Chapter One


Stefan Britt shrunk back into his seat as far as he could. The Hologlass hanging on the wall of the tavern sported a picture of himself—albeit younger—as a wanted criminal. Though he was older and sported shorter hair and some stubble, a good eye would be able to recognize him. He turned his face away and fingered the mug of ale that sat in front of him. With as much as he was worth, he'd be snatched up quick. Sometimes he had to ask himself why he stayed in the city. But the answer was always the same. It was his home.

"This damn city went to hell, because of that bastard," someone behind him said, pointing to Stefan's face on the glass. "Stole the damn Heart, he did."

No I didn't, Stefan thought immediately. A woman did. But he was used to hearing such things, and more often than not, the things said were a lot worse. And sometimes, people threw food at his face, which was always a bit disheartening.

"I bet it's pretty," a waitress replied. "All sparkly, and perhaps blue? Or maybe green!"

No, Stefan thought. It's not blue, or green, nor sparkly. It's not even a crystal. People had always assumed it was, himself included. The Heart of the City had been the mass power source that had powered most of Lorraine, as well as what kept the island afloat in the air, so it seemed natural that it would be a crystal, or even a mechanical.

A little girl, he thought.

Well, she had been little seven years ago, and even perhaps that was a stretch. She had been younger than him, but probably only by a few years. Not that he had gotten much of a good look at her. She had been stolen right out from under him, moments after her first saw her.

Green eyes, he thought idly. The piercing stare still haunted him. He took a swig of his ale. Seven years, he'd been hiding. He snorted at the thought.

"Sounds like you don't agree with them," said a voice to his right. A woman slid onto the bar stool next to him and flagged the barkeep. Stefan barely glanced her way.

"It's not a matter of whether or not I agree," he said carefully. " I just think it's funny to be hung up on something that happened so long ago."

The woman glanced his way, her eyebrows arching in interest. "I would agree with you on that," she said in a tone that was just as careful.

"Besides," he continued, "the Heart isn't that important." As if on cue, the lights in the bar flickered on and off before settling again. There were groans of frustration hanging in the air. The woman raised an eyebrow at him.

"Right," she said, " energy shortages have nothing to do with the Heart being taken."

Stefan winced slightly and said, "Well when you put it that way…" And she was right. Ever since the Heart had been taken, the energy had been dwindling. It was an ongoing argument whether or not the government should start rationing out what was left. "But" he continued, "instead of spending all their time on finding the old one, why not just make a new one?"

The woman's eyes flashed brightly. "I remember reading when I was young, that the Heart had been made from a… naturally occurring substance. Perhaps they can't."

Stefan turned to look at the woman and found that she was hardly that. Long black hair that was tied up into a messy bun, she looked barely old enough to drink. Maybe she wasn't. Her blue eyes were bright with curiosity and they stood out against her olive skin. "Your looks belie your wisdom," he finally said with a tentative smile.

She snorted and said, "Wisdom my butt, I'm just well read." The woman surveyed his face for a moment and then her eyes traveled to his wrist. His kipit was tied loosely, red and orange leather cord braided together tightly. He moved his hand to hide it in his lap, uncomfortable with her gaze. She met his face again.

"Fire weaver?" she asked casually.

He silently cursed the bracelet for giving that away. It was required for anyone who utilized mana to register and receive a kipit. It was a bracelet made of braided cord in different colors, and each color symbolized a sorcerer's specialty. In his case, orange and red meant he was a fire weaver, able to manipulate fire with ease. Among other things.

"Obviously," he said, knowing it was pointless to hide something she had already seen. "You?"

"Oh no no no," she responded with a fervent shake of her head. "I don't have a magical bone in my body." The barkeep finally handed her a drink and she held it almost delicately.

Stefan nodded. "You Nivetians tend to shy away from magic anyhow."

She shrugged, not fazed by his perceptiveness. "Ah yes, well, can you blame us? We're simple people. We didn't rely on a single source of energy, and we didn't get crippled when it was stolen." The woman didn't seem the least bit bothered that he had picked out that she was from Nivet. "I have papers," she added when she saw his doubtful gaze.

"Are you sure you aren't a sorceress?" he said in jest, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Quite," she replied. "If I were, I imagine that things might be easier for me."

Stefan swallowed a sip of his ale. "Ah, I wouldn't say that," he told her. "Registering, papers, licenses," He paused to show her his kipit again. "It's a hassle, really."

The woman glanced at it once more. "Red, orange, gold…" she said, counting the cords that wove his bracelet. "Red and orange for fire, but gold? Class A?"

