Journey to the Planet Earth - Europa

A trillion souls scrunched up on a blue-green dot in the sky do nothing to fill the vacuous loneliness that interstellar space offers.  The fact is though, with sincere intent, every now and again, those souls do attempt to populate the void through an exodus of cosmic osmosis.  Those who estrange friends and family for the lure of beyond make the first journey into coldness, into the wilderness of absolute stillness, are a special breed.  They leave without turning back, not out of a psychopathic lust to ignore human interdependence, but because even a molecule of regret will metastasize into a lethal cancer of the heart, dooming the very reason they have forsaken the familiar.  Those who first step outside their door, not knowing what they will find, or if they will even live to see the next second pass, are latent with flaws all their own, yet they deserve a very special chapter, perhaps written entirely in bold, in the book of the genus: homo.

But in the vastness of space, though the stars are still running away from each other even as they are birthed and die, human constellations are not so easily predictable.  The brazen spirit of exploration and revelation easily gives way to the constricting heart of homesickness, tribalized loyalties and passive interdependency.

*

The year is 2154.  The place is the colony of Khune and its small network of scientific research stations.   Over 3,000 minds make up this solitary lunar village on the Jovian moon, Europa, but for nearly half of the population, this is the only home they have ever known.  Even more are star children, having never seen the birthplace of humanity, but having been born on Mars or Luna before humans made the jump beyond the asteroid belt.  Only a select few can say their two feet once walked upon that tiny blue dot in the sky, and their voices are more than half a century old.

Perched lazily upon a bench drilled into the grey walls of the small radio room, Medhi Zheng, son of two star children, native of Khune, shifts himself slightly as he gets back to his summer reading in spite of the distraction of the ceiling.  The pink plastic upholstered bench is uncomfortable, but this is his favorite room in the entirety of the outpost Athena IV.

Like Khune proper, the vast majority of station Athena IV was under a thick sheet of ice kilometers deep but this room, small tiny hallway of a room is the closest thing to the surface before a suit or a shuttle is required.  Located next to the above-surface satellite and sun-shy solar panels, the radio room holds the communications equipment throughout Athena IV and served as the entryway to the partially below-ice garage.

A thick bubble dome made of a palladium glass compound offers the only tidally locked view of Jupiter from the near-side of the moon on the entirety of Europa.  For Medhi, though the room is small, and the two of the three exits are heavily padlocked and sealed, this room offered his only chance to be liberated from the well internalized and suppressed claustrophobia one might experience from living deep in a global sea perpetually locked in a thick case of ice.

"Medhi, azizam, tell your father the shuttle is ready to go.  Near-side lunar sunrise in an estimated 1.2 ESH.  We have to leave by then or we'll never make it to the colony before the far-side sunset." Dr. Neda Amiri gently places a thin, leather hand upon her son and smiles slightly when he looks up at her and nods.  She has been in the lab for the past several hours and strands of dark, silky hair carelessly meanders from underneath her loosely tied hijab of lilac purple.  She hadn't see the sun's rays illuminate the melding gases of reds, yellows and whites on the crest of Jupiter's horizon once during their two months stay at the outpost.  But come to think of it, she hasn't seen much of her son either.

"Yeah, I know.  I will." Medhi replies but by then Neda had already left the room and returned to the lab.  She knew he'd be a good boy and do as he was told.  No further persuasion was needed.

He puts down the tablet and it automatically shuts down, blinking the words of Gilgamesh out of existence for the time being.  Summer reading.  It was a funny term carried over from Earth.  Once, the term 'summer' meant a period of time where the climate warmed up over a geographic location.  Once, there were other terms for other times of year; Winter, Spring, Autumn, but those words could only be seen in science textbooks and novels written on Earth.

