A Revolutionary Ballad: Memories from Oblivion, #2

By Atlas Hill

Alpheus is on the run from his murder accusations. He is forced to come to terms with the death of his close mentor as well as his identity as a sorcerer. Trekking across the land, he encounters a new host of curious friends and foes who might well hold the key toward solving the mystery that haunts him in the form of constant nightmares—and also reveal to him the deep schemes of wicked men plotting to throw the entire land into war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atlas Hill
• Release date: Nov 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648285236

Book preview

To Felix.

PART III

ONE

A trek to remember

It had been more than a month since Alpheus left Zorlia. Although he knew the map of the land like the back of his hand, it was certainly an experience to trek across the plains, the hills, and the forests—or in his case, riding on a chestnut mare for most of the way. The journey itself had been smooth thus far along the main path of the network of trade routes collectively known as Seeds Lane , which had long been established to expedite trade among cities and towns in Western Trubannis, extending also to the country’s foreign neighbour in the west.

Alpheus’s destination was Poppaross, the capital of Vinawell. Once there, Alpheus would be competing for the chance to be wedded to the Princess of the West. But before he could even consider the challenge, Alpheus must first overcome his phobia for large bodies of water and hence the challenge of crossing the considerable stretch of water that separated Vinawell from Trubannis.

Alpheus had disguised as a travelling merchant selling herbal medicine. He had maintained a new hairstyle, letting his hair fall naturally in long tresses rather than tying it into a braided ponytail as he had before. He donned a long mantle of olive green knitted with a hood, carrying a stock of herbs on a simple straw knapsack. Basic healing was one of the many things he had learned as a scholar, but this would be the first time he had applied those skills in practice.

It had actually been thrilling picking plants along his way and providing immediate help to those with mild ailments. Not only was he making a difference, but he had avoided suspicion from Empire personnel at the various checkpoints. On the rare instances where he had been asked, he had assumed the name of Albert Moon.

And, in truth, Alpheus had hardly been himself. He had been watching the world flow before him without any spectacles. He had kept his only pair of glasses within the layers under his mantle—the pair that Agnes had given him as a parting gift.

Also beneath his mantle was his double crescent pendant which he had expected to pull out more often. But it was something else that he had found himself fish for—the unfinished thesis penned by Reeling. The paper was only about fifty pages long, but Alpheus had grown ever more fascinated by the ideas discussed within it, which contemplated a range of natural phenomena with particular attention paid to why and how to perceive those processes.

Reeling had authored the paper in such a way that employed witty references to explain convoluted philosophies. Alpheus had re-read parts of it almost every evening. Of particular interest to him was Reeling’s emphasis on teleology, or the study of purpose in nature. In the paper, Reeling advocated for the seemingly simple idea that in order to fully understand something, one must undertake careful observation where the most critical part of the observation was an account of a thing’s purpose. In parts of the dialogue, Reeling spoke of rain, snow, and hail, but not about how each phenomenon benefited or hindered human activity, instead considering the purpose of each phenomenon as part of the land and the cosmos on a much grander scale.

Everything had a purpose, from the welcoming cool breezes that swept away the gruelling heat of summer to the unnoticed droplets of rain that dabbed the tip of a flowering bud. But Reeling warned against the temptation to use man as the measure of these natural processes, and instead urged philosophers to consider, in the former scenario, why the wind blew at all and whether the wind as an entity itself was achieving its purpose, which had nothing to do with relieving anyone.

In an everchanging world, the role of wind was critical to erosion, Alpheus had noted, which in turn affected plants and animals as much as the landscape in which they inhabited. And while his faith had waned at least slightly since Reeling’s death, Alpheus was still glad that the arguments presented in the paper did not contradict the central teachings of Ionianism and the doctrine that everything followed a predetermined cycle.

There was a difference, however, between the church and what Reeling implied in the paper. Adherents of the church generally accepted that natural phenomena and nature itself was a creation of the Immortal, and hence they considered it both meaningless and disrespectful to question what purpose any of it served. Reeling, in contrast, was clearly advocating an extensive inquiry into why nature flowed in the way it did, promising that truth resided in the physical world. As a result, Alpheus had begun to observe the weather carefully while searching for insights assured not only by Reeling, but most of the scholar community.

On some of the quieter nights, Alpheus had also recalled more than once his encounter with the angelic spectre that manifested out of the marble statue in the private basement of his home in Zorlia. He had admired the mysterious being then, and he still admired her now. And that was despite not knowing what she even was. She couldn’t have been a sorcerer, not only because she had breathed out no grace, but also because she clearly didn’t belong to the temporal world. In contemplating the encounter, Alpheus had also realised that he had never questioned the spectre’s existence or its decency even though the teachings of the Immortal expressly classified all other spiritual beings or occurrences as the work of The Eternally Damned.

In any case, Alpheus considered it a blessing that he hadn’t encountered any actual sorcerers since his departure. His own identity as a sorcerer remained an enigma and a major source of irony to him, especially when he considered that he couldn’t access the potential powers sorcerers supposedly possessed, not when he had no one to guide him, anyway. His past research on the subject had been much more focused on the history rather than its application. And like anything else, one didn’t simply become a powerful sorcerer. Practice was crucial to one’s level of skill. Compared to Julian who had been in training since a child under the expert guidance of his father, Alpheus had yet to even fully accept the fact that he was a sorcerer.

Alpheus considered himself a traveller, merchant, herbalist, and philosopher in the past month—but not a sorcerer. He had managed to journey the span of the state of Pichreuse from east to west, finally slowing his step today, even selling away the horse that had made the journey with him, upon entering the important industrial port city of Dorellsdale on the west coast of Trubannis.

