On the Hills of Eden

“Pallas you cheeky- nrgh!”

Pallas swivelled around as she sped up to a light jog, looking back over her shoulder to see an angry Soleiman chasing after her. She roughly kept her pace to match that of his, glancing behind occasionally to ensure he wasn’t too near nor too far away.

“Oh no! You’re gonna catch me!” she joked, closing the gap to an excruciatingly small distance before high-tailing it and putting another metre or so between them.

“Haa!” he exclaimed as he pounced forward, calling upon every fibre in his body, forming kinetic chain of pure muscular energy linking the ground to his feet, thighs, abdomen and arms to launch himself forward only to-

“Oh-”

-fail to grasp at Pallas’ backpack, missing it just enough to throw himself completely off balance. His gait changed, the weight on his back pulling him forward as his feet frantically put themselves one in front of the other to try and stall his face from meeting the ground.

Pallas spun her head around at his exclamation, her heels digging into the dirt as moved to intercept him. She held her arms out, squaring her stance and grabbed onto him, bringing him to a stop and pulling him out of the fall.

“That was pretty close, don’tcha think?”

“Uh, yeah.” His eyes met hers as he remained still, as if stuck in careful consideration.

“No.”

Soleiman’s gaze looked elsewhere, his attempt at distracting her as he slowly moved himself into an attack position.

“No! Don’t you-” she stopped midway as the two of them got into a kerfuffle, Soleiman vying for retribution to no avail. Soon enough, Pallas had managed to grab a hold of both of his arms, holding them up where they could enact no vengeance.

“You dummy! We’re nearing the gates of the city and you think hitting a lady would get us in?” She looked down the road to the city’s gate, the speck that was the gate barely even visible in the morning light.

“Wh- y- it- khh…” Soleiman stuttered, surrendering to her as she let his arms fall to his sides. “Blasted double standards.”

“That’s just how it is, you know?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, rolling his eyes with a slight chuckle, admitting his defeat.

“Alright, c’mon. We don’t wanna keep her waiting.”

The two of them then set down the road.

As they walked towards the city gate, their path merged with others, like a tributary feeding into a river that then fed into an even greater one. They saw more and more people, both walking to and from the city gate, often on horse-drawn wagons filled with trade cargo, sometimes on foot just as they were. All manner of life, from the humble marketmen heading out to bring the city’s goods to those living inland to the renowned artisan making his way to his working ground on some noble’s inland estate.

Most of the time, though, they saw merchants. Merchants with heaps of goods both exotic and mundane drawn along on both rickety carts and massive wagons made their way out of the city.

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place was the heart of Minervan trade, huh,” Pallas said, her eyes wandering along the several wagons filled with exotic luxuries like vibrant silks and bundles of sugarcane. She’d seen these goods before, sure, but never in quantities large enough to warrant an entire line of merchants ferrying them out of the city- in the wee early hours of the morning no less.

“Why would I?” Soleiman replied, his eyes feasting upon the veritable wealth of goods before them, stretching all the way back to the city gates. Pulling Pallas off the road and onto the grass to make way for an oncoming caravan, he added, “The city sits right on the chokepoint of the Kardic Strait, and it has a serious banking and independent judiciary system to boot, it’d take almost a miracle for it not succeed fabulously.”

“And the Duke did all this?”

“Mainly, yeah. Though, and I hate to say it, Lord Gravitas probably had a pretty big part in its success too.”

“Is that so?” Pallas looked slightly shocked, her eyes lit up with curiosity.

“Mmh! Yeah,” Soleiman responded, his enthusiasm stoked by her genuine interest. He almost felt compelled to sate her curiosity. “Most of the reason why Porthopolis does so well in contrast to most other cities along the Strait is because its Duke Thosmodene played a pretty autonomous role in foreign diplomacy.”

“Because the Arkalaios are situated way down south?”

“Yep.”

Pallas exhaled slightly in satisfaction, pumping her fist subtly. “I remembered.”

“That you did.”

“See? I do pay attention to your bedtime stories. Sometimes.”

