I’d washed up in Sunder without qualification, contacts or experience and on top of that, I was Human. That meant there was always someone who could do the job faster and better than I could. You want a scout? Employ some Elven eyes. In need of excavation? Only a Gnome will do. You need weapons and don’t go Dwarven? When your gear falls to pieces it’s your own damn fault.
All I had was wide-eyed enthusiasm and a willingness to do the jobs nobody else would bother with. Usually, that meant that I was cleaning.
I’d wiped down the tables, rinsed the glasses, stacked the plates, and was tentatively prodding old Tatterman who was asleep in a booth, when someone rapped on the glass pane of The Ditch’s front door.
I turned to see a golden face framed by hair that was the color of copper wire and just as straight. His broad smile suggested familiarity but I was certain I’d never seen him before. I unlatched the door, ready to explain that we were closed for the night, but before I could open my mouth he chuckled and said, “Well, look at you.”
Just the act of his eyes taking me in seemed to change me. He had such presence that, as stupid as it sounds, I was struck by the profound realization that I existed. I had gotten so used to being part of the background, watching others, being amazed rather than amazing, that it was almost like I wasn’t really there. Most folk only acknowledged me in passing glances. Hendricks looked at me like I was an exotic plant that had sprouted up through the floorboards.
“I heard a little whisper that you come from Weatherly,” he continued, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Uh, that’s right.”
“Fantastic!” He brushed past, into the bar. “I want you to tell me everything. It’s one of the few places on the continent where I have never been allowed entry. Which, to be honest, I find absolutely infuriating. I have never met someone who visited the walled city, let alone lived there. What a treat this is!”
As he spoke, his hands soared wildly around him. Even if you couldn’t hear his melodious, articulate voice, I imagine you could get a fair sense of what he was saying just through his gestures.
“Now,” he continued, “what are we drinking?”
I looked dumbly between the stranger and my comatose boss, face down on a table.
“Uh, we’re closed.”
He swatted my words out of the air with a laugh.
“This is Sunder City, boy, nothing ever closes.” He peeled a bronze leaf from his pocket, lifted up one of Tatterman’s fat fingers, slid the note underneath and left it there. “Now, have you ever tried burnt milkwood?”
The Opus was formed by Wizards, Elves and Fae at the end of the Fifth War. Over the centuries, other magical species joined their ranks until it became the most powerful organization in the world, responsible for protection, education and lawmaking across all lands.
Members were selected from every race, but the Wizards, Elves and Fae each nominated a High Chancellor to take position at the very top. Their job was not so much to rule, but to act as figureheads, entrusted with bringing the entire organization together. For the last one hundred years, the Elven Chancellor had been Eliah Hendricks.
Eliah was a High Elf in love with the low places in life. He had an unrivaled enthusiasm for adventure, romance, food, drink and conversation and his position ensured that he was given a warm welcome all across Archetellos.
Almost.
Weatherly was the one great city he had never visited and I was his first informant from the inside.
We talked till dawn on that first encounter and he came back every night that week. He wanted to know everything I could remember about growing up. Did we have indoor plumbing? Yes. What were our staple foods? Potatoes, chicken, beans. What was our education like? Rigid, and focused on productivity. Did anybody ever step outside the walls? No. And eventually, how did I escape?
Nobody had asked me about my story before. Not really. They got the broad strokes and stopped being interested. Hendricks picked me clean of every detail and relished in the journey as if he had been by my side. While I recounted my experience of leaving the walls, he began hopping up and down. When I told him of the Satyr in the shack he practically screamed.
“My word, boy! And what did you think when you saw him?”
“I… was beside myself, I guess.”
“Of course you were! How marvelous. Aren’t they incredible? Beautifully kind people, each and every one of them. Then what happened?”
For the first time ever, I was able to share my life with someone who seemed to care. Hendricks didn’t just listen; he cheered me along like he was watching a sporting match and every new piece of information was a point for his team.
“Oh, bravo! Yes! Aren’t those lamplighters just a dream!”
I showed him my tattoo and it brought him great amusement.
“You know, the Opus started this tradition.” He pulled back the sleeve of his fine velvet blazer to reveal a single tattoo of detailed black lines that flashed olive-green when it caught the light. “Almost three hundred years ago, the first marks were drawn onto all the magical leaders that agreed to the truce. Each pattern is individually designed but all of them symbolize the great river of magic that flows through each and every one of us.” He looked up just in time to see my smile falter, which made him laugh heartily. “Well, almost all of us. These days, many organizations copy our little ritual. You Humans are an inherently jealous species, you know.”
He winked and refilled our glasses for the fifth time.
When Hendricks left Sunder, so much of my life seemed to go with him. Lucky for me, he was never too far away. The continent was relatively stable and Sunder had become Hendricks’ pet project. Previous High Chancellors had treated the fire city as an enemy, attempting to kill it with legislation and embargos. Hendricks saw its potential. Or, he at least appreciated its power. Rather than battle it from the outside, he hoped to lure it into the Opus from within. However, Sunder needed a bit of sculpting before it would be accepted as part of the united Archetellos.
Most of the work was being done by Hendricks himself: whispering honey-scented compliments into the ears of ministers or buttering up the bumptious Governor Lark. He wasn’t completely alone, though. As I learned from a letter that arrived at The Ditch one morning.
My Darling Fetch, I need a small favor. A friend of mine is coming to Sunder but I have been called away on other business. As she is a member of the Fae, I must be very careful whose care I leave her in. You know from our conversations how delicate the relationship is between Sunder and the Spirit-race. Her arrival could be a profoundly positive move towards creating a partnership. Or it could be an absolute clusterfuck. With that in mind, I can think of no better man for the job.
She will be waiting for you on the Southern Main Street Bridge at noon tomorrow. Her name is Amarita Quay. I’m sorry, but I already have a huge smile on my face in anticipation of your meeting. Be careful, my dear boy, she’s got splinters.
To understand Hendricks’ nervousness about a member of the Fae arriving in town, you need to know a little Sunder City history.
When the Opus was formed, the Fae wrote the rulebook on how to work the land, and the whole continent welcomed their assistance. The Faeries had the seeds, the natural spells and a relationship to the elements that was unmatched. It was universally accepted that if a local Faery blessed your farm, it would suffer no droughts, no floods, and crops would likely flourish.