Korastine glanced around for his daughter’s constant companion. “Where is Mateo?” One year older than Anjine, the young man
was Korastine’s ward by virtue of a heartfelt promise made when Mateo’s father, a captain of the royal guard, had died in
the line of duty.
“Oh,
he
has no trouble sleeping.” Anjine lounged back against the rail. “Should I go splash a bucket of seawater in his face?”
“Let him sleep. We’re going to have a busy day when we reach port.”
As the royal cog had sailed out of Calay Harbor, Anjine and Mateo had chattered with excitement about the exotic things they
were going to see. Neither had ever been to Ishalem, though they had heard plenty of stories from sailors, presters, and teachers.
By the second day, however, the excitement of the voyage faded, and Mateo made it his personal mission to entertain Anjine.
After the king had scolded the two children for scrambling up the mast and hanging on the rigging, Mateo devoted himself to
playing strategy games with her. They hunkered down together on the deck boards, sketching out a chalk grid and making their
marks. Korastine noted, proudly, that Anjine won more often than the boy did.
Queen Sena would have argued against bringing Mateo Bornan along at all, claiming that the king had gone far beyond the requirements
of his promise to care for the boy. Though he did not like to think ill of the dead, stuffy Sena was no longer with them,
and Korastine could raise his daughter as he pleased.
Now, wide-awake and eager as the ship sailed on, Anjine stood next to her father. Though her head barely came to his chin,
he could think only of how tall, how mature his little girl was becoming. Where had the years gone? He felt a hint of tears
welling in his eyes. By signing the Edict, he would leave her—and all his people—with a better, safer world.
Anjine strained to see through the fog, then pointed. “Is that Aiden’s Lighthouse?”
Korastine did see a flicker, like an ember suspended in the air. “If it isn’t, then we’re far off course.” The tall tower
of sturdy rock had been erected on a jutting point of land outside of Ishalem. Its light burned constantly, not just to warn
ships of the reefs that lay farther south, but to represent the light of Aiden’s wisdom.
A groggy Mateo hurried across the deck, and the twelve-year-old sprang onto the forecastle platform to stand between Anjine
and Korastine. So full of energy, like his father had been! The dark-haired young man would make a fine soldier someday—a
high-ranking officer, if Korastine had anything to do with it.
Before long, they could see a silvery fringe of dawn on the eastern horizon. The off-watch crewmen began to awaken, and the
cook stoked his stove in the galley to begin cooking breakfast. Men worked the rigging, pulling ropes to stretch the sails,
now that the captain could see his heading. Ahead and to port, the shore loomed out of the shadows.
Korastine stared at the western edge of the isthmus that separated the vast Oceansea from the calmer Middlesea. He remembered
the first time he’d sailed down the coast at his own father’s side, being trained to lead Tierra.… He had made the voyage
six times now, always on matters of state, always in response to a major or minor political emergency. After this time, though…
Finally the warm sun burned off the rest of the morning fog, and the whitewashed buildings of sprawling, majestic Ishalem
came into view. Ah, he remembered the amazement and wonder with which he had first viewed the holy city. Anjine would be seeing
the same thing now, through the clarity and optimism of youth.
On the Aidenist side of the city, the architecture showed familiar Tierran influence, similar to what one might find in any
coastal village, while in the Uraban District on the opposite side of the isthmus, the buildings looked alien, with unusual
curves and angles, stuccoed rather than timbered, the roofs tiled rather than thatched.
On the highest hill in the center of Ishalem stood the ruins of the Arkship, little more than a skeletal hull with one broken
mast, like a giant beached sea beast, lying far from the water. Anjine pointed as soon as she spotted it. “That’s the ship!
Aiden’s ship.”
Korastine uttered an automatic awed prayer. “Yes, the actual one.”
Prester-Marshall Baine appeared on deck, wearing a long, dark brown robe trimmed with purple silk. An Aidenist fishhook pendant
hung at his throat, nearly covered by his unruly red beard. King Korastine not only revered the energetic religious leader,
he
respected
Baine as an intelligent, thoughtful friend. Though he was only in his mid-thirties, Baine had reached a high position of
authority and responsibility, thanks to his forceful personality and his persuasive words. The prester-marshall closed his
blue eyes as he bowed in silent prayer. “The holy Arkship.”
