Simon Barter hastily crammed two of his precious three pairs of trousers into the leather bag, a purchase he had made with his hard-earned savings. He tried to maintain an air of composure, even as the open window ushered in the salty sea breeze from the Northern Ether Sea. The sea air rustled the parchments beneath a smaller bag and tousled his brown hair. Inside, he wrestled an urge to glance up, fully aware of his father's imposing frame in the doorway, arms crossed in disappointment and anger, a familiar look for a young man who often veered from conventional decisions. However, this time was different; Simon wasn't being caught in the back courtyard with the Fisherman's daughter, even if he swore he had no inkling of her intentions.
“Henri,” came the soft voice of Simon's mother, always striving to mediate.
This time, Simon could not resist. He met his father's stern gaze and swiftly averted his eyes to the thick black beard, then to his mother. At her side stood his young sister, with the youngest clutching her skirts.
He returned his gaze to the bag, its meager contents squeezed within—clothes, a few shirts, a small bag holding the rest of his money, and various knick-knacks. Amid these possessions, he discovered a small, red duck toy, stealthily stowed by his younger sister. A fleeting smile tugged at Simon's lips.
“I could forbid you to go,” rumbled the voice of the master carpenter from his imposing chest.
“I'm of age, Father,” Simon responded firmly, his eyes fixed on the open flap of his bag. He pondered whether anything else remained to be packed. Anything to delay this conversation.
“Nothing is out there.”
“Everything is out there.”
Silence descended between them, encapsulating the long-standing conflict of the winter. With the retreat of snow from the houses of Eldertide and the fishermen venturing farther out to sea, Simon's yearning for adventure had intensified.
“It's extremely dangerous out there,” Sidi, his sister, added to her voice. “The garrison is warning against the eastern road.”
Simon gazed at her with brown eyes filled with heartache. His pregnant twin sister had crossed town to persuade him against this path.
“I'm taking the southern road. I'm heading to Oakridge.”
When he voiced his decision, it sounded unyielding, final. The spark in his father's eyes confirmed it.
“I just,” Simon started and ran a hand through his hair, steadying his voice. He pondered whether explaining was worthwhile. “I can't sit here without at least trying to try my luck. I want to be more than a carpenter.”
“What's wrong with being a carpenter?”
“Nothing,” Simon replied, his voice determined yet soft. “I just... I'm not sure it's for me. Please, I need to do this.”
Henri shook his head with a huff, his black mane of hair almost coming undone. “I've been out there. It's a world of death, destruction, and horror. If you aren't killed, you'll be corrupted. I know. By the Goddess, I know.”
Simon knew his father's stories all too well, tales from his time in the White Castle Garrison. Whenever Simon expressed interest, he heard of charmweavers enslaving people or the brutality of the Equipeds.
“I'll be careful,” Simon Barter asserted, pulling the drawstrings and sealing his bag. “Plus, there's no guarantee the Traveler's Guild will accept me. If not, I'll come back.”
“If you think you can defy my authority and then come back,” Henri's voice grew stern, “you are mistaken. Every choice carries consequences. Step out that door, and you're on your own. I won't indulge your idle fantasies.”
“Henri!” Gava warned, Simon's mother turned to ice. A silent understanding passed between them when his father looked at him.
“If you make your choice,” his father finally said, “you must face the consequences.”
His father departed, the heavy thud of his boots reverberating on the wooden floor as he retreated to the wood shop adjoining the house. Simon hung his head, but the warm arms of his mother enveloped him.
“Mother,” he began, holding her. “I need to—”
“I know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Your father loves you, but he's witnessed things that haunt him. So many young men leave for the Guild and never return.”
“I'm not seeking a battle with Nagaith or something like that,” he protested, gently pulling away. “I just want to explore the world before it's too late.” “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, tears in her gray eyes. She adjusted his shirt, smoothing the wool material. “I understand. Your father and I dreaded this day. Just... please, be cautious.”
After a final embrace from his mother and well-wishes from his two sisters, Simon hefted his bag and approached the door. The creak of the board and the house's hushed sounds conveyed a sense of finality. Stepping out the door, he knew the world would change profoundly. A mix of fear and anticipation gripped him, causing a moment's hesitation.
“Just remember, regardless of what your father says,” his mother's voice wavered, “you can always come home.”
“I love you, Mom.”
Simon pushed open the front door, and life's vibrant sounds engulfed him. The smooth white cobblestones of the slanting road led to the bustling naval docks below. People from all walks of life moved about, dodging carts bound for parts unknown. As Simon stepped forward, apprehension gave way to a sense of adventure and the knowledge that a new world awaited him. He glanced back once more at his mother at the door, the tears in her eyes catching the mid-morning sun. He raised his hand with a wave and then took off up the road for he knew if he looked again, he would never leave.
