The boy had pretty eyes–pale green, like the shoots of plants Tif sometimes saw push out of the cobblestone streets. She loved how daring those sproutings were, growing where they pleased because that was their dream.
“So,” he said, standing in front of her booth, which was a small wooden crate with a das board on top. “Where is the master player?”
“You’re looking at her,” Tif replied with a wide smile. Pretty eyes or no, she was going to take his money.
“You?” he said, getting the attention of the two boys he had arrived with. All three were human, dressed cleanly, and of a size, which meant they were probably sedan bearers for the same merchant or noble. It also meant that they likely had flats to spend. “You can’t be more than–”
“Sixteen,” Tif supplied. People often assumed she was younger, keshe especially, so she was proud of every year.
“Pff,” said the boy to the left. “The youngest human das master is forty at least and not sitting on the street outside some closed hookah bar with a naked face.”
Tif turned so the bit of golden ris on her forehead would glint in the sun. Her tattoo might not be as big as the shimmering cluster of geometric lines each boy sported on their cheek, nose, or neck respectively, but her face certainly wasn’t naked. They were, however, right about her claim of being a das master. Even so, the title written on the front of her crate had done its job, making them curious.
“I should be an easy mark then,” Tif countered, holding up a copper flat with a picture of the Archon’s face on one side and the mountain city of Lercel on the other. She flipped a finger, producing a second flat. She didn’t worry that the boys would try to rob her. There were enough Aspects in the area to discourage such behavior.
She saw a flash of greed in the pale green but he held himself back.
“I’ll even give you guest rights,” she said. Letting the guest play first was a tradition as old as das, and Tif always gave it, but with new players mentioning it up front could sweeten the hook enough to get them to bite.
“Alright,” said the boy with pretty eyes, sitting on the street to face her across the playing board. He stuck a hand into the small purse on his hip, withdrawing two copper flats of his own, which he thumped onto the wooden crate.
Tif put the two flats she was holding beside the board as well. “No patron. One and done?” Ties were more likely this way, but with how long he’d taken to convince to play, she didn’t think he’d agree otherwise.
He nodded.
“Zek…” said the friend who hadn’t spoken yet, “you sure about this?”
Zek waved his hand dismissively. “Just keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t try and switch any tiles on me.”
Tif didn’t need to cheat to win at das. She just needed information, and he had already given her plenty.
The board was a plain, wooden rectangle, painted black, with five pieces on either side. On more expensive sets, the pieces were carved to look like the Aspects they represented, but on Tif’s they were just upright wooden blocks, each painted a single color: green for Life, red for Blood, yellow for Gold, purple for Death, and blue for Tears. In the space between the pieces sat the ten number tiles, also made of wood and painted black to match the board.
Zek inspected these closely, which everyone she played with who had an ounce of sense did. The easiest way to cheat at das was to notice differences between the backs of the tiles, which was why Tif cared for them better than she did herself: repainting the backs and edges if one ever started to looking darker or lighter than the rest, sanding them all down if one got chipped, and if she had no other choice, making a new one from scratch, which could take a whole day to get just right–she’d had more than one potential customer refuse to play because a tile or two of hers was off.
Eventually satisfied, Zek picked out his five tiles, leaving her the remainder, and waited. Tif had seen countless das games turn into staring matches, the players sizing each other up before laying their numbers. It was said that das masters sometimes spent days deciding on their setup before the first tile was flipped. Tif didn’t have that luxury, not when she only made one or two flats per game and only when she won.
She gave her five tiles a look, sorting the numbers I through IIII. Guest rights meant that they would start on the boy’s left, so that’s where she placed her first tile, number side down in front of her right-most piece, Tears, and then laid the rest in quick succession, one after the next.
Seeing her play so quickly, Zek began to place his, too. He matched her order, and finished soon after she did.
“Ready?” Tif asked him.
“You’re not going to change anything?” His hand hovered over his tiles as if he was already second-guessing his placements.
“Nope,” she said, smiling wider at him.
“Fine then,” he said. His hand jerked to the first tile he had laid and flipped it over, showing his IIII.
Tif turned her tile across from his, revealing her I, and Zek’s friends both sucked in air. He had won–and Tif tipped her Tears piece over to show it–but he had wasted his highest tile against her lowest, which would leave him at a disadvantage for the rest of the game.
Unlike his friends, Zek didn’t look disappointed, but focused, his hand quickly moving to the next tile in the line. Now that the first had been flipped, he seemed eager to turn the rest, and Tif was happy to oblige.
