“Tomorrow—for Alamont.”
She shook her head, marveling at him. “My friend Mateo… a brave soldier.” He thought he saw a shimmer of tears welling in
her eyes.
He gave her a wry smile. “I do it for my king, and for you—my friend and future queen.” He winked. “Long live Queen Tolli.”
Inside the workshops of Stoneholm, Aldo watched the finest Corag metalsmiths use tweezers, delicate saws edged with diamond
chips, and fine files to fashion intricate gears and precisely measured gauges, following each step exactly according to the
blueprints. Sen Leo had given him an important charge, and the young man insisted on monitoring each step of the progress—making
a pest of himself—even though it gave him precious little time to explore the Corag countryside.
The craftsmen grudgingly tolerated his presence. Hovering over them, Aldo peered through their magnifying lenses, wanting
to inspect everything. Finally, in his enthusiasm, he bumped a metalsmith who was attempting to slide a tiny axle into a minute
hinge. The man spoke to Aldo with little anger, but implacable certainty. “Leave. We will deliver these instruments when they
are done, and we do not wish to see you again before then.”
“But I’m paying for it!”
“Yes, you are the customer, and we are the craftsmen,” said the man. “You do your part, which is to pay us. We will do our
part, which is to create the finest possible instruments—without interference.”
Since he was only a guest among these gruff and isolated people, Aldo had no choice but to obey. He was far from his people,
his parents, his home; to the best of his knowledge, there was no Saedran temple in this entire reach. Standing beyond the
cliff overhang outside of Stoneholm, he looked westward, imagining the rivers and the Oceansea, picturing it all on the Mappa
Mundi. Destrar Siescu had given him leave to explore wherever he wished. It would be foolish not to take advantage of his
great opportunity.
While the metalworkers continued the fabrication project in their underground workrooms, Aldo had spent some of his remaining
coins to buy a sheet of paper and a lead stylus, and then he went outside.
The mountain air was cold with a stiff breeze, but the shining sun offered enough heat that he could stay outside for a short
while without shivering too much. He climbed a well-worn path to the huge stone Ship’s Prow chiseled out of the living rock.
During an evening meal of hot soup and warm bread, Destrar Siescu had told Aldo that generations of workmen had carved that
gigantic sculpture to remind them of their origins from Aiden’s Arkship.
Now, from the cold platform of the granite forecastle on the immense prow, Aldo had the best view of the rugged mountain range.
He smoothed the sheet of paper, weighted down the corners with small rocks, and studied the craggy landscape. He carefully
aligned key marks with specific reference points and meticulously began to draw the nearby peaks. Across the dirty patches
of snow, he saw thin and winding paths that spread out toward other high meadows and lost villages.
Concerned with the sea, Saedran chartsmen had little need to understand deep and mostly uninhabited mountainous terrain, but
now he saw the subtleties of low passes, steep couloirs, snow-filled cirques, hanging valleys, avalanche chutes, high alpine
meadows, and sheltered basins. The details of the Corag wilderness and possible paths to the Middlesea beyond that barrier
of crags were not on the Mappa Mundi. Though Sen Leo had sent him here on a specific mission, Aldo could accomplish more than
simply obtaining new navigation instruments.
Excited by his new project, he went inside and bundled up in warm clothing before returning to his sketching platform, where
with intense care, he charted all the peaks in sight. Each mountaintop was distinctive, with a special character all its own…
like an unexplored island.
He was so intent on his drawing that he did not notice the man approaching the stone Ship’s Prow. He was surprised when Destrar
Siescu, wrapped in a bulk of thick furs with a hood and padded mittens, appeared beside him. “My Saedran friend, they tell
me you enjoy staring at our mountains.”
“I am mapping them.” Aldo couldn’t recall that he had ever seen Siescu outside his sheltered city, certainly not so far from
a roaring fire. The man looked painfully cold out in the open. “I’ll explore this range, just as sailors explore the sea.”
