“Did you leave any friends when you started walking the Path?” Dullah asked. As they sailed the last few miles toward the city of Hawsi, Aralim’s friend had come to him for a cup of tea to keep loneliness at bay. She went on, “The way I recall it, you said you left upon the destruction of your home and loss of your family.”
Aralim put down his tea cup. “No, the entire village was killed, including the others that returned on the boat with me. Though I’ve made my share of friends since then.”
“Did everyone who worked on your ship live in your village?” She blinked in surprise.
“It was a small village,” Aralim replied, chuckling. Compared to anything he’d seen in Numa’nakres, it was tiny. “I would say half the men in the town worked on that ship. The Captain almost doubled as a mayor.”
“Wow, that is so different from my home. Were you born there?”
Aralim smiled as he sipped more tea again and looked at his friend mirthfully. “Of course,” he replied. “To both your phrases.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “And your…” But then she trailed off. “I don’t want to dredge up poor memories.”
Aralim shrugged. “My two children were born in the village. It might surprise you, but my wife was from an even smaller village.”
“I was going to ask if you grew up with her, in your very small village,” she said, thoughtfully.
“We met when we were young, about 14. The villages used to have these…” he searched for the right word, distracted by his memories, “Very odd dances to encourage us to marry outside our village.”
Dullah patted the tabletop, delighted. “That’s delightful,” she laughed. “Your people were running into a legitimate issue with size of population. I grew up in the streets of the Keb—there was nowhere to look that there wasn’t people.”
“And not to mention, people of many kinds. Looking back, we were all quite similar back home. None of this fancy dress.” Even Aralim’s robe was a little nicer than the original cloak he’d worn across the Stormy Sea with Miresh.
Dullah giggled. “And what was considered ‘normal’ attire?”
Aralim rubbed his lips together as he thought about it, savouring the taste of the tea. “Plane clothes, often home made. It was a fancy thing to employ a seamstress. We all had our own style. My wife took care that mine wasn’t terrible.”
At that moment, Devran had been stirred out of bed by the buzz of excitement of the Flying Sunset’s crew and wandered through the door of the mess hall. He wore a low cut V-neck shirt cut of a patterned flowery fabric. By the time he sat down at their table, the author had drawn a wave of laughter from Dullah. Defensively, he asked, “What?”
Aralim smirked. “Apparently, my past is quite comical for Dullah.”
“I see. I thought you lost your family in a bandit attack…” Devran muttered.
“Yeah… it didn’t end very well. But life in a small village left me with some stories.”
Devran poured himself some tea from the small kettle. It was a plain pewter kettle, designed for survival aboard a busy ship. “Like what?” he asked, then took a sip.
“Most households made their own clothes, but my wife wouldn’t allow me to help with the process on account of my bad fashion sense,” Aralim explained, smiling.
“Poor fashion?” Devran asked. “Say no more. I don’t know if there’s much in Hawsi, but we can choose out the beginnings of a new wardrobe for you.”
Aralim chuckled. “That’s quite alright, Devran. My robes befit a Walker, but if you’d like to show me the fashions of these new lands, I’d be interested all the same.”
“Fashion?” Dullah asked, setting down her cup with a chink. “In Hawsi? See all those jungles, Aralim?” She pointed out the windows at the miles and miles and miles of seemingly ceaseless rainforest. “That’s all that Hawsi is. Just a little bump in the woods.”
“Yet it survives…”
She scoffed. “Got to stop sailing somewhere along here, for supplies. A couple hundred miles further is a spot called the Pit. As in, the armpit. No one stopping there.”
“I’ve been there,” Devran piped up, smiling.
“The armpit?” Aralim repeated.
Devran nodded. “It rained, the entire time. I couldn’t even see rocks or lands because the trees were so dense. I understand why everyone thinks it is miserable. The bugs were awful. But there was a kind of serene beauty to it. It was there, whether anyone went there or not.”
Aralim nodded, thoughtfully. “Is it inhabited?”
“I have no idea,” Devran replied. “I’m not sure if anyone does.”
“Probably by Primals,” Dullah added. “They seem to enjoy the parts of the jungle where people can’t go.”
“It sounds like an interesting place…” Aralim said, glancing at Dullah. “For the next time I’m travelling alone.”
Dullah smiled and opened her mouth for a witty reply, but Devran spoke up quicker. “That would be foolishness, surely. The rainforest, especially the unknown parts, they are dangerous. Even for veteran guides. We’ll be sailing past there. We can look from a distance, if you like.”