Now, a summer means only a break of school, and these two months were the last summer Medhi could expect to enjoy in his lifetime.  Childhood was in a quick sunset and Medhi was running out of time trying to determine what scientific field he would base his career on.  Would he study geology and planet science and explore deeper the internal sea of Europa?  Perhaps Engineering was his call, where he could begin working on another colony compound or a new wing on Khune.  Or perhaps the agridome needed more scientists expanding what was culinary possible on this nutrient poor ball of ice.

All options had one thing in common: Europa.  Sure, sometimes Jupiter fell into the mix of study; Dr. Amiri spent her life, after all, researching the electromagnetic discharge radiating from the gas giant.  It was her work that birthed the technical ability to capture energy from the planet rather than the sun in the darkness of the near-side of the moon.  It was how this base could function even though the sun was so very far away, and even though most of the time the gas giant named for the king of the gods cast his shadow on Athena IV.  He was sure his mother would be overjoyed if he followed in her footsteps.  What new discoveries would she expect out of her son?  But for Medhi, just like the ice that trapped and encased every colonial building, Europa, even the mere thought of the frozen moon, made him feel claustrophobic.

I need to get out of here.  It is not so much a thought of Medhi's that continues t pop up every now and again, as background radiation in the space of his existence.

"Athena IV, Athena IV, this is the Wukong II.  Preparing to return the buggy to base in 10 minutes.  Please respond.  Over."  The radio beeps and Medhi rushes over to the console.

"This is Athena IV, responding to the Wukong II.  Shuttle doors are open and we are preparing for your arrival." he started formally. "Baba, Maman says tells me we need to hurry.  I think she's worried about having enough solar energy to make it back.  Over."

"This is Wukong II.  Copy that Athena IV.  I am on my way.  I got some amazing shots over here.  Finally captured the shot of the ambient gas glow on a pre-dawn Jupiter.  Amazing colors." buzzed the reply over the radio.

"Baba, did you get any of the blue dot?  Over."

"I did Medhi.  Waxing crescent.  It seemed so close, almost like it was a child of Jupiter's rings.  It is amazing to think about it."

"To think about what dad? Over."

"That somehow that little blue dot started it all.  Ever try to imagine it?  Nine billion of us somehow squeezed onto that little ball.  Compared to the 3,000 of us on Europa, or the thirty thousand or so between Mars and Luna, it seems unfathomable.  When Nai Nai was still alive she used to tell us stories about life there.  You ever wonder how things would have been if she had stayed there?"

"Sometimes.  But you could have stayed on Mars too." Medhi retorts, the hint of accusation he intended is buried too deeply in his matter-of-fact manner that his father doesn't notice it.  Finally he adds,  "Over."

"I could have, but not Maman." his father says softly, "We all make our choices Medhi."

A long silence passes between the father and son before a final buzz from the Wukong II beeps from the radio.

"Athena IV, this is the Wukong II.  I have arrived at destination.  Please prepare the shuttle doors.  Over."

"Stand by Wukong II.  Shuttle doors opening.  Over."

The above ground garage is small; hardly complex.  Medhi had mastered basic operations for the vehicle warehouse early on in his teens and the procedure is solidly and rotely in his brain.  He can do this in his sleep.  His fingers are light on the console and he can feel a shudder as the bay doors slide against the rock hard ice separating firmament from humanity.

The garage opening let in an eerie glow of dark purple, red and yellow coming from the Jupiter enveloped sky above, and Medhi

His father, 蒸文峰, Wenfeng,

"Fuck man." Xinbo sighed.  "I don't even know what I am going to do with myself." He grabs "dong" off of the neat line of majhong tiles.  And he smiles when he turns over his tray revealing the rest of his hand.  The tiles clink slightly as he adds "dong" to the line up.  /The Big Four Winds/  Medhi sighs, but Allen and Mohammed laugh.

"Damn it man,  I didn't think you were that close." Allen swears "Clever bugger."

"What does that even mean?" Medhi asks his friend, wanting to be mad at something.

"I don't know."  Allen offers uselessly.  "It's just something mum and dad say all the time in English.  And that's about the extent of my English, Mum, Dad and Clever Bugger."