“But how could such a big ship get so far from the water?” Mateo asked pragmatically, and Anjine gave him a brisk kick in
the shin.
The prester-marshall chided her. “Some presters might tell you never to question, but that is tantamount to telling you not
to
think
. Ondun created us to explore, to experience. There is no harm in raising questions, and Mateo has asked a good one. That
conundrum has puzzled scholars for many generations.”
Mateo flashed a vindicated grin at Anjine, but the prester-marshall didn’t exactly answer his query. “Now would be a good
time to reflect upon where our people came from. You have heard the story all your life, but when you gaze upon Ishalem, you
can see in your heart that it is more than just a
story
.
“At the beginning of the world, Ondun created the continents and the seas and the skies. He made His own perfect holy land,
which He called Terravitae, and Ondun filled the land with crops and orchards, forests, animals, birds, and insects. He populated
it with His own people. Then He made other people and scattered them across the remaining continents. When He was finished
with all His work, Ondun created three special sons—Aiden, Urec, and Joron.
“Satisfied with all that He had done, Ondun bequeathed stewardship of the world to His heirs, for He had other worlds to create,
and He would soon depart. Ondun instructed Aiden, Urec, and Joron that they must keep this world intact, improve it, make
it thrive. While the youngest son, Joron, remained behind to rule Terravitae, Ondun commanded that His two older sons go out
in separate ships to explore His creation.”
Baine related the tale to Anjine and Mateo with an earnestness that village presters could never match. Korastine smiled:
No wonder the man had risen so quickly in the church hierarchy. “Before the voyage, Ondun gave Urec a special map to show
him how to find the mysteries of the world, and the key to creation.
To Aiden, he gave a special compass to facilitate his return to Terravitae, for its needle was charmed always to point home.”
“Like a Captain’s Compass,” Mateo interrupted.
“The very first Captain’s Compass,” Anjine corrected.
“Aiden and Urec each constructed a giant Arkship, and taking their crews and families with them, sailed away from Terravitae
on separate routes. But Urec was arrogant and sure of himself. He would explore the world, but considered the map an insult
to his bravery, a way of cheating. Urec threw the chart overboard and chose his own course.” Baine raised his bushy red eyebrows
for dramatic effect. “Now, the Urecari will tell it differently, because such foolishness does not reflect well upon the man
they consider their prophet! But we have the Book of Aiden to tell us the truth.”
The prester-marshall looked up as the cog sailed toward the crowded maze of wharves. “We know that one of Aiden’s crew members
was secretly a spy for Urec, though the Urecari deny it. As soon as Aiden’s ship passed well beyond sight of Terravitae, the
Urecari spy damaged the sacred compass so that Aiden, too, became lost.
“After voyaging aimlessly for years, Aiden’s ship came to rest here. The crew intermarried with the people of Tierra, and
their descendants now populate half the world. When Urec’s ship landed, he, his crew, and their children settled in Uraba
to the south.”
As the royal ship pulled into the harbor, Korastine saw the buildings clustered like devout worshippers kneeling before the
many-spired Aidenist kirk built on the western side of the Arkship hill. The cog drifted up to a long dock festooned with
pennants and garlands. Gulls greeted them with a raucous fanfare. Ishalem looked so glorious that Korastine could almost believe
that their meeting was blessed by Ondun.
Anjine glanced up toward the gigantic wreck on the hill. “So how do we know that’s Aiden’s ship, instead of Urec’s—as the
Urecari say?”
“Because we
know
. Yes, we know.”
A sea serpent rose up in front of the gilded ship before Soldan-Shah Imir could reach Ishalem, and the crew prepared for an
attack.
The silken mainsail tilted on its yardarm to capture cross-winds as the narrow galley, a dromond, cut across the Middlesea.
Imir stood at the pointed bow, where he could feel the salt spray, straining to see the low coastline of the isthmus, though
he knew they were at least half a day from their destination.
