The sky was overcast when the sprawling city of Momuji finally rose into view. Cliffs lined the shore, stretching in from the east and disappearing north into the coastal terrace whereupon the city slept, safely nestled in its shadow. A wide canal separated the metropolis: Momuji East—which the people called Tanmoji—at the foot of the cliffs, home to the castle complex that rose upon the plateau above; and Ruumoji in the west with its bustling harbor already stirring to life even in the cusp of dawn.

It was here their bhatara berthed, flat against the embankment. The city had been built upon a low bluff some fifty feet above the water, with another thirty feet stone-and-mortar wall fronting the ocean-side. The passengers waiting to disembark spoke of a slumbering volcano further west of the archipelago. Its silhouette was visible, although shrouded in the distance. They said it would stir every so often in its sleep, sending a rumble deep in the ocean floor that would raise the canal close to its brim. But when it was angry, a raj whispered, it would send a wave that even the seawall could not withstand.

The women attending to his tale gasped as though thrilled at the very image, but their voices soon drowned as the Porasawan merchant and his crew of porters came pushing through the ramp, waving what he purported to be an important summons from the Emperor himself. Isla pulled Tam Mai close, but not before the merchant shoved her out of his way. Even the highborn passengers were not safe in his path. They cursed and sniffed, some even going so far as to harassing him down to the quay.

Tam Mai tugged on Isla's sleeve. She turned to see a grin plastered all over her sister's face. 'What have you done this time?'

'I took this from his pocket.' She opened her hand, three phials gleamed under the lamplights. Isla snatched it quickly before anyone could see.

'You have sticky fingers, Tamma. Did anyone ever tell you that?'

'Yes! Noi did,' she said proudly. Isla let it go. Just this once. She was too tired to press the matter.

Besides, the merchant had disappeared down the quay and up the embankment where the ramp met the bridge. Three bridges connected the Momuji sister-cities, each spread at equal intervals along the canal. The fourth was a narrow castle bridge, patrolled by at least half a dozen guards, judging by their flickering lanterns.

It was close to this area where Isla found a suitable inn. Uchisae Hokkan. Little Sister's Place. She did not speak their language, but she had heard enough to recognise the words. A hokkan was what the Tsun called their typical lodgers' accomodations. This one was a hidden thing; sharing walls with the castle bridge on its south, overlooking the canal on its east, and flanked north by a feeder channel. Isla would have missed it were it not for the drunken man lumbering out with his equally intoxicated friend. Only once she was inside, asking for a room for two in her inelegant Common Kapuluan did she realise the hokkan would be one of those frequented predominantly by castle guards and city soldiers.

'It will be fine,' she whispered to Tam Mai in their native tongue. Her sister had shirked away at the sight of men in leather armour, blades at their hips.

The rooms were on the upper level. Theirs faced east with a view of the bridge, the sloping tiers of Tanmoji, buildings and houses peering between trees. Little streams trickled from the cliffs beyond, Momuji Castle standing proud among them.

That's where she'll be, if she's still in this city. But how would she gain access into the castle? Where would she even begin to look? She had not thought that far ahead.

Isla turned her attention to their room. The floor was layered in rice straw mats, half-mat in the middle upon which a low table had been inserted. Two legless chairs faced each other. No other furniture adorned the hokkan—as was typical of their bare-essentials philosophy—but for a closet lining one wall.

'We should rest for now,' she said at last.

Tam Mai looked around, uncertain. 'But where?'

The bedrolls were in the closet. This they discovered when Isla went to shove in their trunks. They chose an area by the window, spread out their matress and quilts, and slept for the day. Tam Mai was unconscious the moment her head hit her pillow, but Isla lay thinking.

It could not be too difficult to find Eshe. A woman of her height and colour was unusual in these parts. There were many foreigners in Momuji—merchants and travellers too rich to know how to spend their money—but all from the Eastern Isles, and they shared many physical similarities to go by unnoticed. A foreigner from Terra Sol would be remembered.

By the time Isla woke in the afternoon, she had formed a semblance of a plan.

Tam Mai was already up. She had set her easel by the window, splotching blocks of colours all over her canvas. It did not look like anything now, but Tam Mai would manage to mould the haphazard blues into water and sky, the shapeless creams into a landscape of buildings, and breathe details into her images just by a light touch here and there. It was as though the complete picture was already painted in her mind, and all she needed was to transfer it to paper. Isla did not know how she did it.

'Are you leaving, Eldest?' Tam Mai paused from her work to look back at her sister, fully clothed in her robe-dress.