Dorellsdale was a major city of Western Trubannis, dwarfed only by Cetal City, with trade markets bustling in every corner. And despite the active exchange of goods, economic activity was largely self-regulated. Apparently, the Empire had decided years ago that the free market was the best system for the port.

Alpheus stepped into a local tavern now, trailing a figure whose style of dress and overall presentation was eerily similar to how he himself used to look. The young man had been his companion for the past week. His name was Joe Hendron, a hunter who had been raised in Vinawell but was of Truban heritage. The resemblance in Hendron’s dress was no accident, of course. In order to divert unwanted attention in certain precarious situations, including a critical one that he anticipated would come soon, Alpheus needed someone to look like him—someone to be his scapegoat.

The hunter’s relatively thin frame was only slightly wider than Alpheus’s, and it allowed him to be tremendously nimble, which ultimately attributed to his success in his profession. He was now donning a cultured robe of grey whose cutting, length, and general flair were an imitation of Alpheus’s usual preferred style. He was wearing glasses with thick circular frames and a pair of boots with enormously thick soles which boosted his height rather conspicuously. Indeed, the hunter’s entire outfit had been Alpheus’s doing. The mantle, the glasses, and the heightened boots had been presented as gifts which would add greatly to the hunting experience.

Alpheus had even managed to sway Hendron into tying his usual wavy hair into a braided ponytail in the same style as he himself had preferred. All that, and the hunter still only knew Alpheus as Albert Moon.

In addition to Hendron’s outward appearance, Alpheus was betting on the hunter’s curious background to divert attention. It was rare to see anyone call both Trubannis and Vinawell home. But Hendron could rightfully do so as he had been born and raised in the Vinan port city of Aragon, which was the first transit point into Vinawell.

Hendron hunted primarily in Western Trubannis, claiming that the beasts of Vinawell were too tame for his liking. His routine was three months of hunting followed by a month spent telling his stories in Aragon. He drew a wagon with a large cage sitting at the back that kept his prey alive, saving him the trouble to preserve its freshness were he to slaughter them. On his latest trip, Hendron had managed to capture an infant bear. He was ready to return to Aragon, and with Alpheus, they reached the city of Dorellsdale today—the final stop before crossing the sea to Vinawell.

As Hendron sauntered further into the tavern under that guise, Alpheus glanced about, noting that its patronage comprised of a fair share of foreigners from the west, mostly merchants whose Vinan heritage was apparent with their paler skin tone, soft amber hair, and blue eyes as opposed to the regular Truban’s dark hair and brown eyes. There seemed to be little racial tension, though, if any. Even in here, the men continued doing business, making the most out of their trades. It was a wonderful sight for Alpheus to see people working in harmony, even if it was for monetary gain.

Alpheus settled on an empty stool, relieving himself of the knapsack that had been heavy on his shoulders and laying it under the stool. He then flapped his hood out to reveal his hair that now fell behind him past mid-spine. As he had expected, no one knew who he was in a place so far away from Zorlia. And as he peered about, he did not expect to see any familiar faces in return.

Black beer, he said to the bartender, who winked at him in affirmation.

He downed a mouthful of the dark liquor, savouring the malty taste. He regarded the froth that still bubbled in his glass and began reminiscing his visits to Rogers.

Zorlia seemed ever so distant. Sometimes, it felt like it had all been a dream. Behind the contemplation of philosophy and natural phenomena among other experiences, however, vivid scenes of the tragedy that had driven him away continued to creep into his mind every once in a while, haunting him without mercy.

Alpheus blinked hard to shake of the forthcoming nightmare. He sighed and then turned to the other customers, gradually breathing easier as he watched the men mingling, sharing stories, and showing an apparent zest for life.

I had thought I could learn everything from books, he thought with a wry smile. But no amount of books could explain or detail the experience of being there.

Zorlia had been the centre of the world to him. He had believed there was no good reason to visit anywhere else, since all other places would prove inferior to what he had known. And while it was true that Dorellsdale or all other places he had passed lacked the imposing structures like Vondra Dawn or the Church of the St. Bernard Order, these places also saw far less grim, stress, and tension regularly witnessed in the capital. These people outside of the capital, at least upon appearance, were more content and more genuine. They were not envious of the sophistication Zorlians often presented themselves with.

The reverie ended when Hendron tapped him on the shoulder. Hey, he said, gesturing toward the centre of the tavern. You should listen. Sounds like they’re talking about your profession.

Alpheus turned, noting that a group of nearly thirty merchants had gathered together, some of them throwing their hands in the air, fuming. All of it! one of the men cried. Not just the money, even my pottery!

That damned Sail Band! another man inserted. They’re destroying us.

We have to make a stand! a third voice cried.

We want justice! another hollered. And soon the tavern was filled with angry chants of justice—an inappropriate word to use in favour of merchants who were generally cunning, often cheating their customers in both quality and price. It was also ironic that the competition between merchants was often fierce—and yet, in times of crises, they were oddly united.

The Sail Band, Alpheus thought, having heard about the notorious crew of bandits who had been terrorising trade in Western Trubannis. Although some accounts described the crew as diplomatic and inherently good despite a few queer tendencies, merchants always spoke of them with scathing tones. Alpheus had learned that the thieving crew often targeted merchants, and that the nature of the trade made them easy targets—the fatigue from carrying stock and travelling alone.

The crew itself was apparently led by a former mercenary of war by the name of Sailanson. If the rumours could be trusted, the thieves were a dangerous lot that had achieved some remarkable feats in recent years, which included overthrowing a notorious ring of outlaws that operated in the eastern states of Noel, Zenith, and Cellarsy.

Their stories were told across the land, yet no one seemed to know exactly who they were or what they represented. A point that the story tellers agreed on, however, was that the thieving crew had never failed to get what they wanted.

