The group home that Nill brought them to that day was a lot more rundown than the other places they had been in Tal’lashar. For Aralim, this was promising. He had spent several days during his time in the city with her and the ‘common folk.’ Today however, judging from the leaning wooden support beams and sand-bathed square roof, he would meet the true underlings. The people who saw Tal’lashar for what it really was lived here, free from the idealizations of structured life and the comforts of decorated bedrooms.
Devran had come along with Aralim and Nill. His soft linen robe and greased hair elevated the trio, just as Nill’s silk robe, cinched at the waist with a bespoke silver clasp. Aralim was his usual self, and fit right in with the ruddy clothes and weathered grooming. Devran opened the door for the Walker and his friend, admitting them to a dusty meal hall. Many tables were occupied, but a few were free. The chronicler spoke quietly as he followed them inside, “There’s more people here than I expected,” Devran said. “Tal’lashar seems to mostly be populated by merchants, entrepreneurs, and shop employees.”
Aralim nodded. “There are always more poor than people expect.”
“And,” Nill pointed out, “the lower end of our society tends to keep to themselves.” She said it quietly, as though she was worried what the commoners would overhear.
“But they tend to know the city best,” Aralim told her.
She replied with unusual skepticism. “Maybe.”
After a few moments at a long, empty table, a very old man joined them. His wrinkled skin had creased in whiskery jowls on either side of his mouth and his eyes had sunken deep into his head. He smiled to them, but then started to nibble on seeds held in his grimy palm without saying a word.
“Good afternoon. My name is Aralim.” The Walker extended a hand toward the senior amicably.
The man looked at Aralim shrewdly. “Ath efer ekah giey?”
Nill was smiling at what the man had said, but she quickly said, “Isha.” Mirthfully, she turned back to Aralim. “He wanted to know if you were ill, because of your skin.”
Aralim grinned. “I’m from a very distant land. Everyone there has skin like this.”
“Ath ider efer imahin has amna amil edishew,” Nill replied. The Asha tongue was still jarring to Aralim, a rapid succession of awkward vowel sounds, though its native speakers did not make it sound nasally or soft. He lost the remainder of what she said, grasping at words like ‘imahin’, which he knew meant ‘from.’ After the man replied, Nill worded his reply back to Aralim: “Is the sun as hot there?”
“It is much cooler than here,” Aralim assured him. “But so too are the people, sometimes. Nothing like this is provided for the unfortunate of my land.”
The man spread his arms to the place around him. “It’s just another investment for the Quebs, not kindness,” came his translated reply. Nill looked irked by the comment.
“You don’t consider it kindness? Is that a common belief? Because I don’t speak your language, I feel as though I’ve only spoken to Quebs.” Aralim tapped the tabletop as he looked around again. A few others were eying him, but no one came to join their table.
“Most of the cities beyond the sand don’t speak our language,” the man explained, bitterly. “Convenient then that the Quebs speak both.”
Nill replied quickly, in Asha. Aralim recognized the word ‘no’ from earlier. Aralim interrupted her before she finished her second phrase. “Nill, this may be an exercise for your open mindedness. I’m sorry,” he said. Then he turned back to the poor man. “What do you mean that it is convenient that the Quebs speak both?”
“Knowledge is as valuable as gold, in Tal’lashar,” the man replied. Nill, chastised by the Walker’s remark, instead translated in fascination. “And as closely guarded.”
Aralim folded his arms. “So, without Common, you are limited in your growth…”
The man shrugged. “The language is only a small part of it. Does your friend here, Queb…?” He looked at Nilless, but she shook her head and gave him her name and title, Nilless of the Tenth Tower. The man went on. “Does the heiress here have a library?”
“Yes,” said Aralim, frankly. “Yes, she does.”
“You will find plenty of good food in here, and a few kegs of alcohol,” the man explained, “But no books.”
Nill looked equal parts stricken, at the dichotomy she was beginning to perceive, and impressed, that Aralim had already seen a perspective to which she had hitherto been blind.
Aralim wasn’t out of conclusions. “Enough to say you’re treated well, but nothing that could help you become a Queb, correct?”
The man smiled weakly and looked at the other tables. “Most of them are happy with their lives here. I’m an old man whining, weary, and without purpose.”
Quiet until now, it was Devran who piped up next. “Is there any reason people from this shelter cannot seek out housing in the free boarding offered by the wealthier Quebs?” he asked. “I hear they offer work for their people there.”
“No,” interjected Nill, defendant of the system, despite her usual open-mindedness.
“Competition,” the man said, and Nill agreed with a nod. But then the man added, “Which is fine, but some of us can’t succeed in that competition.”
