Tif sat on the cobbles of her usual street, watching the glow of the rising sun warm the buildings around her. She was close enough to Meh-Vin’s hookah bar that she could lean on the boarded door if she wanted–and some days she did–but the excitement that bubbled in her chest kept her back straight and eyes wide open. The lotto drawing of the season would be tonight at sundown, and the anticipation of having not one ticket but seven riding on the outcome felt like a thing alive within her. She would normally just be stretching awake at this hour, but today she had popped up unnaturally early with no hope of getting back asleep.
Unfortunately, being on the street this near sunrise didn’t lead to more custom since most who sought out the type of distraction she provided did so after having put in at least a few hours of work. So, while she waited, Tif punched the air in front of her, practicing the forms she had seen the other day. It felt awkward to twist her arm far enough to make her thumbs point to the ground, but there was no denying the power she had seen it create.
A man who was walking by her booth eyed her askanse, and she paused to say, “Tonight I’m going to become a knight.” The man looked at her even more skeptically and continued on a bit faster. Tif shrugged, switching her hands from being fists to flat, fingers pointed forward and pressed together.
“His thumb was in though…” Tif said, remembering. She tucked her smallest digit into her palm. “Probably to stop it from cutting.” Killing your opponent was never the point of a duel–if you did, how would you get the ris you were owed? Tif did a few chops, experimenting with the angle. Seated as she was, she couldn’t turn her body the way she had seen the keshe do. His blunted slashing attacks hadn’t hit as hard as the punches, but they had covered a wider area making them harder to avoid, and he had used the spin involved in turning to face his opponent to power his first attack, which was clever.
Tif paused, pondering the two styles. Both seemed effective, but so did nearly every type she had seen over the years, whether the practitioner used their hands, feet, or even their head to strike with. She supposed that’s why there were so many schools spread throughout Lercel, like raisins in a cake, each dedicated to their own style. Why someone simply didn’t use a mishmash of all of them, Tif couldn’t figure. She suspected it had to do with differing ranges and control of the ris, but she wouldn’t know for sure until she had some of her own to try with.
“Sundown can’t get here fast enough,” she said to Pep.
A shadow fell over her, and Tif looked up. It was the female keshe from the day before, her amber eyes nearly the same color as the rising sun. Tif glanced side-to-side to see if authorities from the Das Guild accompanied her and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the keshe was alone.
“How would you like to make twenty copper flats, win or lose?” the keshe said, and Tif’s eyebrows shot up.
Perhaps this day wouldn’t take as long to go by as she had feared.
*****
Tif whooped in glee as she watched the roofs of buildings pass far below her from her spot at the front of the lift.
“Must you do that?” the keshe asked. The proud creature looked chagrined each time Tif expressed herself thus, hunching her shoulders away from the harsh stares directed at them from the other finely dressed patrons who sat on the curved bench seat instead of standing on it like Tif was.
“Absolutely,” Tif said, holding her hand up to make sure Pep had an even better view than she did. She grinned wide at the feeling of air buffeting her face before turning to look at the handmaid. “Who knows the next time I’ll be up here and on the way to the highs!”
“After today you will be able to ride it as many times as you want,” the keshe said, smiling so tightly that she revealed only the tops of her teeth and none of the points. “My mistress will pay you.”
Tif frowned. The keshe, who apparently was a handmaiden, thought Tif was good enough at playing das to fetch her but couldn’t count? The lift had cost the keshe five copper flats each, which meant four rides and her winnings would be gone–not that Tif would ever waste it on something like that. She turned back to face the panorama of the dark mountain they effortlessly ascended, framed by blue sky on either side. Well, maybe just once more.
“I never knew that the tops of the buildings were so colorful,” Tif commented. The gloss ceramics used to cover the roofs shown in the morning sun, like brilliant mosaics pointed toward the clouds.
“The nobles wanted something pleasing to look at on the way down,” the keshe said, sounding almost happy to answer. She probably thought as long as she was talking Tif wouldn’t shout again. “It also makes good business sense. The more memorable or intriguing the art of your roof, the more likely you are to attract patronage.”