He revealed his II and she showed her IIII. He used his left hand to knock his Blood Aspect over, indicating her win, but at the same time turned his next tile, a IIII. Tif almost felt bad turning her IIII, and when she did his friends groaned while Zek slapped the board with his hand, making everything shake and a few pieces fall over.
Tif had seen much worse reactions but still gave it a moment before asking, “Do you want to flip the rest?”
“Why bother,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “You won.”
He was right, of course. She had already defeated two of his Aspects and would win again against his I, giving her three victories, which he couldn’t match.
Judging that he wouldn’t stop her, Tif plucked the four copper flats off of the crate, tucking them away, and then began restanding both lines of Aspects.
“How’d you do it?” Zek grumbled as she worked.
He didn’t sound like he expected an answer, but Tif did like his eyes, and it wouldn’t hurt to tell him now that she had his money.
She pointed to his IIII tile. “You started strong,” her finger moved to his next tile, the II, “Then doubted yourself.” She ended on his IIII, “Then got confident again.”
“Lucky guess,” said the one who had pointed out her lack of tattoos.
Tif raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll bet you a copper flat that his next two tiles follow the same wishy-washy pattern.”
The boy with pretty eyes popped up, standing between her and his friend. “Don’t do it,” he said.
For fun, Tif flipped them, revealing that sure enough the last two were his I and then the III.
“She really is a master,” whispered the friend who had warned against playing her.
“Again?” she asked the group and they jumped, backing away in such practiced unison Tif laughed, thinking of the sedan team she imagined them to be. This only made the three depart faster, and she called out, “Thank you kindly!” before they turned off of her street and down another.
Tif went back to resetting the board, getting all the Aspects positioned across from each other and the tiles in the center, the rush of having just earned two copper flats making her fingers tingle. That was her fourth win today. She hadn’t had a run like that in weeks, and the money pouch she kept below her belly button felt unnaturally heavy. Tif had eleven copper flats in there. Eleven! Never stretch your luck, her fa would say. Trust your gut, her ma would say.
Tif looked down at the charcoal face she had scrawled on the inside of her left hand. “What do you say, Pep?” she asked it. “Think we can win another?” The two dots and a line stared back at her until Tif cupped her hand slightly, turning the line into a smile. “Yeah, I think so, too,” she said with a grin.
Tif brushed the hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear, scanning the area for one last mark. The street she was on was a quiet section of the mids–had been ever since Master Meh-Vin had been forced to close his hookah bar. There were still some other stores on this part of the street though: an open air fruit market, a baker of fennel cakes, and a small altar to the Aspect of Gold, all of which created a steady, if not robust, stream of people.
Tif’s eyes were bouncing from person to person when they landed on a female keshe across the way who–she discovered with a bit of shock–was looking right at her.
On the whole, keshe were taller than humans, and this one was no exception, standing at least six feet high. Much like her body, the keshe’s ears were longer than a human’s, pointed on top and stretched so low with an oblong turquoise plug they nearly brushed her shoulders. Hair braided close to her scalp and a nose pierced in its center by a brass ring stood out, but otherwise her face was very much like Tif’s–though she had heard many a keshe say that humans looked like them, not the other way round. The only visible tattoos this one had covered the length of both ears, so not a noble, but the garment she wore was layered and dyed a beautiful cobalt blue, so perhaps a lady’s maid.
Tif doubted someone like that would want to play, but there was no harm in asking. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Did you want a game?”
The creature hadn’t broken eye contact since Tif had spotted her and at the question approached. “Are you always on this corner?” the keshe asked crisply, her sharp teeth flashing.
“Sunup to sundown, every day,” Tif said. “So if you ever want a game, you know where to find me.” Tif kept a smile on her face, but inside she wondered if this keshe was from the das Guild. Tif had never heard of the group coming down from the highs to enforce any sort of regulations, but there was a first time for everything.
The keshe eyed her a moment longer, her pupils vertical slits with amber irises. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, before moving on.
Tif waited until the keshe was out of sight and then started packing up, just like Pep was telling her she should. She was careful to keep the das board level so the pieces didn’t slide off as she transferred it to the street. Next, Tif flipped her crate over with a practiced move, revealing its hollow underbelly, and gently loaded the colored Aspect blocks and number tiles into it like a basket, followed by the board. The items would still shift while being carried but not much with the weight of the board on top of them.
Getting up from the cobblestones, Tif wiped her bottom of some loose dirt, picked up the crate, and set off at a brisk pace. Keeping the wooden box held close to her chest, Tif was able to move quickly, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way. The steeply slanted streets of Lercel were like an old friend, helping her jog most of the way home, her short hair flying free behind her. Tif and her parents lived in the lows, but she did her playing in the mids since no one in the lows had flats–or anything else–to spare.