“Of course, Devran. Complete foolishness,” Aralim said, winking to Dullah. “What were you doing in the Pit, by the way?”
Devran complied with a story, of course. “I wanted to see it. I had earned a fair bit from my last exploratory chronicle, so I paid a guide to take me. We were going to land. I paid him to land. But we didn’t. Couldn’t find a place, and a stormsilder spotted us. Ah, it’s like a big, bear-like creature. Absolutely terrifying. It just followed along the thicker spots of tree canopy, and we couldn’t find a way to lose it.”
“Sounds like you wasted a lot of money,” Dullah muttered.
Devran shrugged. “Hardly,” he rebutted. “We went to a few other places of interest along the Elder Coast.”
“Sounds like you’ve had your share of experiences,” Aralim said. Though, only convenient ones… he thought. Devran had confidence and goals, but seemed to give up when they got challenging. A true Walker of the Path would have landed in the Pit regardless of such obstacles.
“Get the mooring ready!” someone shouted above deck. They were reaching the docks of Hawsi, Aralim realized, peering out of the window. He saw wooden buildings, low in height, built across the land beyond the window. Where the rainforest trees ended, the small buildings began, scattered loosely between animal pens, muddy streets, and open market areas. In some places, jungle trees loomed over the structures, as though the forest was reclaiming its turf. More likely, the small city had spread without any clear organization to account for still-standing giants.
Half-an-hour later, Aralim was standing on the top deck of the Flying Sunset, approached by Grendar. Before they went ashore, they had one more topic to discuss. “Are we honouring our deal with the assassin?” the sergeant asked.
“I technically said I’d take him to Tal’lashar, but he’s dampened our moods enough, I think,” Aralim decided.
“Shall we bring him up then?” Grendar confirmed.
Aralim nodded. “Yes, let’s.”
Yovin and Carrak brought the man up. Gathim squinted at the cloudy sky, blinded by the veiled sunlight. He moved slowly, sorely. “Where are we?” he asked, blindly. “Hawsi?”
“That’s right,” Aralim said. “That’s right. I’ve decided after what you’ve been through; you’re either telling the truth or never will. Either way, I don’t like hurting people.”
“You did,” Gathim muttered, bitterly. He lifted his bound hands. “But I respect you even more for honouring the deal. Will you cut me free?”
Aralim shook his head. “Not yet. You have more reason to kill me now than before. After we’ve restocked, I’ll leave you in the care of a doctor. They’ll cut you free after we’ve set sail.”
“Ah, I see.” The man looked around and sat down on a nearby barrel. “I’ll sit right here, then? Until you’re ready to go?”
“As long as you keep your hands visible.”
“Of course.” Gathim scowled at Aralim and raised his hands over his head. He pressed his head back against the mast.
Aralim and his friends were approached by a scrawny young man on the docks who offered his services as a tour guide for a small fee. While the captain of the Sunset was simply restocking his hold, Aralim had gone ashore to see how the Path was walked here so he paid the man for the tour. According to estimates, he soon learned Hawsi housed over twenty-five-thousand inhabitants, most of them of a far darker complexion than even the inhabitants of Numa’nakres. The guide told them how Hawsi’s wide harbour was its most important feature, so much so that Ruler Korthoss lived in a large house here.
Next, they passed through a large market. There was a clear divide between the normal wooden stalls and the robust tables around a central square building. “That’s the Public House,” their guide told them. “It’s like the government’s store. One quarter of everything produced in Hawsi and its surrounding lands are given to the Public House to be sold. This generates the wealth for the Ruler to improve Hawsi.”
After that, they passed a few rough-looking inns, a brothel, and a work yard where a few malnourished men were ploughing mud with well-worn tools. Wealth to improve Hawsi… Aralim thought, but kept his mouth closed.
A wide river flowed through the centre of the residential district next to the market. A boardwalk took them across, and the guide explained the importance of these waters as they crossed. A group of fishermen worked with spears and nets in the rapids closer to the oceanfront. “This river provides Hawsi with a lot of its safest food. It’s known as the Forest’s Weeping. It’s not a long river, but runs wider during the rainy season.”
Aralim barely heard the last few words, as he looked upstream. A beige and black cat sat on a rock about twenty feet away, dabbing the water with a claw and biting into the small fish it caught. The stray was unkempt and wild, but it was, nonetheless, a reed cat, the very kind that Miresh had once wished to keep as a pet. Aralim shrugged and started to walk toward it. “Safest food?” he repeated.
“Hunting and foraging are a lot more dangerous than fishing,” the guide explained, calling after Aralim.
