The last concern for the Third Court that day was a simple building permit from a man who owned two bakeries in the northern part of Rema but wanted to open another closer to the city center. His session didn’t last fifteen minutes, for the Selected were eager to attend their party. Councillor Moy, of the Second Court, had already been spotted leaving. Aralim wasn’t that impatient about it, but he was interested to see what this turn of events would entail. He’d been serving as one of the Emperor’s Selected for three Moons but had yet to see them in any other setting than the Palace amphitheatre.
Aralim noticed some of the Selected leaving the court directly, and many had worn formal robes or colourful tunics all day. Still, a large group seemed to leave together—Aralim followed Dullah along with them—to one of the half dozen buildings that composed many sections of the Iron Palace’s outer wall. It was not far from Rattar’s meditation ground, but he suspected Miresh had already headed home.
“I’ll meet you here, in a few minutes, and we can walk across town to the Councillor’s mansion,” Dullah said, accompanied by one of her servants. She had done her hair up that day, with an elegantly braided crest along the top of her scalp and a neat bun at the back.
Aralim had carried his own pack all day, with a change of clothes inside, and he took only a fraction of the time to, in the privacy of a small storage room, shift out of his robe and pull on a tight-fitting black tunic. An amber scarf had been recommended by Ko’nagar and draped casually around his shoulders. Of course, the lantern staff was a staple of any of the Walker’s outfits, and he soon leaned on it in the yard outside, waiting for his colleague to reappear.
While his attire was sleek and stylish, they were far more reserved than some of the things he saw worn forth from the building. He saw one man wearing a loosely knit tunic with a strange robe that trailed on the ground behind him—the entire robe was covered in white or brown feathers. One woman carefully kept her head straight as she walked because of an elaborate headdress that nearly hid her features from view with the shape of a sideways waning moon.
Dullah’s gown was less bizarre to Aralim that some of the others, but was certainly not something he would have seen in his homeland. The dark-skinned woman wore a dress that faded from sky blue in its torso to dark blue by its bottom hem, but only one shoulder-strap was present and the slanted cut of the chest left her right breast bare. Aralim didn’t visibly react of course—it was not a rare thing to see in Rema, nor many of the jungle lands he’d travelled, but he did find himself wondering once more what her intent was for this evening.
“Shall we?” Dullah asked, either unaware or feigning unawareness of his slight discomfort at her choice of outfit. He smiled and picked up a comfortable pace for her to match. A scattered parade of Selected and other nobility, amongst their servants, accompanied them through the streets. Citizens of varying status watched the expensive costumes pass. After a few steps, Dullah asked Aralim, “Since we’ve only really spoken of work, how are you enjoying the city so far?”
“The city is good,” he replied, nodding. “Perhaps too comfortable though. I’ve grown so used to walking, that it feels odd to rest.”
“I made my fortune sailing Trader’s Bay as a business woman and mediator. There are many days I miss the wind in my hair,” Dullah said, looking sideways at him and grinning. A member of the Aura walked briskly past them as the crowded city streets made way for the procession.
Aralim blinked. “We have something in common then. I manned a ship for about half my life. Nothing as fancy as a mediator, however.”
“Really? Where, back in your homeland?”
He nodded. “I was the first mate of a sailing vessel that operated out of Trell. Sorry, it’s a large port on that coast.”
Their walk was pleasant, and the conversation peaceful. He learned that Dullah had been born middle-class but was now one of the wealthier members of the Third Court. He also realized she had not spied on him, as it seemed everyone else had. A lot of her friendly questions were information commonly known about him by the First Court, and likely by the Second as well.
Councillor Moy’s mansion was further than Aralim thought, built on the slope of one of Rema’s two foothills. The sun was still setting, catching all the dust and smoke that hung above the sprawling city with a glow that made the sky feel enormous. From the double-doors gating the nobleman’s property, Aralim could see an Iron Palace that could fit on a table, like a small statue or blueprint, and the whole city splayed out before the other mountain and the bumpy horizon beyond that.
In terms of building material, this estate was no different than the one where Aralim lived. It was larger though, with multiple wings and a few outlying buildings. As they entered a wide, brightly-lit great hall, Aralim paid attention to the faces he passed. He recognized many of the Selected, speaking with one another amidst a crowd of servants, guards, and Aura. A servant offered to take his lantern staff, near a table where people had left cloaks and other personal effects. He agreed and entered at Dullah’s elbow.
Before he could see more, he was distracted by the table in the centre of the hall, laden with a wide variety of food. There were mason slabs of thick bread topped with thick nut butters and defended by a palisade of jam bowls. Invading bunches of red grapes had been sent from platters of citrus and banana and papaya, while coffee pastries topped with caramel drizzle and plates of spiced nut cheeses attended the emperor of the table: an enormous layered chocolate cake adorned with succulent heart-berries, green grapes, and kiwi.
A serving girl wearing a translucent silk shift eased a platter of narrow glasses between Dullah and Aralim. “I can get you anything else you may request,” she said, with a flirty smile. Dullah selected one of the purple wines on the tray, while Aralim chose a white. The servant curtsied without wavering the tray and rejoined the line of her compatriots to deliver liquor to those arriving.