She ran past a lift stop, which shuttled people up and down the mountain in huge metal buckets attached to a woven metal cable as thick as her leg. A lot of people Tif knew in the lows wished they could afford the lift fare instead of needing to climb the steep streets of Lercel by foot. Tif, however, liked the burn in her thighs when she made the ascent from the lows to the mids and how each time she arrived at her spot outside Meh-Vin’s bar, covered in sweat from the trek, it felt like a small victory. She would love to see the views from the lift though. In her imagination, it would be like seeing through the eyes of a bird skimming over the city. The wire ran a good five stories above street level at its highest, only dipping low at lift stops to let people get on and off, passing through a series of huge gears, turned by a team of a dozen thick shouldered humans. There were many such stops, both for people’s convenience and to provide adequate power to the massive contraption. Tif saw the first stop most days since it was at the edge of the lows, while the last was said to be at the steps of the Archon’s palace.
“I’ll live there someday!” Tif said to Pep as she ran. She didn’t have to specify where–Pep knew. “Even though going down is more fun than up.” They had talked about that often, too. A few years ago Tif had decided that when she became Archon she’d move the palace to the lows. That was until Pep pointed out that it wouldn’t be right to make people move a whole palace when she could just take a long walk anytime she was feeling nostalgic.
Pep was good for her like that.
The next large structure Tif passed was a lotto building, the clerks behind barred windows accepting flats from a line of hopefuls, human and keshe alike. The next drawing was soon, in just two days, and Tif felt an immediate knot of hope welling in her chest just thinking about it. Winning the lotto was the only way someone like her could ever afford to get enough tattoos to be a knight, and being an aspect knight was the only way to become an Archon. Tif always bought a ticket each rotation, even if she had to go hungry a day or two to do it, and she already had the stiff piece of paper tucked into her shirt. Still, she knew that others had lives much harder than hers, even in the mids, and dreams just as big, so as she shot past the line, she shouted, “Good luck!” turning some of their heads.
“When I’m the Archon,” Tif said, picking her conversation with Pep back up, “I’ll have the lotto pay three winners each time, not just one.” Tif had a long list of such plans, and was feeling quite good about adding her newest to it when she jogged past Ker-Und Square. In the open plaza stood an Aspect, and she couldn’t help but slow at the sight of it.
Tif’s parents had told her that when they were children, Golden Aspects stood twenty feet high and there was one for every hundred people in the city. Now, there were probably only a hundred Aspects in all of Lercel, and they stood just three or four feet above the keshe–which was still impressive to Tif. The Aspect was, of course, in the form of a keshe, this one male, with elegantly long ears and braided hair that hugged tightly to his head, nape of his neck, and then in a strip all the way down his back to the long skirt he wore, his only covering. However, unlike a living keshe, the Aspect appeared to be a statue made of pure gold–his skin, hair, and even clothing all a slick, polished metal, reflecting the oranges and reds of a sun that was on its way to setting. Tif wondered what it would be like to see all five different Aspects in row, like they were on a das board. She had lived her whole life in Lercel though, so ones of Gold were all she knew, but if she managed to get accepted into one of the four patrol units of aspect knights, she’d see the rest of the world, which she was sure would make her a better Archon.
Tif moved closer and soon discovered that the Aspect was presiding over a duel, which could mean only one thing.
“They’re wagering ris,” she whispered excitedly to Pep. And if they were wagering it, they’d be using it to fight, too.
Tif’s day had just gone from great to amazing.
There were many schools in the mids and highs of Lercel that taught how to use the first seal of Gold ris, and while Tif tried to peek through open windows and over walls to learn as much from them as she could, nothing compared to getting to see someone use Gold forms up close and unobstructed. Even if she didn’t have enough tattoos yet for the first seal, she could add more movements to her daily practice, so when she finally did buy her ris she wouldn’t be as far behind.
Eyeing the combatants–both keshe–who stood before the giant Aspect, Tif’s excitement diminished somewhat when she saw that neither had the hazy distortion that surrounded a knight. One keshe’s face was outlined in a thick ring of geometric golden tattoos, granting him a cold beauty as well as a good bit of power to draw on. The other had thrown back the cloak he wore to reveal an arm densely packed with golden tattoos, from his shoulder all the way to the tips of every finger.
From what they were showing, the second keshe clearly had the advantage, but Tif wondered how many more tattoos their clothing was hiding and what kind. Ris from the other four Aspects were uncommon in Lercel but once Tif had seen a keshe noble with twisting green Life tattoos threading through the geometric gold across the top of her chest–a stunning sight, clear meant to draw the eye–and another time she’d spotted a humbly dressed human man of all things with blue swirls of Tears on the back of his neck. Tif dreamed of getting ris from every land in her travels, but the only way that would happen is if she got enough gold to first become a knight.