While considered formal wear in Surikhand, the attire was more common this side of the Eastern Isles. Isla secured the jin-sang tight behind her back. It was the more casual cousin of the yi-sang, with the only major difference being the open, parallel-collars of the jin shirt over which the skirt was worn. Isla had a sheath stitched behind her left breast, now she shuffled through her trunk for her dagger.

'Are you really going to need that?'

'It's just to be safe, Tamma.' Isla held it against the light. The blade had never yet drawn blood, but she was not concerned. Its metal glinted lilac; a pale remnant of her bloodrune.

Noi had been appalled to learn what Isla had done with the last piece of her bloodrune. Most girls would fashion theirs into pretty little trinkets: necklaces, bracelets, even vases or statuettes to guard their homes. 'But no, Isla, you have to be different,' Noi had scoffed.

Never mind that Isla had her first bloodrune made into a pendant. Even now it hung around her neck, between the parallel-collars of her jin-sang. It was not about being different, it was about being useful. The fact that a bloodrune would burn anyone other than its owner made fashioning it into a weapon even more an obvious choice.

'You're to stay here until I return.' Isla sheathed her dagger. 'I shouldn't be too long.'

'Where are you going?'

'The markets in Momuji East.'

'That's where all the colourful tents are.'

'How do you know that?'

Tam Mai shrugged. 'It's very loud. The loudest part in all the city.'

Isla did not respond. She never knew how, when her sister spoke of her theurgy like that. Tam Mai had never been officially blooded. The only time she had her theurgy measured was in secret, when Rajini Amarin sent a man down to the dungeons to test her. Tam Mai had mentioned it, once. It was not an experience she could relive, on top of everything else she had endured, so nobody—not Isla, not Noi, not even Sir Edric or Aldir—even suggested her be blooded again.

They could not hear anything from their hokkan, not even the customers downstairs. But Tam Mai was right. Of course she was; markets were always loud.

Still Isla was not prepared by what she found.

A cacophony of noise, a labyrinth of tents and stalls, wagons and horses and donkeys and seagulls over screaming merchants and hawkers ... Isla had never seen so many people before in her life. She went stall to stall, but no one was interested in helping her the moment they discovered she was not interested in buying their wares.

'Look. How much for this head wrap?' Isla picked a long strip of brightly patterned fabric and forced her way to the front of the crowd.

The merchant before her fixed his spectacles. 'That's seventy inches of pure silk. Very good to keep fizz out of your hair, and cooling in this weather. Three hundred chrana.'

'Three hundred!'

'You see this pattern? Hand-printed by the most talented Hirdii weavers. You'll have to go to the Godsthronian kingdoms yourself to find anything close to this! How much is a single pass to Godsthrone, again?'

'Two hundred.'

'What! Quit wasting my time, I have a whole queue here—'

'Right, and the cloth merchant five stalls away sells just the same merchandise for half your price.'

'Of course he can afford half price! Poor imitations, the lot of it.'

'I guess I'll see what he's got to say about that.'

'Fine. Two hundred and eighty, and that's a steal!'

Isla took several coins out of its pouch. 'I'll give you two-fifty if you can tell me where to find my friend.'

'What am I, your schoolyard teacher?'

'She's about two heads taller than me, built like a dancer. You'd never miss her. Skin as black as midnight.'

'Oh, with a thick head of hair?' The merchant held his palms over his head. 'Tight curls like a puff of cloud?'

'Yes! Have you seen such a woman?'

The merchant took the coins from Isla's open hand. 'Plenty, in Terra Sol. Now scram!'

Isla stalked away, cursing. So much for the famed Tsun hospitality. Everyone kept telling her how their word for customer used the same characters as their word for king. Clearly this merchant failed his calligraphy instructions.

At least she had a beautiful length of silk to show for it. Eshe would often wear head wraps; she said it kept the sun and wind out of her hair, that Ligueri women would wear it as a sign of strength and preservation. Isla hoped she would accept it as a peace offering. Leaving her on Tempestorm without a word, potentially having her accused of conspiracy ... especially after everything the Ligueri had done for her. Now here she was, come begging for her help once again. She would die of shame if the thought of leaving Tam Mai alone did not force her to swallow it.

She wandered the markets until the stalls began to close, replaced by loitering men and beautiful women dressed in low-tied syarong. By then Isla had a basket filled with miscellaneous goods, but no word of Eshe.

  
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☆ this chapter is dedicated to RosannaPatruno. if you enjoy paranormal romance for a more mature audience, check out her page! ☆

Video: Ambient sounds of the markets of Momuji East
Image: Original artists unknown

Welcome to the city! Half of this book, we will be experiencing another realm and culture of the Eastern Isles, so be prepared to—once again—get used to new terms and titles.
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