Chapter 1: 1: The Heist

“The longer we wait, the riskier this gets!”

Vayra glanced back at her brother. The wind muffled his voice, as did his tattered cloak. She replied, “If we don’t wait for the Helper, we don’t get paid!”

The wind roared louder. It ripped shriveled autumn fruit from vines and thrashed their husks against the stone below, then covered them with amber leaves. More and more debris fell in the gale, and Vayra pulled her hood over her head to shield herself from them. 

She paced back and forth across the alleyway of rotted tree trunks. It wasn’t an orchard, but a city. Nearly every building in Tavelle was alive; grown and molded into a settlement on the fertile shores of Decathe. The city had begun its life as a shipping hub, but it had grown. Settlement turned to village which turned to city. Houses were grown atop one another until they were stacked so high that sunlight barely reached the ground of the old streets. 

Vayra heard her younger brother’s voice again, an undertone on the wind. “Why doesn’t Gr​​éno trust us with this one?” She groaned, then marched back towards her brother. He continued, “I mean… we’ve run jobs like this—”

“Bremi!” she scolded. “I just wanna get out of this and square our debt. Do you?”

Bremi muttered, “I… do.” He pulled his hood up to match her. It kept them warm, but it also hid their species. Like Vayra, he had startlingly blue eyes and orange hair so vibrant they told everyone it was dyed—it wasn’t.

Any other day, Vayra wouldn’t have been so strict. But she was his older sister, and it was her duty to look after him. He didn’t know the cruelty of Gr​éno, and she didn’t intend on giving them nightmares about what would happen if they left without his Helper—and worse, if they failed the heist. 

“Then we wait.” Vayra tapped her boot against the paving stones. It didn’t distract her from the autumn air’s cold sting; her hands burned red. Tugging at her coat’s cuffs didn’t help. 

Just when the tips of her fingers began to tingle, a humanoid silhouette slid into the alley’s opening. It wore a dark greatcoat, and moved elegantly and silently. She swallowed empty air, then approached. 

The silhouette’s pushed aside one half of its coat, and in what little light remained of the day, the hammer of a flintlock pistol gleamed. It was the Helper—one of Gréno’s enforcers. 

Vayra forced her gaze upwards, and kept her eyes pinned to where the Helper’s forehead should have been. But she couldn’t see its face, only a pearlescent white mask. When the Helper nodded, she spared a glance back at Bremi and said, “It’s time.” She opened her mouth again to ask the silhouette if it could climb, but she restrained her tongue. Gr​​éno’s Helpers could always climb. 

Without another word, she leapt to a whorl on the nearest tree, and from it, sprung to a branch above. From there, she climbed upwards until her face basked in the glow of the setting sun. One at a time, she pulled her legs up onto the gutter of woven leaves, then jumped up onto the sloped roof. 

Her rapid breaths condensed into steam, but the wind drew them into thin lines. Vayra watched them float into the distance and dissipate, but her gaze remained. She stared over Tavelle’s thousands of rooftops, towards the distant ocean. But there was no horizon. A hundred miles offshore, the Eternal Stream touched the planet’s surface.

The Stream was a river as wide as a sea, which sloped away from the surface of Decathe and rose far into the heavens. It snaked through the stars, connecting all of the planets of the galaxy. But today, in the twilight, she could not trace it through the sky for long. It wove between the clouds, and when it passed the boundary of Decathe’s skies, it faded away into apparent nothingness. 

One day, she told herself. One day, I’ll get off of Decathe. One day, I’ll see every world in the galaxy.

A deep, masculine voice slithered out from the Helper’s mouth. It was muffled by a mask of pearlescent white. “Is the kid gonna be a liability?”

“If he’s gonna get a cut, he’s gotta earn it,” Vayra replied. 

The Helper only scoffed. Vayra crept towards the roof’s edge again, and peered down. Bremi tugged himself up, slower than Vayra and the Helper, but not slowly. He wrapped his legs over the gutter and pulled himself up.

“You know the way?” the Helper asked. He still stared at Vayra. 

“I know the target,” she said.

Again, the Helper scoffed. “Follow. The kid better keep up.”

Their feet pattered against tiny shingles; each was a scale of a pinecone. Tavelle’s residents didn’t build the city in such a way because they loved the natural world, though. Organic houses were easy to ship and plant. With proper fertilization, a settlement could grow in years. But even after two centuries, Tavelle hadn’t given up the habit. 