“I could bet,” she said, the thought popping unexpectedly into her mind. A few people nearby didn’t realize she was talking to Pep and so gave her a brief look before returning to watch the duel when she didn’t respond. Tif hardly noticed. She’d watched more than a dozen duels over the years, maybe two dozen, but she’d never expected to have enough flats to actually wager on one.
Immediately, she began searching for a bookie–impromptu duels like this always drew a representative or two from the underground willing to give people odds. Tif found the individual in short order, helped by the fact it was someone she knew from the lows.
“Yeq,” she said, popping up beside the stocky man. “I want to place a bet.”
He glanced her way while taking another man’s flats and handing him a tiny slip of paper in return–nothing like the quality of parchment the lotto house used.
“Hiya, Tif,” he said. “Happy to have it, but the smallest wager I’m allowed to take is ten coppers.”
Tif had known it would be expensive, but hearing the amount aloud still made her bite her lip. That would only leave her one flat to buy food for the day, which wasn’t enough for both her parents even if she went hungry. Never spend your last flat, her fa had drilled into her, and she knew it for truth. If she didn’t have at least a flat to cover her side of the wager, she couldn’t make money playing das.
Yeq saw her look and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said, turning to help more eager bettors.
Tif glanced at the duelists, who were now back-to-back in front of the Aspect and growling at each other over their shoulders. Whatever the cause for the duel was, they clearly didn’t like each other. More importantly, as soon as they started walking, no more bets would be taken. She needed to decide now.
“Pep…” she said but then she saw the keshe with the arm tattoos take hold of his golden shoulder with his off hand and give it a squeeze.
Tif put the crate down between her feet, grabbed nearly all of her money from where she had it tucked inside her pouch and pushed the stack toward Yeq.
“I want to bet. On the one with face tattoos.”
“You sure?” he said with a frown. “Odds are better for him but that isn’t necessarily a good thing. Don’t want to see you and your family starve.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, shoving the flats into his hands
“Okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound happy about it.
Tif eagerly took the tiny slip of paper Yeq gave her, and none too soon either–only a moment later both keshe took a step away from each other, saying “one” in near unison.
The more Gold ris someone had, the more perfect their form was and the more beautiful their voice sounded, so the word, though spoken with violent intent, was pleasant on the air. When she had been younger, Tif had spent countless hours tucked around the corner of various cafes and shops listening to nobles speak with each other, their voices like an orchestra of chimes. Tif was sure an Aspect would sound even better, covered as they were from head to toe in Gold, but for all their power they never spoke. The Aspect in the square behaved thusly, watching the duelists in silence without the slightest emotion gracing its gorgeous, burnished metal features.
As the two keshe walked further apart, people who were in front of either scrambled to the sides, not wanting to get caught by stray shots of ris when the duel commenced.
Tif counted the last few steps with them and when they reached ten, they spun around. Tif watched the keshe with the tattoo sleeve use the turn to whip his arm across in a cutting motion, palm and fingers flat. Only knights could see the true form of ris, so Tif was left trying to spot a ripple in the air as her gaze swung from right to left. Much easier to spot was the effect of the attack, which she did not a moment later: the other keshe’s loose tunic suddenly indented across his chest in a narrow line, knocking him back.
Tif held her breath as he stumbled. If he fell over, she would have just lost the most money she’d ever possessed in less time than a das game. He caught himself with his back leg though, righting himself.
“Thank the Aspect,” Tif breathed.
The now stable keshe struck back with two swift punches, right then left. Both times he turned his fists further than Tif expected, his thumbs nearly pointing at the ground. The first seal of Gold–which was necessary to even compete in a duel–allowed the keshe to take the force they generated and move it to a distant point, like their body was the bow and the power of their Gold ris was the invisible arrow.
Tif whipped her eyes to the keshe with the arm tattoos–he hadn’t stopped spinning after his first strike and was in the middle of bringing his opposite arm around to create a second slashing blow. The two punches hit in quick succession before he could complete his follow up attack, pressing into the cloak he wore: one against his side, the other his stomach. Tif watched as the thick fabric twisted around each blow, just as the other keshe’s fists had.