But what can we do? asked one of the men, his question silencing the others. The soldiers cannot help. They’re probably more terrified than we are.

Another man grumbled, shaking his head. Rumour has it that the thieves are mercenaries from the war—one of them a madman who slaughtered hundreds of his own comrades.

Alpheus remained silent but cringed on the idea, a lump forming in his throat.

Don’t know if it’s true, that man continued. But if they managed to break into the Monarchal Castle, who’s to say just how dangerous they are?

This isn’t getting anywhere, said the man who had started the discussion. If anyone has any ideas, let’s hear them!

Other than a few hums, no one made a sound. Alpheus peered at the hopeless expressions the men wore. He didn’t forget that he was only a merchant in disguise, but having acted as part of the community for the past month, he sympathised. These merchants might be ingenious when it came to thinking up new ways to sell their goods, but they were close to terrible in coming up with solutions for problems of a larger scale.

The silence was broken when a man scurried in from the entrance. I have news! he cried in a wheezing voice. They left Dorellsdale! The Sail Band. They left! I saw them on the ship to Aragon!

What...?! Hendron remarked quietly. That’s not good.

The merchants, meanwhile, erupted into mumbles. While it was good news for some, most were unsure how to react. Many merchants actually used the ferry on a regular basis, moving across the sea between Dorellsdale and Aragon, which was part of the Seeds Lane network.

Alpheus turned away, regarding the froth in his beer again. It might be inevitable that he would encounter the thieving crew sooner or later. But at least, at that time, he could be Alpheus Hindlow again instead of Albert Moon.

TOGETHER WITH HENDRON, Alpheus rolled along the last of the Truban part of Seeds Lane. Just beyond the horizon of the setting sun was the sea that also served as a territorial border. The dully-shaded shipping yard was essentially a large, rigid garrison, the final checkpoint administered by the Empire before one departed the country.

The queue was long, even with four separate lines. And while this wasn’t the only place that posted portraits of wanted criminals, they were certainly affixed in generous amounts here. Just like the ones Alpheus had seen in Dorellsdale and the other towns he had visited, his picture was here as well, sketched in charcoal. He was depicted with a braided ponytail, donning spectacles, and wearing a rather wicked grin that he didn’t think he could actually manage.

The accompanying text beneath the portrait detailed his height, weight, and build, but mentioned nothing about what Alpheus had been accused of—not of the Lord Count’s murder, and not of his escape from prison. It was likely that the Empire wanted the soldiers here to remain ignorant of the prison break fiasco, most likely to avoid embarrassment at a place so close to foreign territory. The only thing Alpheus could be sure of was that the soldiers had been pressured to seize anyone suspicious, apparently having recently made three or four times more than the usual number of arrests.

And yet, Alpheus was calm now under the disguise of Albert Moon, riding next to Hendron who invited all the attention. He glanced over to the hunter then who held onto the straps of the horse drawn wagon. This was where they would part ways. While Hendron had been a wonderful companion in the past week, bringing with him fascinating stories of his hunts, Alpheus had never considered not using him.

When they finally rolled along to where the inspecting soldiers were visible, with about twenty people still lining up ahead of them, Alpheus shot one last smile at Hendron who didn’t notice it.

I want to go on ahead if you don’t mind, he whispered as he hopped off the vehicle. He pushed forward, gently brushing past a few travellers in the line, deftly sliding a silver coin to each, quieting them before they had even complained. He didn’t look back at Hendron who must have been confounded by this action. The hunter didn’t call out to him, however, not among a crowd of frustrated commuters who were already losing their patience.

The sack, one of the soldiers demanded when Alpheus finally reached the front of the line. And lose that hood.

Alpheus flapped open his hood and passed his simple bag over, noting that the soldier didn’t focus only on him. As Alpheus had wanted, the soldier was keeping an eye on Hendron and his conspicuous wagon about four paces behind. And as Alpheus had assumed, they all knew the hunter. His drastic change of style—a combination of the spectacles, cultured robe, and ponytail—since his last transit through the garrison invited more attention than he otherwise would have received.

The soldier passed the knapsack back to Alpheus, exchanging a glance with the fellow soldier next to him and then eyeing Hendron together.

May I...? Alpheus said, taking a step forward.

The soldiers said nothing, reaching for their swords now, one of them brushing his other hand to gesture Alpheus to move away as they treaded slowly toward Hendron, who was still perched on the driver’s seat of the wagon.

Seize him! the soldier cried.

Alpheus moved along without looking back, even as yelling resounded in the air behind him. He was sure he heard Hendron’s voice somewhere in the receding cries of an argument or perhaps even a brawl. Still, Alpheus strode through safely. He had dreaded this day since departing Zorlia—not because of the soldiers who might recognise him, but because of having to board a ship and sail across the largest body of water he had ever crossed.

Alpheus held his breath now as he looked up at the two giant masts attached to even larger sails that fluttered in the wind. This could possibly be his greatest obstacle—to overcome the sea. He huffed out a sigh and then boarded the ship with careful steps.

TWO

A foreign land not so foreign

The voyage lasted for a day and a half, and the ship finally arrived in the port city of Aragon in the early hours of the second morning just before dawn. Alpheus acknowledged that the open sea was special, and that was in spite of a terrible ride where the vessel had rocked without end against roaring waves. Since almost drowning as a child, his fear of large bodies of water had never ceased. Logic had told him to stay at the rear of the vessel to minimise motion sickness, but his instincts then had him hiding deep inside the cabin, which resulted in a trip filled with constant vomiting.