"Fucking Americans." Xinbo says and Medhi and Mohammed nod but Allen just shrugs.

"Well any way, nice one Xin!" Mohammed refocuses the conversation and slaps Xinbo on the shoulder and Allen starts cleaning up the tiles.

"I suck at this game." Medhi says, defeatist.

"Yeah, well I don't think Europa is in dire need of a Mahjong expert any time soon." Xinbo echos Medhi's frustration, in spite of his win.

"Why don't you just man up, go to your dad and start an apprenticeship?" Allen asks.

"Are you a marine biologist now?  Don't tell me you caved in.  Loser. Do we really need another Dr. Holme?"

"Eh, fuck you Mohammed." Allen says, dismissing his friend's jab, "Not everyone gets selected for Governance Service straight out of high school.  You've still got a friggen half decade to think about it, and, by that time, you'll probably have set yourself up with some cushy job in infrastructure.  I needed to do something, find some way to get work hours filled, so yeah, I'm going to start apprenticing at the end of school.  Whatever.  At least biology work hours are time and a half." 

"Yeah, it's people like you that piss me off, Allen." growls Xinbo.  "You have something.  You have a way to not starve."

"Nobody starves on Khune.  That's just some self-pitying fear mongering." Allen retorts, "You still get subsistence rations if you don't fill your work hours."

"Do you even know what it is like to live on subsistence rations because even though you are a student, your dead beat mother who can't fill her hours, fills her plate with what you earned with your school hours."

Medhi knows where this conversation is headed to.  It's not the first time Xinbo and Allen have gotten into this fight, but as the day towards their graduation draws nearer, they get more heated and raw.  Everyone knows the answers to these questions.  Xinbo hasn't seen his father in 7 years and as far as Medhi knows, the split was not friendly.  He might as well apply for an apprenticeship with the agridome.  Even with his miserable grades from high school, it still would be more likely.  

And everyone in this room knows that though Allen might harp about his old man, he might have been swearing since middle school that he'd never go into marine biology, but Allen is all talk.  Time and a half is just too tempting to pass up.  It means downtime for half of the Earth Standard Year in exchange for half an ESH of intensive work.  Half an ESH to explore life beyond survival in Khune; the opportunity to make music, to paint, to dream, to go where the imagination drives you.

"(Xinbo) Xin and Lily (Shin) didn't make it." Medhi finally manages between breaths. Somehow, now that the words have been spoken, now that the sound of his voice has reached the ears of others, the finality of the fact crashes into him.  Now it's real.  It is as if his lips, not the pressure-less, oxygen-devoid emptiness of space, ended their lives.  His heart is racing and it isn't from the exertion of the climb.

"

----

“The reason why we go forward,” she says, “Is that we can’t go back.  If we try to return to the space we occupied this morning, we’d be on the other side of the world.  Life keeps moving, plants keep growing, moons keep spinning and every second that goes by the sun is that much closer to its irreversible end.  We can talk about the old ways.  We can look at our hometowns and try to recreate that little slice of life we remember, but we’re only finding new ways to act out old walks, we’re only creating new lives inside of familiar walls.”

“Then what is this point of you being here?  If that's what you believe, you are going in the wrong direction.” Medhi condescends, cutting her off only after her last word left her lips.

“Because we aren’t returning to the land of our grandparents.  We are exploring the lands of our children.”

Medhi finds himself not looking forward to the vast amount of alone time he was likely going to have with Sanaa.

----

"Gravitational stabilizers are back online.  You should be able to demagnetize your boots now." He announces to the group.  He is trying to suppress his pride.  He's trying so hard to not let this small victory inflate his head to balloon sized proportions.  It isn't a sense of modesty that guides him.  He is still swimming in a surreal state.  Clinically, he knows their troubles are far from over.  But he also knows that he isn't feeling the true sense of danger surrounding himself and the passengers.  He can't afford to feel proud that he got them moving again because complacency is death.  And there is still a long way to go until Mars.

