Two members of the Aura—a man with short brown hair and a Raderan woman with a braid—led Aralim through the Iron Palace. He had learned little since his meeting with General Vanra, so now he sought to follow up on certain remarks the commander had made: namely, the threat of the Emperor abandoning Rema.
Greatfather Athanu was laying amidst a pile of pillows when Aralim’s escort completed its duty. Two servants attended him—neither of them Auras. At a wave of his wiry fingers, they distanced themselves. The old man smiled when Aralim set down his staff and sank onto one of the unoccupied cushions. “Aralim, I think I almost passed away—just from waiting for you to come see me.” His voice sounded weaker than Aralim remembered, and his features looked to have aged three years, not the one that had passed.
“Well, I’m glad you held out for me,” Aralim said, returning Niyal’s wrinkled smile. “I am sorry I took so long. There’s quite a bit going on in this city.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, is there?”
Aralim chuckled. “There’s apparently some sort of gang—meanwhile, I hear you’re telling Vanra that the Emperor will abandon the city?”
“That comes from the Emperor himself, my friend,” Niyal Athanu intoned. His mirthful expression folded to creased solemnity. “I told him he was a fool for even considering it and he told me that he was not above having my tongue cut from my head—even an old gentleman like myself—if I ever insulted him to his face again. Admittedly, calling a God-Emperor a fool is not wise.” Athanu paused and managed a thin smile. “But if you ask me… there has always been crime in Rema. The proud townspeople boast of our golden age, yes, but this has never been a utopia.”
Aralim folded his hands on his lap. “You’ve grown brave in your old age. I guess the problem with being eternal is that there is always time to build a new empire…. Although I’ve never thought of Rema as a utopia, I do like to think that there’s something to be done about this group sowing discord.”
“Suit yourself,” Athanu murmured. “But first, tell me of these magnificent lands you have travelled, for I will never see them. Go on; hearing from the Aura is one thing, but I want to hear it from you.”
“Tal’lashar is something,” Aralim said, with a smile. “Giant towers everywhere you look—but the real comforts are below ground. Chillhomes are something I imagine you would enjoy.”
The old man pushed himself up a few inches from his cot. “Under ground? Like a mine?”
“No, it’s a proper building; it’s just carved downwards, with doors and stairwells. It stays cooler down there, and with the Shrinking Sea getting ever farther away, it’s the only way to survive.”
Niyal’s eyes were distant, picturing it. With a nod, he asked, “I imagine the sand itself is hot, unlike cool sand in the forest’s shade, yes?”
They spoke for the rest of the hour, sharing stories. During the year of Aralim’s absence, three more children had been born into Athanu’s grand clan. Aralim prodded his friend for more information about the goings-on in Rema, but Athanu seemed more disconnected from the city than ever. Most of his news concerned the success of their various mining ventures—including that of his grandson, Raug’za. Of the gang, Athanu only pondered that crime had always existed and always would. He seemed to think nothing more of it than of thieves in the marketplace.
That afternoon, Aralim went to drop in on Miresh. He enjoyed a brief visit to Grand Mage Rattar’s meditation yard. The cool mosaic floor provided comfort to a half-dozen men and women, while the ever-growing kapok tree provided them with shade. Aralim still remembered the moment Rattar had made the tree to move, as a way of explaining familiarity. Aralim was amazed that Rattar had watched the tree grow from a sapling, but it made him reflect: Rattar, pushing 120 years of age, must have been similarly astounded by Tag’na’s 277, and His Ascendance’s youthful physique.
From the meditation yard, Aralim wandered the grove of vine-laden trees and bamboo trunks. He was surprised not to have an escort from the Aura this time, though he had not told them he was seeking out Miresh. After pausing to try reading one of the faded inscriptions on a stone post, Aralim continued on and found his young friend training with her new master—blindfolded.
It was Enarrin, her teacher, who saw Aralim emerge along the trail. “Hold,” he said, and Aralim froze in his tracks.
Belatedly, Aralim realized he was saying it to Miresh. The young girl pulled off her blindfold and turned to see who was visiting. “Oh, Aralim!” she blurted. She nearly dropped her lantern staff. “I’m glad you dropped by. This is Master Enarrin.”
Aralim accepted a handshake from the mage. The forty-year-old had a firm grip. “Walker,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Aralim replied, bowing his head. “It’s been a while since I got to watch Miresh train. I hear you’ve taught her a lot.”
Enarrin shrugged. His shoulder-length brown braids bobbed. “She’s a fast learner, but there are years of basics.”
Miresh rolled her eyes.
“Basics are important, but I have a habit of delving into things without them, personally,” Aralim said.