Tif saw a few she would certainly like to visit. One with red and orange diamond tiles patterned together to make flowers, which she assumed was their business. Another was made of yellow and black squares that circled around each other to create a spiral. She wasn’t sure what they sold, but she was interested in finding out.
Further on, she saw a long, low structure made of greyish-white stone and lacking in any sort of tiles. Tif knew that to be the Grand Museum, a place she had wanted to go into ever since she had learned that they had a whole wing dedicated to famous knights. However, there was an entrance fee of three copper flats, and everything worth seeing was inside.
Up past it was the Opera House where dancers were said to use tiny bursts of ris to move swiftly across the stage, and vocalists with ris wrapped around their throats and chests were said to sing the most beautiful arias. Tif had even heard that the arcknight Nes-Rek-Tah-Vaa would sometimes unexpectedly appear in the middle of the show, enchanting the crowd and the performers with a voice of unearthly perfection.
Tif’s eyes slid off of the u-shaped Opera House and drifted upward toward the Archon’s Palace, catching on the largest golden structure in the world: an enormous statue of metal, over fifty feet high, with two legs and two arms, but where its head should have been was a spiked railing that encircled a golden chair. Tif didn’t need to be told what that was. It was the Archon’s Gargant, passed down from one leader of Lercel to the next, which meant that someday it would be hers.
She had always wanted to stand at the foot of it, to stare up and imagine what it would be like to control it with the power of her ris, but her ma had forbidden her from ever going that high up the mountain, and so far Tif had listened.
She was a bit disappointed when they got off at the very next stop instead of getting closer to the Gargant, which was still at least three stops further on, at the top of the mountain. The handmaid, however, seemed relieved to be disembarking, bustling Tif out of the lift and down the platform the large metal bucket they had traveled within swung beside.
When they were on the street again, Tif nearly stopped in her tracks. She had only gone as far as the edge of the highs before but now she was without question in it. Unsurprisingly, the buildings were taller and much better cared for then those in the lows or mids, but it was the people who caught her eye. They seemed a reflection of the structures, most being keshe and thus taller than her, their clean garments, large ears, and plentiful tattoos made it feel like her eyes were being called every direction at once. She also saw that unlike the lower levels many wore diaphanous silk to show off the golden ris that glittered in more private places such as inner thighs, bellies, or even buttocks!
When they saw her, their reactions seemed less than pleased, some scrunching their noses as she passed. Tif knew that keshe’s sense of smell was better than most human’s, just like their hearing, so she apologized to the first group they walked near enough to.
“Sorry,” she said, “it’s been longer than normal since the last rain.”
The two she had spoken to looked scandalized that she had addressed them directly, turning to whisper to each other, so Tif went back to talking to the handmaiden instead.
“You never told me your name,” she said.
“How very perceptive of you.”
“It would be nice if that perception could be rewarded with information.”
The keshe eyed her, clearly annoyed but she answered nonetheless, “Mas-Ort, if you must know.”
“And we’re going to see?” Tif prompted.
“My mistress, Sur-Rak-Sha.”
Tif glanced at her hand to make sure Pep had heard. Three names meant nobility.
“She is eager for tomorrow’s recruitment,” Mas-Ort went on without prodding, “and is finding ways to pass the time until then.”
“Just like us,” Tif whispered to Pep.
Mas-Ort looked at her oddly, seeming to doubt their course for a flicker of an eye but then the moment was gone, her steps never slowing.
As they continued, Tif matching the keshe’s longer strides despite having her crate to carry, Tif gradually noticed a repeating feature: the houses had no doors, just large arching portals. When she commented on the lack, the handmaid nodded to the side.
“Why would we?”
Tif turned to see two Aspects sweeping past, one in the form of a male keshe, the other a female. Despite their size they had moved so silently that Tif hadn’t even heard them approach, but she certainly felt it now, their oversized forms large enough to whip up a small wind. Tif didn’t think she had ever seen two Aspects that close together, but she supposed anything was possible in the highs. And for all that, the people here chose to live like she and her parents did in their alley: open for all the world to see. The familiarity of it made Tif breath her first easy breath–long, with a touch of a laugh at the end–since she had arrived.