"Thanks (Persian).  We owe you big time.  When we get to Mars, your first round is on me."

"Right back at you Medhi."

----

Medhi says finally.  "Earth is where it all started.  Every piece of land there has already been explored.  A-Level uses the same textbook.  I've seen it.  You can't possibly think... "

"What is land?" she asks, interrupting him without mercy.

"Are you being serious?  That's a stupid question.  You know what land is."

"If it is so stupid you should be able to answer.  What is land?"

"It's the ground.  Only it's made of dirt instead of ice or the floor."

"Is that all?  So the pots and raised beds in the Agridome are land?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it.  You are really annoying, you know that?."

Sanaa continues, "What does land feel like?  What does it smell like?  How do you know it is land?"

"Do you honestly think we'll get to Earth and I won't be able to figure out where the oceans end?  Don't worry about it!  I promise you, when I arrive, I will know what the land is."

"Exactly." she says, lowering her tone.

Now Medhi is confused.  "What?"

"When you get there, you will know what land is.  You don't know what land is now.  Sure, you know about land.  You have read the tales of Earth, the description of it.  You might even know some of the things that make up land.  But Medhi, you don't know land, and neither do I.  I'm an explorer Medhi, and so are you.  We are exploring things that are unknown to us, and making them known.  There is nothing more exotic and exciting than that!  

Chapter 1 - Part VIII

From the other side of the thick, stained wooden door of the cell, the robed man looked through the bars at Onion. She was a mess in her thoughts; her ears beet red, her face glazed over with hopelessness. The stoic strength present in her golden Nürish irises had drained away leaving behind the sheen of an overcast futility. What it was he had said that bothered her so, he could not decipher. Now, Onion refused to even look at the man. Whatever she was suffering with, he could not share in it.

"If there is anything I can do for you...?" he struggled, fishing for the proper words to provide her a modicum of comfort, "That is, if you need someone to talk to. I'll be here for a time before..."

"Away with you hated Eirdren scum! I will have my final days free from this strange, detestable culture." The Spider had been flicked from its web so effortlessly, and now so far from her home, no amount of venom she possessed could protect her.

Onion turned about face and focused her gaze upon on the wall to avoid showing the man her brimming tears. If she had seen him, she might have known his puzzled expression, his extended sympathies, and seen him quickly pack them away as the guard approached from down the hall to escort the priest out. He regained his composure and turned to leave.

"I will be back tomorrow for Cedric. I hope to make this up to you, whatever it was I had said." and the robed man was gone.

With that he left and Onion quickly felt oppressing weight of the stone slab of regret force itself upon her. With her tears dried, she tried to close her eyes and find the clouds, but they would not come. Her web had been destroyed and she would have to rebuild it again.

Chapter 1 - Part VII

"The Imperial Guard? They have a stake in the contests that go on in the Dance of Thorns. Each highway GuardHand might as well be a lord without a title. Their land is the road and their tax is a heavy one. So to keep the roads open, the receive money, bribe money, and a lot of it. They will carry out the dirty work of other players too, if the price is good enough.

"But the Enforcers, they are actually the living embodiment of the Empress's will. It is through them that she keeps a loose control over her subordinates. Every city in Heilth has group of Enforcers at their doorstep.

"They say that they are a relic of Ferl the Conqueror, the first Emperor of Heilth. He united the warring states one by one, and in each he left behind a few of his own personal guard. These were men and women he trusted with his life, people he had vetted and developed strong relationships with. It was the only way he could ensure his rule and law were respected by the nobility.

"Simply put, they can't be bought. Enforcers are rotated throughout the empire and report directly to the Empress herself. They get no bribe money because they have no loyalties to the land, they've got nothing the nobles want.

"They are an honorable bunch, in my opinion. They would know an unconscious Nü poses no threat. Had the Guard killed you at that point, the Enforcers would have treated it as murder.