Stefan laughed. "Surprised? I'm rather talented, not to boast." But it was hard not too. Five rankings, ranging from Class E to A, the latter being the top end of the scale. He was talented at what he did, and sometimes, his ego ran ahead of him.

There was a silence as they both took a swig from their drinks. Stefan's was a pale ale that was heavy on the lips, whereas the woman had opted for red wine. She matched his smile with one of her own.

"What is your name?" she suddenly asked. He didn't answer at first and she caught his hesitation. "What should I call you?" she amended, and he looked at her surprised, but relieved. Sorceress or not, she was highly intuitive. If he hadn't been so impressed, it would have scared him.

"Mitchell Gray," he responded slowly.

"Kitty Tombridge," she replied, holding her hand out for a shake. He did so reluctantly.

"Is that your real name?" he asked her.

She shrugged and said, "Does it matter?"

He let out a short laugh and shook his head. It didn't matter, especially since they seemed to have a mutual understanding. "What's a low-worlder like you, doing up here?"

"A bit of this and that," she told him. "Mostly work. Don't like the sky city much though, if I might say so. I like my feet firmly on the ground." He wasn't surprised. Most of the people from Nivet thought the same thing. They didn't like the floating city of Lorraine.

"You might have some luck then," he said. "This city won't be floating for much longer at this rate. The stored energy is almost used up, I'd say." He was guessing of course, but it had been seven years without the aid of the Heart. How much power could they possibly have stored? The Hologlass on the wall in front of them flared to life again, showing his image once more, along with other wanted criminals. A few men around the room cursed his name and he winced. Kitty looked at him, searching his face, and childishly, he looked away.

"The High-Sheriff is on the isle, this week," she simply stated. It was a warning though, and Stefan hadn't known that. It complicated things. The High-Sheriff was an officer that held jurisdictional rights in most countries. He was more of a bounty hunter than an actual policing agent.

"I suppose I should find somewhere to go then," he said.

"Off of the city?" she asked.

"That would seem to be the safest."

"Well, there is this ship that I know off," she started quietly. "A simple cargo vessel really. I could probably arrange something though…"

He turned to her once more. "And they transport… people like me?" he asked delicately. She nodded and he narrowed his eyes, suspicious. It wouldn't be the first time he had been caught in a trap. "Why?"

She shrugged and said, "We need the money desperately." She turned to dig in her pack and her hand came out holding a pen. She jotted down a few words messily on a napkin and pushed it towards him discreetly. "Here, at this time."

Stefan paused and glanced at it, then back up to her, but Kitty was gone, leaving only a spinning bar stool and her glass of wine in her wake. With a grunt of irritation, he looked at the slip of cloth again. "West town port, three clicks after four." His face scrunched up in confusion. "Three clicks after four? What the hell does that mean?"

"Low-worlder talk," the barkeep interjected as he wiped down the counter where Kitty had been. "A click is five minutes, so four-fifteen. I wouldn't trust the wench though, you know how them low-worlders are. Shifty bunch."

"Right, shifty," Stefan mused. He pocketed the note and tossed the barkeep a few coins. "For mine and hers," he said before pulling his cloak tighter. He brushed his hair down around his ears and forehead, trying to sink into himself. Once he was satisfied with his lack of appearance, he left the bar and said, "This better be well worth it."


The ship that was docked before him looked more like a flying death trap than a cargo freighter. It was large, but that was the only impressive thing about it. The hull was rusted and dented, and it desperately needed a paint job. The ship didn't even look like it could fly. He glanced at the napkin in his hand, reading the note again and hoping that he had read it wrong the first time. But he hadn't, and it was the right address, and he groaned at the thought.

"You like?" an amused voice said from his right. He turned to meet the gaze of Kitty Tombridge.

"Can it even fly?"

The girl puffed up in mock anger. "Of course! She might not look like much, but the Wildflower could take on an army!" She paused when Stefan gave her an unamused look. "Maybe," she added. "She definitely could out run a ship or two."

"How much?" he asked.

She counted on her fingers and thought. "I'd say one hundred and fifty credits."

"No way," he said. "Not to fly on that monstrosity."

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him. "You'd rather risk getting caught? Besides, you can totally afford it. Low-worlder leather boots and a Meereneese coat? You're swimming in the dough."

Stefan tried to think of a response, but he couldn't because she was right. Damn the woman's perceptiveness! "How big is the crew?" he finally said.

"Four, including me," she said, turning towards the ship. He moved to follow behind her. "They'll keep their mouths shut though." Stefan didn't respond and she whirled around again. "You think that sorry excuse for a beard hides you? I'll call you Mitch though," she said, her eyes glinting.

