after that, tending to whatever business a grown man in monkey mask has to do.
A month aboard a ship at sea, Jade could recall her last boat ride with anything but fondness.
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