The centre of Tyken Town consisted of a dense collection of large buildings; the four tallest of which were known as the Four Quarters. The towering centre gave the city a pyramid-like shape when seen from afar, which James had seen best from his mountaintop view.
The tops of the Four Quarters could be seen in the distance now as James walked through the streets, once again with his unlikely companion, Evan Goodheart. He took it upon himself to explain some of the town, playing his role as a guide almost naturally. James found he enjoyed explaining the sights to Evan, feeling good about the knowledge he’d collected. It helped him see himself as a normal, natural person. Evan listened and studied the city with serious eyes, reminding James of a cautious cat who was unsure of what to make of the wonders around him.
James wondered if his morning could get any stranger. He hadn’t thought of ever meeting a Voarn—he certainly had never seen one in Tyken Town before—and now he was accompanied by one on his way to deliver a mysterious package from work. He couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his situation.
There was also an unnerving feeling that crept up every now and then to remind him that the unfamiliar could cause many problems, and he told himself to be ready for anything.
Evan said, “I had no doubt we would be reunited.”
James looked at him blankly, wondering if Evan had noticed his apprehension.
“We were meant to meet, James Island. We would not so easily part for long with Andaano watching over us.”
James had to admit the chances were slim of catching that glimpse of Evan in the alleyway at that specific moment. Out of anywhere Evan could have been in the city, he ended up around the corner from the Belam site. James could have searched the entire day and night and not have found him in that small alley. But somehow… he wondered if there could have in fact been a higher force that turned his head toward that alley earlier.
“That’s great to know,” James said, half in jest, half perplexed.
He noticed some people watching Evan as they walked. A few even stopped for a better view. With all the species inhabiting the city, he wondered just how rare an occurrence a Voarn in town was. A patrolling Lawman across the street didn’t seem to pay much attention to them, though.
Evan also seemed to be paying a lot of attention to the people around them. “These humans with the red skin; they are the locals of this land, correct?”
“That’s right,” James said. “They’re not humans, though. They’re Canarrians. I guess they’re like humans, in a way. The Canarrians and Canthians have been on Carnan for over twenty thousand years.”
“They are two types of the same people?”
“They have many similarities and differences. Canarrians have more of a maroon skin, and are usually seen around towns and cities. Canthians have more of a yellow-red skin tone, and they tend to live in smaller villages far from the big cities. You can refer to them as Canarrians, though, to mean both kinds of people. That’s what loads of people do.”
Evan was frowning, deep in thought, as he looked around. “Interesting.”
The area ahead was bathed in shadow, with hover lamps lighting the pathways around them. The large dark roof, about a building’s height at eighty feet above, blocked the desert sun in this part of the city. When Evan asked if they were still outside, James explained the Second Floor of the City to him. Walkways and commuter tunnels connected the upper entrances of the larger buildings and shuttle pod stations. Wide platforms joined these walkways at various points, serving as the floor for the second level.
James had heard this design structure was influenced by the larger and more substantial second floor that Victory City possessed. Although with most things in Tyken Town influenced by Medropon’s capital, it was of a smaller scale and less elaborate design.
They entered a series of narrow side streets, all under a roof that Evan was still clearly intrigued by. A shuttle pod rumbled on a track somewhere above them, and soon faded into the distance.
“Your city has two floors,” Evan said under his breath, mostly to himself.
“Aye,” James wasn’t sure if the Voarn was asking a question or just thinking out loud.
They reached Tyken Plaza; a square lit with posts and lined with shops, with several stalls scattered around the open area. Four shops at its centre faced outwards, back-to-back in a circular shape. The shops each had a similar architectural style, connected as one building with four individual segments. From their centre stood a pillar around twenty feet high, on top of which was a statue of a young girl with a skipping rope in half swing.
Evan stopped to read the plaque high up on the stone pillar. In memory of Lady Anne. He asked about the statue, and James told him the story he’d only heard a season earlier.
“Most people think the statue is of Lady Anne. She was one of the founders of the city, around five thousand years back. But the statue is actually of her daughter, Fia. That image of her skipping is a famous one around the city. It’s always associated with the Lady Anne, of course, but those who know about the Lady know her daughter was prized and loved beyond her wealth and reputation. So much so that she chose her daughter’s image as the icon of her legacy. And it’s that physical image that will be remembered throughout history. It’s little known that the Lady had put her daughter’s future ahead of her own. Such a caring parent ain’t found too often in history.”
