Aralim woke up with the sunrise and looked out over the rooftops of Rema. Caidolis had vanished, at last, shrinking as slowly as it had appeared. Now, only their monthly Moon was visible, setting below the jungles on the horizon. From West Corid, he could see the river flowing southward, dotted with boats and lined with warehouses, shops, and inns. He could see the trees lining the wider avenues in the lower part of town, the parks along Iron Way, and the lavish courtyards surrounding the enormous Palace. He could not see the roofs of the districts on the slopes above him, or across the valley. Those mansions rose higher and higher up the Yurna foothills.
“Are you coming?” Miresh asked, as soon as Aralim opened his door. She was dressed in baggy clothing, unlike her normal Palace attire. Today, she was going to a different sort of training.
“Yes, yes,” Aralim said, closing his quarters behind him. “Let’s go.”
Today, they were on the way to one of Miresh’s sessions. They set out with a packed lunch courtesy of Ko’nagar. The chief servant of the estate had peppered Aralim with questions about his adventure, which was refreshing as it seemed everyone else already knew what had happened.
Narr followed from a distance, as usual. The enormous guardsman had not said a word to Aralim, of course. He was as quiet as the Aura, though he didn’t dress like them. He didn’t even wear armour like his fellow Blades—instead, a dark green cloak hung around a beige tunic. The baggy cloth should have given his enormous frame the look of a man of great girth, but instead his articulated muscles bulged through whenever the wind blew. A sword the length of Aralim’s charred staff hung from his back.
As they walked, Aralim continued to ask Miresh about her progress with Master Enarrin. She had learned a lot this year: how to heal fractured bones quicker, how to heal surface injuries, how to cure some common illnesses, and even how to teleport objects. She had moved a book all over Rema apparently, in addition to sending letters for Master Enarrin. She had yet to Journey herself, though.
“It’s just more healing, and more healing,” Miresh complained to Aralim. She admitted it was because the human body seemed more complicated than dozens of other things she had learned, but she had little interest in becoming a dedicated healer.
They passed a few streets as they wandered between carts of fruit and pastry, and under archways decorated with swirling scripts or historical panoramas. Aralim asked, “So what is this martial art you have been practicing?”
“It’s called Old Yoreen,” she replied. “It’s one of the styles that His Ascendance prefers—though, of course, the Emperor knows many others.”
Aralim watched her orange lantern staff as she walked, and looked back at his own stick. “What do you think we should do with my staff?” he asked. “It seems a shame to waste the wood after its crossed so many lands.”
“We could use it to plant a tree or plant, or something, and I can make things grow faster. Your staff could become a Kapok tree. I know you like those,” Miresh said.
Aralim smiled. A very Miresh answer, he thought. “I was thinking of using it as materials= for the new staff or lantern.”
“I think Hayan knows a woodworker from the stage company,” Miresh said, after a moment. “Although the Emperor would probably hire one of the best.”
Soon enough they reached the Yoreen Square, a grassy training yard surrounded by eight old, stone pillars. Archways curtained with vines bridged each of the ancient posts, giving the space the gentle smell of humid greenery. A dozen men and women stood in the Square already, practicing poses in a nearly meditative state.
Miresh led Aralim into the space with a wide-armed gesture. Behind her left shoulder and down the valley was the distant Iron Palace. Another girl came through the archway to one of the look-outs on the south side of the yard to Miresh’s right. She smiled and patted Miresh on the shoulder as she walked up.
“Riela!” Miresh exclaimed. “This is Aralim!”
Riela was probably two or three years older than Miresh. She had the rich, dark skin of a Numa, long braided hair dotted with beads, and thin but muscular arms. Two small flowers were inked above her left hand, while a few stars dotted the side of her neck. She smiled and offered Aralim a hand. “I’m honoured to meet you, Ambassador,” she said. “Miresh has told me all about your journey.”
Aralim grinned and held her hand for just a moment. “I am sure she made it sound much more exciting than it really was. So, you practice Yoreen as well?”
“Yes, I’ve been training since I was ten.” She smiled proudly.
“You must be quite good by now, then,” Aralim declared. “I’m interested to see it.”
Miresh turned toward the grassy training area. “You should join us sometime, Aralim,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at him.
“Yes, a lot of what Miresh has told me of the Path shares similarities with the philosophies of Yoreen,” Riela said. She began stretching her arms over her head, her feet planted a few feet apart.
Aralim leaned on his staff with mock weariness. “Maybe just watching is best for now, but if you really think an old man like me has a chance, maybe I’ll try sometime.” He remembered training with Grendar on the ship deck. He was spry still, though he didn’t always feel it.
A forty-year-old man in a sleeveless tunic and loose-fitting pants walked toward them, smiling. “I have a few students who are twice your age, Ambassador, but could topple Narr.”
The enormous guard stood in the archway silent and expressionless. Miresh giggled.
“Not counting His Ascendance?” Riela asked.
The master looked at her with a smirk. “Oh, he is no student….” He turned back to Aralim and bowed at his waist. “I am Toka Tar’yim, the teacher here.”
“Aralim, Walker of the Path. Pleasure to meet you.” Aralim followed Toka and the girls into the training area.
“Yoreen emphasizes the capability of every person to overcome any obstacle,” Toka explained as they moved. “By being an obstacle, every opposing force defeats itself. If you only intend to watch today, pay attention to the passivity of each defending trainee. While we do teach offensive approaches, it is in calmly facing an adversary that Yoreen excels.”
Aralim pursed his lips. Riela had been right—there was an overlap of philosophies here.
Miresh and Riela trained together, while Toka matched with a man of his apparent age from among the other trainees. Everyone seemed to pair up and follow the moves that Toka instructed them to use. Yoreen used grapples and grabs more than strikes, with an emphasis on angular agility and standing locks. If the opponent began distant, like Riela once did to Miresh, the martial art emphasized a quick approach to a position where the opponent’s movements could be used against them.
Aralim noticed how good Miresh was, though she had the least experience. She held her own, though her muscles trembled out of unfamiliar discomfort in a few positions. She would get stronger quickly, he knew. She applied herself fully to Yoreen, and rebounded from her mistakes and failures quickly. Aralim smiled when he noticed a bruise on her forearm vanish ten minutes later. She got the better of Riela twice, while Aralim watched.
Around noon, as they walked home, she told him of the most surprising moves she had seen Riela or Toka use. She was captivated by what she was learning—both from Toka and from Enarrin. Aralim couldn’t wait to see what she amounted to. She was only thirteen.