Emick tossed a small, netted sack onto the table. It was filled with blue sand. “I’ll take the next ship across the Scenic.” He said, staring intently at the docking officer with his amethyst purple eyes.
He stood in a small, single-roomed stone building, violent winds breezing through crevices near the building’s corners, where mortar seams had split from constant wind pressure. The building was located close to the Scenic, where a constant tempest could be found without exception.
Balr eyed the young man with his one working eye, the other tightened shut and sealed by a horizontal scar. He was a very fat man, with a round face. How could he afford enough food to become fat? There was a reason most of the world was thin and skinny. He also wore a thick, uncared-for beard that looked as though it could gain sentience at any moment and wander away.
Emick himself was thinner than the average sixteen year-old male, but just as tall. He wore a boring three-part outfit of a light grey, the cloak mildly darker on the interior. His disorganized black mop of hair was separated into quadrants by four white locks. The accent hair was a sign of adulthood; when a person first gained their accent highlights, they were treated like an adult in every way. Work, taxes, ticket prices, and everything else involving money.
“You and your lady friend, I assume?” Balr grunted, swiping the sand bag.
“Indeed.” Emick said. Cordina had left to grab them some food before the flight, but Emick and she would be flying together, as they always did. Who would want to fly alone?
Balr opened a desk drawer and slid across the table a pair of green pins, each with an identical symbol on it. Emick had to avoid knocking over the clutter of the desk as he grabbed the pins. Three ink vials—each half filled—sat beside a burning orange candle. All were lined at the very edge of the desk as though Balr wanted someone to spill them so he could yell at them. A brown and tan globe was the paperweight for one of two large stacks of parchments that were messily stacked, the other immediately in front of Balr.
Emick analyzed the small room’s walls, absentmindedly fondling the pins. Maps and flight schedules acted as the room’s décor. Below the framed “art,” the walls were of stone and mortar, each grey rock carved with a rune in its center. A Signature Rune. The symbol depicted the name of the mason who laid that specific block during construction. Signature Runes were found on nearly every product bought, sold, or traded. The pins Emick held were signed by someone named Cryl.
The tall man turned to leave, but stopped himself. “Balr, I was thinking…” He twisted back to the fat man.
“Emick,” Balr placed his hand over his good eye with a sigh, “please don’t do this again.”
“What if,” Emick ignored him, “Instead of always using stone and brick for buildings, we built them with trees?”
Balr scoffed, “Tree houses? They wouldn’t hold up. Besides, you know we can’t.”
Of course he knew. Trees defined the border of a country. Eighteen of the twenty-one countries were plant-based separated either by rivers or different vegetation. Where one biome ended, so did that country’s territory. Cutting trees down would mean diminishing owned land, which was why it was a political offense with punishment of death.
“I know, but just think about it.” Emick said. “Trees are so plentiful, we’d never need to use another rock. Not to mention if we cut down trees, we’d be able to eat the fruit that grows too high for us to reach. That would mean more food. Using trees would decrease the work for building, meaning more buildings in less time! It’s brilliant!”
