Streamlets of clear mountain water dripped down the sides of the moss-caked ravine. A cave-opening smiled narrowly and widened only for a gathering of the creeks into an underground river. The waters likely emerged farther down the mountain slopes and joined with the Opal Valley’s lake. Old stone steps were cut into the southern face of the gorge; an old, greying rope linked a dozen rusty metal posts.
“Use the rope,” Gil said, from the mouth of the pit, as they emerged through an old stone gatehouse. Half the building had collapsed into the cavern, doubtlessly decades ago.
Aralim trusted his guide’s instructions. With staff in one hand and bounding rope in the other, he descended into the ravine behind the strange forest man.
Twenty feet above, a line of sunlight looped between different tree canopies. Kapok trees mingled with eucalyptus to bathe the chasm below in a pale blue darkness. Aralim realized that in pausing to look up, Gil had gone ahead. He hurried as much as was safe and soon caught up.
Some twenty or thirty steep steps down, they reached the bottom of the trench. Banks of fine stone pebbles and sand were heaped around from a long history of erosion. Amid them was arranged a small camp. A single beige tent had been erected on a flat stone surface, while a variety of old logs and round boulders had been set around a small campfire. Two men sat at the fire already—both of them wearing the orange robes of the Eternal Emperor’s Aura.
The younger of the duo was easily sixty years old, while his senior likely neared ninety. Aralim hung back, caught off guard by the strangeness of their presence. Gil hurried across the gravel to deliver the two their meals. No wonder they had made so much meat. The men took the platter without saying a word; they looked blankly at Aralim. The Emperor knows I’m here, Aralim reminded himself, though he had never spoken of his journey or the details of Rattar’s letter. He stepped closer to their campfire as Gil turned toward him.
“I’ll be over there if you three need anything,” Gil said, rubbing his matted beard and brushing past Aralim. Aralim turned to watch him climb a handful of the steps, then settle on a small wooden stool in a natural stone alcove. He uncorked a little leather flask and leaned back, content to drink alone.
Aralim turned back to the two men of the Aura. The younger of the two had a reasonably kept grey beard—given his surroundings—while the older man’s clean-shaven chin hung in wrinkles under sunken cheeks. Aralim hesitantly sat down on a rectangular rock near the fire. “Hello,” he began. “My name is Aralim…”
“Welcome, Aralim,” said the younger Aura. His monotone voice was quiet, but clear. He was the second Aura to speak to Aralim—only Cayaza the Argot had done so prior. “Rattar told me you might come.”
“What is your name?” Aralim questioned. “Why are you here?”
The man looked at him expressionless. Aralim noticed a frayed edge to his dark orange robe. He had seen Aura as old as this man before, but none as old as the man’s yet silent companion. “I gave up having a name many years ago. I am here because the Emperor has ordered it. Most of the time, I am here to listen. When instructed, I am to speak.” He had not touched the food.
Aralim blinked. Was he an Argot then—one of the Aura who experienced all that the voiceless ones heard and saw? “What do you listen to? What does Rattar want me to learn from you?”
“I listen to that which Rattar learns but cannot voice. I am the Emperor’s ears to secrets they would deny him.” The Aura paused after answering the first question, then responded to the second, “Rattar told me only to answer your questions.”
“Why did Rattar go to Starath? Do you know why he hasn’t returned?”
The man’s greying hair did not so much as tilt as he spoke. “I do not know why he has not returned. He went to Starath to slow or to stop a magician named Tarro.”
Aralim raised his eyebrows. He had only heard of the war in the east, not of a man named Tarro. Even Rattar’s letter had left that out—but why? “Who is Tarro?” Aralim asked, “and why does Rattar care to stop him?” That war was hundreds of miles from the borders of Numa’nakres.
The Aura seemed to pause just before speaking. He turned and offered the platter of food to the other Aura. Then he turned back to Aralim. “Tarro was the apprentice of Bal’nored, who is considered one of the greatest magicians to have ever lived. Tarro killed his master and learned his secrets. Rattar’s duty and desire is to protect the Emperor—Tarro poses a unique threat to him.”
Aralim pursed his lips. He had heard of Bal’nored only recently. How had that religious plaque phrased it? The Spirit of the World named is Bal’nored, he recalled. If Emperor Tag’na had indeed once met with Bal’nored, did Tarro now know his secrets, too? For once, he had the freedom to simply ask, instead of deliberate. “Why does Tarro pose a threat to the Emperor?”
The firelight seemed to flicker suddenly, further instilling dread in Aralim as he sought what was likely forbidden knowledge. The Aura continue nonetheless, and answered, “Bal’nored was the magician who granted the Emperor the gift of unaging. This power was among those Tarro gained by his heinous crime. Rattar spoke to me—and thus the Emperor—at length of his fears about Tarro. Even Tarro’s defeat could reveal more of the Emperor’s strengths and weaknesses to the world than he wishes.”
Aralim absorbed this information quietly. He looked down, then turned to peer into the flames. There was a second one of them, these unaging men. He had travelled the land to find the most powerful person—the man farthest along the Path. But another such man lived, and he was as strong or stronger than the Emperor, it seemed.
Then Aralim chose to ask something that had been weighing on his mind since he had first seen Rattar’s letter. “How does Rattar plan to stop Tarro when he is so far from his Crux?” he asked. And now Tag’na knows that I know another of his secrets… he thought.
