Aralim came upon a camp as he trudged along the easterly road. It was twilight and the foothills around him cast long shadows as the sun set beyond the Yurna Mountains behind him. A traveller had a small fire burning on the slope of one smaller hill. He saw a few people sitting around it as he approached.
Though Aralim always wore his sweat-drenched cloak, the people around the fire were shirtless. Aralim spotted one woman tossing a loose tunic over her gleaming skin, but her guards mostly remained shirtless. One or two reached for armour, while the others just rested their hands on their swords. The woman, happy with her slightly more protected state, called out, “Another pilgrim?” as she and her men peered away from their brilliant firelight.
Aralim called back, “Yes, yes. Sorry to alarm you!”
Soon, Aralim neared the ring of light, though he kept his distance politely. He didn’t care much about intruding because of the Path, but travellers passing on the roads were not considered intruders. It was polite to socialize, even if it caused alarm.
The woman replied to his earlier call: “We were less alarmed simply seeing you were human,” she said. “Primals pose more trouble in these parts than bandits.”
At a nod from her wizened features, her guards stood down. She beckoned for Aralim to enter their camp.
“There are Primals in this area?” Aralim asked, intrigued.
The traveller only considered his safety. “You don’t have any guards?”
Aralim shrugged. “No, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to travel alone. I thought I should enjoy it.” He hadn’t even told Nill he was leaving; only Miresh knew about his quest to the Opal Valley.
The woman raised an eyebrow and glanced at one of her guards. Even with her shirt opened nearly down to her navel, her wrinkled skin was slick with sweat. The humidity seemed worst now that the sun was heating up the clouds on the western horizon. “Look south from that crest there,” she said, pointing up the hill on which they were camped. “You’ll see them.”
Aralim raised his eyebrows and immediately started up the hill. One of the guards accosted him by clearing his throat. “You’ll need to put out the light, or leave it, I’m afraid,” he said.
Aralim’s latest lantern was carried in the opposite hand as his staff—as it was still not the masterwork one requisitioned by the Emperor. He opened its small square door and blew on the flame swiftly. It was enough to sputter the flame to a smoke-trailing ember. The guard gave him a nod and Aralim continued upward. He quickly realized that they had built their camp against the hill to block its light, too. The column of smoke overhead seemed a dead giveaway, but apparently only the light was dangerous.
With the evening sun almost set, it was easy to Aralim to spot what he was looking for. Across a valley, the next ridge of hills was dotted with fires. Some were grouped together—others were remote. It was too far to see any Primals around them, but he trusted the travellers to know about these things.
He returned to the camp, impressed by the apparent intellect of the Primals, and said, “You know, I’ve heard of more Primals being hunted by humans than the other way around. Is that just a sign of good luck?”
“Not from Numa, are you?” the woman asked.
“I’ve lived here for a year or two, on and off.”
The traveller smiled. “Ah. Well, it’s not unlike bandits. A few of them are a bother—you send out some guards or hunters to scare them off. Enough of them and it starts to become a problem. Though there haven’t been any recently, there are stories of towns erased by Primal tribes.”
“I’ve seen a lot more towns destroyed by bandits,” Aralim said. My children, my love… he suppressed the thought before it took root. He replaced it with memories of the bandits that had accosted his delegation on the Crimson Highway, east of the Eye of Maga. “I wonder if Primals are any easier to talk down.”
“I’ve never heard of them speaking,” the woman said. Her voice sounded weary, but Aralim wasn’t sure if it was her age or actual fatigue.
One of the guards tilted his head and got a nod before speaking. “I shared a beer with a… wordist? A sage who studies language? He said they’re even more simple than Slithers. Even their own communication is scarcely more than that of animals.”
“Interesting,” Aralim said, “and yet they seem to sit around campfires much like we do.”
The guards and their mistress glanced at one another uncomfortably.
Aralim supressed another smile. “Anyways, where are you all traveling?”
“Back to Rema,” the woman answered. “This road doesn’t go many other places. Are you also making a pilgrimage to the Opal Valley?”
Aralim nodded. “Yes—though I can’t say I know as much about it as I’d like. I’m a Walker of the Path you see.”
“What’s that?” the woman asked.
“Oh, oh,” piped up her chatty guard. “I met a follower of the Path at a tavern in Starath, once,” he said. “He claimed that the Orrish was once a spirit, like any man or woman, who had grown powerful enough to become a force of nature. Sounds like a cult, to me.”
“Well, it does have quite a following,” Aralim agreed, smiling politely. “The Path is a view of the world where we are all destined to pursue power. It does not believe in a limit to that power, so everything around us—from the sun to the wind—is viewed as someone who grew beyond their mortal self.”
“Well,” the pilgrim woman said. “That is interesting.” The fire crackled in the silence that followed.
“Why did you make the pilgrimage to the Valley?” Aralim asked.
The woman bowed her head, as though relieved to have a more familiar topic. “I recently lost my husband—he was a few years my senior. I had been to the Valley as a child, so I decided it would be a good place to scatter his ashes. The tranquil setting is also ideal for meditation and prayer.”
“The Aura don’t disturb you? I heard there are many of them in the Valley,” Aralim pointed out.
“The Emperor’s Aura is as prevalent there as are pilgrims and priests, but they are even quieter than the latter,” the traveler explained. “They are there as a reminder of His Ascendance’s holy presence and to preserve his birthplace, not to ward off the devout who come to pay homage.”
Aralim didn’t reply promptly. He was not certain if that was the real reason for the Aura’s presence there. The Emperor enjoyed his perceived godhood, but Aralim suspected there were other reasons for the Aura to patrol that place. Instead, he said, “Interesting. Is the Valley itself large?”
The woman nodded. “Relatively so. There are a few villages and temples scattered around the valley, with a dozen streams running down to a lake near the valley’s opening.”
This will take weeks, Aralim thought dryly. He had been hoping for a brief adventure with an immediate result. “Anything I should be careful of? Special customs? Places that are off limits?”
“I’m not aware of anything like that,” she replied. She shrugged. “Simply act respectfully. There are enough priests to guide you, if you require it. Oh, it is customary to make a small offering, though I doubt they’ll turn anyone away over it.”
Aralim smiled. “I should have something left over when I arrive,” he said, thinking of his food supplies. Or even the imaginary wallet with which the Emperor had funded his every wish and command during his time in Rema. “I think I’ll keep on the road, then,” he decided. If they had offered him their hospitality further, he might have reconsidered, but they did not; they only wished him well on his way. Aralim lit his lantern once more and continued for another hour or so into the night.