“That’s good, honestly I just thought you wanted me to read you to sleep just because you needed some steady background noise.”

Pallas coughed.

Soleiman raised his eyebrow at her.

“What?”

A squelching noise cried out from amongst the grass, bringing the two of them to a sudden stop. With a look of disgust slapped onto his face, Soleiman lifted his leg up, holding it in his hands as he and Pallas bent closer to examine the stinking piece of manure lathered over a good portion of his boot’s toes.

“Oh great,” he sighed. “It’s warm too.”

“I’ve got a waterskin if you want to use that to clean it off.”

“Nah, I’ll be alright, I’ll just shake it off and scrape the rest onto the road.”

Pallas stood behind Soleiman as he squinted his eyes, tilting his head away from his dirtied shoe as he began flicking it, in hopes of getting most of the poo off.

“Friends! You alright?”

The two of them looked up in synchrony at the man atop his horse, a sizable but mostly empty wagon being drawn behind it.

“Yep! Nothing serious,” Pallas responded.

“Need a lift?”

“Well,” Pallas paused, unsure of how to respond. Typically these types of merchants would invite gullible victims, usually tired peasant folk, onto their wagons for an easy ride to their destination. At the end, though, they’d often coerce their victims into paying up.

Though, that being said, Pallas didn’t see anybody else on his wagon to back up a scam like that, instead finding it to be populated only by a few empty sacks and dusty old pillows.

“The sides of the road here are pretty stacked with the droppings of pack animals passing by, and I wouldn’t think walking in with dung-covered shoes’ a fitting way to enter the great Porthopolis.”

Pallas looked back at Soleiman, receiving a nod.

“We’ll hop on.”

“Wonderful!”

As the man gestured to the back of the wagon, the two of them climbed aboard.

“There are some cushions in the back I’ve lying around if you so fancy.”

As the hospitable fellow nudged his steed back into motion, they looked back to see that he’d only just avoided a cussing out or two from the disgruntled wagoneers now lined up behind them.

“Kind sir!” Soleiman spoke up as he took a seat next to Pallas atop the dusty cushions that looked as though they were on the verge of crumbling into sand. “Thank you for your generosity, but, could we ask what your name might be?”

“Pontificus! The name’s Pontificus, inheritor of a handsome family fortune.”

“Soleiman,” Soleiman added, raising his hand, even though Pontificus wouldn’t’ve been able to see it given that he had his eyes on the road.

“Pallas.”

“Wonderful names you have, and I take it that you’re a foreigner, Soleiman?”

“Oh, no no. My… uh,” Soleiman paused for a moment, his thoughts drifting along with his eyes. “I think my parents were, but I’m Minervan, true and true. Can’t even speak hard Menzoic!”

“Ah, I see. And your parents came from Merkez, I assume?”

Silence, as Soleiman pondered the question, his eyes glazed over and brows furrowed slightly as though he was in the process of browsing over rows of books in a mental library in search for the answer.

“Uh, well…”

“Sorry, sorry, I mean not to prod.”

“Oh, it’s alright, I just… don’t know.”

Once again, the wagon fell into silence, the only noise that permeated the air being the steady rumble of wheels on soil and the beat of horseshoes against the dirt path. Pallas reached her hand around Soleiman, rubbing his shoulders in an effort to console him.

“So, uh, Pontificus, what about you? What brings you here?” Pallas asked.

“Hmm? Oh! I’m on my way to settle a large transaction, you see. Recently, the head of my family, the Xoplikos if you’ve ever heard of them-”

“Merchants that specialised in internal Minervan trade?” Pallas asked.

She had heard of them before, what information she knew about them gleaned from eavesdropping on her mother’s conversations with her allies and friendly dukes. If her memory had served her right, she could recall that they- much like the Porthopolian Duke Thosmodene, took advantage of Lord Gravitas’ invasion of Minerva by providing logistical assistance to his armies during the 5th Edenberry War. By winning his favour and trust, they were then secured a place of prosperity as a state-sponsored merchant family to facilitate and profit off of the recovering Minervan economy.

She saw as Soleiman subtly gave her a thumbs up.