Simon ran. Maybe he ran longer than he had to but after narrowly missing a cart or two, he decided that he was risking death before he had even got out of the city limits. Slowing his pace, he moved up onto one of the wooden walkways that lined the larger main streets that fed people and cargo from the entrance of Eldertide to the merchant docks on the other end.
The city sprawled out before him, a breathtaking panorama of grandeur. Pastel-hued spires, reminiscent of the iconic structures in Tormina, the Capital, stretched skyward. Banners and pennants, each bearing the marks of lively celebrations past and present, danced in the gentle breeze. With every step, the coastal winds whispered through the labyrinthine alleyways, carrying sweet melodies from the street musicians. Simon's ears delighted in the soft plucking of lutes, the serenading flutes, and the melodic voices of bards spinning tales of daring adventures.
He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, a familiar daydream he'd held close since childhood. “Maybe one day, they'll sing tales of me,” he thought. Seagulls circled overhead, their haunting calls mingling with the joyous laughter of children hidden within the crowd. Occasionally, a stray ball would escape the children's control, and a chorus of squawks would follow its erratic path.
As the alluring scents wafted from a myriad of street vendors and inns, Simon knew he had entered the bustling market district. He savored the aroma of freshly grilled seafood over a street-side fire pit, enhanced by the subtle zest of citrus. The coastal city's markets overflowed with a colorful array of fruits and spices, offering a culinary journey from creamy indulgence to invigorating zest. For Eldertide, there were three pivotal destinations: the bustling wharves in the morning and afternoon, the vibrant marketplace in the evening, and the lively taverns at night.
Simon had heard whispers of a mysterious place in the city, the Celestial Emporium, where his mother had warned unfaithful men to lose their fortunes, and his father had threatened severe consequences if Simon ever ventured there. Despite his curiosity, the fear of his father's wrath kept him from seeking it out.
A gust of wind, laden with the scent of saltwater and the sweet, earthy fragrance of blossoms, rekindled thoughts of adventure. Should he have considered life on the sea? No, he had set his sights on the Traveler's Guild, earning that coveted pendant to explore the vast world beyond.
An indignant screech of snapped Simon out of his reverie. His head swiveled sharply toward the commotion across the street, where two brawny men were forcibly dragging a petite woman out of a tavern. At first glance, she seemed out of place among the bustling street. Clad in a deep green tunic and dark trousers, she sported a sturdy, brown leather cuirass protecting her chest and abdomen. A small dagger hung from one hip, while a sheathed short sword adorned the other. Her inky black hair cascaded in a long braid over one shoulder, crowned by a vibrant red scarf.
Without hesitation, Simon darted across the street, circumventing a cart whose agitated horses voiced their displeasure with a resounding neigh. He didn't pause to ponder his intentions – he simply moved towards the woman.
By the time he reached her, one of the men had collapsed, clutching his injured arm, while the other was grimacing in pain with his arm twisted behind his back. He cried out in anguish.
“When I said, 'don't touch me,' I meant it, you scoundrel,” she snarled, delivering a final, painful twist to the man's arm.
Satisfied that her point had been made, she shoved him forward, and he crumpled to the ground. The woman brushed herself off, and as she looked up, she locked eyes with Simon.
“What?” she demanded.
“I...uh...thought you needed help?” Simon stammered, unsure of what to say.
“Does it look like I need help?” the woman shot back, her dark eyes flashing with challenge.
“No, ma'am.”
“Good.”
With that, she turned and marched down the street, away from the two fallen men. They cast uneasy glances at Simon, who quickly distanced himself and feigned ignorance, not wanting to draw their attention either.
Hastening his steps, Simon found himself on an unfamiliar road, surrounded by dilapidated buildings teetering on the brink of collapse. Suspicious onlookers gazed at him with a mix of curiosity and malice. He realized he had taken a wrong turn and unwittingly entered the shadow district
“Oh, I need to get out of here,” he thought. Simon pivoted to retrace his steps but found only labyrinthine alleyways, offering no clear route back.
A creeping sense of dread overcame him as he anxiously surveyed his surroundings, taking a step back. It was then that he collided with someone behind him.
“Easy there!” the person said, reaching out and gripping Simon's arm. Dazed from nearly stumbling into the busy street, Simon made no objection as he was firmly pulled away from the edge. The one holding on to him was the woman he had seen earlier. “You, boy,” she said with a smile. “Are in the wrong part of time.”