Imsiikila breathed a sigh of relief. He did so every time he returned to Albei and passed through its gate, every time he returned to civilization. The thick stone walls, the rowdy noises of hawkers and store clerks, the pyramid looming over the city--they signaled to him that he was home.

Not that he minded the villages nearby. The homespun people who inhabited them had their own rough charm. And some of them were capable, quite capable indeed. He turned to look at the four wagons following behind his. There was a fortune carried by them, and the soldiers guarding it smiled at last. They felt the safety of Albei’s walls too.

Imsiikila touched his pendant to signal his Family that he’d arrived. A return signal was received, and he turned in the direction to see...ah, it was the second nephew on his third grandfather’s side who’d come to greet them. The lad, Kuta, was only eight, but old enough to have navigated the path between the city gate and Family storehouse many times.

Wisdom said that parents gave a child their first Talent and Families their second. Everyone was born with a Talent. However, the Talent received upon reaching adulthood was founded upon the training and the work given to them by their Families.

Little Kuta was coming along nicely in that regard; a diligent and clever boy. Perhaps not as prodigious a Talent as another he knew, but then Eight must’ve paid a heavy price for the Talents he’d been given by the World Spirit. A price that Imsiikila wouldn’t wish on any youngster.

There were Families who pushed, of course, but balance was needed or else the Talents grew twisted and ugly. That was Imsiikila’s Family’s philosophy, and it had served them well for two hundred years.

Little Kuta ran up to Imsiikila’s wagon. “Uncle Kila, is everything well? Are all safe?”

“Yes, my dear nephew. All is well.” Imsiikila laughed as he spoke, and surreptiously signaled with his Family’s hand talk that his words were true. “And the Family--is everything well? Are all safe?”

Little Kuta climbed up onto his wagon like a monkey. “Business prospers, and the Family is well.” In hand talk, he added: True, true.

Imsiikila ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m delighted to hear it! And what news while I was away?”

“My mother gave birth. I have a little sister now.”

“And they’re both healthy?” Imsiikila asked.

Little Kuta, the scamp, rolled his eyes. “I said the Family was well, didn’t I?”

“Of course,” Imsiikila said. “How could I have forgotten so quickly?” Perhaps the boy needed a touch more discipline...

“The healers refused to send someone to the house, but the alchemists sent a potion. My mother is in confinement now, but they brought out my sister to show the Family. She is ugly and wrinkled, like a plum left in the sun.”

Alas, the news about the lodges didn’t surprise Imsiikila one bit. The healers weren’t happy with his Family these days. The golden slumber wouldn’t help either, but what could he do? Profit was profit, and he’d follow its scent wherever it led.

“The two lodges fought again too,” Little Kuta said, continuing. “Some of their apprentices drew knives against each other.”

“Again?” Imsiikila shook his head. “They don’t take their lives seriously enough. One day there’ll be a killing blow struck, and no amount of healing or potions will bring the victim back.”

The tension between the healers and the alchemists was becoming dangerous, but the City Head refused to intervene. A bribe was likely, but the identity of the person doing the bribing was in question.

“First Grandmother and Grandfather are still in seclusion,” Little Kuta said.

“And the Merchant’s Lodge Master?” Imsiikila asked. “The other merchant Family heads?”

“The same; all still behind closed doors.”

Not long ago, the merchants with the highest Skills in Accounting began to hear whispers from deep within the World Spirit of new methods for keeping financial records. What they sensed was tantalizing enough to send them into closed door meditation.

Interestingly enough, the Merchant’s Lodge wasn’t the only one thrown into a furor. The Healers, the Alchemists, the Builders, the Soldiers, the Philosophers, and even the Chroniclers--they all sensed new concepts and practices within the World Spirit.

Had one of the empires breached a Golden Age? If so, none of their trading partners said so.

The already fierce competition between Families and between Lodges grew heated as they fought to be the first to understand the new ideas and put them into practice. There were advantages to being first, and Imsiikila paused to consider the concept he’d learned during his own meditations on the World Spirit--a secret that he kept from everyone, including his own Family. First mover advantage.

Why else would he offer such exceptional terms to young Eight? No one else had ever found a way to reliably farm eilesheile. Plus, the boy was destined to become a treasure trove of hard-to-find resources. Imsiikila’s nose told him so, and he would be there--first in line--to procure them. And build a reputation for finding rare goods.

The golden slumber was a perfect example. The alchemists nearly wet themselves when they found out about it. There was enough leverage now to re-negotiate more favorable terms with their lodge.

Imsiikila grinned, and Little Kuta was clever enough to recognize what it meant.

“So the village’s hunt for the lightning bear went well?”

“Oh, you know how these things go. Only so-so,” Imsiikila said, but he signaled, Lie. Additional profit found.

Little Kuta nodded and touched his pendant. “First father is expecting us. Hopefully, he won’t be disappointed.”

“We can only hope,” Imsiikila said, which was enough of a lie that it didn’t need clarifying. They could very well do more than hope. The Family would work and scheme until they found the success they deserved. The World Spirit demanded it.