"Imperial Guards usually try to stay out of the Enforcers' way as much as possible, anyway. The Enforcers are better equipped and better trained so those bastards get their dirty work done before anyone arrives. That is why you live."

His explanation still sinking in, Onion's mood sunk into a hateful mess of reflection. "You have a strange culture, Eirdren. But it does not matter. The result is the same. Why bother with this drawn out process when my death is inevitable? Would that I had died that day with my brothers in the field of battle!" Onion violently waved her hand, dismissing the robed man. She wanted nothing more to do with him this day.

She had little new information save the knowledge that even in his last moments, Rejnev had singled out his little sister and protected her before any other; before himself. Onion knew that his knowledge of this foreign world was extensive enough to understand what would happen. If she had fought, her death would have been certain. Instead, he didn't allow her even the choice.

Onion hated her brother for his self-sacrifice. She hated him because she missed him. His wild, optimistic and strong face, dear brother, never again to be seen by the warm rays of the sun.

Chapter 1 - Part VI

"Yes. What are you doing in my cell?", she sat up and turned to lay her back up against the wall.

""How do you do?' as well", he chuckled, clearly pleased with himself for his surprise approach.

"I have no need of your gods, Eirdren. " she whispered, exasperated, "You may take your message elsewhere."

"Gods?!" he expelled the words from his lips, "Oh! This!" The man examined himself, as if realizing for the first time what he was wearing. "Ah, well, that's not really why I am here, as far as you're concerned anyway. Cedric had requested my services, but no, for you I just wanted to talk." For a moment, he straightened up and lost his air of casual banter, "Not that I am neglecting the work of He, the Keeper of Justice!". He offered a sheepish look that was only exemplified by his ludicrous uniform.

"Cedric," he pointed over across the hall, "He told me who you are, about what had happened on the road to Lithen. I know it may seem straightforward, but do you really know why you are here?"

"I killed that Eirdren lord." she proposed. "What is it to you?", Onion prodded the strange man, hoping to coerce as much information as she could out of the fair man. Curiosity persisted in spite of her resignation to fate.

"Hah! Justice for the slain? " his cynicism cut the air like a knife. His words were spit out harshly, "Hardly. You were used as an excuse for some noblewoman to get away with offing her lord-husband, and in doing so, greatly enrich herself and whoever else she was working with in this plot. Poor Cedric over there", he motioned again to the pale man, "he had no idea either."

"Why am I alive at all?"

"You know, I asked Cedric the same thing. It turns out you were unconscious and buried beneath bodies for practically the entire battle with the Imperial Guard. By the time they had found you and realized that one of the corpses on the field was a living woman, the City Enforcers had arrived to the call. You were not very far out of Eirdred you know."

"What does that mean?", Onion shot back, feeling that none of the man's words addressed her question whatsoever. "One group of guards or two, my death would have been an easy task."

"You don't know this country very well, do you?"

Onion nodded her head to indicate that she did not.

"The chief exports here are catty nobles and the chief import is a lexicon dissembled", through his grimace he snorted out a laugh at his own unique description of the land. "Look, all the infighting that goes on between nobles around here, in Lithen to the north, and Sandor to the south, it isn't isolated incidents of who socially offended whom. There are a lot of power grabs, a lot of players for power. None of this, of course, reaches the Empress, for now anyway, but you have to watch your back for just about any other organization.

Chapter 1 - Part V

From behind the monolithic guard, a young man approached the far end of the hall where Onion and the Archne chef resided. He was diminutive and fair, at least more so than the clunky guard yet was still well built. He was clean cut and with soft hazel eyes, something strange to to see compared both to the golden tinted eyes of the people of the Outer Crest and to the typically blue eyed folk of the east coast of Heilth. He wore a mask of ease and solemnity that was all but ruined by his garb which he wore with an air of unfamiliarity. He was adorned in robes that from Onion's simplistic standards, were reminiscent of a basket of laundry held together by a few well placed ties and sashes. They did not suit the gloom of the dungeon and neither did the man's placid features.