The Aura didn’t react—he likely wouldn’t even if he had known the significance of that question. “Rattar is a formidable magician even without his Crux, though he explained that Tarro is far more powerful. He only hopes to steer the course of the war in a favourable direction and ensure Tarro does not establish a territory of his own.”
Next, Aralim dared to ask: “What secrets would Tarro’s defeat reveal about the Emperor? And how?”
“From what I have heard, any number of negative results might emerge if the public were to equate the Emperor with Tarro.”
Aralim frowned. That sounded vague, though it was likely just the broadest answer. Aralim wanted to clarify. “So, the issue is primarily that of social recoil?” he asked.
The Aura shifted to a different seating position, tucking his legs against the log he sat on. “No, although that is a significant one.”
It seemed like he was getting nowhere on that topic. Aralim ran his finger along one vine of his staff, examining the wooden texture. He glanced up again. “Does Rattar think Tarro is related to the attacks in Rema?”
“He pondered it as a possibility. Tarro would certainly have reason to want the Emperor distracted, because of the knowledge they share,” the sixty-year-old man responded. The other Aura had nearly eaten half the plate. Aralim absently wondered if they would trade roles soon, but the older man’s ongoing silence soon proved true Aralim’s suspicion that the older man was a voiceless Aura and the younger man was the speaker of the two.
“So, Tarro is also threatened by the Emperor?” Aralim questioned.
The Aura inclined his head. “They know one another’s weaknesses.”
Aralim blinked. This angle had brought them back to that topic. He needed to ask a specific question if he wanted more. He chose his words carefully. “What is Tarro’s weakness?”
“From soon after sunset to soon before dawn, Tarro regresses to the age he should be, and he is vulnerable,” the Aura explained.
Aralim’s eyes widened. Though he had phrased it in a way to respect Tag’na’s privacy, both the Aura and Tag’na could piece together that Aralim now knew a major weakness of Tag’na himself. “And how old is Tarro?” Aralim asked.
“While he is strong, he appears near 60 years old,” the Aura said. “However, according to Rattar’s research, Tarro is around 105 or 110 years old.”
So… Aralim thought, assembling the puzzle in his mind. Tag’na is 277 years old, though he appears 30. During the night, he appears… 277! Aralim rubbed his forehead. He imagined the great ruler as a corpse, skin withered away. Would he even spend his nights conscious? It sounded like Tarro might be able to, as his age was less than half of Tag’na’s.
A few moments passed as Aralim considered it. Rattar had been right—if a public link between Tag’na and Tarro was made, and either was defeated, the other might face a dozen assassination attempts. Though, in Aralim’s mind, such a thing was a simple biproduct of having power. There was no sense hiding—one must be powerful enough to endure such dangers.
“Why couldn’t Rattar tell me all this himself?” he asked, looking back up at the Aura.
“He swore the Vows by the Tether that he would not share what he had learned from the Isle of Dusk. He could tell you no more than he could speak about it with the Emperor.”
Aralim blinked. That meant very little to him. “What is this Tether and why are you immune to it? Why can Rattar speak to you of it, but no one else?”
“The Tether is an artifact enchanted by another great magician, Ular Graan, many centuries ago,” explained the Aura. “It is used to create mental blocks that prevent those who swear by it from breaking their oaths. It is currently used to prevent magicians from sharing what they learn while visiting the Isle of Dusk. I am not immune to it—I have never touched it.”
“I still don’t fully understand,” Aralim said. “How can Rattar speak to you what he has sworn not to say, by the Tether?”
At last, the Aura turned to the older man. The senior man looked up, but said nothing. “This member of the Aura swore the Vows. Rattar may speak freely with him. Then the Argots are able to speak to the Emperor of it, or I, to those that are sent here.”
“Who else has been sent here before me?”
The Aura blinked. “Master Enarrin, Master Tussom, Niyal Athanu, and General Dizaris.”
Athanu? Aralim thought. The old man was good at keeping secrets. Of Tussom and Dizaris, Aralim knew nothing. He didn’t need to know more, so he moved on instead. “Rattar wrote that he worries about the Emperor. What is his greatest concern during his absence?”
“That is not something Rattar has spoken of here,” came the man’s monotoned response.
“Very well,” Aralim said, with a nodded. Of course, he thought, the “prisoner” is for outsmarting the Tether, not revealing Rattar’s inner thoughts. He sighed. He was running out of things to ask. Another question came, since Enarrin’s name had been mentioned. “What do you know about the ‘city of flames’ or the ‘young old one’? Or things that could be known as that?”
Again, all the Aura said was, “That is not something Rattar has spoken of here.”
Aralim shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything else to ask about Tarro or the Tether. Without a doubt, there was more to ask about the Emperor, but Aralim was still trying to come to terms with what he had learned—for it was a great deal. “It has grown late, and you’ve taught me a lot. Thank you. May I rest here tonight?”
The Aura bowed his head. “By all means, though Gil has extra blankets and cots above.”
Aralim glanced around. He had slept on harder ground than this, many a time. “I think it would do me good to remember sleeping without a cot.” He smiled and stood up to stretch. They had been talking for over an hour. If it was late enough that Tag’na was in such a state as Aralim imagined… well, he might have quite a report awaiting his rise in the morning.
Later, as he started to fall asleep, he considered that “His Ascendance”, ascended from the grave each and every morning.