Miresh smiled.
Enarrin suppressed a sigh. “Yes, well, the laws of magic can be even more unforgiving than the acts of men. I’d rather my pupils not accidentally destroy one of their senses or teleport themselves into oblivion. Miresh also takes issue with my caution, but I assure you both, I will encourage her to do true marvels when the time is right.”
“You can blame our faith in the Path,” Aralim assured him. “We sometimes try to do things, just to see if we can. To challenge our strengths…. What were you working on just now?”
“Focused and improved hearing, with the use of magic.”
Miresh defensively told Aralim, “It’s day two!”
“And have you improved since day one?” Aralim asked.
His young friend looked down with a frown. She was wearing the longer top portion of her hair in a bun today. “It doesn’t seem like it,” she said.
Enarrin smiled. His shaved cheeks looked natural with a smile, despite his stern application of teaching rules. “Oh, she has,” he told Aralim. “She probably won’t need to deprive her sight with the blindfold by next week.”
“Let’s test it, shall we?” Aralim asked. He helped her put the blindfold back over her eyes, then stood behind her. “Can you hear my breath?”
“Yes,” she said.
Aralim took a step back. “And now?”
“A little.”
“Just focus on that,” Aralim said. “It’s the same breathing that’s been beside you through all our journeys.” He stepped back again. “Now?”
“Barely.”
Aralim kept his voice calm. “Focus and familiarity. Those are the basics of magic, right?” He inched backward. “Now?”
Miresh was quiet for a few moments longer. “No,” she said, and tore off the blindfold. She looked back at Aralim playfully and said, “But watch this!” Suddenly, she was gone.
Remembering she was not permitted to teleport herself yet, Aralim glanced at Enarrin. Instead of looking mad, he smiled with pride or fascination. Aralim then noticed movement in front of him and tried to focus his eyes back where Miresh had been standing. He realized she was still there, though his eyes couldn’t really bring her into his view. It was like he kept looking around her or past her. He started to grin.
Miresh let the illusion go, and she faded back into his sight. “Pretty nifty, right?”
“I’m impressed on both accounts,” Aralim said.
His young friend swelled with satisfaction. She held her staff in front of her as though it was a sparring weapon. “One time, I did that in the middle of a training bout with Riela! She was not expecting it.”
Enarrin cleared his throat. “Have you told him about your other visions yet?” he asked her.
Miresh looked flabbergasted. “No!” she exclaimed. “How could I forget?’
“What have we seen recently?” Aralim asked, smiling. He strode to the side to find a stone bench to lean against.
“Nothing recently,” she admitted with disappointment. “Last one was… I think five months ago?”
“Five months is recent in my knowledge of Rema.” Aralim chuckled and nodded for her to continue.
Miresh took a deep breath for her story. “Last one I told you about was in the letter, right? I saw someone discarding the knife onto a table, remember?”
“Yes. It sounded like it had changed hands yet again.”
Miresh bobbed her head. “Yes, that one was still quite vague, like the first three,” she explained. “But a few months after you left I had a vision that was so vivid I thought I was living it. I saw a person walking through an alleyway. His clothes were in tatters and his shoulders scarred with lines. On his back was a circular brand, like a slave I once saw pass though Lantern Town with their master. He pauses in the middle of the alley, and picks something up off the ground—my knife. This is where it gets strange; I can smell baking, like fresh seed-bread or something, and for a moment, the man’s hands blur. It seems like he has nineteen fingers all of a sudden, but it’s only an instant. I don’t think I could have counted his fingers to a specific number in that short flash. Then I woke up—Narr was protecting me, because the vision came to me in the middle of the street.”
“That does sound a lot more specific, and a lot more useful,” Aralim said.
“As soon as I got to the Palace, I drew what I could, but neither Minister Muria nor Nera think it will be enough to find an exact match. A few good leads, perhaps,” Miresh said. She smiled hopefully.
Aralim shrugged. “Perhaps you’ll be choosing my next ambassadorial destination.”
“By accident, I swear,” Miresh said, jokingly.
Enarrin spoke up again, quietly offering his insight. “There has been ample speculation about Miresh’s visions this past year,” he told Aralim. “A few of the magicians I have spoken to suspect that it will remain impossible to find Miresh’s focus—this knife she sees in her visions—because of the lack of visions showing it in our setting or with persons recognizable to any of us here in Rema. She has had six visions of the thing, but none even hint at her presence or that of her friends. It’s not impossible, mind you, but grows more unlikely as her visions continue.”
“They say that about a lot of things I’ve done, Enarrin. We’re getting closer with each vision.”