The Walker approached the cat slowly, but as he got close it stopped fishing and watched him with wide eyes. He crouched down, on the balls of his feet. The cat hissed at him, but didn’t bolt. “Come on now,” Aralim whispered. “I just want to say hello. They say hunting is dangerous, but that’s all you do.” He laid his staff down and shifted a few inches closer.
When the cat started to walk toward him, Aralim remained still. It gave him a wide berth, testing the air and keeping an eye trained on him. Slowly, it reached his lantern staff and lowered its neck to take a sniff. Aralim said, “You’ve probably never smelled that before. It’s oil from far away.” The cat lifted its head sharply, and, in reply, meowed. Its fur started to settle down, but its ears were still angled at him.
“I know someone you’d get along well with.” Aralim held out a hand to the cat’s height, but just held it there, still. The cat came a little closer, and then finally rubbed its head against his hand. It let him scratch its ears and rub the back of its neck. “That’s a good cat. Now, what do you say you come with me?” Aralim stood up and reclaimed his lantern staff.
When his hand left it, the cat paused and watched him. It sat down as he took a step away and watched him going. Aralim bent forward and patted his knees. “Come on,” he said.
The cat looked away, and then took a few steps away. It looked back for a moment and then hurried on its way.
Aralim shrugged. I’m going to follow that cat, he thought. Without looking back at his friends on the boardwalk, he walked after the tom.
“Aralim wait up!” Dullah called. He looked back to see her catching up, with the Aura leading her. Lerela shrugged, and amidst a quiet clank of armour, followed too. Devran looked at the guide, and the other guards—though Grendar had stayed on the ship with Gathim. The author waved ahead, and continued the tour without them.
Dullah caught up Aralim as he followed the cat from a distance. It could have bolted, but kept in his sight. “Is the cat important to you?”
“Not particularly,” Aralim said, watching carefully as he followed it.
The cat prowled for jumping mice. It seemed fish had not satisfied its appetite. It chased one, once, and Aralim had to hurry his pace to stay in sight of the prowling hunter. The reed cat looked back at him, holding the wiggling rodent clutched in its paws. Convinced the Walker wouldn’t interrupt him, the cat quickly devoured the mouse and continued its patrol behind the houses of a residential district.
Pausing at the back of a street alley, the tom regarded the way’s inhabitants with angled ears and stiff shoulder hairs. After a moment, it lowered its face to the ground and continued, past the mouth of the alley. Aralim and Dullah approached the alleyway’s opening cautiously.
There were a handful of men near the opposite street, pinning a merchant to the wall. The mercantilist wore a colourful tunic and, as Aralim watched, his hat and his boots were seized by the gang. Aralim started toward them, instead of following the cat further. Dullah stepped after him, along with the Aura and Lerela and said, “This isn’t our fight…” but Aralim kept going.
When he got close enough to be spotted by the inhabitants of the narrow wooden walls, he cleared his throat. “Gentlemen.”
The thieves jumped, spinning to face Aralim and his entourage. The merchant, released, sank toward the ground, stunned and starting but unharmed. Aralim smiled. “Have you seen any reed cats nearby?” he asked. Without a word, the small gang of wiry, underfed mongrels took to their heels. There were five, but they knew they’d be no match for Aralim’s iron-armoured guard. A sixth man, guarding the street joined them as they jogged out of sight.
“Know knew criminals were afraid of cats?” Aralim asked, smiling at Dullah.
She guffawed in disbelief. “No wonder you wanted to befriend it,” she said, winking.
The merchant shoved himself off the wall with one bruised hand, onto his knees. “Blessings have found me at last. Thank you, my lord, for coming to my aid. Other passersby did not.”
“I had just given up on following a cat, and wanted to leave this way. It’s no trouble.”
The merchant reclaimed his feet, bowing again. His nose was bloody, but he was not seriously harmed. He picked up his boots from nearby and hopped on one foot as he put one on. “Might I walk with you back to the market, or better yet, to the harbour?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone has walked with me,” Aralim said, drawing a confused frown from the man. “But… I don’t know the way. Would you be kind enough to lead us?”
“Of course. I am Master Belurra. Have you travelled far, to Hawsi?” After asking the question, Master Belurra opened his mouth and gingerly touched his tongue. He’d bit it, when the thieves had hit him.
“This time from Rema, but there’s a long way ahead,” Aralim replied, with a confident smile.
The merchant led the way into the street, though it was nearly deserted. “Ah,” Belurra said, “I was going to Rema, before all this. It seems the people of Hawsi do not take well to my preaching. If only I were content to be a simple merchant.”