“Yes! Precisely. That old hag finally bit the dust and now the inheritance wealth’s being split between me and some of my other cousins.”

“...Old hag?” Pallas asked, stunned slightly by the sudden change in tone of his voice.

“I beg your pardon. I never really cared much for her, frankly speaking. Father always told me how he’d essentially been outcasted by the family for his laziness and that she never really wanted anything to do with us, but- I guess she cared enough to leave some money for me.”

“Huh, I see.”

“Anyways! Now’s no time for feeling down. In that city right there a heaping mountain of wealth that’ll change my life is just waiting to be claimed. If you two wouldn’t mind telling me a story or two about why you’re here or your past, I’d be willing to hand over a bit of gold to help you in your ventures.”

Pallas looked over and met Soleiman’s gaze. Neither of them really felt like digging up their past unnecessarily, especially for a stranger they’d just met- albeit a hospitable one.

“We’ve come to Porthopolis to liaise with Duke Thosmodene himself,” Soleiman said, piping up. “We’re planning on striking some sort of deal with him to get ourselves into the Ahdi part of Minerva so that we can try and break the ice and stimulate trade between the two halves of the country.”

“Venturing into Calisura’s demesne, you say?”

“Yeah,” Soleiman added, almost sounding as though he himself was shocked by the proposition. “We think there’s quite a bit of money to be made if only the Hashashiyyin opened up a little more and loosened their control on trade just a little bit.”

“You make a good point, sir. If not a bit daring, but, what is a business venture if not an old-fashioned trade-off between risk and reward?”

“Yes, uh, exactly… that.”

An awkward silence fell over the conversation as neither Pallas nor Soleiman knew how they’d continue on.

“I will say, though,” Pontificus added. “If I’m not entirely incorrect, recently Lord Gravitas implemented the census-system into the city. Which means that in all likelihood you may not be able to leave.”

“Well, that’s why we’re off to consult with the Duke himself,” Soleiman replied.

“Fair enough. I’m sure the Duke’ll be more than accommodating for you two aspiring entrepreneurs.”

“I hope so.”

Silence fell over the wagon again as the group drew ever nearer to the city gate, the light in the clouded sky now bright enough to allow the true brilliance of the city’s inner architecture to shine through. Marble mined from the far-flung lands of Shafraturriyah and Solea defined the skyline, the buildings erected from it showered in an ethereal brilliance. Amongst the bright stars that were the marble buildings were a great variety of others built in a kaleidoscope of varying architectural styles.

Some they recognised as classical wooden Minervan architecture, the very tops of these buildings sculpted into cage-like shapes that sat atop towers to help improve ventilation. One even stood out among the others with the addition of a flag-topped spire that flew a pure lightning blue overlaid with a lattice of gold. Nearby, they could make out a Maoren dojo, a lavish display of Chitite architecture whose stone-covered roofs stood atop wide open rooms that breathed in the morning breeze.

Others they could name as Merkezi or Ahdi pieces of work, grandiose structural behemoths that hoisted enormous domes shaped from stone and clay whose intricate geometric patterns saturated the city skyline with an arcipluvian lightshow. Others still they could recognise as Solean or Caldarian in origin, their large marble spires, some covered in ornate stained-glass tapestries whose outlines and images could be seen even from the very foot of the gate.

The two of them sat flabbergasted at the marvellous display of wealth and opulence, a greater proof than any other of the city’s prosperity and Duke Thosmodeus’s sheer financial and diplomatic cunning.

“You see that building there with the blue and gold flag? That’s our family crest,” Pontificus looked back at the two of them excitedly. “In other words, where my fortune’s located!” He turned back to face the road, though his bubbly attitude still managed to reach them.

Soon enough, the three of them had arrived at the doorstep of the shining city. The city gate itself had been left completely open, its gaping maw resembling that of a yawning beast as its polished steel portcullis hung ominously over the people filtering into and out of the city. It’s outstretched tongue they’ve been riding on for the past handful of minutes, now reaching off into the distance like a tree grasping for the light of the sky above.

“Alright, friends. We’re just about here!”