The three jumped over a thin alley, then crossed over a street on a narrow band of wood. Carriages and wagons rushed past beneath, borne by whinnying horses, and Vayra did her best not to look down. She wasn’t afraid of heights nor was she a stranger to vertigo, but crossing a bustling road always made her stomach lurch. 

As the sun slipped behind the Eternal Stream, Tavelle’s lanterns flickered to life, but it didn’t help to illuminate the rooftops. Vayra strained her eyes to make sure she didn’t misstep, but they didn’t slow down.

The three arrived at a long row of four-story tall apartments. They stopped at the third from the street corner, just beside an alley, and knelt on the edge of the roof. “How’s that, sis?” Bremi hissed. “I’m nearly as fast as you!”

“Only ‘cause you keep growing,” she whispered back. He was nearly fourteen years old, and although she had him beat by four years, he was nearly as tall as she was. She teased, “Lanky-legs.”

The Helper shook his head. He leaned over the edge of the roof, and Vayra did the same. No light emanated from the building beneath—perfect. Taking the gold would be easy. Vayra imagined the coins shimmering in the palm of her hand. She fantasized about using them to buy her way offworld. 

“We’re running out of time before he gets home,” Bremi stated. “It’s now or never.”

Vayra looked to the Helper, and the man nodded. She latched her fingers around the edge of the gutter, then swung her legs down to the windowsill below. Maybe there was a safer way, but not one so fun. 

A quick exhale was all she allowed herself before driving a boot into the frame—it shattered the wood. Perhaps, if time had been on their side, she would have spent the time to wedge it apart, but they didn’t have time. The window fell inwards on its hinges, and, after another kick, the casement snapped off. It hit the floor below and shattered. Shards scattered across the floorboards, clinking and rattling. 

Vayra pulled herself into the room. Her gaze flitted around. It was a small apartment, well-kept but not lavish. There were no paintings hanging from its taupe wallpaper, only shelves filled with stacks upon stacks of paper. A barrister, politician, or otherwise, it didn’t matter—their tip said there would be gold. 

Two thumps followed. The Helper marched across the room, and Bremi walked behind him. Vayra nodded to her brother, then whispered, “Get looking. We don’t have all evening.”

“Watch yourself,” the Helper warned. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

He grunted, which sounded more like a snort through his mask. But Vayra said nothing about it; she began searching the apartment’s living room. The drawers of the corner desk yielded nothing, and neither did the cabinets beside the hallway door. She threw herself to the ground to peer under a chair, just in time for the Helper to throw it aside. There was nothing beneath it, but regardless, she scowled at him, “Quiet!”

“Another word from you, and your cut drops.”

Vayra stood up to face him. “If you mess this up, Gréno’s gonna have our heads.”

“Only yours and the boy’s.”

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“I’ll make sure he knows you had a hand in it.”

The Helper placed a hand on his hip, his elbow notching aside his coat. “You’re down to twenty percent.”

“We’ll see.”

“Fifteen.”

Vayra rolled her eyes; the Helpers didn’t decide who got what cut of the spoils. She set back to searching. Behind the shelves. Beneath a rug, if their prize could even be hidden beneath it. But there wasn’t even a dull shine, let alone a glimmer of gold. She let the rug slip from her fingers. 

A crash ripped through the room. Papers flew from a falling shelf, and Vayra pounced on a pile to stop them from rustling. She looked up at Bremi, who stood frozen mid-step, but she couldn’t bring herself to scold him—he cringed; he knew what he had done. She instead whispered, “You found anything?”

“Nothing.”

She turned to the Helper. “Some kinda tip you got.”

“We’re not done here.” He ran his hand over the varnished mantle of the fireplace, then picked up a leather mask resting atop it. It would only cover the bottom half of a face, and the cylindrical cartridges protruding from each side looked heavy. After a thorough examination, he cast it aside. “He was an officer on a Streamrunner. I was told one of the local navy captains has been throwin’ around his weight and pickin’ on the cargo transports. But they weren’t tellin’ anyone about their latest haul. It’s gotta be somethin’ good.”

“I thought you knew for certain.” Vayra poked her head into the fireplace, then dipped her hands into the ashes. Sifting through the charcoal revealed nothing, but left a trail of black dust whenever she grabbed hold of something—the back of another chair, the doors of a glass cabinet. Nothing. She muttered, “But it seems there’s a lot you didn’t know.” 

Vayra imagined the Helper narrowing his eyes, and she didn’t expect him to stay as calm as he did. All he said was, “Hurry up and find it.” He must have felt it too: there was no time to bicker.

She lifted a stack of papers, then laid them down on a chair. She stuck her head into the gap it opened in the shelf, and stared behind the other stacks. Nothing. 