James found himself thinking, not for the first time, about his own father. If it were true that he had a father. He couldn’t take the Voarn’s rambling of being ‘told by the gods’ as fact of having one. He certainly couldn’t take the word of the deranged beggar, either. He’d seen how important a family heirloom was to Evan, how much passion and determination drove the little Voarn’s actions, and a part of him longed to know what that feeling was like.
The story of Lady Anne had brought Evan into a thoughtful silence. James imagined he was thinking of his own mother. Someone as young as Evan must be close to his parents, like children are.
A group of Ep-Sec maintenance workers, in their green and blue uniforms, were up on extended trolleys, attaching a series of blue flags between two poles. As James looked around, he saw there were more pointed blue flags attached to several high points around the square.
Being away from the construction site during the day often felt strange for James, seeing what Tyken Town looked like for those without work. He’d decided a long time ago that he wouldn’t try to keep up with all of the local traditions and ways of life. He just needed to know enough to not look too out of place and draw attention to himself.
When they entered a short gap between two buildings, James turned to see Evan had stopped. The Voarn held a hand to his forehead, fingertips gently touching his bruised cut. Before James could say anything, a green hue gathered under Evan’s rubbing hand. The wound appeared to glow for a moment, but when Evan’s hand fell to his side, the green light was gone, leaving James to wonder if he’d really seen it. The dirt and dried blood remained on Evan’s forehead, though the open wound had now become a faint scar.
“What was that?” James asked cautiously.
“A simple incantation.” Evan’s voice was low and distant. “It should serve to heal the wound for now.”
“I’d read that the Voarn were a sorcerous race.” James regarded him with a newfound awe.
Evan turned a grimace into a smile as he gingerly patted his fresh scar. He remained silent, becoming distracted by something imperceptible, before saying, “This will not last, but will serve for now.”
It was the first time James had seen magic up close like that. He knew of magicians and sorcerers, and had read many stories concerning such powers, but had yet to come across any in his time in Tyken Town. The travelling merchant he’d seen perform once in the streets could not have been considered a magic user, given his voluminous robes and penchant for turning his back to the audience.
He was aware, somehow, of the various classes of magic, such as the elementals and Crailleen magics, and while he knew that magic technically did exist, out there in the galaxy, it was nonetheless disconcerting to suddenly see it so close like this. James sniffed the air curiously. He’d read that spells and conjurations were meant to heat the air around them, and apparently caused something resembling a spicy smell, though he couldn’t smell anything of the sort.
They continued in silence and eventually came to the delivery address. While James had delivered dozens of packages around the city, walking up to this particular house made him uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was from the company he had.
The two-story adobe house was sun-bleached and appeared older than the other houses. Curtained windows ran either side of the door, below two large windows on the second floor, looking to James like two eyes and a wide mouth.
James knocked on the dusty screen in front of the door. His brows rose when he noticed the door had a similar wooden grain to the front door of his own home. The deep engravings had always looked to him like a foreign writing or crude cave sketches of some kind.
Evan shifted beside him. His face had contorted into a scowl, his eyes shut as though he was in pain. Perhaps he hadn’t healed his wound as well as he’d hoped. James wondered if he should say something, but then Evan faltered, falling limp into his arms.
Breathing heavily, Evan’s face was pale when he looked up. “I… We must be wary. Something does not feel right.”
James nodded, unsure of what to say.
Movement came on the other side of the door a moment before it opened. Behind the screen stood a middle-aged, grumpy-looking man; his short unkempt hair and stubbly beard contrasted with piercing blue eyes. His tilted head straightened.
He took a step back into the house and gestured for them to come in. “A time of pleasure is worthy of lifetimes,” he said airily, as if to himself. His voice was smooth for an older man, but also sounded tired and distant.
James watched Evan to see if he recognised the man, but it appeared the Voarn didn’t know him.
When the old man hobbled into the house, James noticed the metal brace on his left leg. Its steel frame reached from mid-thigh to mid-shin, impeding his step.
A cool, fresh scent welcomed them as they entered, which brought to mind Sun Season flowers and wet grass on a hot day. The front room contained a worn rug between a comfortable looking armchair and small sofa by a low table. Behind the armchair, past a long, highly polished table with four high-backed chairs, was a large open window. A garden could be seen beyond the billowing curtains.
“Hello there,” James said to the man, adjusting to his duty. “Delivery for a… Den Keenosh?”