An Eirdren priest perhaps?

The massive and bronzed steel plated guard unlocked the splintered cell door to the pale man and the priest stepped in.

Again, the noise of that unnatural tongue, Onion thought, how vexing. She was not soon to be relieved. The two initiated one long stream of tones and hums and jabbered on like washer women by the river. Onion turned her thoughts inward. Seeking reprieve from the repulsive conversation, she laid down on the cold, hard stone floor and succumbed to the weight of her eyelids. For a moment, she considered the priest's garment, ridiculous in every aspect. What a fool. Soon, however, she was gazing again at the clouds.

Some time later she was awakened to a tickle on her forehead as the hem of the man's robes gently brushed her.

"You are Nü?", The warm sunny day melted away; replaced by the cold stone ceiling of the cell and the upside visage of the blond-haired priest standing over her in his ridiculous outfit. Now, Onion was able to observe the man's outlandish garb up close and had a difficult time taking him seriously. A turquoise, tight, form-fitting long-necked undershirt peeked out of the collar of the over-sized pink robes. A blue sash loosely sat on his waist while a thin white sash crisscrossed at the point between his shoulder blades and around his armpits to cinch the cloth around his arms into some vague version of sleeves. Most startling of all, however, was his accented, but very fluid command of Nüish.

Chapter 1 - Part IV

Onion's curiosity was piqued. There was little to lose by attempting to communicate with the man. If life was already lost to her, perhaps, she mused, it would be worthwhile to learn what she could.

"Lin jak!", Onion yelled and drew the man's attention to herself through the bars of her cell. His sobs ceased entirely, clearly surprised that she would breech the walls of his own prison of personal misery. The pale man raised his index finger to the center of his forehead and pressed the side of the finger over the bridge of his nose, a sign of respect and reverence to Rel.

Pointing to the man she raised her voice in question "Nürish?" Maybe the Spider would be kind to her this day and reward patience with luck. It was not unheard of for mainlanders to interact with the Nü and other peoples of the northern and southern Outer Crest. Perhaps this man might understand something in her homeland's tongue.

"Little word," he responded. The words may have been hampered and jarring to a native speaker, it nonetheless carried the sweet scent of the familiar. In spite of herself she allowed herself this small victory. "Fish-merchant of Nü. Made purchase of Fish-merchant of Nü.

"What is to become of us?" she enunciated very slowly, pointing to herself and the pale man.

"Bad fish. Bad fish dead soon." Trudging through his thick accent and extremely limited vocabulary, Onion was able to learn of her impending fate. That she was to die was of no shock or distress. What was more difficult to ascertain were the questions when and how.

The high courts of Eirdred, Sandor and Lithen all waltzed their own way, but the elaborate show of aesthetic prowess was displayed at an entirely different level in Eirdred. More a dance of preordained steps, murder, betrayal and espionage were all fair plays, so long as the rules were followed. Lady Archne had shown her hand, made her move and was successful. Now her displays of mourning and vengeance for the fallen would wash her hands of their blood. The Lady would pour out manifestations of her loyalty to her dead husband and the theatre of bloodshed would be devoured by an eager audience willing to see someone, anyone, pay. The death of Onion and her pale friend would be the culmination of days of feasting, wailing and shows of bravado and force as hundreds of minor Eirdren lords and ladies from across the province gathered to its capital city.

There is a saying in Eirdred, Rejnev once told Onion. "When there is death, the orchestra begins." This was an event the Eirdren nobility looked forward to. It was during these days that many alliances and plans of betrayal were carefully crafted as power vacuums were sealed.

The man cut off his explanations when the guard came over and roughly blathered some Eirdred gibberish to the pale man. The Archne chef quickly fell to his knees and again pressed his finger to his forehead. The guard left but returned shortly.

Another soul on this web?

Chapter 1 - Part III

That was 3 days ago. Aside from the guards, she had seen not another creature enter this pit. The dungeon was dank and poorly lit, and it was entirely possible that there were other miserable souls in the darkness, quietly suffering, but they did not touch Onion's web.