Aralim started to follow the merchant but glanced down the muddy street. Between the wooden buildings and rain-dripping trees, the reed cat was pacing. It was following Aralim now. It turned its head to hiss a pair of women walking by, but then carried on after the group of pedestrians who had left the alley. Aralim looked back to the merchant. “Preaching? What of?”
The man folded his hands and smiled. “Have you heard of the Atmos Septi? A religion that rewards good deeds with enlightenment. We are also known as the Grey Brethren, because we primarily spread our teachings around the Grey Sea.”
“Never heard of it, but I’m from very far away,” Aralim explained. “I am a Walker of the Path, personally.”
“Ah, I’ve heard of the Path,” the man said. “My masters teach that its lack of morals leads many astray. No good can come of living with such ambition and greed. But, you have saved my life today—so I thank the Sky God for the Path.”
Aralim’s lantern staff tapped a stone in the mucky road as they continued. Ahead, the cobblestones of the market began, and there stood Devran and the other guards, Yovin and Carrak. Of course, Belurra didn’t recognize them. “I believe we could have a truly interesting conversation about our faiths. Will you really go to Rema? I’m scheduled to pass through this town with a year’s time.” The cat was nowhere to be seen, as the denseness of noisily bartering people increased.
“I cannot stay here,” the strange merchant explained. “My first captivity was by Ruler Korthoss. He’s the one that turned me over to the gang, but told them to keep it a secret. Probably why they ran off so fast. But, I’ll tell you what—look for me near the Iron Palace, where I will speak of my faith and sell my wares to all who will listen. I hope to even catch the ear of this so called Eternal Emperor. Have you ever seen him?”
Devran, joining their walk, started to chuckle at that question. Aralim pursed his lips to silence the humour, and said, “I’ve seen him in glimpses. When you get to Rema, know that anyone bearing a staff like mine is a friend. My name is Aralim, by the way.”
They had made it, in short order, through the market and stood facing the harbour once more. It was, by far, the busiest location in Hawsi. “Aralim. Very good, then,” Master Belurra replied. He offered his hand. “It was good to meet you. Ah, my ship is there! They must be concerned for my safety by now.” The man marched off.
On board the Flying Sunset, Grendar and the prisoner stood up. The guard pushed Gathim toward the plank, and the man moved with a limp to descend from the high-deck to the low dock. In generally poor condition, the once assassin hobbled, in binding ropes, toward Aralim and the others, if only because that was the way to the shore. Aralim tapped his lantern staff and said, “It doesn’t count for much, but I hope nothing in your life will compare to this.” The man had tried to cleverly escape from a bad situation, only to face weeks of torture for the risk he posed.
Gathim smiled. “I wouldn’t count on it. Probably get killed sooner, to be honest.” He started to walk past Aralim, but paused and turned back to the Walker. He shook his tied hands. “Can I have a word, aside? They’re still tied, and I won’t do you harm.”
Aralim nodded to Dullah and the guards, though the Aura remained at his side. The others started to walk up the gangplank and Aralim replied Gathim with a shrug and a remark, “There isn’t really a quiet place around, but this is as alone as we’ll be.”
Gathim smirked at the Aura, but then bitterly shook his head and looked back to Aralim. “I’m an assassin, right? Never much cared for honourable deals, but damn them all: The Emperor and all the courts he wants to set up and all of the schemers there too. I’m never going back there, so, here’s the last thing I’ve to say. Aglo gave me all that information. And every pence I made in that mixed up land. He said I could get away with misinformation if I got caught, and it seemed like a good deal to escape that mess. But all that torture I went through is on him. Damn them all.” He kept mumbling rants like that as he walked away. He didn’t wait for a reply.
Unable to conceal a smirk, Aralim thought, And there you have it. He looked back at the Emperor’s Aura and said, “I finally believe him.”
The Aura said nothing, of course. When Aralim turned back from the shore toward the boat, he found the reed cat sitting near the plank, weaving its tail against a barrel the sailors hadn’t carried aboard yet. “So you decided to join me after all,” Aralim said, stepping up to the sitting cat to pet its head. “Now how are we going to get you up there?” He pointed up the gangplank.
The cat quietly padded ahead of him and leapt up the last few steps to hide from the crew near the ship’s rail. Dullah, standing on the deck nearby, spun her head to stare at Aralim in amazement. With disbelief, Devran shook his head.
“Now what am I going to call you…?” Aralim muttered, following it up the plank.