Alpheus realised that the ship had been docked now, and as much as he wanted to step off the vessel, he simply had no energy with which to move. The crew on the ship were reluctant to nurse him and Alpheus was sure they were ready to dump him out. It wasn’t until he offered them a silver coin that they then responded by giving him bread and fresh water.

Alpheus spent another hour in the cabin with his eyes closed. When the first glimmers of daylight poked in at him through the window facing the sea, he finally forced his eyes fully open. He rose to his feet, doing his best to steady his balance and shake off the wobbling sensation. He then thought for a brief moment before reaching his hands behind his neck, stroking his hair that he had let fall behind him in long tresses. He pulled his hair together and started weaving it into braids, tying the same ponytail he had been accustomed to for years—though his hair was a little longer now. He then reached into his knapsack for the spectacles from Agnes, fitting them on. He swung the knapsack on his back again and treaded out to the main deck.

And there it was, Vinawell—the country of the west.

A tremendous port docked vessels of vast proportions, and between them were a scatter of smaller boats sailing in and out. Beyond the pier was a host of men, women, and even children—all of them blending into a bustling fair of colourful clothing, tented stalls, and street entertainers ranging from magic performers to dancers and musicians. Behind the lively activity was the great protective wall, together with its gate, which was the entrance to the actual city.

The sun had only just risen, but Aragon was well awake on this clear morning. Across the bay, behind the great wall, was a cluster of warehouses facing the sea, and more ships of all shapes and sizes. Strips of triangular-shaped, colourful banners woven from tapestry ends hung from building to building, flapping like sea waves in the gentle breeze in a cloudless backdrop of blue sky adorned by gliding gulls.

Alpheus hopped off the vessel, pausing at the moist wooden pier to marvel at the port’s spectacular presentation. His first interaction with a resident of this foreign country came immediately, in the form of a fortune teller, an old woman with a hunchback.

Welcome, stranger, she said with a gruff voice. Allow me to speak your destiny. I shall—

I’m sorry, Alpheus said, raising a dismissive hand. I believe in making one’s own fate.

He treaded past the fortune teller with a smile, verifying that he was finally liberated. There was no need to hide, physically or otherwise. He didn’t have to be Albert Moon anymore. In Aragon, in Vinawell, he could start afresh as Alpheus Hindlow once more. Here in this country, Trubans were the minority. Trubans were the foreigners.

And as Alpheus strolled deeper in the fair, he noted how rare it was to spot his compatriots. While a Vinan generally had lighter hair and skin than a Truban, the two races weren’t all that different in appearance. The blue eyes which occurred in approximately a third of their population, however, was a feature unique to them. Like Dorellsdale, there seemed to be little racial tension in Aragon.

Alpheus soon came across a perfume stall with a cluster of women, young and old, crowded about. He wasn’t one to wear perfume, but despite the fresh air carried by the pleasant sea breeze, he was still feeling nauseous from the smell of the sea itself. Something to cover up that smell might not be a bad idea.

He waited patiently at the back until some of the people cleared away, opening a path for him to finally see the merchant who ran the stall—a woman. Female merchants were rare, and she looked no older than thirty years of age, at the same time diffusing an air of vibrancy common in younger women barely in their adulthood. It was unlikely that many younger women had her qualities, though—that of her capacity to run a stall in this lively fair all on her own.

I see, the merchant said to Alpheus with a radiant smile, looking at the selection, and then picking out one with a blue tint.

She’s charming, too, Alpheus thought, noting her soft amber hair and green eyes common to the people of Vinawell.

This is an exotic fragrance—even in Vinawell, the merchant boasted, handing over the small glass bottle to Alpheus. It’s extracted from a flower native to certain woodlands. A flower called the bluebell.

Alpheus removed the cap, running the bottle just beneath his nose. Although he had never seen the bluebell flower, he thought the perfume accurately captured the hyacinth sweetness reminiscent of bell-shaped flowers. That sweetness was splendidly fused with an earthy and wet sense that represented the misty woodlands. It did its job in covering up the sea smell, and indeed did more to send him into a trance, to a faraway land covered with trees and shrubs.

Alpheus finally returned from the trance when he screwed the cap back on. He needed no further convincing in making his first purchase in this foreign land.

The next stall Alpheus stopped by was one that sold spectacles, its wide range simply piled on the floor atop a large drape. What had caught his eyes was the only monocle among the selection, which seemed to glint at him as it reminded him briefly of a certain, important person. But as Alpheus leaned down for the eyeglass, a figure flashed into the air behind him, leaping over him and then crashing down right in the middle of the stock.

The merchant gasped, and by the time he cried for help, the figure—a child no older than twelve—had snatched away half the selection and then fled away back into the sea of people.

That scoundrel! the merchant cursed, stomping a foot on the ground.

Does this happen often? Alpheus asked.

The merchant crouched down to clean up the mess. Often? No. But lately, yes. It’s always them.

"Them? Alpheus asked. You... know the thieves?"

The child just now is a regular urchin, the merchant explained as he dusted a pair of spectacles. The Sail Band is the one behind it all. They’re exploiting the urchins to do their dirty work.

Alpheus cocked his head. Are you sure it’s them?

Well, of course, the merchant said. The community’s always updated. We usually prevent theft after only one attempt. But this Sail Band is something else—a nuisance we cannot rid ourselves off.

Alpheus climbed to his feet, his face splitting into a smile. I’ll see if I can recover your stock.

The merchant finally looked up then with furrowed brows. And how will you do that?

With this, Alpheus said, holding out the fragrance he had bought earlier. He then swung open his knapsack, pulling out a piece of dried meat. And this.

Entice the thieves with food? the merchant asked, scratching his chin.

No, but I’ll need a dog to help. I suppose there are some strays in town?