Aralim bowed his head deeply. “Just as in other cities. When people compete for jobs, there will always be those left behind. Do you fail to succeed because of your health, or because you’re so far from the First Tower?”
“It is too late for me to learn new tricks, when I’ve spent so much of my life using this.” The old man patted his belly, “And not this.” He tapped his right temple. “My father told me not to dwell on dreary topics, so we should move on from my misfortune.”
“Could you teach me of Tal’lashar? I’m sure the culture of the Quebs differs from the common person.” Aralim leaned his lantern staff against the table as he looked expectantly at the man.
“I suppose,” the man said. “What would you like to know?”
“Everything.” Aralim smiled at him. “What are the dreams of the people? Surely not everyone simply wants to be a Queb.”
The man grinned; he was missing a tooth at the side of his smile. Nill repeated his rough voice softly for Aralim to comprehend. “That’s not really a common thought at all. I wouldn’t say that people dream in that way. Most people want to have a family, or a good season at their work: the fishers cherish good hauls and keep records with one another; the miners want to come home safe and always seek the next ruby vein; the sand-sweepers look forward to relaxing each night at the chillhome or the shelter and drinking paru.”
“You make the nation seem very satisfied.”
“Despite all my complaints, and the insights of my age, we are a very content people, as I’m certain your friend has told you,” the man said, leaning back. He had finished his seeds and clapped his hands clean on the sides of his stained brown shirt. “No one has to fight for their next meal, no one lives in fear… present circumstances aside.”
Aralim spent a couple hours listening to the stories of this man and his friends in the home. A few others joined the conversation, but many were too shy. Upon reflection, the treatment of language in Asha culture might have played a role. If children were not encouraged to speak until adulthood, then those who never entered an adult field of work would be inexperienced in public dialogue. He shared as much as he could with them, when they asked, to widen their view of the Path. They were unlikely to move along it, he knew. Their overall satisfaction at their place in the world was inherent to their culture, and Aralim knew not everyone moved along the Path.
He also grew to admire the Quebs. They were not some mythical figures attributed with boons; they were discerning and gave as much as they got. They dealt out order for their society and were rewarded with a satisfied mass over which to rule. He was glad that little of their caring for the commoners was out of pity.
When they left the group home later, Aralim and his friends found the outdoor air to be much cooler. The hot wind had subsided and the moon brought its cool touch over the world. Devran had not spoken much, but had appeared as fascinated as Nill in the unique perspective Aralim had discovered.
They weren’t ten paces away from the place when Nill let loose her tongue with excited words. “I was still undecided fully, but now I’m certain,” she said, emphatically. “Our time together has revealed things right beneath my nose that even I did not have an open-mind to see. I never thought of our system as monetizing information, in a sense… but you didn’t think twice about it. I’m coming with you, Aralim, if you’ll allow it.”
Aralim stifled a chuckle. “Far be it from me to stop someone from walking the Path. How will you justify it to your father?”
“I already talked to him, but I still had doubts,” she explained. “I told him he can find another heir if he really cares about building a new Tower, like he’s always complaining to me about. It was an argument, to be certain, but I made it clear that I would make this decision and not he.” Then the woman looked at Devran and guffawed. “Maybe he’ll marry Dullah. Ha!”
Everyone laughed at the thought. Aralim murmured, “Now that would be an interesting sight. But you know, Rema’s iron industry could have uses in tower building. It might be worth looking into.”
“Definitely.” Nill smiled as they continued, considering her decision happily. “How long of a journey is it?” she questioned intentionally. “What will we see on the way?”
“Five months, give or take a week or two. And what we see is up to the Path,” Aralim said.
Devran stifled a laugh. When Aralim didn’t reply to his mirth, he explained, “We’ll see the Eternal Emperor at the end of it. You can count on that.”
Nill nodded excitedly. “Will I be able to meet him? Speak with him?”
“I don’t see why not,” Aralim said. They were passing the Seventeenth Tower, trying to avoid being caught in the crowd of merchants, commoners, and guards that thronged its shadow. Even in the heat—and even with an army of rotting men and women on the outskirts—each of the Forty-Seven Towers was a bustling city hub. Aralim glanced back at Nill as they continued down the street. “We’ll have a meeting of the First Court upon our return I imagine. You should probably be present for that.”
“That’s excellent!” she said. “Do you have a lot of friends there? Among the common folk, like those we have spoken with?”
Aralim smiled instead of answering the question. “Your excitement does my heart good. Hopefully I live up to it.”
Nilless glanced at Devran with raised eyebrows. He snorted and replied to her questions. “All of his friends have become upper class, from what I have heard,” he told her, grinning.
“To be fair, some of them were slaves a year ago,” Aralim added, and chuckled.
Nill spread her arms. “What?!”