Her fate was still a mystery. Why was she kept alive? Why did Rejnev take her out of the fight? Why was she not permitted to defend her brothers or at least die trying?

However Onion had the present, not the past, to concern herself with. She had heard stories of the intrigue and plotting of the courts of Eirdred, Lithen and Sandor. The Dance of Thorns it was referred to, yet she never thought her fate was to be ensnared in petty games of the high and mighty. As an easy scapegoat, her fate was sealed. She was an unknown foreigner from a tiny mercenary band of the Outer Crest. There was no one coming for her. No friends or living family on the outside. It was time to make peace with that fact, regardless of how she ended up here.

The short, dark skinned south Outer Crestan contemplated suicide as one might contemplate the purchase of a new tunic or horse. Thoughts of self-destruction were not usually considered, Onion was a girl who valued her own existence higher than anything else, but at the moment it seemed an attractive option. If they did not execute her soon, then it would be a simple, rational preference of no-life over an existence of uninspiring misery and boredom. And if they had plans to kill her yet? Little harm to Onion if her demise came a few days earlier than her captors had intended.

On to the planning stages of self-destruction...

The heavy bolted doors that served as the one exit into the world of the living lumbered open ans with it, a faint sense of color in the relatively fresh air. Her flesh, unaccustomed to breathable air, tingled with pleasure, and Onion felt the strands of her web shake; after 3 days she sensed another soul's presence.

The pale, blond Eirdren seemed to be the most translucent of his race, a concept not easily imagined in the mind of an Outer Crestan. His skin was unnaturally sallow, however, and it took her awhile to recognize the man for who he was.

The Archne chef!

The man quivered with the fear of the unknown. He wore the face of a man not ready to die.

Settled in his cell, he sat on the floor murmuring to himself, "Rel, protect me." To Onion, however, she heard only "leth looth Rel leeth" or at least that is how the Eirdren speech fell upon her ears. It had been only a few weeks since the Clan of the Fir had traveled from Sandor, and she was loathe to learn the jarring native tongue of this land. Besides, most of the time she had spent in the province, and even in other parts of the continent, she remained side by side with her kin.

Only Rejnev,with his fascination of all things Heilthian, had until this point been the sole window and communication line with this foreign world. Now, for the first time, she found herself in need of that intolerable tongue.

She was able to recognize the term "Rel", in the pale man's ramblings. As a child, when her brother, 23 years her senior, would return to Deezhul and relate the tales of his life abroad as a mercenary, he never failed to regale Onion with the tales he had picked up on his travels. Pantheons of gods, mystical beasts that roamed the land and men's hearts were the characters of bedtime stories that rarely ended in an early bedtime.

Rel was a very revered god, in particular to the City of Eirdred, the heart of political intrigue and clandestine activities. Onion and her brothers were not the only victims of noble infighting. The people were often the pawns of schemes crafted by those above, and such pawns had little control over their fates.

To that end, merchants, scholars and beggars alike had Rel, the God of Vengeance and Justice, to whom they could direct their prayers. Placing one's hopes in Rel ultimately was an acknowledgment that suffering was imminent and unavoidable, but Rel offered resolution in another way. One's prayers served to beseech that the thief would soon be robbed, that the murderer would soon be murdered. Rel's protection was the promise of payback, and it was not uncommon for Rel's name to be invoked by those preparing to die.

Chapter 1 - Part II

But something was amiss and it wasn't long before the mission came crashing down on Onion and her band of brothers. Those that challenged the Clan and their charge were no simple bandits, though they attempted to play the part. Words were hastily exchanged but it was soon clear that the highwaymen would not be content with a toll. They wanted blood.

The Clan of the Fir was a highly seasoned mercenary band and though the highwaymen matched them in number, their aggressors quickly succumbed to the quick and deadly fighting style of the Nü. As the "Spear Head" of the group, Onion let her brothers occupy the bandits in battle while they opened the way for her to make an assassination attempt on the leader. She knew this job well and rarely failed.