Well, yes, but—

I can handle it, Alpheus said, rather excited to finally meet the infamous Sail Band.

He then turned to leave, promising to return soon. Of course, the merchant had no way of knowing that Alpheus had left a mark on the thief just now. He had shot a bead of the bluebell perfume at the boy, rooting the essence into his neck with the technique passed down from none other than Jeffery Reeling. And while it was impossible for anyone to ordinarily follow the trace of only a single drop of fragrance, Alpheus was confident that any stray dog could help him on the trail. That was where the dried meat came in handy. Indeed, Alpheus treaded into one of the quieter spots in the fair, waving that piece of meat in the air. It was barely a minute later when a mongrel with patches of brown, white, and black trotted over to him.

Good boy, Alpheus said, treating the dog to a bite and patting it on the head. Now, if you help me, I’ll give you the rest.

The dog squealed and Alpheus ran the perfume bottle across its nostrils. The dog then barked before turning, racing off with haste. Alpheus gave prompt chase, opting not to make a scene with the Glider Steps. After dashing through the enormous gate and into the city, Alpheus scrambled through tight alleys until the canine finally stopped between a set of houses that was four storeys high. No one was around.

Alpheus looked up. Here? he said quietly.

The dog barked, wagging its tail.

Alpheus stretched his arms out, touching both walls easily in the narrow lane. All right, he decided with a leap that shot him up to inches beneath the second-storey window, holding there against the opposite walls with all four limbs. He poked his head up a little, just enough for him to peek in.

The urchin. And he wasn’t alone. With him were a middle-aged man slouched on a torn couch, smoking a cigar, and a younger man about the same age as Alpheus, standing. Next to the couch was a straw bag that Alpheus suspected held stolen goods.

Alpheus shook his head, turning his head back and looking down at the dog still waiting for the promised reward. He reached a hand into his knapsack, picking out the piece of dried meat, all the while, applying pressure on the other arm for balance. He dropped the meat, watching the dog snatch it away and then trot back off through the alleyways.

Thank you, Alpheus thought with a smile.

He then poked his head up again. Although he couldn’t hear what the thieves were saying, it looked like the urchin was indeed being exploited. It all became evident when the young man struck the boy unconscious with a club. Alpheus shook his head and then climbed in, taking his time in doing so.

Who in the hell are you? the middle-aged man asked, spitting out the cigar and stepping to his feet, surprised but not startled by Alpheus’s entrance.

Glad you asked, Alpheus said, for I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself for a long time. My name is Alpheus Hindlow. And can I assume you are the Sail Band?

The two men chuckled, the middle-aged man flicking out a knife from under his sleeves. Yeah, the man said with a shrug. We’re them. But, you know, this is the first time we had prey come to us.

Alpheus eyed their weapons: a knife and a club. Let’s do this without anyone getting hurt, he said. Return what you stole, and I’ll let you go.

The two of them exchanged a look and then burst out in laughter.

What’s funny? Alpheus asked, annoyed.

You made my day, the man said, holding a hand over his stomach. But the joke is over, he then said, swinging out his knife again. "Leave everything of value, and I’ll consider letting you go."

Alpheus sighed. That’s just too bad, then.

He reached a hand beneath his mantle, fishing out small balls of clay the size of pebbles. He rolled one of those nearly spherical clay balls up to his thumb, with his index finger folded behind it. The thieves merely raised their brows in response, ignorant of what was coming.

It’s been a while, Alpheus thought, swallowing and then stretching his arm out toward the two men and ready to flick out a bolt. It won’t kill them, he assured himself.

And it didn’t. No shining beam was fired out. Instead, the tiny clay ball lifted off into a slight arc before dropping to the ground with a click. All eyes, including Alpheus’s own widened eyes, followed the clay ball as it rolled forward to make a brushing contact against the boots of its intended target.

The two men did nothing to hold in their laughter, cackling without restraint once again. Funny man! the middle-aged man commented, struggling to make out his words.

Alpheus groaned, swinging out his arm again, firing another couple of clay balls in quick succession. This time, two beams shot out, striking the thieves in the chests and choking them into a hiccup. They fell forward to their knees in pain, but even so, the middle-aged man glared up at Alpheus, already looking to slash at him with his knife.

Alpheus was prompt to respond, aiming for the thief’s leg with another bolt that ended with the thief crashing to the ground at his feet. He crouched down with a frown and then snatched away the blade.

You’re not the Sail Band, he guessed, anger and disappointment in his words. You don’t have it in you to cause that kind of havoc.

The two thieves looked at each other, anxiety dawning on their faces.

Will you talk? Alpheus said, squinting at the younger man, who jumped in response while still holding onto his chest which must be throbbing. Or will I have to force it out of you?

We’re impostors! the young man blurted before slowing down again. We figured it was convenient since everyone’s so afraid of them and all.

What about the ones terrorising the merchants? From Western Trubannis to Aragon.

The thieves paused, still rather tight-lipped.

Answer me! Alpheus demanded, forcing a stronger tone—unnatural to him, but effective enough.

It was us, the middle-aged man said. I would believe the real Sail Band’s rather selective in who they target. They wouldn’t pick on just any merchant. As for why the journey from Trubannis to here? Well, it looked like they found out we were using their name. We figured to make our way here... but I think they might have chased.

Alpheus rose back to his feet, musing on the new information, in turn realising these men were only petty thieves. Go, he said, turning away to face the window. Leave the stolen goods and go.

Wait, wait, the younger man said. Are you serious?

Yes, before I change my mind.

The two of them, likely father and son, helped each other to their feet. They didn’t say another word as they limped away to the exit, the sound of their footsteps receding as they treaded down the stairs.

