It was a painfully long voyage from Lantern Town to Bellasa. Aralim had sailed as long before, but never past leagues upon leagues of forested coast. There were no mountains, only the occasional soft hill, rolling up and down in the far distance. They put in toward the land from time to time and Captain Angal sent hunters to find them food and foragers to find fruits growing from the trees. Aralim had never tasted the such things, clusters of small red berries concealed within a tough outer skin. Miresh laughed and showed him how it was done.
Towards the end of the voyage, they passed a number of small isles, at last an interruption to the slow passage of woodland. Perhaps due to their smuggler nature, Angal and his crew never stopped in any of the villages—Aralim suspected they intentionally avoided many more than he saw when they put out towards the wider sea.
When at last the Cloud-trader breasted the salty waters of Bellgrim Bay, Aralim was spending more time pacing the decks than chatting with Miresh about the history of the Path and their greatest idols, the men and women to transcend their mortal flesh. She asked him about the significance of her vision, and though he did not know the true impact or the knowledge it had revealed, he told her that she had, through her humbleness perhaps, found a clue or a shortcut along the Path.
The harbour of Bellasa was enormous. By far, it was the largest port that Aralim had ever seen, with more types of ships than he had ever seen. There were at least six full galleons, in the make of Radregar and the southlands where Aralim was from. There were hundreds of longboats from the jungle lands, and, Miresh added, the Three East Isles, Keth, Kedar and Korhos. Two crafts that sat in the port of Bellasa were completely alien to Aralim, and he asked Miresh about those. She shrugged, not knowing herself, but Captain Angal, standing nearby, chipped in.
“Those are barges from Numa’nakres,” the man said, with a big grin. Each barge seemed to consist of two, even three ships, shaped like huge tubs. They shared a single, enormous sail, which was shuttered, like ten different, folded sails. There were oars, sticking off the sides. “Quite slow by any standards of the sea. They are like tiny floating cities. The finest of luxuries, purchased by the wealthy lords of that land.”
Aralim and his young friend stared at those in awe. “Do you think you could afford passage aboard one?” Miresh asked him with wide eyes.
“I’ve no idea,” Aralim replied.
They anchored in the middle of the harbour and two rowboats were assembled to go to shore, one for supplies and the other for passengers and their goods. Aralim sat on a hard wooden bench and held his lantern staff out of the water as they glided toward the docks. Jolas was mostly silent, but Miresh chatted at him quite a bit. She didn’t share her glimpse out of time, despite her friendship with him.
Once they reached the land, Miresh gave him a teary farewell, and Jolas ran off, eager to see his family after so much time apart.
Miresh and Aralim stood on the dock and shook hands with Captain Angar, though Aralim saw Miresh cringe when she did so. The docks were so busy with sailors, trolleys, wheelbarrows, wagons, and all manner of merchant that it took the two of them close to an hour to reach the actual streets of Bellasa. The noise was almost deafening and they said not a word to each other the entire time. Aralim got a few nods at his lantern rod, and a few confused stares as well.
Once they reached the streets, they found a massive avenue, probably twenty feet wide, with big board leaf trees growing through the middle of it. Beneath the shadows of the evergreen leaves, Aralim and Miresh wandered through Bellasa. At first Aralim thought they were looking for shelter, in the hopes of someone offering them a room or something, but after a little, he realized Miresh must have a plan of her own.
Aralim was content to follow.
“Shouldn’t I have my own lantern?” Miresh asked, when they weren’t pressing through the clusters of citizens.
“If you want,” Aralim said. “I’ve seen many groups of Path Walkers that have only one lantern, to share the light with one another.”
Miresh pursed her lips and nodded. She had let her hair down from the bun she usually kept it in, to show off perhaps, as they walked through the city. Her hair was wiry and dry, and a sandy colour. “Come on,” she said, and pointed toward the guardhouse they were passing.
“Why?” Aralim asked.
She shrugged. “Those guys on the ship. They were smugglers. That’s against the law.”
“So?”
Miresh stopped and looked at him. “So, we have to tell the guards. It’s the right thing to do.”
Aralim had not heard many Walkers of the Path speak about what was right or wrong. Power and enlightenment were much more important. But the young girl was far beyond his own powers, so she likely knew some clue he did not, something hidden in the right good action. “Well, it’s your plan, your job,” he said, and followed her toward the guard house.
The door was propped open with a wooden bucket and a mop that sat inside it. Inside were three men, playing some game of cards with scraps of paper that were so worn out they were nothing but cloth-like tatters. One of them glanced up and saw the two newcomers approaching the door, but he just looked back down at his cards without saying a word.
Miresh stepped inside first, and Aralim followed her, leaving his lantern staff leaning against the inside of the doorframe. The candle within was not lit.
“Can we help you?” asked one of the guards, as though his mouth was full. It was not. They all wore uniforms, but not well. One was fat, another skinny enough to be a druggy. The third appeared in good shape, and had the fewest wrinkles in his green and orange uniform. The stripes and slashes of colour were almost lost in the dark building interior, especially after the blinding light of the sun outdoors.
“I’ve a crime to report,” Miresh said, her young voice clear and loud.
The men smiled. “Is this your old man? Maybe he should tell us about it?”
Aralim shrugged. “Just a friend. Girl has no parents.”
One of the guards mockingly let his grin fade, and stood up. He stepped in front of the table, in front of his comrades. This was the professional one, perhaps their leader. He nodded. “I understand. How can we be of assistance?”
“There’s a ship in the port,” Miresh said. “The Cloud-trader, captained by Master Angal. They are smugglers, you see. They have a hidden compartment in their cargo hold, it’s full of alcohol.”
The man tried to contain his smile again. “I see.” He grabbed a sheaf of paper from the nearest cupboard and scrawled a note across it. “I’ll get this to the harbour force at once, madame,” he said. The man had a full head of brown hair, and tanned white skin. Bellasa was mostly white people, like the Great Isle it was built upon.
“Good,” Miresh said. “Do you need any other information, sir?”
“No,” the guard said. “This will be good. You two have an excellent day, you hear?” He gave them a smile and put the paper on the table. By the time that Miresh and Aralim stepped back outdoors, they were already playing cards again.
In the sunlight, Miresh started walking again, and Aralim fell in beside her. “Should we find a higher ranking lawman?” Aralim asked. “Get some—”
“No, they’ll take care of it,” Miresh said. “It’s good.”
Aralim pursed his lips and nodded to himself. He would heed her words and see how she saw things. In a way, she was more pragmatic than he. But in others, she was more idealistic. It wasn’t an altogether different view of the world, merely an overlapping slant on things. “Now what? We find shelter?”
Miresh nodded.