Mas-Ort ignored her, angling them toward a home that wasn’t a freestanding structure but cut directly into the face of the mountain. There were pillars of dark grey stone that connected the rough rock above with the smooth below. Past those was a mostly flat stone edifice Tif could tell was three stories high from the square, smokey windows on each floor. Like she had come to expect, there was no door but an archway that went up a story and a half, enough for an Aspect to walk through.
“Do you think they have them over for dinner,” Tif whispered to Pep with a giggle.
The most curious part of the home though was a stream of water two feet wide that came out of the middle of the entrance. From what Tif could tell, it flowed in a straight path out the door and down the first step, like a miniature waterfall, at which point it split into a series of rivulets dug into the the stone of the street, creating a flowing, geometric pattern like ris that took up a good twenty foot semicircle around the front of the structure. It was as if the owners of the mountain home were saying that everything the water touched was theirs, which Tif supposed it was because no other buildings were placed nearby and people didn’t even walk on it.
She tiptoed over the street-streams to keep pace with Mas-Ort, and entered the building with the keshe, the two of them passing on either side of the water. Stepping within, the air suddenly cooled, and Tif saw many tapestries and draperies hung on the high walls to soften the rocky interior. She hoped to see the source of the water that flowed out of the home, but the handmaid took her down a spacious side hall, wider than the alleys in the lows. They passed by a number of keshe who were all dressed in well-cut but simple cream clothes and were thus likely servants. They gave Mas-Ort nods of deference as they passed and completely ignored Tif, which she supposed was better than the keshe outside.
The hall narrowed, ending in a small chamber, where a single keshe stood staring at a map that, upon second glance, Tif realized encircled the entirety of the round room.
Tif’s true attention was on her newest mark though, who, after Mas-Ort’s comments about recruitment, Tif wasn’t surprised to see was only a year or two older than her. However, after encountering so many keshe in the highs showing off their tattoos, Tif was rather intrigued that this noble, who presumably had more, chose to wear an entirely opaque garment. It was the same cream color as the servant’s but stitched with so much yellow thread in the shapes of various animals, many of which Tif didn’t recognize, it almost seemed as if it was a yellow dress with cream accents. Despite her apparel, the noble wasn’t entirely conservative, not with the right side of her head completely shaved, and Gold tattoos running the length of it, circling her long ear, as well as wrapping around every inch of her neck. Her titled eyes were violet and the gauging of both her lobes fell halfway to her collarbone, plugged with amethyst.
“What is this?” the noble keshe said in a neutral voice that somehow hit all the right notes. “I’ve already made my charitable contribution for the month.”
No amount of ris could make those words pleasing to hear, and Tif gripped her crate tighter.
“I’m not a beggar. I earn my money.”
“I’ve seen her do it,” Mas-Ort said. “And she claims to be a das master.”
The noble keshe’s lip quirked. “Does she now?” The young keshe took a step forward and then coughed. “What is that smell? I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with the stink of her. Come back tomorrow after you’ve bathed, and do it twice to be sure. No, three times.”
The noble keshe waved her away, and Mas-Ort bowed deeply, jerking her head at Tif when she didn’t immediately move.
Having dealt with keshe before, Tif knew they wouldn’t care about the day of work they had cost her or how very long it would take her to get home from the highs since she certainly couldn’t afford to take a lift back.
“You’re not good enough to win against a slight distraction?” Tif said, as she turned. “Playing you wouldn’t be any fun for me anyway.”
Mas-Ort hissed in the back of her throat, and the noble exclaimed, “What did you just say to me?”
Tif looked back, giving only the impression of a smirk–too much and she’d likely get thrown out on her rump. “I don’t just play for the money. I like a challenge.”
The noble keshe smiled, revealing sharp teeth. She stepped to the side, into what Tif had assumed was just another portion of the map wall, but it parted to reveal that it was actually strands of flat beads painted to look like that section of land. The young keshe stopped halfway through, a predatory gleam in her purple eyes.
“Coming?”
Tif grinned. She was in.