Alpheus looked to the urchin who still lay unconscious next to the torn couch. The child was far from innocent, but even so, Alpheus sympathised for the boy, who had various marks of neglected treatment across his small body—bruises and scars, old and new. The boy had likely been forced into a life of crime simply because there was no other way for him to survive. Alpheus reached under his sleeves for a bronze coin, which was enough money for the boy to live on for weeks.

Live well, he whispered, clutching onto the straw sack of stolen goods.

Alpheus turned for the exit, but as he made his way to the door, a sudden, strange and overbearing aura swept at him from the stairs up.

A sorcerer?! he thought, but immediately realised that he sensed no grace.

As if by instinct, Alpheus turned for the window where he had originally entered from, leaping in that direction. But just when he was about to escape, something was hurled at him from behind—not hitting him, but it had him trembling as he looked down to make out a set of twin daggers rooted deeply just in front of his feet.

Why the rush? a voice cried from behind him.

Alpheus turned in sluggish jerks to come face to face with a man at the door whose grin spelled out a sense of having achieved what he had set out to achieve. The sinewy man was tall, but not wide. He donned a thick headband tied at an angle, flapping open a short shawl as the only piece of clothing covering his upper body, which showcased his supremely compacted muscles—particularly his abdominal brawn. A pair of olive green pants and an overlapping set of belts completed his outfit.

Do you think to leave so easily after dragging my name through mud? he said, slamming the door closed behind him.

THREE

Violanola Cottage

Alpheus was of two minds. For one, he was curious about the stranger and that ardent aura still brimming out of him. But at the same time, he was torn between an urge to clear a potential misunderstanding and his instincts that told him to run from the man who trampled in at over six feet of hot-blooded shapely brawn. At the end, he did neither. With his trembling legs weighing down on him, Alpheus found himself raising his hands as a barrier of sort.

Are you..., Alpheus said, stuttering as the stranger treaded slowly toward him. Could you... possibly be... the one they call Sailanson?

More specifically, the question was whether this stranger standing before him was the madman who allegedly slaughtered hundreds of comrades as a mercenary during the war. The mere thought of the possibility manifested into fear in the form of a creeping chill that prickled up from Alpheus’s spine to his neck. It finally occurred to him now that it was a bad idea to have voluntarily sought out the thieving crew.

Not surprised you would recognise me, the man said with a smirk, confirming his identity before turning a glance at the unconscious urchin. So it’s true you use children.

It took a moment for Alpheus to realise the reason for Sailanson’s aggressiveness, that the man saw him as his impostor Wait! he blurted. No, this is a mistake.

Damn right, it’s a mistake! Sailanson croaked, cracking his knuckles. You had everyone thinking me a petty thief.

Alpheus turned for the window again. But before he could leap out, the man flashed over next to him, resting a sturdy hand on the window sill that he had wanted to step on. Stunned, Alpheus dashed away with an impressive leap, eyeing the door—in particular, the doorknob. But again, before he reached it, a dagger was hurled at him—not hitting him, but instead, gashing at the knob and splitting into two.

This is crazy! Alpheus thought, eyes snapped wide open. I’ve got to—

He turned back slightly, and the man was at it again, trampling directly toward him like a mad bull. Alpheus cringed, dashing to the left this time, making a sharp turn. He was conscious that there were more daggers hanging from Sailanson’s set of overlapping belts.

If I could discombobulate him with my run, Alpheus thought, speeding up. If I could only trip him up. As he glanced back now in his haste, he saw a long trail of afterimages behind him with a sprinkle of glowing white dust.

It was as he remembered it should be. Except this time, there was more.

Immediately behind the fading afterimages was the raging man still giving unceasing chase. And along his way, Sailanson smashed every obstacle with his bare fists, tearing through walls, crushing down beams, and causing dust and debris to rain from the ceiling.

Stop! Alpheus cried, still running. The whole place’s going to collapse!

Sailanson didn’t stop at all, seemingly only interested in Alpheus’s capture. All the while, parts of the wall near the door had started to shatter into a heap of rubble, brushing up thick sheets of dust.

No, Alpheus thought, eyeing the urchin who was about to be crushed by the rubble. I can’t reach him in time. He dashed toward the boy with an outstretched arm, near certain that his effort was futile. But as the rest of the wall collapsed, the man who had caused the damage flashed across Alpheus, snatching the boy into his arms. Alpheus had no time to rejoice, however, because when he looked up, the wall was crumbling down upon him. He kicked back in desperation and managed to fall away just in time. He had just landed on his backside when all of it finally slammed down with a clap, sweeping up clouds of dust to smoke the chamber.

Alpheus coughed as he waved a hand to clear the smoke.

You’re good, Sailanson said, standing casually at an elevation on the rubble, slipping his twin daggers back into his utility belt. The urchin was lying on the torn couch once again, though the couch was now covered in layers of dust. It’s no wonder you were able to use my name for all this time.

It wasn’t me! Alpheus cried, still perched on the floor. I already told you—this is a misunderstanding. The ones who—

Sailanson shook his head in pity. It saddens me to see someone young and skilled resort to this.

Alpheus groaned, but when he slapped a hand on the floor in frustration, his urge to argue fell short as he noted the generous amount of rubble available to him which he could use as projectiles. He shut his hand into a loose fist, grasping onto some of the debris in the process. Sailanson raised a brow at him, and at that, Alpheus swung his arm out, shooting out a beam. To his delight, he fired with great power. And yet... this was the first time the technique itself failed.

Sailanson leaped into a reverse-flipping motion to evade the shot before catching the fired pebble between his fingers while upside-down airborne—all of this within the space of a fraction of a second. When he landed, he dropped the small piece of debris onto the rest of the rubble.

