Stinky and sore, Aralim walked along the blistering rock road. Though they had descended from the worst of the cliffs into an overgrown foothill region, the rocky terrain was more open and unprotected than the jungles north of them would be. The sun burnt down and crisped their skin red or grey. Despite their months aboard His Fifth Vision, neither Miresh nor Aralim were accustomed to this measure or intensity of sunlight and their white skin baked.
Ukanna had made some mud poultices a few days earlier when it had rained, to keep their burns damp and cool, but they had dried out yesterday, and the two had gingerly scratched the dirt from their flesh.
The Cliff Road had lived up to its name. Though it wound through the high rocky peaks of the Ras’sa Mountains, the cobbled road kept close to the ocean whenever it could, likely due to the expenses of manpower to construct it. In many places, the stone road had fallen into the ocean, as the cliffs collapsed. In most places it was a twenty or thirty foot drop into the lapping waves of Stone Channel, a plunge that Hayan had almost taken one day, when he stopped to pull a pebble out of his sandal. Wherever the moss and mud of Numa’nakres gave way to rock, was a bright sandy stone unlike the darker edges of rock surfaces in the eastern isles.
Aralim had certainly expected an even rougher path than this, when his road-mates had told him it was a pauper’s trail; here in Numa’nakres, this craft of cobblestones that spanned some two hundred miles was nothing but a poor man’s social project. This was a land of unbelievable wealth.
“We should camp soon,” Ukanna said. Despite his gruff, depressed exterior, he had shown himself to be the most concerned in the group. He knew when Laney, the poor skinny woman, would need rest, even if she didn’t call out through her resolve to ask for it.
“Soon,” Aralim said. “Next good spot.”
They found that when the road carried ahead along a narrow ridge. The earth on either side gradually dropped down into vales of foliage. There was the start of a cave in one spot, no more than a hollow in the brittle rocky surface; Hayan used the wooden walking stick he had made to hack away at the tall grass and leafy plants until there was enough space for all of them. Ukanna, who had long since stopped wearing his dark purple tunic, set to work on making a fire. Laney kept her clothes in good shape and good position—Aralim had the impression she was keenly aware of how she might be perceived now.
They spoke a bit as they sat around a small fire. Miresh had caught a rabbit the day before, and there was still a little meat to warm up and share. Laney said little, as usual, while Miresh asked Hayan questions about Numa’nakres and Old Numa and even his job as a professional dancer. He seemed defensive, because of the jests he’d endured, but he answered her the best he could.
At last, they retired. Aralim and Miresh lay side-by-side, no more than five paces apart. Laney slept the most separate from the others, with her back to the stony hollow. They saw and heard no travellers on the road above them, as they began to slip into their dreams.
Aralim was awoken from his by the sound of another’s. Miresh was mumbling; her voice was loud, but her mouth closed so nothing could be made out. He noticed Laney was sitting up, and watching the dreaming girl. It was very dark—clouds obscured some of the starry sky, and their fire had long ago died off. Aralim pulled himself up onto his backside and watched Miresh’s shaking body.
“Won’t you wake her?” Laney asked. “It’s a nightmare.” She had spoken more words just then than she had all day.
“It’s a vision,” Aralim replied, with an eager voice. “It’s the Path.”
Laney rolled her eyes. In the darkness, the woman of the Elder Coast seemed to be little more than a pair of white eyes peering out of the shadows.
Together, they waited for Miresh to quiet. Of course, she awoke when the dream was done, and sat up straight. “Aralim!” she gasped, before she even realized she was speaking.
“I’m here,” he said, assuredly. “Are you good?”
Miresh nodded. “I had another vision,” she gasped. “I’m further along the Path, I must be!” She grinned at him in the darkness, through a sun-scorched face with half-closed eyes. The child did not look like a powerful member of the enlightened few; she just looked like an excited eleven-year-old girl.
“Tell me what you dreamt,” Aralim asked, matching her smile. Laney listened closely, and soon the others stirred too.
“It was strange. Stranger than the last, I think… Less like a set of random images, and more like a story,” Miresh said. “Write it down again, Aralim. There’s a man and a woman swimming, in the middle of the ocean. No land in sight.”
“Just like your voyage,” Laney said.
The others quieted her.
Miresh continued. “The sun is just a little shape at the man’s waist, like a knife or something.”
Laney interrupted again. “The sun’s a knife. Then what’s lighting the world? What’s up in the sky?”
“Just my eyes,” Miresh explained. “Looking into this vision like the sun would. The man seems to be steering them, and they reach land soon, but the land is grey. All grey. They are starting to climb the beach, which is when I realized they were…” she smiled, “naked the whole time.”
“Naked?” asked Hayan, with a chuckle. “You ever seen a naked man, little girl?”
Miresh shrugged. “I don’t think so,” she said. “They go up on that beach and become grey trees. There’s already hundreds of grey trees there, a whole forest of it.”
Laney snorted and curled up to sleep again, while Aralim continued writing his words down. “Is that it?” he asked Miresh. “They swim to the grey beach and become trees?” He had written it down in jotted notes of the script of his homeland, with a tiny fleck of charcoal on the same parchment page as her first vision. No one here could read it, save he and Miresh, unless he taught them.
“Yes,” Miresh said. “What do you think it means? They can’t actually become grey trees can they?”
“I’ve heard stories that the people who live in Var Liyal can take any shape,” said Ukanna. “Maybe they swam there?”
Aralim paused. “This was more than a dream, mark my words all of you.”
“It’s magic,” said Hayan. “I’ve heard many stories of such, but never of untrained youngsters.”
“Magic or not, Miresh is further along the Path than us. We must learn from her, act like her. See how she sees things,” he said. Miresh blinked at him, but smiled nonetheless. “We will grow in our power, like she is.”
Ukanna shook his head. “There’s a million ways to enlightenment in a million lands across this foul world. All of them require better luck than I’ve had.”
“Better luck? You and your friends chose to be free, and then you were. I call that power.”
Laney laughed, loudly. “Go to sleep, zealots. There’s no gods, there’s no good, evil, power, or enlightenment… There’s bad people who do bad things to weaker people, and we’ve just got to endure it until they put us in the ground.”
“You go to sleep, Laney,” Hayan said. “Not all of us are ready to die like you are. I pushed that slaver off the roof, and I can assure you there are good people in this world. Who cares what they believe, these two are good people, and I’m willing to hear what they have to say.”
Aralim nodded to the friendly freed-man, and looked back at Miresh. The young girl promptly laid back down and went to sleep. Aralim returned his parchment paper to his pack and set it against his lantern staff nearby. He had not lit the lantern in many days, but felt inspired to this night. After thinking about his young friend and her gifts for a few hours, he put out the lamp again and closed his eyes again.