Siescu stared out at the mountains and drew in a breath of the thin mountain air. “We don’t need the ocean. Our people are
descendants of Aiden’s crew, but just as Aiden sailed away from Terravitae, so we have left the sea and come ashore on this
rugged new land. Some might see a place of harsh rocks, but I see the beauty of these mountains. Each of those peaks has a
name, you know.” Siescu pointed with his mitten vaguely toward one of the mountains. “That is the Raven’s Head. To the left
is the Sentinel. To the left of that is Thunder Crag. The three tallest mountains are named after the brothers—Aiden, Joron,
and Urec. Those over there are named after the five reaches.”
This sort of information was exactly what Aldo needed. “I’d like to know the names and any information about the paths and
passes. Has anyone reached the Middlesea from here?”
Siescu rubbed his mittened hands together. “Oh, there have been explorers, shepherds, travelers who made their way to the
cliffs. Some say there are difficult paths that lead down to the water, but why would we want to go there? The people of Corag
left the sea behind. We are content here.”
The destrar shivered, though Aldo didn’t feel particularly cold in the bright sunshine. Siescu said, “I will send men here
to help you identify the mountains. We know to respect your people, since Saedran knowledge has saved many ships from being
destroyed against the rocks or lost at sea.”
He paused in his shivering, turned his face up to the sky, then back to the giant stone prow. “King Korastine has announced
plans to go to war and asked for many more soldier-volunteers from Corag. I will see that he gets them. When you go back to
Calay, tell them that we are loyal Aidenists and furious at what the evil Urecari have done.”
Pulling his furs tight, Siescu trudged away, leaving Aldo both excited and unsettled. Within an hour, a gruff old miner came
to stand with him, looking at the sketched map and comparing it to the distant peaks. As Aldo added details, the miner pointed
out hidden paths, canyons, villages, roadways.
The next day, a different man came and offered additional details. Aldo was thrilled with the sheer amount of information
he was compiling. He took extra time to embellish his drawing, adding detail lines, drawing birds in the sky, fluffy clouds,
rushing torrents along the slopes. This was more than mere information; it was a work of art. He had never seen such a gloriously
beautiful—and accurate—map.
He lost track of time and was surprised when, within a week, the metalsmiths announced that they had completed all of the
instruments according to the blueprint specifications. Aldo inspected the ornate clock, the astrolabe, sextant, and the combination
instruments, and pronounced each one satisfactory.
The instruments were packed in crates to protect them from damage in transit. Aldo sealed and preserved his map, rolling it
tightly to fit in the specially locked cylinder that had held the original blueprints. Aldo wanted to make sure the embellished
map was not damaged, torn, or waterstained en route. With the tube’s clever seals, Aldo knew that if anything happened to
him, the Corag map could be opened only by one of his people.
When he was ready to go, Destrar Siescu offered him a guide and two shaggy pack ponies to carry the boxes down out of the
mountains to the river, where Aldo waited to catch the next boat, anxious to return to Calay.
The great storm built for two days before it threw its full fury against the
Luminara
.
The seas turned gray, and the clouds overhead became a clotted blackness, like smoke over Ishalem. The waves grew higher than
the cliffs around the harbor that sheltered the village of Windcatch.
Early yesterday, Captain Shay had ordered the sails tied up and the crates and barrels battened down. The ship climbed the
rolling waves, teetered, then crashed down into the troughs. Spray washed over the decks. Most of the crewmen huddling belowdecks
were knocked against bulkheads or beams. Barrels and kegs broke loose from their ties and rolled across the floor. Loose objects
became projectiles.
Up in the lookout nest, strapped to the mast so he wouldn’t be flung to his death by the tossing vessel, Criston tried to
peer through the sheeting rain and upflung spray. Despite the limited visibility, he kept watch for swaths of white foam that
might indicate reefs or rocky shoals, but even if he sighted something, he doubted his warning shout would be heard above
the din.
Lightning crackled overhead, flashing like a momentary torch across the churning waves. The ship’s masts swayed like inverted
pendulums, dipping toward the water until he was sure the
Luminara
would capsize, but each time her well-built hull righted itself, and she pushed on for her very survival.