Alpheus gawked, collapsing to the floor in defeat. He was stunned enough that he was slow to realise that Sailanson had grown suddenly desperate and fearful about something, glancing left and right.

We’ve got to get out of here! the man said, darting toward the urchin.

Alpheus looked up to the ceiling where more dust was raining down. He then peered to the right end of the collapsed wall where the adjacent wall had started to tremble wildly.

You’ve got to be kidding me!

Hey, the man said with a foot on the window sill and the boy on his back. Can you walk?

Alpheus looked down to his feet, which wouldn’t respond. I... I think—

Oh, never mind, the man said, looking out from the window.

For a moment there, Alpheus thought the man was going to leave him there to die. He changed his mind, though, when a figure flashed in from the outside, landing on the same window sill. The newcomer wore an eyepatch over his right eye, with dark wavy hair that fell just beneath the shoulders.

Help him, Ro, the man said to the newcomer, gesturing to Alpheus, before leaping out with the urchin.

The newcomer groaned, but did as instructed, dashing at Alpheus and tossing him over his back. The next thing Alpheus realised was that he was plummeting down from the building. His natural reaction had him shriek. Only upon landing did he remember that it wasn’t all that high. On top of that, the newcomer who had saved him seemed as good an acrobat as the man who had destroyed the building.

The two of them didn’t stop there. Alpheus realised why when the entire second floor of the building tumbled down with a thundering clunk that reverberated in the air and perhaps resonated all across the city. All the while, a flustered cloud of dust and rubble rained down. As he was being carried away in haste, Alpheus gaped as he watched dust and smoke fill the sky.

Father of Heaven, please let no one be in there, Alpheus prayed with his eyes closed. When he finished the prayer, they arrived at the outside of what looked like a small house, which was one of the only single storey buildings around. The man with the eyepatch bumped Alpheus off from his back and then dragged him along by the collar into the house behind Sailanson. The urchin was nowhere to be seen any longer, and Alpheus could only wonder where and when Sailanson might have unloaded him during the hectic journey there. He tried to convince himself that Sailanson wouldn’t have bothered to save the boy earlier had he wanted to hurt him.

Upon entering the building, however, Alpheus grew suspicious again. Every corner of the crude shelter was stacked with various goods—stolen goods, of course.

Another four people were already inside the house, sitting around a square table. It was apparent that they all belonged to the same crew. One of them was a young lady, petite, distinctly Truban, with wavy hair in a short bob. Only one of the other three men looked Truban—he also seemed to be the youngest of the men. A man with a rectangular face and downward slanting brows looked Vinan. And finally, perched at the back without expression was a giant of a man, tall but not wide, dark-skinned—possibly a man of Kragan descent.

You got it all wrong, Marvin, the younger Truban man said with a wry smile.

Marvin? Alpheus thought with a wince, glancing over to Sailanson, the man who had demolished a building without breaking a sweat. Marvin... Sailanson? He really is him... the infamous mercenary... a man loyal to the Lord Emperor.

The ones who assumed our name are over there, the young lady said, fiddling with the tip of a broken arrow. "And this is their hideout."

She pointed a thumb over to the far corner where a sturdy fishing net was wrapped around two unconscious men—the thieving duo Alpheus had spared earlier. Alpheus only realised now how naïve he had been to think that the spectacles was all they had stolen. But there was no point to be mad at those thieves now—not in the face of a much more frightening group of thieves.

All right..., Sailanson said. So can someone tell me what happened?

We found this place after you ran off on your own, the young lady said. We’ve been waiting here for a while. In fact, the thieves only just came back.

Sailanson regarded Alpheus now with a sheepish frown. I’m sorry, he said, scratching his goatee. Are you... hurt? Oh, and by the way, the name’s Marvin. The one who helped you just now is Rover.

The man in the eyepatch, or Rover, shot Alpheus a glance. He shook his head before retiring to a seat away from the others. Alpheus turned back to Sailanson, having trouble attributing to the man the name, Marvin, which was rather mundane for an alleged madman.

I’m Tavie, the young lady offered with a wave.

Ash, said the younger Truban man. A geologist.

Leo, said the Vinan man with a rectangular face. Oh, and my friend here, he said, resting a hand on the broad shoulder of the giant. He’s Karl, he added with a wink, and yes, he’s Kragan.

I see, Alpheus managed to utter, eyeing Karl who was certainly exotic in appearance. Other than his dark skin and tremendous height, the man had a long, blocky head, small eyes rectangular in shape, and protruding lips that were almost black in colour.

Alpheus jumped now as Marvin placed a hand on his shoulder. Do I see that you’re all right? Marvin said.

I..., Alpheus said with a slight frown. I think I’m fine.

Good to know, Marvin said with a sigh, stepping away to the shelves where all the stolen goods were stocked. Didn’t want to hurt you, Alpheus.

Well, yes, but I..., Alpheus said, trailing off abruptly when he realised the thief had called him by name. The criminal portraits, he thought, the assumption springing to mind immediately. He must have seen them.

Relax, Marvin said with a chuckle without looking back. I don’t work for the Empire.

You... don’t? Alpheus said hesitantly as he watched the man inspect the stolen goods, certain that the man had at least once worked for the Lord Emperor.

Marvin had certainly proved reckless in barely an hour since they had met, but at the same time, the man seemed carefree. Perhaps he really had nothing to do with the emperor anymore. A more curious matter was the fact that Marvin looked to be only about thirty years of age. If the war had ended eight years ago, it meant he had barely been a man at the time when he had fought.

Anyway, Ash said. About you... Alpheus—if I can call you that. What’s your crime?