The horse-drawn wagon slowed to a halt before the guards by the gate. Dressed only very lightly in a dull beige leather get-up, the only way they could ever have differentiated them from the common man was from the fact that they had massive wooden pikes strapped to their backs. One of the guards approached them, the other already preoccupied with another trail of wagons leading into the city.

“Number of persons and city of origin?” the guard inquired, his eyes sunken and his voice monotonous. In his hands were a notebook and a pencil, both in near-pristine condition.

“Three persons, sire. I come from Titanasentra, and my fellows come from…” Pontificus paused, turning back to look at Pallas and Soleiman.

“Amocolis,” Soleiman said. “The both of us.”

The guard scribbled something down onto his notebook. “Proceed. Have a good one.”

“Hey, Pontificus, you mind if we stay on till your stop? We need to get deeper into the city.”

“But of course, friends! Be my guest.”

Pontificus kicked his horse back into motion, drawing the wagon into the city’s maw. The houses and buildings and shops around them were sturdy, fixed well into place by wooden handicraft of the finest quality. Their colours were uniform, and not a single blemish or stain tainted their rich tones, ranging from the deepest of mahoganies to the thinnest of beiges.

Here along the outermost portion of the city’s innards, most of the buildings seemed to be residential. They saw laypeople from all phases of life go about their daily business- adults, children and elderly alike all engaging in the merry liveliness of the grand city. The children played, occasionally dashing dangerously across the road in pursuit of a rogue ball. The adults walked briskly with large wicker baskets in hand, purses filled with coins. Sometimes, they could even briefly smell the aroma of various vegetable and meat soups, filled with exotics that could only ever be found in rich mercantile cities such as this one.

Pallas’ mouth watered slightly as they passed through the iconic stench of durian wafting by. Its smell like that of sweat-soaked socks whose fibres were saturated with rotten egg matter.

“Hoough,” she groaned, placing her hand on her stomach. “You smell that?”

“Durian?” Soleiman responded nasally.

“We should try and get some here, last chance and all.”

“Sure, if you say so. As long as we get some hearty meat broth too.”

“Ooh, yeah, it’s been a while.”

“You guys haven’t had meat soup?” Pontificus exclaimed, stunned. He looked back at the two of them, who began to look dishevelled and worn-out when contrasted with the vibrancy of the city.

“Yeah,” Pallas replied. “We eat oats, mainly. Fruit salad sometimes.”

“Well, that’s a damned shame if ever I’ve heard one. Tell you what, when we get to my grandmother’s estate, how about I treat you two fellows to some of her finest luxuries?”

“Thank you, but we’ve got company waiting for us. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting too long.”

“Oh, alright then.”

As they made their way to the Xoplikos family estate, the buildings around them changed gradually. They grew taller and more flamboyant, the designs of their facades growing more complex and excessively showy with each house. Eventually, some of the buildings began boasting colourful banners, with verandas protruding out into the streets to make way for stalls that sold all sorts of artisanal curiosities.

The street, in turn, grew wider too. Accommodating greater and greater volumes of people, the gentle background murmuring of the outskirts swelled into a near-cacophony of people bartering and advertising their goods as the day grew out of the early morning hours. The two of them were more amazed at the fact that Pontificus had not once stopped or slowed the wagon down, keeping a constant pace even as the market-going crowds swarmed about them like ants to a morsel of food.

Eventually, they arrived at the gates of the estate, located deeper into the city where the noises of the market had died down. As Pontificus produced a curious blue book lined with gold for the guards standing by, Pallas and Soleiman loaded their bags onto their backs and made their preparations to leave. When they got off, they stood by at the back of the wagon, waiting for Pontificus to look back so that they could say their final goodbyes.

“And what of the two back there?”

Pontificus looked back to see Pallas and Soleiman patiently waiting for him to realise they were still there.

“Thank you!”

“Yeah, our boots would’ve probably ended up caked in dung if it weren’t for you.”

Pontificus’ face softened, his silhouette sinking slightly. “It was my pleasure, friends! Take care!” He raised his hand to wave at them, though for a brief moment it seemed like he might’ve even hesitated on that.