"Are you blacking me?" he said, narrowing his eyes. How dare this girl think she could threaten him!

"Never," she said with a shrug. "Whether you board the ship or not is your decision. Either way, I'll keep your secret. But if you don't, I can't guarantee you're safety." She turned her back to him again.

Stefan bit his lip, thinking on his options. She didn't seem untrustworthy, but the idea that she knew who he was and could turn him in the second he left was the deciding factor. Finally, with a sickened thought, he decided to go ahead and board the ship. He figured it was wiser to risk than to chance running into the High-Sheriff. He had met the man before on several occasions, and he would see through his guise easily.

"Hang on! Kitty!" he called out.

She turned back to him with a smile. "Made up your mind then?"

Stefan dragged a hand down his face. "Yes," he said. "Don't make me regret it."

"Heh," she laughed. "You won't."

He followed behind her as they headed for the ship. To his displeasure, it looked even worse up close—rust and dents galore. He saw brown screws sticking out here and there, and then what he thought was a hole or two. There were some parts that were so bent out of shape, he couldn't imagine a smooth trip at all. Kitty stopped at the cargo door, paused and smacked her fist against it hard. There was a slight echo, but no response. She sighed irritably and slammed her fist against the metal again.

"Gen!" she yelled. "It's me! Kell? Weaver above, you guys are useless." There was another pause, followed by a rusty creaking. The door slowly slid upward, and the two backed up. The thing screeched, and Stefan did all he could to avoid making a face or covering his ears.

"Sorry, Kitt," a kind voice said. "Can't be too careful you know—lots of coppers around." The man that greeted them wasn't too tall and rather plain looking. His cropped hair was a dusty blonde and he wore loose trousers and a white collared shirt. He eyes Stefan carefully. "Kitt…"

"A boarder," she interrupted. "Kell, he's willing to pay one hundred and fifty creds!" Stefan rolled his eyes at the suggestion that he was willing to do such a thing. The man named Kell dragged his hand down his face.

"Gen," he said, "She's not—"

"One hundred and fifty!" Kitty repeated.

Kell shot her a sharp look. "How far though?"

"Only to the surface," Stefan answered. Kell shifted his gaze to him. "You can drop me off anywhere you like, as long as I get off this damn island." In truth, Stefan wanted to stay, but it wasn't safe.

"Gen will have the final say," Kell finally sighed. "She's the captain."

"Not you?" Stefan said, a bit surprised.

Kell laughed. "No, I'm merely the pilot." He stepped back. "Anyhow, come in. The ship won't bite," he said, noticing the wary glance on Stefan's face.

"She doesn't look that stable," he relented.

"She's stable enough," Kell snapped.

"Sorry," Stefan said. "No offense intended. I'm just used to… higher class, I suppose. You won't be stuffing me into the cargo hold, I trust?"

Kitty snorted. "There's plenty of rooms for you to have one."

Stefan nodded, relieved. "Well good. It'd be a waste to pay so much for a cot on the floor."


Stefan thought that perhaps a cot in the cargo bay would have been better, after taking a nap. Painted a dreary dark gray, his bunk was small and tight, and the so called bed had a mattress that seemed as hard as a rock. The pillow was decent enough, but he was already starting to regret his decision to ride the ship to the surface.

"Least it's a short trip," he told himself as he pulled on his shirt. He climbed up the short ladder and pushed open the bunk door before pulling himself into the corridor. The ship was an older military supply ship out of Nivet. The ceiling was lower than he liked- his head almost brushed it- and there was a long, dark red runner spread along the hall. There were about ten bunks set into the floor and ceiling, maximizing the amount of room. Kitty told them that the empty rooms were used mainly for storage, since there were only herself and three others. He stumbled down the hall blindly, trying to find his way back to the mess hall.

Kitty's voice sliced through the air. "Gen, a hundred and fifty credits! One hundred and fifty! That's enough for fuel and food for a month!" Stefan moved to follow her voice.

"She has a point," he heard Kell chime in. "We really need the money."

There was a short silence before a third voice spoke, low and short. Irritated, almost. "Seems like trouble. Why's he so desperate to get to the surface anyhow?" Stefan assumed that this was Gen, the captain.

"Same reason as us," Kitty offered. "He's running. Smart thing, too."

"He's wanted?" Kell asked, but he didn't sound one bit surprised. "How much?"

"No," Kitty warned. "I told him he'd be safe."

