Rain clouds rolled across Rema all morning, as it had the last afternoon. They first were an opaque sheet of shadow on the southern horizon but charged across the jungles until they shrouded the capital in a translucent cloud of water.
Last night, Miresh heard Aralim’s story of the conversation with the Emperor in disbelief. According to Rattar, she said, healing scars after injuries was difficult work and time-consuming. Rattar could not have healed Tag’na’s wound so completely overnight.
Buffeted by the Yurna Mountains on the northern horizon, the storm hung overhead as Aralim made his way through the streets once more. The torrent withdrew to a streaky sunlight, leaving Aralim’s outer cloak soaked and a few patches of water creeping down his shoulder blades and rising up the hem of his trousers.
Dullah must have been expecting him, for she appeared as soon as Aralim reached her estate. The mansion was three-storeys tall, but narrower in floor layout than the estate that the Emperor had housed Miresh and Aralim within. Two manservants opened the heavy front doors for Aralim to enter, and aided him in the removal of his drenched outer-wear.
His friend rose from a lean against the wall and said, “Welcome to my home.” She ran a hand through her long black hair and smiled.
“Sorry about before. It’s been… a tense couple of days,” he explained, of his earlier warning that she should cease her doubting of the Emperor’s power. He forced a chuckle.
She smiled. “It’s understandable, though, should I truly pretend to find faith?”
“You may not be pretending. Regardless, you should be fine,” he said. “Although I never did ask, is your voice as the Heretic meant to be malicious?”
Dullah was leading him into a sitting room adjoining the foyer. They passed a wall of artwork to reach the seats, including a massive landscape that almost encompassed the entire space. Aralim didn’t have a chance to look at it in detail, as he sat across from his friend. “I’ve never meant it to be anything at all,” she replied. “I didn’t choose that name. I’m just the only one that will say certain things—even in the Court—things that do not fit with the religion of the Emperor.”
“He would probably find that entertaining, honestly.” Aralim gazed up at the enormous artwork, where he could see several jungle islands against a coast. Layers of mist drifted between each one, obscuring the background further and further. He glanced back to Dullah. “Now, what would you like to know about yesterday morning?”
“They say that there were soldiers and guards and the Emperor’s Blade, but that the Emperor did all the fighting himself,” she exclaimed. “Is it true?”
Aralim nodded. “It is. At first, I didn’t know if he could handle Ovoe alone. There are those that think Ovoe may be a magician, but when Ovoe stabbed the Emperor, he almost seemed to grow stronger, and snapped Ovoe’s neck with his bare hands.”
Her jaw dropped. “He was stabbed?! Everyone is saying that he was un-phased by everything that Ovoe tried, that Ovoe’s knife couldn’t even break his skin…”
“There is no mark from the blade entering his skin. It’s much more like he absorbed it, than he was stabbed,” Aralim explained.
“What?” She raised her shoulders, confused. “I’ve never heard of a magician capable of that before.”
Aralim nodded again. “Well, the teachings of the Path would say that the Emperor is much closer to an element of nature than a magician. Perhaps it wasn’t magic at all, but something only the Emperor can do.”
“So you believe he’s more than a man,” Dullah asked. She sounded unimpressed, but not angry.
All the Walker could do was shrug. “That is where the Path leads. He’s not special… just… proficient.”
She shook her head to move on. “So, let’s get to the heart of it. Can you tell me why Ovoe was killed? It’s no secret he was a schemer and a spy master—he was more feared than even the Emperor in many circles, but why the sudden destruction?”
Ovoe became a threat to the people. He had begun a plan that would harm everyone. A plan that began with kidnapping General Ro. Ovoe had counted on the Emperor remaining uninvolved, because he was the only one capable of stopping him.”
“And he did.” Dullah blinked.
“The Emperor cares first and foremost about his people. Ovoe forgot that,” Aralim assured her.
There was a pause in their conversation. Dullah looked into the corner of the room, ponderously, and then back to him. “Did he threaten you? Is he making you say this story?” she asked. “This will stay between us, if you just say the word.”
“Not at all. That would be a far more interesting story. I can drop the positivism if you like,” Aralim said, chuckling. “Here are the facts: Ro is gone and he’s still not found. The Emperor killed Ovoe with his bare hands. Only the Emperor could or would do this, likely because of Ovoe’s magic. I had asked to do it myself once. Ovoe’s knife did break skin, but the Emperor was still un-phased, and there’s not a mark on him. I’m not a magician, but that sounds more impressive than not being able to cut him.”