Since clouds had blocked the sky for two days, Sen Nikol had not been able to use the stars and his instruments to determine
their position. During those two days, the current had whisked them along in one direction, while the breezes pushed them
at an angle. At times they had made enormous speed, while at other times Criston thought they were being pushed back the way
they had come. They had sailed in a great circle—west, then south, and now east again. As the bad weather continued, crewmen
had struggled to cast nets overboard for the daily catch—but inexplicably all the nets came up empty. It was as though all
the fish in the Oceansea had vanished.
Pelted by rain and shivering, Criston remembered tales the sailors had exchanged about the Leviathan, a single creature so
enormous and deadly that even Ondun had feared to create a mate for it. According to legend, all fish fled in terror when
the Leviathan was near.
Down on the deck, spray continued to gush over the rails and a limited crew of deck workers held fast to their ropes. Captain
Shay clung to the wheel, trying to keep the
Luminara
under his control, wrestling with the course. The frightened sailors sent Prester Jerard topside, so he could pray to Ondun
for their safety. The old man did so with great vehemence, but Criston saw no slackening of the ferocious weather.
Sen Nikol staggered across the deck, the winds blowing his pale robes. Holding one of his navigation instruments, he struggled
toward the captain’s wheel, where he studied the magnetic compass to get his bearings to north, then the Captain’s Compass
to align their direction to Calay. But the
Luminara
was thrown up and down so wildly that both compass needles wavered, making them virtually useless.
With his instruments, the Saedran chartsman made his way to the side of the ship and tried to find any star that might provide
a position. A tall curling wave capped with a crest of white rose silently, like a predator, smashed across the deck of the
Luminara,
and swept Sen Nikol overboard into the turbulent waves.
Criston screamed down to the wheel, and Captain Shay bellowed for help. But none of the sailors could leave their ropes. Sen
Nikol was gone. A smaller wave curled over the rail where the Saedran had stood, washing away even his lingering footprints
from the wet deck.
The deck crew was in a panic at the loss of the chartsman. Without Sen Nikol, they would not know where they were or where
they had gone.
Captain Shay held fast to the wheel, soaked, battered by the driving rain. Criston heard a loud
crack,
and saw the top of the mizzen mast snap, then tumble over in a tangle of rigging. The bunched sails sagged, and under the
weight, the second yardarm broke free.
The ship heeled about and bore the brunt of the waves amidships. The captain could no longer steer. Criston had to tighten
his lashings to keep from being thrown out of the lookout nest; at any moment even the mainmast could break in half, and he
would crash to his death—or vanish into the water.
Terrified, he suddenly understood what his father must have felt just before his fishing boat sank. He thought of Adrea and
hoped she was safe.
But in his instant of greatest despair, Criston saw a glimmer of light off in the distance. It grew brighter, then dimmed,
then brightened again… like a beacon. The dazzling light stabbed through the furious storm, and Criston pointed and shouted,
“A light! A light!” over the howl of the wind, but he didn’t think anyone heard him.
Could this be the Lighthouse at the end of the world, from the story Prester Jerard had told? Where the cursed man kept endless
watch for Ondun’s return? If the
Luminara
could reach that place, they would be saved. The island with the Lighthouse was not far from Terravitae!
He called out again but could not make himself heard. Captain Shay needed to know about this. Criston unlashed himself and
swung down, clinging to ratlines that were slick from the pounding rain. With hands that were strong and callused, he worked
his way to the first yardarm, hooked his arm through the ropes for stability, and looked out again. Yes, the beacon was still
there—and brighter now. Surely other crewmen had noticed it! He stared, yearning for that light, knowing what it represented.
He wasn’t looking down at the sea. Even if he could have sounded an alarm, it was far too late.
The monster that rose from the black depths was impervious to the storm, greater than ten sea serpents. Its bullet-shaped
head was as large as the
Luminara
’s prow, and when it opened its maw, Criston saw row upon row of sharp teeth, each one as long as an oar. It had a single
round squidlike eye in the center of its forehead, and spines like a mane around its neck and ringing its gills. Armfuls of
tentacles sprouted from each side, lined with wet suckers, each with a barb in its center. The tentacle ends were blind sea
serpents, opening to show fang-filled mouths.