Alpheus trembled slightly, his eyes still on Marvin, who spared him no look in return. Well..., Alpheus said, turning to Ash with a grimace and a disdainful tone to match. Not theft. And no matter what crime I might have committed, it couldn’t be worse than harming the innocent.

Ash raised a brow. The innocent? What are you talking about? Are you still mad about... whatever Marvin did to you?

Marvin perked up with a glance back at the conversation.

I don’t know, Alpheus said, shaking his head. But if it were me, I wouldn’t go on a whim and pulverise a building. He hissed, glaring at the ground. The people there. They...

Ash turned to Marvin, looking curious rather than questioning. You destroyed the building? he asked.

Marvin shrugged. Figured I might as well. Have to give the mayor a lesson after what he did.

Alpheus squinted, his frown deepening as suspicion and confusion dawned his face.

You got it all wrong, young lad said Leo, the Vinan of the crew, as the other two shared a chuckle. Other than chasing the impostors, we’ve been on the mayor’s case—the mayor of the local municipality, that is. The man’s covetous—as are many others in power. He’s been embezzling from the civilians for years. That building is where he kept the things he robbed. But of course knowing Marvin, he said with a glance over at the crew leader, those things aren’t there anymore. As for the people, well—they’re the first ones Marvin would have driven out.

Alpheus raised a suspicious brow. Why should I believe you?

Don’t, Tavie said, as if defending Leo. "You think we care what you think? You’re the only criminal here."

All right, now, Leo said, waving a hand. Let’s all be friendly.

"And you’re not criminals...? Alpheus challenged. The infamous Sail Band? The last I heard, the Empire is on your case more so than mine. Don’t try to make yourselves out as good and noble when you have the audacity to storm the Monarchal Castle without any respect for authority."

Rover, the man who had yet to say a word, shot a second glare at Alpheus now. If you have so much respect for authority, he said with a gruff voice, why don’t you hand yourself in?

Alpheus frowned again, but found that he had nothing to say. The others had turned silent too, and the collective mood suddenly grew dark.

"Anyway, Alpheus... or boy with many secrets, Ash said finally, breaking the tension. We’re doing what we think is right. We don’t kill. We don’t harm anyone aside from those who deserve it. And yes, we take, but we’re selective in who we take from."

The explanation was more than Alpheus had expected, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to believe any of it.

You know, you can just go, Marvin said. But leave that sack behind. It’s not yours.

Alpheus looked down at the sack of spectacles. What will you do with it? he dared to ask.

Not your concern, Marvin replied curtly.

Alpheus shook his head, realising that it was futile to even try recovering the goods from the thieves. Very well, then, he said reluctantly, turning to the exit. If you’ll excuse me.

Alpheus fastened the strap to his knapsack, only to notice a sizeable tear on his right sleeve. He immediately turned his gaze toward Marvin, realising it was a result of his daggers from earlier. Indeed, Marvin grinned now, also noting the mark he had left. Alpheus gritted his teeth, raising an arm. And when he did so, a dark parchment fell to the ground from the sleeve, which was then promptly snatched up by Tavie.

No! Alpheus thought.

What have we here? she said, skimming the text. Seconds later, she waved it up into the air for the others to see. It’s from Poppaross, she said, sounding rather surprised herself, as she passed the parchment to Leo for examination. "Looks like Alpheus was hiding something more than his crimes. An invitation to... a Purification Ceremony. From Lithia."

As small in size as it was, the stamped, red-coloured heraldic crest on the top right corner of the parchment was too obvious to miss. These things were not easy to forge, and of course, it was the real thing, which depicted a mighty shield caressed by mythical beasts similar to lions on both sides.

Definitely not a fake, Leo confirmed. "An invitation to the Purification Ceremony from the Imperial Lithia Dominion, the supreme authority of Vinawell."

I didn’t know the girl was coming of age already, Marvin said before squinting at Alpheus. "And of all people, they invited you? Who exactly are you?"

Alpheus swallowed, growing more and more anxious.

The way you moved, Marvin said, treading toward Alpheus now. And that beam you shot out. Just who are you? What did you do that had the Empire onto you?

Alpheus could feel sweat building up all over his body beneath that thick mantle as he looked up at the imposing mercenary-turned-bandit tower over him. I..., he said with a stutter. I don’t—

Don’t tell me, Marvin then said, challenging him. We can find out on our own soon enough. And if it turns out that you—

How do I know I can trust you? Alpheus spat out on impulse.

You’ll know when you know, he said, finally backing away. I won’t ask you again. If you choose to tell me, then the decision will be of your own free will. You’re headed to Poppaross, are you not? You’ll have us in company.

What?! Alpheus thought. He thought he had said it out loud, but it was Tavie who uttered the word. The other crew members shared the sense of surprise.

Relax, Marvin said to the others. I was planning to go there, anyway.

Why...? asked Tavie, raising a brow.

There’s something I want from there. And Tav, I could use your help.

Tavie rolled her eyes. Can you not call me that? Besides, do we really have to go? Castles are lame.

Leo began chortling, and soon both Marvin and Ash joined him. Affected by the contagious laughter, even the two seemingly emotionless men, Rover and Karl, began smiling.

Alpheus watched the crew mingle, exchanging jokes. It was a mystery how such a group had been put together, and how they managed to stay together. Every individual member seemed different enough that one would expect them to clash on nearly every decision.

And they do clash, Alpheus thought. But it works for them. Somehow.

THE STIGMA THAT CAME with being a thief was inevitable, and no ornamental words could adorn the label. Alpheus had thought it laughable that the Sail Band self-proclaimed as treasure hunters. But as he watched the cargo ship sail off now, backdropped by a setting sun that caused the sky to bleed strokes of tangerine, he pondered about whether or not he had judged too soon. On his second day in this new country—and also the