It was a sunny day after the morning showers over the rainforest of Numa’nakres. When Aralim reported to the Aura near the Second Court, he was ushered through the shadows of the Iron Palace and reborn into the sunlight where Tag’na stood, near one of the many side-staircases. These were out of reach of the public, behind short fortifications that divided the Palace grounds.
“Aralim,” he said, with a smile at Aralim’s forced squinting. “Shall we?”
Aralim gave him a nod. “Haven’t walked back here in a while,” he added, as he followed the Eternal Emperor down the iron-plated steps. If the Empire’s iron mines stopped production today, His Ascendance would still be sitting on a fortune a year from now.
“Is it different than you recall?” the Emperor asked.
Aralim glanced around. A mosaic-tiled walkway led between small fruit-bearing trees and thick, well-trimmed bushes. Stone fountains crusted with moss funneled crystal-clear water into shimmering cisterns. Iron plates cast rays of light up from these fountains to illuminate the underside of the forest canopy. Instead of saying it looked the same as he remembered, he told the Emperor, “I’m sure you’ll use this opportunity to mention how much it changes from your perspective.”
Tag’na grinned. At other insubordinates, he might have scowled. “I always marvel at the size of this particular tree,” he said, as they passed a rainbow eucalyptus.
“It was planted during your life?” Aralim asked. The red, green, and violet pulp was visible in a few places where the grey-beige had been weathered away. The trunk was thicker than a man’s thigh.
The Emperor didn’t reply, perhaps perturbed that his punchline had been robbed. They continued along the trail, Aralim’s staff the only sound.
After a few paces, Aralim said, “I’ve been left almost hoping your First Court is keeping things from me.”
“Our enemy is elusive enough to infuriate even me,” Tag’na murmured, adjusting the loosely knit linen robe that covered his shoulders and sides. His taut skin covered his angular muscles, visible through the garb.
Aralim’s robe was far simpler, and more covering. He wondered absently when the Emperor would produce the repaired lantern staff he had suggested nearly two months earlier. Maybe His Ascendance intended to offer it as a reward for tasks completed. “The enemy has made moves against guards, but have they opposed you directly? They don’t appear to have offered a clear message or objective, from what people have said.”
“Whether they oppose me or not, they are butchering men who have done nothing wrong—who have only pledged themselves to me,” the Emperor explained. He raised a clenched fist to emphasize his next words: “For this reason they are my enemy, even if I am not clearly theirs.”
“That’s good to hear. Old Athanu made it sound like you were less prepared to combat this foe.”
Tag’na paused on the pathway. “Less prepared to combat? Hardly.” Then he began to walk again; Aralim followed, listening to the silence and wondering if Athanu was growing senile—making up words from the Emperor. But then the Emperor said, “But this is not combat. If I continue losing lawmen in Rema, without a target to strike back against, then Rema will lose the privilege of my law.”
Though it was troubling to consider Rema falling to the chaos that would likely entail, Aralim was compelled to agree. “It’s true. It’s almost not worth putting soldiers to the cause with how little we seem to know,” he said. “You don’t need a larger crew to determine why you’re taking on water.”
Tag’na raised an eyebrow and chuckled lightly. “I didn’t think you would agree with me. I thought another of those I respect would criticize me.” They passed the largest of the fountains, which was sculpted from a metallic stone to resemble a monastery on a mountain top; two currents of water dribbled down from the shoulders of the mountains, to collect in a lake.
“Well, what would they have you do?” Aralim asked, incredulously. “Flood the streets with guards and interrogate every person they find?”
The Emperor snorted. “They’d have me use my divine powers to miraculously kill all….” He stopped walking, his sentence dropped. “That’s it,” he said with a lively voice. “I know how to catch them.”
Aralim glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. Only the Aura tailed them, of course. “Oh?” he asked. “Divine wrath?”
“Omnipresence first,” he said, slyly, “but wrath will follow.” He snapped his fingers and a member of the Aura approached them; this one could have been Aura himself, the man who had travelled with Aralim this year, save for his weathered features and a slightly larger nose. Aralim looked away from the Aura when he realized Tag’na had fallen silent once again—the Emperor was looking at him, as though doubting he should reveal the fruits of his inspiration to a lowly mortal. Then, with a mildly ashamed shake of his head, Tag’na glanced back to his servant.