Stefan chose that moment to walk into the room. "And for that," he said, "You have my thanks." Kitty gave him a small smile, but he turned from her to the other woman sitting in an armchair. She had a severe face, and though pretty, she had a ferocity about her that scared him. Her eyes were a dull pale green, which was a bit unusual, and she wore an engineer's jumpsuit folded over halfway and tied around her middle. Her eyebrows were arched in curiosity as she surveyed him.

"He looks like a hermit," she finally said in a perfected, deadpan tone. "You sure he has money?"

"Yes," Stefan answered before anyone else.

"A hundred and fifty? Why?"

He shrugged. "It was the price that I was offered."

Gen shot a look at Kitty, who beamed brightly in response. "We'll take you as far as the desert capitol—that's our next stop. We'll feed you as well, but don't expect much. What do we call you?"

"Mitchell Gray," he responded. Gen gave him a wary look, but nodded.

"Mitch it is," she said. Standing, she pointed to a pot on the stove. "There's a stew that'll grow cold soon. I have a few more repairs to make before we are off, but I'm sure that you can find something to do."

"How long will the trip take?" Stefan asked.

"Jehanna isn't close. A week if nothing goes wrong." She shrugged.

"Do you expect something to go wrong?" he asked her, slightly concerned.

To his surprise, Gen smirked and said, "I always expect something to go wrong. Otherwise, I'd have died long ago." And then she was gone, heading towards the engine room at the back of the ship. Stefan smiled at the quip, decided that the woman was fairly likable, despite her rugged disposition.

Stefan glanced around the mess hall since he didn't get a great look when they walked through earlier that day. It was decently sized and quite cozy. There was a table and some chairs nailed to the floor off to one side. On the other, there were a few armchairs and a low table. The room was the same dreary gray color that his bunk was though, and he was suddenly reminded of the higher class ships he usually traveled on. He turned to find Kitty pouring out a bowl of the stew. Kell was sitting in one of the armchairs, an old leather bound book in his hands. The looked up and caught Stefan's gaze.

"A Long and Winding Road," he told him with a smile. "A bit of light reading.

Stefan cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't that an old Jehannan Epic?" It certainly wasn't his description of light reading. It was a long and boring book about the Hero Harbourd the quaint. Bits and pieces were exciting, but reading the whole thing would be exhausting.

Kitty barked a loud laugh. "Yes, and knowing him, he's probably reading it in the Old Language."

"Old? You speak Bajoran?"

Kell scratched his head, a pink tinting his cheeks. "I was well schooled."

That surprised Stefan. Bajoran was the mother language that was the root of all others. It was a dead language though, and usually only scholars went about learning it. "Apparently," Stefan said dryly. Kitty thrust the bowl of soup into his hands.

"Here, eat."

"Ah, thanks," he said, moving to settle into a chair at the table. The girl moved to sit across from him.

"I must apologize for Gen's hardened exterior," she said with a small frown.

Stefan took a sip of the soup. It was salty, but good and far better than anything he had had in a long while. "I suppose this is where you are going to say she usually isn't like that."

She smiled sadly. "No, she's always like that. She's just rough around the edges. Had a tough life."

He nodded in understanding. "She doesn't like me," he noted lightly.

"She rarely likes anyone."

He shrugged and said, "I can't say I'm that fond of her either."

"Few people are," she said with a small nod.

Stefan's spoon hovered over his bowl as paused and looked at Kitty again. "You said there were four of you. Where's the last?"

She froze and bit her lip, and something about her reaction to the question bugged him. "Naedra is napping," she finally relented. "She tends to sleep a lot."

"Is she sick?" he carefully. He was more curious than anything, but the woman's slight apprehension of the subject bothered him.

Finally Kitty shook her head and said, "No, she's just always tired. We tend to have a lot of excitement around here."

"You know, that's what I'm trying to stay away from," Stefan reminded her.

She gave him a cool look. "At least we're helping you."

"For an obscene price."

She shrugged. "We're not saints."

"Neither am I," he said with a small smile.

"Don't you think our kind ought to stick together anyhow?" she said lightly.

Stefan didn't reply, he just smiled and finished his soup.

A/N- I have a few chapters of this story written out already, if you're wondering why this was updated so quickly. While I'm pleased with this one for now, I'm sure that I'll hate it within the week and completely re-write it. So, don't be surprised if you come back, and it's different. Anyhow, I hope that it wasn't confusing, and that you were able to follow what is going on. The world that I've created here isn't immense, but there are a lot of details about it that I want to write about, but can't give away quite yet. If you have any questions about culture, kipits or anything mana-related, don't hesitate to ask.