The man smiled broadly, looking younger when he did so. There was a mischievous air about him. “Yes. But that is not my package.”
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Before James could respond, the man named Den Keenosh waved a hand to the seating near the unlit fireplace. His face hid a grimace when he lowered himself on the armchair, his braced leg awkwardly stretching out.
James sat beside Evan on the opposite sofa, eyeing the old man and trying to get a read on him. The old man looked as though he was settling in for a good talk, which gave James some concern; though he couldn’t say why exactly.
“A friend?” Den asked with a gesture to Evan. He’d hardly spared a look at the giant sword on Evan’s back.
James decided he wanted this man to say more before revealing anything, and so remained silent.
“You look like you’ve been through some wars, friend.” Den noted Evan’s dirty and bruised appearance.
Evan slowly nodded. “Do you know of me?”
James thought he saw a shift in Den’s expression, though the old man composed himself without giving anything away. “I can’t say I do, young one. Should I?”
Evans shoulders sagged as he looked away.
Realising he still held the package, James held it up. “This here’s the correct address. Your name is on the package. If there’s been some kind of mistake on our part—”
“There’s been no mistake,” Den interrupted. His face was strong and clear in the morning light as he regarded James. “The package is for you.”
James tried to remain professional and re-checked the name and address on the package, unsure of what he expected to read this time. There seemed to be no mistake.
“The package is yours, James,” the old man said firmly. “I sent it, to be delivered here, for you to bring to me.”
James felt the blood drain from his face. Den’s fierce gaze was so strong and commanding; he’d never felt anything like it. “I don’t understand. Who are you?”
Straightening in his chair with some effort, Den’s countenance softened. “First of all, open your package. Please. That will be a good starting point, I think.”
With a frustrated sigh, James decided to play along for now. He unwrapped the end of the long featherwood box and removed the foam-packed contents.
Within was a sort of handle - a torch or metallic sword hilt of some kind. One end was similar to a torch end, though with a hollow opening. The handle was several shades of silver and grey, with some black trimming, and felt well-balanced as James hefted it.
“It is a grapple hook,” Den told him. “It was your father’s.”
James looked up at that.
“It wouldn’t be familiar to you,” Den continued. “Though you would recognise it if you could. He wished for you to have it.”
James felt himself go numb, falling into a sea of darkness, his whole world encompassed by a strange old man with a broken leg. A thousand questions washed over him.
Was this finally it? Was he about to discover the truth behind his life? The real truth?
Den Keenosh’s severe look held strong, sending another shiver through him.
Tears nearly fell as James thought of his most burning question. His voice shook, overwhelmed with suppressed emotion as he asked the question that he thought he’d never be able to ask. “What happened to me?”
Den said, “Times were dark. Your father had to make sacrifices for the good of your future. Understand it was a matter of your life that you be brought to this city.”
James’s head grew hot as he processed the words. “What are you talking about? Who was my father?”
“He was many things. A soldier for the most part. A great war hero and inspiration to many. And, he was a good friend.” Den now watched him, allowing him time to react.
James turned away, unable to hold that powerful stare. He examined the grapple hook and noticed it was marked with several scuffs and notches. Deep abrasions were scored on one side of the cylinder that made up the lower portion of the handle, below the plastic grip. His hold loosened upon seeing the dull sheen of the retracted three-pronged hook inside the opening, not wanting to prod any mechanism that would release it. Deep down in his heart, it pained him that it wasn’t familiar to him.
Evan shifted beside him, remaining silent. To James and his troubled mind, he may as well have not been there.
There was something at the bottom of the box he’d missed in his earlier inspection. With a shaky hand, James pulled out a photograph; a thick, sturdy card that showed some wear on the edges.
A sharp stab of excitement burst within him. Staring back were two armoured men in a desert environment, which might possibly have been somewhere on Medropon. The men were smiling, one with an arm around the shoulder of the other. The left man had braided dark hair and a muscular physique. His eyes were serious under thick brows, which contrasted with his playful smile. His bulky shoulder pads were studded with dull spikes, much like his dented chest plate. The other man, taller and leaner, had long, light-brown hair with kinder eyes and a broader, but somehow sadder smile. James found himself returning the man’s crooked smile.
He looked up at Den with a questioning wonderment.