Pallas and Soleiman waved as they walked away, eventually turning away to let him finish his business.

“Wait!”

They turned around to see Pontificus scurry up to them, a bag of cash in hand.

“Here, take this,” he said, handing the money over to them. “As payment for your stories.” He also handed them a little blue badge that bore the Xoplikos family crest. “And this, as a token of our friendship.”

They said their thanks, bid their farewells and then went their separate ways, the murmuring noise of the distant street markets washing over Pontificus’ fading footsteps.

At the base of the Xoplikos estate, now on their own two feet, they looked around to survey their surroundings in closer detail. The hub-bub of the market had largely died down where they were, and there were significantly lesser stalls out in the open. What little props that were present were either little quaint signs detailing the menus of trendy diners or stands with samples of fruit slices on them. The streets were generally much less chaotic, and where market-goers would be there were smartly dressed businessmen that made their way about their day quietly.

Looking up, that skyline they eyed earlier had now entirely subsumed them, with the varied assortment of towers now surrounding them- scattered on all sides. Some of the buildings had been partially obscured by the outline, some had remained just as eminent as they were before. Most saliently, though, the Maoren dojo whose crimson red boldly proclaimed itself to the rest of the city was now just a few houses to the Xoplikos Estate’s left.

“Well, it seems we’ve found ourselves in posh territory,” Soleiman whispered, leaning towards Pallas to get the message across.

“Mm, yeah. It is the inner city.”

“Good point,” he said, straightening himself out. “Alright, we should get outta here before someone thinks we’re a couple of lost peasants. Follow me!”

He moved without warning, heading in the direction of the imposing dojo. Pallas shuffled after him, catching up and matching his stride. Ahead, they could see faint silhouettes of the practitioners within, jumping and shifting and moving with such grace and purposeful elegance through the air that Pallas felt a slight feeling of reassurance. Even in the distance, they could see the movements of their bodies, calling upon their magic to bring in the outside air and launching it at their opponents, a two-man dance that shuffled back and forth as though in tune with a beat.

“That’s a good sign,” Soleiman said.

“Mm.”

The two of them walked in silence, the soft tapping of their boots against the stone floor and the murmuring of a couple nearby being the only things that cut through the background noise of the market now far, far away.

Soleiman, without warning, shifted closer to Pallas, placing an arm around her shoulder. Gently, he shook her.

“Listen, it’ll be okay. Here, you want me to carry your bag for you?”

“No, it’s alright.”

“Come on, Pallas, do you really think I would allow anything to go wrong?”

“Eeh, well.”

“Name one instance where I have faltered.”

Pallas paused for a moment, her eyes unfocused as she rummaged through the archives of her mind.

“Remember that time in Aphylia?”

Soleiman fell silent.

Pallas giggled slightly, recalling the memories. Knowing Soleiman was remembering them too, she giggled a little harder. “With the cute ‘maid’servant-”

“Nononono! Don’t- don’t, no!” he cut in, droning on loudly as he could to shut out the memory, both inside and out. He even plugged his fingers into his ears.

Pallas laughed, stopping after a while as the dojo gates came into earshot.

“Alright, silly, quiet down now,” she said, smacking his tummy lightly.

He flinched slightly, putting his hands on his stomach as he hunched over defeatedly.

“Sometimes I wish we could change the past.”

As the two of them stopped by the gate, Pallas had realised the dull undertone of anxiety that had lingered at the base of her stomach had cleared and was now replaced with a light cheerfulness. She knew he couldn’t guarantee their success, and more likely than not it’d be up to her to do most of the legwork, but buying into that belief- that her brother would always be there for her, even if for a moment, made the uncertainty of reality a lot easier to face.

“That helped,” Pallas said.

Soleiman smiled back at her, exhaling in acknowledgement. “Glad to hear it.”

He moved forward to knock on the gates. Pausing for a moment to find out what he was supposed to do given the wild intricacies and metallic and jade ornaments embedded into the wood, he ended up using a little door handle to strike the gate.