“Closer to knowing where to look,” he rebutted. He raises a hand as though to make peace between himself and Aralim. “I look forward to being proven wrong,” he concluded, with a dry smile.
“You said there was one more even?”
“That’s right,” Miresh said. “Another vague one—so confusing too. In this one, I didn’t even see the knife! I saw the surface of the ocean, crystal clear and smooth. Then, bodies, falling into it, vertically. They hit quickly and just turn into blood in the water. Enarrin said I made a clenched fist and muttered about it too, but I don’t know what that means. This one didn’t make me feel good at all. It was so… violent.”
Aralim nodded slowly and considered what she had seen. Blood in the ocean. He took a deep breath. “Sounds like I’ll be heading eastward when I finally head out again.”
“Hopefully, you’ll have less problems on the route,” Miresh said. “I ask about Rattar all the time, but it seems things are slow to change.”
“He’ll be back in time,” Aralim said. “Now, it’s my turn…. I had a vision too.”
Both Enarrin and Miresh gaped at Aralim in confusion. Master Enarrin muttered, “It was my understanding that Rattar had tested you for the gift.”
“In the lake?” Miresh asked. At a nod from Aralim, she exclaimed, “I knew it!”
Aralim looked at Enarrin with a shrug. “I don’t think it gave me the gift of magic, but it was a vivid vision nonetheless.”
“Well, why don’t we check that first,” Enarrin said. He held out a hand toward the Walker.
Aralim took his cautiously. He might as well know.
Enarrin closed his eyes and focused for a moment. His skin was soft to the touch, must softer than Aralim’s calloused fingertips. After a moment, the mage stepped back a pace. “Nothing. If this vision was conventional magic, it was not… communicable.” He smiled at the thought of it.
“Are you saying it really was a mystical force in the lake?” Aralim asked.
“The healing properties of Maga’s Eye have been heavily documented,” Enarrin said, “though, I wouldn’t go so far as to suggest divine power exists there. My encompassing remark—‘if it was’—stems more from the wide degree of other documented things that can cause visions.”
Aralim looked at him expecting more.
“Well, what did you see?” Miresh questioned impatiently.
With a deep breath, Aralim told them, “A man of iron sailing across the sea. A green eye rendered by an artist, and myself writing a message to you on a gravestone.”
“What message?” Miresh asked.
“You needed to go to the city of flames to see the lesser master,” Aralim recounted. He left out the vague phrase, “stop the young old one.”
“That could mean many things,” Miresh said. “Oh, that could be Lantern Town! There were thousands of flames there.”
Enarrin rubbed his chin. “I don’t recall many masters of magic there, from your accounts. Perhaps a master of a trade or a person of political rank? This certainly sounds vague enough to be a real vision of the future. Which can be… immensely frustrating.”
“It is very unclear,” Aralim agreed. “I suppose we’ll know better as we get closer to it, if it’s a true vision of the future.”
“Indeed. Was there a clear focus, such as Miresh’s dagger?” Enarrin asked. “Or was the focus yourself? Very few magicians see themselves in their visions.”
Aralim shrugged. “It was very disjointed: a ship at sea, a painting, and the gravestone. I wasn’t in the first parts of the vision, unless I’m the man made of iron? I felt more like it was based around a message, rather than an object or place.”
“It’s very unusual,” Enarrin murmured, thoughtfully. After a moment, he said, “Let me know if you have more insights about it—or should you have any other concerns in Rattar’s absence.”
I have only concerns in Rattar’s absence, Aralim thought, but said nothing.
Miresh smiled. “I think you must be walking the Path right, if you had a vision.”
“It definitely is a good sign, isn’t it? I had one more thing to ask you, Miresh, before I let you get back to work,” Aralim said. When Enarrin raised an inquisitive eyebrow, Aralim gave him a nod. The master mage stepped away to give them privacy—though Aralim was painfully aware that they had just been practicing “super-hearing.”
“Anything,” Miresh said.
“You mentioned in one of your letters that you had concerns about one of your friends being involved in the gangs.”
Miresh frowned. “Well, not Riela. But… her parents have a lot of strange guests, at all hours. They’ve never told her why.”
“I’ve decided I’ll be joining your Yoreen lessons on occasion. We should invite Riela and her parents over for dinner to celebrate,” Aralim said, giving her a smile of mock innocence.
“Great,” Miresh piped. “Master Toka was right.”
“Oh?”
Miresh grinned. “He said you’d be back.”
Aralim smirked. He stood up to leave, but offered Miresh a hug which she eagerly accepted. “Be nice to Enarrin. He believes in you. He’s just… him.”
“I know,” she said earnestly. Then, with a wink, she retorted, “Be nice to the Emperor.”