“Look what I found, sis!” Bremi called. Vayra looked up quickly, and the back of her head struck the shelf above. 

Bremi held a cube, barely larger than the palms of his hand. It was white stone, and while austere, it was carved perfectly—the corners were sharp, and the edges were clean. On each face, a smaller, black square sat perfectly flush with the stone around it. 

“What’s that?” Vayra asked.

“No idea…” Bremi whispered. “But… it’s not gold. I’ll put it—”

“Seems our pirate raided the wrong folk,” the Helper snapped. “Let’s get the gold and get out before this gets any worse.”

“Wait…” Vayra stepped closer to Bremi, and to the small cube. She felt something swirling in her veins and churning in her muscles. Her eyes were wrenched towards it. Her blood rushed to her fingertips and refused to leave, as if drawn to the cube. She felt a pressure on the back of her neck, and three thoughts charged into her mind: Mediator. Duty. Magic. She knew they weren’t her own.

“Sis? You okay?” Bremi’s voice ripped through her head, shattering her trance. 

She blinked rapidly to dispel the trance. pulled her hand away from the cube. “Put it in your pocket and keep looking. There’s gotta be a—”

A keyring rattled against the other side of the hallway-facing door, and Vayra’s head whipped around to face the noise. Her muscles seized, and she didn’t dare to move her fingers. 

The key rattled again. She and Bremi had never been caught before, not in all of their minor break-ins and heists. They couldn’t be caught now, no matter how close they were. The thought shattered her paralysis, and she dashed back to the open window. “Bremi! Forget the gold!”

“No one leaves!” the Helper yelled. His greatcoat fluttered as he turned, and once he was facing Vayra, he flicked his pistol into his hand. Vayra stared down the barrel, but she didn’t raise her hands. The Helper knew she was unarmed. His pistol flicked over to Bremi, and the boy halted as well. 

“Wait!” Vayra hissed. “Do you want—”

The door swung open, and a humanoid figure stepped through. The Helper pointed his pistol towards it. An acute bang echoed through the room, followed by a puff of fire and smoke, and the body collapsed. Vayra averted her gaze as soon as it fell to the floor, mind awash with plans and interfering thoughts. If they kept looking, they might find something to make the journey worthwhile, but someone had to have heard the gunshot. The reward wouldn’t mean anything if they were all caught.

Vayra dashed towards the window, but the Helper blocked her path. “You won’t leave,” he stated. But he had used his shot. Vayra glanced at Bremi. She could deal with Gréno; she could beg the wannabe crime lord for more time and another chance to settle their debt. But she couldn’t reason with the Redmarines. They had to leave, before they were caught. Bremi dipped his head—he understood too.

Vayra dashed around the Helper’s right side, and Bremi on the left. The Helper reached towards her, but he only snagged her coat. She let it slide off her arms, then ducked under a punch. “Bremi, go!”

Her brother clambered onto the windowsill and wrapped his arms around a downspout. It was encased in rough bark and would be painful to slide down, but it would get them to the street quickly. 

As her brother slid down, Vayra jumped away from another punch. She stumbled and scrambled back towards the window. Approaching cautiously, the Helper turned his pistol over in his hand. He swung it like a club, and Vayra barely rolled away in time to dodge it. She leapt up onto the windowsill to avoid another swipe, then jumped out the window. 

Vayra fell a foot before clutching the downspout with her bare hands. Her palms burned, and she was certain the bark tore them open. As she neared the bottom, she hugged the spout tight, and she came to a complete halt just above the paving stones of the alley. 

“You alright?” Bremi asked. 

“I’m fine.” She brushed her hands against her thighs, hoping it would soothe the raw pain. It only made them burn hotter. Then, she glanced up towards the Helper. She couldn’t see him. She imagined him biting open a paper cartridge and pouring gunpowder into the pistol. “He’s reloading. We gotta go.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Not really. But it’s too late now!” Vayra darted out of the alley, and into the street. Pedestrians bolted past, and coachmen whipped their horses faster and harder. They didn’t seem to know which direction to run, but surely, they ran in fear. One of them collided with Vayra, and she pushed the woman away, then pressed her back against the storefront behind. Bremi filed in beside her. 

Vayra turned her gaze up to the window. The Helper’s dark shadow leaned out, and scanned the street. He would see them. She hissed, “We’re gonna have to make a run for it. Ready?”

“Yeah,” Bremi whispered. 

Vayra met her brother’s gaze. She nodded, then sprinted out into the street. 

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