“The dark-haired man is named Harman Bridges,” Den said. “We served together for a while, though I’ve had little dealings with him since. That would have been taken during a stop-over on Elry’a, during the… Hemliss campaign, if I remember correctly.” He paused a moment, as if recalling the memory. “The other man is someone I know little of, named Jacob Roby.”
James’s chaotic mind was not eased. He looked over the photo again but could discern no further information. He’d been hoping that one of these men would be his father, and was greatly saddened that neither was.
“I cannot tell you anything more from the photo. Harman Bridges lives no longer. And Jacob Roby has not been seen for some time now. I’m sorry I cannot be more helpful. But as it was a possession of your father’s, I thought it only right that you have it. That and the grapple hook is all I have left of him.”
James realised the man had been referring to his father in the past tense. A heavy shiver ran through him, shaking his shoulders. “Where is he… now?”
“He’s been missing for some time, I’m sorry to tell you. No one knows for sure if he still lives, yet we all hope that he does. I believe he is out there, somewhere.”
Though no tears fell right then, James felt he had been crying for a lifetime. The thought of knowing he had a father, and knowing he was gone, tore at his insides.
He had a father. But he was still without one. To perhaps always be without one.
Did this mean he had a family, somewhere? Were they alive? Did they even want him, if they’d sent him away in the first place? Questions spun around his head, becoming a throbbing pain he couldn’t stop. “And my mother?” He couldn’t meet Den’s eyes.
“I cannot say,” Den said in a low voice.
Frustration grew within James; a powerful force that threatened to explode. He was sure there was a lot this man was keeping back. This man who had the key to his past and didn’t reveal absolutely everything to him.
“I’m sorry, James,” Den added.
The sorrow in Den’s voice finally brought tears to James. A torrent of silent emotion flooded him. “Their… their names?”
“Hayden. Hayden Island,” Den said softly. “Your mother’s name is Seniatha. Sen.” Den looked away for the first time.
Evan’s voice trembled with sorrow when he quietly said, “I am sorry.”
James appreciated his words, but had too much in his head to focus on Evan.
Another silence came over the room, until Den broke it. “You were brought to me for a reason, James. I can tell you what you need to know about yourself. And know this. You are an Oneron.” When Den paused, James saw a fierce blaze in his eyes. “A warrior race of men, capable of great feats of combat and agility. For millennia the Oneron have fought in the galaxy’s most significant wars, their armies some of the strongest in history. The grapple hook is a signature weapon and symbol for them. War is prevalent in the galaxy, and there are those who plan to use this time of simmering turmoil for their own gains. Times are hard, for many people. The flames of past wars still flicker. A new hero must rise. A forgotten warrior. An awakening, if you will. The time has come to salvage what is left of you, to continue your Oneron training for you to become the man you were destined to be.”
A hundred thoughts and questions crashed through James’s troubled mind. A warrior? The idea was ridiculous to him. Even the word was. It could be his father was, but there was certainly no way James could ever be anything like that. He told himself he was just a construction worker, but knew right away that wasn’t true. He didn’t know what he was.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, James,” Den went on. “It may be hard for you to believe, but before being brought to Tyken Town you were a talented soldier with great potential. It would be my honour to help return you to that path.”
Though Den’s tone was soothing, James fell into despondent thoughts. He looked away, seeing the box on the floor. Just an empty box now.
His work, his life, and Tam—faded images he barely recognised—passed through his mind. What would everyone say to this? How would he go back to work and tell people he was some kind of warrior? He could only imagine what Tam would make of this.
“If I may…” Evan said, looking at them both.
“Yes,” Den said, “James’s friend. Your name?”
Evan hesitated, glancing at James before addressing Den.
“My name is Evan Goodheart, of the Illan of Therapia. James is assisting me with a difficulty of mine. I… I was not aware of his… situation.”
For some maddeningly strange reason, James felt as though the Voarn was lying.
“Not a problem, I’m sure,” Den said. “It appears your fate has entwined with his.” He rubbed his left thigh absently. “I would hear your story, friend. It is not often we have a Therapian resident around these parts, and one that I have the privilege to entertain.”
“I would be glad to tell it, sometime,” Evan began. “But first I must ask. The box you arranged for James to bring to you.” He picked up the empty package. “Why did you put my family crest on here?”
Den struggled into a forward sitting position. “What do you mean?”
“This seal. On the wrapping of the box.” Evan handed over the package. “I thought you would know of it.”