Aralim spotted Miss Athanu entering, though he had seen Grandfather Athanu across the table already. Lyo, the chairman of the Selected, waved to Aralim as he passed. Near one of the corners, Councillor Moy and Aglo the Industrialist were laughing jollily together, the latter’s enormous gut quaking with mirth.
By the time that Dullah and he reached the table, Grandfather Athanu had come around to embrace Aralim’s free arm and tap wine glasses with him. “Welcome, walker,” he said, politely. “I was glad to hear you got a position at Court.”
“I’d like to speak with you again sometime,” he said and smiled as the old man withdrew.
After he had left, Dullah leaned closer and asked, “How many of the First Court have you spoken to?”
“All of them,” Aralim said, nonchalantly. “Some more than others, of course.”
“How?” she blurted, chuckling in disbelief.
He shrugged. “It’s just where the Path has led me. I came to this land seeking the council of the Emperor, which I received. The rest just… happened.”
She regarded him with wide eyes and took a drink of her wine. Aralim snatched a rolled sugar pastry from a passing server and took a bite. Around it, he said, “This is delicious. Thank you for the invitation!”
Dullah shrugged and tried one. At the sound of a coiled brass horn, they took seats amidst shared smiles. The chairs were well spaced out, but Aralim spotted many friends drawing together as they chose, so he sat at a more comfortable nearness to his new friend, while Councillor Moy stood up at the head of the table, a few steps to the right of the cake and said a few words.
“Thank you for your attendance.” The tall man’s wrinkles were deepened by the shadow of candles, but his big smile contrasted the crinkled forehead. “As you all know, my banquets aren’t as common as some of yours, but I put special preparation into each and every one. If you’re here, then you’ve helped make this happen, and I thank you deeply for your friendship. Now, everyone—have another glass of wine, enjoy the side platters, and dare the main course!”
With a clap of his hand, servants appeared from curtained areas in the corners of the room, bearing tables with the main course laid out upon them. Aralim blinked. On the left table, a furry white head was set on a clean wooden shelf, amidst a web of parsley and wide herbal leaves to hide any gruesomeness. He had not seen a Primal before, but the ape like face was unmistakeable, even with a pomegranate stuck in its mouth. The platters in front of the displayed head was piled with meat that looked like any other steak. He looked around a tall woman to see the second half of the main course. An enormous snake head rested on the second table, eyes glazed and jaw clenched on a broken coconut shell.
Aralim ran a hand over his beard and leaned over to Dullah. “I didn’t realize people ate Primal. I thought they’d be a little too close to human.”
With a flitting laugh, Dullah said, “Councillor Moy is a little strange like that, but it’s something different to try, right?”
“A strange person, in Rema?” Aralim asked, mocking surprise. “I’ll pass on the Slither and Primal. Looks like there’s some venison near the bread there.”
“You’re not the only one,” Dullah said, but she had a servant bring her a slice of the snake-man meat. After they had each had a few bites of their respective meals, she sipped her wine and asked him, “Is your choice not to try it because of the Path?”
Aralim cut a slice of masterfully prepared gazelle and smiled. “No, the Path doesn’t dictate some actions as more moral than others. Honestly, eating something like Slither and Primal just reminds me of someone.”
“You mean, like eating someone?” Dullah asked, concerned.
“No, no. I mean it reminds me of how someone in the Iron Palace probably eats,” Aralim said, smirking. “Someone I’m not getting along well with, these days.”
Dullah nodded and grinned. “So, is there no sense of morality in your religion?”
“Morality is personal. The Path is more objective. Progress on the Path is about the capacity to reshape the world based on your will, which can be achieved in many ways.”
The woman took another bite of the rubbery meat and tilted her head as she considered his words. “Then who governs? The most powerful or the most unbiased? How are criminals judged?”
“People like the Emperor will always appear. People who exert their power through governance. Criminals are not judged morally. They walk the Path as well. Just a different way,” Aralim explained. He took a sip of his wine—only his second so far.
“But what would you do with a murderer?”
He rolled his shoulders. “Depends on the murder. A slave murders his master: is that wrong? A stranger murders your friend: you have to protect yourself and others.”
It took Dullah a few more minutes to consider this. She lounged back in her chair, again, bringing Aralim’s attention to the revealing nature of her gown. Objectively speaking, she was a truly beautiful woman. The noise of laughter from another group of friends distracted them from the conversation for a moment and Aralim watched a man performing juggling tricks with a few small knives. Aralim looked back at her and said, “You might find it odd to hear that my village flourished under this logic… well, until the bandits wiped it out.”
She sat up straight. “Your home was destroyed by bandits?! Is that why you left your land?”
Aralim tipped his head. “It’s why I became a Walker of the Path. I alone had the strength to survive the attack. So I went in search of where the Path leads.”
“What happened to the bandits?” she asked, setting down her knife.
“I don’t know. They were gone when I came to.”
“You didn’t try to find them? To prove you were more powerful than they? To phrase it of the Path and not simple revenge.” She flashed him a smile and tapped the tabletop.
