Across Stone Channel from Old Numa, a decrepit shanty town had formed, on the Old Point where the ferry landed. Aralim and his fellowship had landed there a few days after their arrival in Old Numa, and spent a night in an abandoned wooden shack on the edge of the town. People came and left Old Point like the tide, and at low tide there was space for them to enjoy a roof above them, instead of just the stars. In Old Numa, they had slept below the moonlit skies.
One by one, they awoke. Aralim was already up, thinking about his journey, and Miresh’s gift. And the Emperor who lived forever. He had made a small fire inside the circle of stones in their shack, and the smoke began to warm the room with the faint smell of damp wood.
Miresh was the next to awake. She sat up slowly, and looked around at the other sleeping bodies. They slept on the ground, for they had no blankets, cots, or hammocks. She scratched her side, likely from a bug bite, and then quietly stepped over the others to sit near Aralim. “How did you sleep?” she asked him.
“Good,” he replied. “Did you dream?”
“No,” she replied. She wiped her eyes with dirty hands; her once white tunic was soiled with dirt and sweat. Aralim thought of picking up some work before they went to the Emperor’s Palace, to at least get themselves presentable. He’d have to think about the Path though, before deciding anything. Miresh sighed. “It was so long ago, I sometimes wonder if it was real. What if it was just a dream? It seemed to real when it happened, but now…”
“It was real,” Aralim said.
Next to awake was Laney, a woman of medium stature, who had been a house painter in Old Numa before her abduction by the slavers. Miresh had told Aralim that her onyx skin suggested the Elder Coast, though Laney had said she’d lived in Old Numa all her life. She sat up, straight, as though she had been started from her sleep. Then, with a blinking gaze, she looked around her. She was all skin and bones, even thinner than Miresh and Aralim; among the many other things the slavers had done, they had starved her. She rolled up to her knees and shuffled closer to the fire without saying a word.
For a while, the three of them watched the flames. Aralim pulled a small loaf of bread from his pack, and broke it. “Have some,” he told the others, “but leave enough for the those two.”
Laney only nodded her head. She didn’t speak much at all.
The short man stirred, the one who had anxiously demanded why Aralim would ask about slavery when he had never endured it. Ukanna had dark skin, not quite as dark as Laney, and more scars than any of them. One line seemed like a worm, twisting across his forehead. He hadn’t said much about himself, but seemed content to follow the others. He watched them for a while, still lying there, before eventually joining them.
Miresh smiled at him. “Can I ask you something, Ukanna?”
The man frowned. “Fine, girl.”
“Where are you from?” Miresh asked. She chose her words carefully; when they had asked the grim man how long he’d been a slave, he had glared at them and not spoken for hours.
Ukanna looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You ever heard of Saanazar?” he asked.
Miresh nodded.
The freedman tried to relax again. “Well, that was my home. A long time ago. I was a cooper. You know what that is? I made barrels. Barrels for wine, barrels for ale, barrels for storage, barrels for serving. Who would want to enslave a cooper?” He looked into the fire, and said no more.
At last, Hayan woke up and they finished munching on their light breakfast. He had been a resident of Old Numa, before, a dancer for a performing troupe. The others teased him a little, but he seemed to be the most sensible of them. Perhaps it was because he had been a slave the shortest.
After a brief conversation, they set out. The road ran north from Old Point—a pauper’s trail, no more. It was formally known as the Cliff Road, because it ran through the coastal mountains along the rocky shore. Stone Channel had its name for a reason—the only other mineral deposits in Numa’nakres were the Iron Mountains near the desert. Aralim had learned much of this from his new comrades; he had also learned that the capital of the Empire was Rema, built at the base of those mountains.
First, they had to reach Maykren, one of the major ports on Trader’s Bay. It was a two hundred mile road.