Too late, as Onion pulled her blade from the stomach of the enraged bandit leader, did she realize that this was no highwayman. The man's unbound hair was brushed aside as he fell revealing the intricate tattoos on the outside of his ear - a symbol of nobility in Eirdred. And if she still had doubts as to the true identity of the outlaw leader, his family pendant slipped out from under his leather armor as he crashed to the ground. The dead eyes that stared back at her were those of the rash young Lord Archne.

As the skirmish raged on, Onion came to understand that she and her brothers had been cruelly used in politicking between nobles. At this moment, the lives of she and her kin were forfeit for the murder of the lord of House Archne.

Even before she could shout warning to Rejnev, she saw the jaws of the trap begin to close. Someone had been watching from a distance and Onion could do nothing more than watch helplessly as the man disappeared into the horizon. Death would soon follow.

By the time the battle was over, an overwhelming force of the Imperial Guard, the force whose responsibility it was to protect the roads, had arrived on site. With their objectives met, the time for lies were over, but the nobility love the theatre.

"I hereby arrest you, bandits, for the murder of Lord Henri Mathayer Archne, Lord of the House Archne," bellowed the GuardHand General, "But I see already that you resist arrest! I have no choice," the GuardHand glowed poisonously from underneath his helm. "Kill them all!"


Onion brushed the bruise on the back of her head. The last thing she remembered was her brother's hopeless eyes. The last thing she felt was the hilt of his sword on her skull.

She did not wake again until it was nearly dusk and she found herself laying across the butt end of a horse. She smelled of corpses and was covered in blood - blood of the nobleman, blood of her brothers - while the GuardHand appeared spotless. Blissfully, she passed out again.

Chapter 1 - Part I

Here she is, gazing at the clouds. How fast they go. Short, brown
hair bundled in two, her hands clasped conveniently behind her head in
the grass. Short breeches, bare smooth legs fold down the grass in
waves. A loose tunic easily billows in the gentle breeze. Life is
smooth. Life is complete.

But this life is misleading and Onion awakens to reality.

Right.

The smell of the dungeon cell, somehow masked in her peaceful dreams assaults Onion's nose with renewed force. And with the smell, memories of how she got here, so far away from anything human. Guards who eyed her luridly shared more blood with the dragons of myth than they did with humans like herself or the brothers of the clan, or so she felt.

They are all dead now, corpses melting into the soil, serving as dinner for the carrion. They sleep as soundly as she does in this prison.


With this, the Clan of the Fir was no more. Its last mission was far more than the small mercenary band could handle, and it placed Onion and her brothers at the spear tips of two opposing factions of a private war of power and lust. Now, the House of Archne and Lot had found a peace, and Onion's brothers were the silent price of that truce. Her own imprisonment too was the payment for the crimes of the powerful.

One week ago, the Clan of the Fir was approached by Lady Archne with a simple, yet lucrative task - guard and deliver a young chef in her employ to Castle Reinfeld, the gateway post to Lithen Province. The road was sure to be dangerous, but nothing the band of 32 mercenaries couldn't handle.

The job seemed simple enough. Rejnev, her elder brother and leader of the mercenary band eagerly accepted the proposal and saw it as means to keep his struggling business afloat in relatively peaceful times. A blade does not fetch a high price when patricians trade words and wit rather than victory and defeat on the battlefield. There had not been a war amongst the provinces in over five centuries. And three years ago Heilth and the northern Outer Crest tribes had finally come together and signed a treaty that would end the War of the Brazen.

But there will always be highway men to pester merchants and travelers. However, in hindsight, that Lady Archne had paid them so much for the service should have caused suspicion among the ranks of the clan. For the 32 foreign mercenaries, 31 of whom knew little to nothing of the language and the culture of their new home, this seemed a normal, straightforward job.