“And chase them to the ends of the earth like the protagonist of a drama performance?” Aralim winked. “They were long gone when I came to. I did what came naturally.”
A few moments passed as they continued to eat. Aralim enjoyed a handful of grapes after he finished his meat and watched the crowded table devouring the food. “So, I have a question,” he said. “The Aura is here, so the Emperor clearly has an interest in the activities. Does he ever appear in person?”
Dullah clapped her hands together. “Goodness, no! The Emperor allots six or seven hours a day for the rest of us. As the self-declared priests would say, the other three quarters of his time are meditation and training to continue his immortality. Consider how much time the Grand Mage uses to focus his abilities… the Eternal Emperor must be twice the magician as Rattar, so I suppose it makes sense.”
“Self-declared priests?” Aralim asked, brushing over her comment about Tag’na’s magical prowess—he had been told by Ovoe that the Eternal Emperor was no more a magician than Aralim. “How have I met the Emperor before one of these priests?”
“How should I know? When it’s prayer day, you won’t find me at the Palace,” Dullah said, chuckling. She lifted her wine glass again, and muttered, “Don’t know how you met him anyway…”
Aralim smiled. “I try not to question the how’s. So what do you do on prayer day? I’ve never had local customs explained to me.”
“I do whatever I want to do,” Dullah murmured. “I have the same days off as you. What do you do with them?”
Get mixed up in the affairs of my superiors…? Aralim nearly said it, but bit his tongue and reached for another freshly baked bun. “I’m still finding my niche in Rema, you could say,” he replied, after a moment.
“The way you’ve spoken about the Path, I assumed it was your way to never find a niche.”
Aralim blinked. “It would surely be against staying in a niche. But I currently lack a way to further my capacity to move along the Path.”
“Me too,” she said, suddenly, and took a drink.
Aralim leaned on the table and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “A great mediator is never without her tools though. What is it you hope to do, though?”
“I’m not certain. Are you?”
“I want to know what happens to people who surpass even the Emperor,” Aralim said. Without warning, the din of conversation seemed to dim a little and a few eyebrows were raised in his direction from his neighbors.
Dullah’s frown quickly turned into a smile. “Here, here!” she exclaimed and comically toasted his glass. More frowns appeared from those in earshot.
“I appear to have offended them,” Aralim said, blankly.
The elegant woman leaned close enough for him to get a whiff of a sweet perfume. “They call me Dullah the Heretic,” she whispered. “But they still invite me to all the events, so I wouldn’t be worried. If there’s one thing the Emperor’s spearheaded during his long reign, it’s a sense of open mindedness and liberalism.”
“Dullah the Heretic?” Aralim asked. “There must be a story there.”
She shrugged again. “I’m one of the only openly atheist members of the Three Courts. Not much more to my moniker than that.”
“Then why join the courts? Why serve a man you believe to be a lie?”
“Business. So far, that’s been my way along the Path. I was born middle class, not on the docks like Aglo, but I am one of the wealthiest Selected now. It took a lot of hard work, but joining the Third Court happened somewhere in the middle, and really helped out.”
“I always admire self-made people. Especially now that I am literally living off the Emperor. I don’t have a single iron coin in my own name, to be honest.”
“Really?” Dullah asked. “You don’t get paid from the Third Court?”
“Not that I know of…” Aralim muttered, frowning.
Dullah giggled. “It’s not much, more of a stipend since they assume we all have our own businesses or inheritances. You should speak with Lyo about it.”
“I’m honestly not concerned. I’m more or less used to being homeless. I quite enjoy the comforts I have.”
Dullah shook her head. “You’re more or less used to being homeless,” she repeated. “Sometimes, you do seem like a strange religious pilgrim, but this evening has been enlightening. And I owe you an apology.”
He gave her a curious look. In the back of his mind, he wondered if now was when she revealed her ties to Ovoe or some other spy master and betrayed him.
Instead, Dullah sheepishly bowed her head. “While I was honestly trying to be social and friendly, my choice of this evening has been my attempt to prompt some sort of, well… ‘more’ religious reaction out of you. The company of not quite the good nobles, the rather disturbing meal offering. Even this choice of dress,” she waved a hand over her bare chest. “Though I do wear it sometimes. Your Path is far more realistic and, frankly, better concerned than any others I’ve encountered.”
“And so the Path received its first compliment in Rema,” Aralim said, chuckling. “I think I owe you more thanks than you owe an apology. Why did you want such a religious spring-up from me?”
“Thought it’d be fun,” she said, with a wink. “You’re always sitting there without cushions, all stoic and thoughtful. Wanted to see your true colours. And, I think I did.”
Aralim smiled. “Well, Dullah the Heretic, I think it was fun, but maybe that’s because I can see your true colours peaking through too.”
Dullah raised her glass again, and they toasted once more. The servants, though poorly clothed, were excellent at keeping their glasses filled. “The party will go on all through the night. Will you stay?” she asked, smiling.
“For a while, at least,” Aralim replied. “Miresh will likely stay up waiting for me.” He accepted a slice of the fruitcake from the next servant walking past, and took a big bite.