Examining the package, the old man let out a howl of a laugh, shocking his guests. He continued to ignite the air around them with his hearty laugh, which ended with a few low chuckles as he composed himself. “I truly do not know, dear friend.” His voice was filled with wonder, and he laughed again before continuing. “It seems someone has tampered with our well laid plans. Most interesting. Indeed.” He grunted a few more laughs to himself.
“But, what does this mean?” Evan asked, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.
“It would appear that your being here isn’t so coincidental, nor, incidental. Truly a wonder.”
“I do not understand.” Evan’s voice rose with confusion. “I thought you had intended for this package to fall into James’s hands.”
“That is true. As it was arranged. Though I would chance to believe that at some point, somehow, someone placed this seal without our knowing. Someone who wanted to make sure you would come to me with James today.”
“That cannot be possible. I did not know myself I would come to this place before I arrived here. I had not even heard of this city, or known of this planet before.”
“Yes, truly a puzzle, I must say.”
“You lie to me,” Evan yelled suddenly, his voice shaking. “I have not come all this way to play word games with an old cripple. You must tell me what you know.”
“I assure you, young one―”
“I am not so young as may seem to your eyes. Do not consider me a helpless child to be coddled.”
Den’s eyes hardened, but there was no aggression from him. “My apologies, Evan of the Illan. My words meant no harm.”
Evan rose to his feet shaking with a frustrated edge, his voice distorted in anger. “You will tell me what I need to know. Do you know my family? Has Thaenos contacted you? Have the Light Gods? What do you know of my mission―” He hesitated, wavering on his feet, and then his anger waned, along with the rest of him. His eyes rolled as he became limp and collapsed onto the table.
James startled and reached for him.
“Be careful,” Den told him sternly with an outstretched hand.
“I dunno what happened…” James began, missing the warning. He lifted the Voarn’s shoulders and searched him for signs of life.
“Let me.” Den strained to lean forward, his metal brace thudding against the table as he stood. He laid a hand on Evan’s cheek, his serious expression growing darker and pained.
After a long moment of silence, Evan groaned and struggled to open his eyes, as if unaccustomed to the light.
“What…?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Allow me, young one.” Den extended a hand and helped Evan up, still watching him closely.
“I apologise,” Evan told him, looking away as he supported himself. “I do not know what had become of me. I… I feel I am weary from my travels.”
“Aye, that you are,” Den said, reaching a hand under Evan’s arm to steady him.
“You all right?” James asked.
Evan was still noticeably uncomfortable and embarrassed at his fall, but he managed to meet his eyes. “I… I think so.”
“Let me take a better look at you. If you will.” Den gestured to an opened doorway on the opposite wall, which led to what looked like a kitchen. He turned to James. “I trust you will be fine for a moment while I tend to our friend. Please, take as much time as you need.” He stopped to offer him a sympathetic look. “I know this isn’t easy, James.”
James responded with a numb, silent nod.
Den led Evan to the side room, keeping a grasp of his arm.
When James sat back down, it wasn’t long before the silence of the room encompassed him. Deep in thought, the world melted away, leaving nothing but him and his torrent of emotions. He found himself concentrating on his hands, at the creases in his fingers and palms. He thumbed the remains of a blister on one finger. A fierce chill ran through him when he focused on the grapple hook.
He discovered he was more frightened than he’d ever been. He searched inside himself and was reminded of the last time he felt such powerful feelings: the day before when he’d killed that crazed beggar. Another thought proved the most unnerving of all. If Den had known so much about him, and been so much in control of James’s actions as to arrange him coming to his house, did he also know what happened in that alleyway? Had James been watched or followed? If Den knew he’d killed a man, did that have something to do with why he was here now? The unnerving feeling overwhelmed James for a moment. A moment which seemed to last a lifetime.
A two-year lifetime.
Some talk could be heard in the other room, along with clinking plates and closing cupboards, but James couldn’t focus enough to determine the words.
Beyond his world, the Dusk Mountains approached him now. The Ten fingers rose from the vast ground and reached for him; a giant rock hand filling the world. James felt himself fall toward the hand, not knowing if it reached to catch him or crush him, as everything turned to darkness.
Back in the old man’s room, on the floor now, he was resting on his hands and knees with a racing heart.
No.
The word was a whisper. Or perhaps a thought. At that moment it was clear to him what must be done. And at the same time, he had no idea what he was doing.
Back on his feet, he listened to the sounds from the other room, which were now raised and sounded threatening. James crossed the room on weak legs and found himself running out of the house, not looking back.