Dullah wouldn’t let it rest. “But none of those facts speak to his reasoning,” she pointed out. “Did he truly do it for the good of the people?”
“Getting true motivations out of the Emperor is like interrogating a cat. But I meant it when I said that he cares first and foremost about his people. He wouldn’t have killed Ovoe if Ovoe would have benefited the people.”
“I suppose so,” Dullah said. “He’s certainly not a god, but I don’t think anyone will believe me anymore now than before.”
Aralim chuckled. “You’re probably right, but I don’t differentiate between gods and very powerful people. So it’s a moot point for me.”
“I got that,” she said, and laughed.
“Maybe one day you’ll also be an Aralim-heretic.”
Dullah continued laughing, but managed an, “Oh, I’m not yet? I’d better get on that.”
She invited him to stay for lunch, and he agreed. He enjoyed her company. As they rose from the cushioned seats to leave the comfortable sitting room, Aralim commented on the artwork. She said it was inspired by the islands near her home on Trader’s Bay, the ancient city of Keb’kres. Beside the large artwork were a few formal portraits. Many portrayed Dullah sitting next to a man of similar Numa complexion. When she noticed him examining those, she spoke up again. “That’s my husband, Jagram.”
Aralim looked at her in surprise. “From the comments you made about Athanu the day we met, I didn’t think you were married.”
“Most don’t,” she replied, winking. “I married him because he was the son of the Magistrate of Keb’kres. One of my many steps up the ladder. He spends half of his time there, with whomever he decides, and manages my estate for me.”
Aralim shrugged. The latter comments were more interesting to him than the surprise of her marital status. “So, tell me about the ladder you climb. Where does it lead in the end?”
“We talked about this before,” Dullah said. “I can’t seem to spot any more rungs from here. You said you feel the same, and were going to speak with the Emperor about it, but then all this happened.”
“Yet, I’ve found a way to continue walking, and you seem satisfied to sit and wait. Let me ask, why do you want to gain power? Say you could do anything—where do you stop?” Aralim asked.
“What is my fantasy, you ask?” Dullah smirked. “What is yours? To surpass the Emperor, as you once said?”
Aralim smiled. He knew she wouldn’t like his answer. “I want to see the limits of power broken. At what point does someone cease being just a man or woman?” he asked. “Where does the Path truly lead?”
She was initially dismissive. “I don’t believe in all that,” Dullah replied. But she grew more ponderous as she continued. “You cannot will your life to be different. Except you have… so you’re the one person I can’t use my normal arguments with.”
They were still standing before the paintings of jungle mountains and loveless marriages, but their conversation was as important to Aralim as his conversations with the Emperor—to him, every conversation might hold some key. He continued to unbraid her conundrum. “Haven’t you as well? You just said you’ve climbed the ladder, remolding your life to your will. Only… you stopped.”
She shrugged. “Because money can only bring me so far. I can’t buy myself higher status than this. Maybe I’ll get to the Second Court in the next few years… but, I won’t be a leader. I won’t be any greater than I am now.”
And so that is your true position on the Path, Aralim thought. She was like Vaenuth or Hayan; she had some understanding of what she was capable of, but something held her back. For Dullah, it was her reliance on money. For Vaenuth and Hayan, their motivations and desires held them back. They did not choose to go further. For Dullah, her ability to progress had become so tied to her societal status, she didn’t know how else to walk.
When Aralim simply stood there, contemplating it, Dullah spoke up again. “You mentioned earlier that you found a way to continue walking, though I seemed satisfied to sit and wait. Can you tell me what this way is?”
“I’ve decided to return to my true calling, walking the Path; however, this time it will be for the betterment of Rema. Sometimes power isn’t about making yourself stronger.”
“Does that mean you’ll be leaving Rema?” Dullah asked, leaning forward.
Aralim nodded. “For a while, at least.”
“I’m saddened to hear that.” Again, she ran a hand through her hair. “You may not be as pretty as Athanu was, but you’re a far more interesting neighbour on Third Court,” she said, with a wink.
Aralim smiled. “Just tell my replacement that they’re not allowed a cushion.”
“I will.” His friend grinned and started walking toward the door again, dismissing the artwork. She waved for him to follow as she led the way into the triangular foyer once more. “But, will you at least sit on a cushion for lunch?”
Aralim only replied with a laugh.