The long litter was coming back along West Corid Avenue, when Grandfather Athanu, as he was known, finally broke through their small talk. Aralim had been interrupted from his reading yet again, by the arrival of the apparently famous Chamberlain Athanu, a man in a black robe, with golden earrings and a dark grease holding his greying hair back. They had spoken briefly of the attack on the Palace, of course, but aside from that Grandfather Athanu had kept their conversation light. He finished off his glass of wine as they passed through the noisy market at the end of the street and then looked Aralim in the eyes. “I’m 78,” he told Aralim. “I was born in the first year of the century.”
Aralim blinked. He had begun to distance himself from these conversations, after visits from so many of the First Court’s politicians. “You have watched Rema change?”
Niyal Athanu smiled slyly. His weathered face hung in wrinkles around his mouth, he appeared twice as old as Rattar. “Rema doesn’t change. I’ve seen many lands, in my lifetime. Though I served on the First Council as a young man, I spent two years in the Eye of Maga and near fifteen in Starath, the smoky city overlooking the Orrish. As much as Ovoe pines for it, Rema is like Tag’na. Un-weathered. Troubled, at times. But it does not change.”
“What do you seek, then?” Aralim asked. All of the others had come to him, asking him for knowledge to fuel their plots.
Grandfather Athanu smiled. “Time with my old wife. And my children, who are more numerous every day. I confess, I cannot remember the names of the most recent grandchildren. I hold this position because of duty. My father and his father and his father’s father… we found iron in the ground and we gave—we give it—to our leader, who has and always will be his Ascendance, the Eternal Emperor.”
Aralim hid his reaction behind a glass of the man’s wine he had poured to be polite. As a Walker of the Path, Aralim was driven by pursuit of his own enlightenment, and he found Athanu’s general contentedness with his life to be off-putting.
“Rattar is the only one older than you,” Aralim said, at last. “And he has spoken of previous members of the First Court. So that seems to change, at least. He spoke of the last great wizard.”
“Hah,” chuckled Grandfather Athanu. “Rattar, a great wizard? He is an old man, with a feeble mind. He can extend his life as long as he likes with spells, but he cannot match the plotting of the others. And, unlike his predecessor, Veeran Arsu the Flame-weaver, he meditates on a flawed Crux. I wish him no ill will, but I will only call him Grand as it is his title.”
“A flawed Crux?” asked Aralim.
Athanu smiled. “It is something General Ro once said to me. Tell me if you discover its meaning. It would give a dying man peace of mind.”
Aralim blinked. “Are you dying, sir?”
Athanu’s grin grew, raising his jowls up around his yellow teeth. His hair had all fallen out years ago, from what Aralim would guess. The old man shrugged, and looked out the window of the litter, just a small hole in the cloth covering that shaded them from the morning’s drizzle. “We are all dying, my friend. Say hello to your young friend when you see her, will you?” the old man said.
“I will,” Aralim said, with a smile, and he politely exited the red litter. The thinly-robed servants that had carried it began walking soon after he left, while the Chamberlain rode along on a small mule ahead. Aralim watched them go, until he felt raindrops on his growing forehead and opened the gate of their Corid Avenue property. The servants had the front door open before he reached it.
Naeen was lounging on the first few steps of the staircase in the foyer. She spotted him and smiled. “Walker,” she said, abruptly. She put down the stick she had been whittling and sheathed her knife. “Are any of those books of yours religious ones? Not of the Path. I’m curious of other religions.”
“Oh?” Aralim asked, confused. “I don’t have any right now, but they have some in the Archive.”
Naeen pursed her lips and looked down. She wore the same dark blue tunic each day, and a copper necklace that rested just above the line of her cleavage. Her dark hair had grown since they first met, and she braided it down the front of one shoulder. She gave it a tug, then looked back at him. “What does the Path say about—Never mind. If I decide, I’ll talk to you about it another time.” She stood up and strode into the next room before Aralim had a chance to piece together the strange encounter.
“Aralim!” called Miresh, arriving at the top of the stairs. “Oh, there you are.”
“Good morning, little one,” Aralim said, stepping up onto the first step as she strode down. Her lantern staff thudded on each wooden step. “Back so soon?”
“Rattar told me to visit some smiths, since books aren’t clear enough for me. I don’t know the words, yet,” Miresh said. “Like I said before, my new task is to learn how to make a knife sharper, without grinding away its metal. I don’t know any smiths, so I came here.”
Aralim smiled. “Well, that’s where I come in,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk and find what we can.” It always came back to walking, he thought. He smiled and they went out into the light drizzle side-by-side again.