The keshe with arm tattoos spit blood, and the sounds of the crowd rose from a hushed murmur to a low rumble. Another punch of ris hit home that Tif hadn’t seen thrown, knocking the keshe back so hard he tripped sideways. Unfortunately for Tif, the stumble saved him, because a fourth strike of ris connected with the keshe’s cloak, blowing it back, which surely would have knocked him to the ground if it had hit his body as intended. Even worse, the keshe with arm tattoos used the momentum he had to twist, sending another slash of ris at his opponent.
Tif’s attention shot back to the keshe she had bet on just in time to see the attack clip him on the right side. He had clearly been trying to dodge it, but the strike was too wide to fully escape and the force of the blow connecting with his side sent him spinning around into a clump of nearby crowd members.
Tif felt like her heart was going to pop right out of her chest. She would have lost if they hadn’t been watching so closely. “When I win, I’m giving them a cut,” she promised to Pep.
With a frustrated shout, the keshe pushed off of the humans he had fallen into. However, when he turned around, Tif saw that his face tattoos were almost gone. The ris was still there, but leeched of power the metallic lines would need time to reappear. A glance at his opponent showed the one with arm tattoos breathing hard, but he still had a good bit of ris left. He even smiled as he slowly lifted his arm, apparently unconcerned by any small attack his opponent could muster.
“Please do something,” Tif said, looking back at the keshe who nearly all her money rode on.
Surprisingly, he reached into his tunic and then threw a handful of small glittering objects through the air.
“I sacrifice to you for rejuvenation!” he shouted.
With his words, Tif understood what had been thrown: gold nuggets. She had expected something from him but not that.
The gold made contact with the Aspect and was absorbed into the living statue’s skin–only a slight ripple in the golden flesh marked its passing, like a pebble tossed into a puddle.
Without a word, the Aspect lifted a hand. Much like the ris flying back and forth, Tif couldn’t see exactly what it did, but suddenly the keshe’s face tattoos reappeared, looking even more lustrous than before.
Recharged, the keshe leapt into the air, bringing his right fist up and over in a powerful downward strike.
This time Tif could have almost sworn she saw the ris burn through the air as the keshe with the arm tattoos just barely avoided it, large eyes wide, the strike exploding the cobblestones street beside him in shards. The keshe brought his arms up to protect himself from the flying debris, but then his head snapped back, his feet lifting briefly off of the street before he landed back first onto the ground.
Tif shouted in excitement, looking at the keshe with face tattoos. He stood with his left arm raised, the uppercut he had used to end the match held high–it was one of the most triumphant poses Tif had ever seen. She lifted her arm and set her feet to copy the pose, shouting again, her call lost in the excited talk from those all around.
Not long after, he lowered his arm, and Tif did too, at which point she realized that she needed to get her winnings before everyone else tried to. She picked up her crate, having to push through people who were heading away from the duel now that it was over.
Yeq hadn’t moved far from where Tif had last seen him and spotting her approach he gave her a nod.
“Well played,” he said when she reached him.
“Thank you for taking my bet,” Tif said
“Just doing my job.” He ripped up the slip she gave him with barely a look and then plucked two of the many purses that lined his belt from their small hooks. “Sorry I tried to stop you.”
“It’s okay,” Tif said, accepting the money he poured into her hands. She couldn’t possibly be mad about anything when holding thirty copper flats. Her first attempt to stuff them haphazardly into her pouch didn’t work, so she had to line them up, one against the next, and even then it was a tight fit, the edges pressing against the cloth of her bag. “It was just a hunch,” she admitted, as she struggled to close the flap.
“With hunches like that you should bet at the Lane. You’ve got enough now to pay your way in and place a decent-sized sum.”
A pained grunt pulled Tif’s attention away from Yeq. She turned to see that the Aspect had a hand on each of the two duelists, and they were both stiff at the contact. The one with the arm tattoo groaned as the ris on his fingers and back of hand dissolved, vanishing from atop his flesh. The other keshe looked to be hurting, too, but he bared his sharp teeth in a feral smile as his face tattoos grew over his chin and down his neck a good three inches.
Not a huge wager, but still worth a fortune. Even carrying three times the most money she’d ever possessed, Tif didn’t have enough for even an inch of ris.
The transfer complete, the Aspect broke contact and left the square at an unhurried pace. The keshe with face tattoos departed as well, flush with power, but the other, weakened, fell to his knees, and some apparent companions of his broke from the crowd to assist.
“Careful with that,” Yeq said to her.
Tif turned back to the man and saw that he was pointing at her overstuffed pouch.
“I’ll stay on the main roads. Thank you!” She grabbed her crate and dashed over to three people in the crowd who were talking loudly about saving the victor from near defeat.
Seeing their faces light up as she gave them a copper flat each was fun, but not as much as heading back up the mountain.
Tif knew exactly what she was going to buy.