“Have the Argots select three members of the Aura—those who can be sacrificed,” he specified. “Deliver a letter to Vanra explaining that these three will join separate troops of his guards, on patrol in the streets, in iron armour. Whatever size of troop he thinks is most likely to be attacked…” He glanced back at Aralim and smiled faintly. “I should have thought of it sooner… age must be dulling my wits.”
The Aura wordlessly returned to the procession of orange robes, but went no farther. Aralim recalled that the Argots saw all that the Aura saw and heard all they heard. When Tag’na had said “have the Argots select three,” he had been speaking directly to the Argots. Aralim smiled. Those advanced on the Path sometimes seemed to act in unrecognizable ways.
“Thank you for leading me to that. Maybe seeing these crimes unfold will lead us to the culprits,” Tag’na said.
Aralim kept his face blank and soon they were walking side-by-side again. He remembered his thoughts on the road toward the Eye of Maga—that he somehow helped others advance on the Path as he himself went forward. He still aspired to surpass Tag’na, one day, but he was patient for the opportunity. The Path would inevitably present it, of course.
The Eye of Maga. That reminded Aralim of something else he had wanted to bring up with his powerful friend. “I never asked you what you thought of my experiences in the Eye.”
“Hmm.” His Ascendance was quiet for a few more paces. “About the fact that it occurred or the things that you saw?”
“Both?” Aralim asked, vaguely. “The latter is more relevant to my future decisions.”
They walked in silence another moment before Tag’na formed his answer. “In truth, several of my answers would put your life in a great deal of danger. Even if you are willing to accept that, I am not certain that I am. There is a reason certain secrets have been kept between myself and Rattar—some things that could compromise my authority and others that simply entail a great deal of consequences.” Tag’na had seemed even friendlier since Aralim’s return from abroad—but his knack for cryptic answers at critical moments persisted.
“Well… it seems I will find out eventually, so I can wait,” Aralim said. His visions implied he would carry out certain actions, such as sailing away as a man of iron, or writing instructions to Miresh in light of a gravestone.
Tag’na grinned at Aralim’s conclusion. “That’s true. I also see some shadows of the future in what you have seen. Was I the man made of iron, I wonder?”
Aralim shrugged. “Do you have any plans to leave Rema?” he asked. It had seemed that the man of iron whom he had seen was sailing away from Numa. “Can you leave Rema?”
The Emperor regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
Aralim laughed internally. That would be way too easy, of course. “Sorry. I’m just, as always, unclear on the limitations of your agelessness. It’s entirely possible for it to bind you to Rema, but I guess it was an absurd question.”
Tag’na kept walking for a moment, then: “All in good time, my friend. In the meantime, I will let you know if my Aura discovers anything about our enemies in Rema’s streets.” He paused, picking an apple from a tree they passed. He tossed it to Aralim and broke off another for himself.
“Until then,” Aralim said, rubbing the apple peel against his robe, “I’ve started practicing Old Yoreen with Miresh—I’m told it’s your favourite. Any advice?”
“I told Miresh, ‘It’s not about you,’ when she asked me the same thing. I don’t think she took it to heart,” the Emperor said, with a humoured expression. “She is quite taken with her newfound physicality.”
“She is quite proud,” Aralim agreed, “and the others commend her, but you see a flaw in her approach?”
Tag’na tilted his head to one side. “Not necessarily a flaw. Many youngsters feel as she does when they begin Yoreen. She will come to realize that to really master the style, she must focus more on her stance, her speed, and her perception. And less on how it makes her feel.”
“Less about yourself, and more about Yoreen,” Aralim repeated in confirmation. He continued to prod the Emperor for further advice as they wandered around the loop that reconnected to the Iron Palace proper.
Aralim had spent the last few weeks planning a dinner with Riela’s parents and his friends in the city; now the Emperor’s plan with the Aura might render his lead obsolete. Nonetheless, Aralim would be meeting with them five days into the Raderan New Year. He had not told Tag’na about it, but the orange Aura that persisted behind the Emperor reminded him that Tag’na probably already knew his plans.