The huge sea serpent rose up barely a spear’s throw from the bow, startling Imir out of his thoughts. The monstrous head breached
the waves on a long stalk of neck covered with shimmering blue and silver scales; seawater sheeted down from the sinuous form.
A jagged line of fins coursed the neck like an aquatic mane, and the serpent’s reptilian jaws parted to display curved teeth
and a forked tongue. The gleaming eyes were the black of the Middlesea’s greatest depths; two long horns curved from the skull,
deadly enough to gore a whale. The creature flared a set of scalloped gills and emitted an ominous bellowing hoot, as though
challenging the dromond’s right to cross the open water. A shrill jet of steam blasted from the blowhole on the back of the
beast’s head, vapors that were said to be poisonous.
The galley’s captain shouted orders, drums goaded the slaves to pull their oars faster, turning the ship. But this monster
was a demon of the sea, created by Ondun Himself to be a sleek, fast predator on the open waters. No matter how swiftly they
rowed, this ship could not outrun the serpent.
The dromond’s crew gathered spears; some ran forward with shields to protect their leader. Imir glowered at the beast. Though
the creature could have plucked him from the deck like a honeyed date from a serving platter, he dared not show fear in front
of the crew. “I am the soldan-shah! Allow me to pass!”
The lead sikara priestess strode boldly to Imir’s side. Ur-Sikara Lukai’s long hair was the dark brown color of scorched wood,
and her scarlet robes whipped around her slender body in the brisk wind as if she were engulfed in fabric flames. Her dark
eyes could be quite beautiful when her expression softened, but her expression was not soft now. “Begone!” She raised her
hand to the silvery-blue monster. “In the name of Urec, I cast you back to the depths. We are on the holy business of Ondun.
Begone!
” She leaned across the prow, both arms extended, and her voice rose to a fearsome screech. “Begone!”
The serpent regarded her curiously. Its enormous body undulated as it swam to and fro, still blocking the dromond’s path,
and another jet of spray came from its blowhole. The rowers had finally turned the ship so that the mainsail could catch the
wind fully, but the serpent casually kept pace, emitting another strange bellowing hoot. Finally, bored with its unusual prey,
the scaled monster circled the vessel once more, then submerged, its sharp dorsal fins tracing a sawblade pattern through
the water as it swam off.
Ur-Sikara Lukai seemed satisfied with the demonstration of her powers. “You are fortunate to have me here, Soldan-Shah. I
drove the monster away.”
He regarded her wryly and kept his voice low. “I am even more fortunate that it was a silver-blue serpent, for I know those
rarely attack.”
Lukai was surprised by his comment, but she admitted nothing. “Sea serpents are unpredictable. It is wise to have Urec’s shield.”
As the galley turned toward Ishalem, Imir shuddered to imagine what might have occurred between Tierra and Uraba if he were
unexpectedly killed here, like this, in the Middlesea. He had left his older son and heir, Omra, back in the capital city
of Olabar to make decisions and to manage the various soldanates in his absence. Omra was an intelligent man and a good leader…
but he might have been forced into action.
King Korastine would have been blamed for some treachery, and the resulting war would have been worse than if they had never
tried to make peace at all.
Fillok, younger brother of the soldan of Outer Wahilir, had been arrogant and brash, and he failed to think of the consequences
of his actions. He had probably considered himself brave to provoke the Tierran trading ship, and all he had received was
a harpoon through his chest.
Though the soldan-shah did not sanction Fillok’s foolish action, once the man had gotten himself killed, Imir was unable to
ignore the provocation. But knowing that both sides benefited far more from trade than from open warfare, he refused to let
himself get drawn into further conflict. Now that Ambassador Giladen had worked out terms, Imir and Korastine would put an
end to the tensions.
The soldan-shah’s head and cheeks were clean-shaven, his scalp oiled. Years ago Lithio, his first wife, had fretted so much
over the appearance of his beard and hair that one morning Imir had shaved himself clean in hopes of silencing her. Instead,
Lithio had told him he looked handsome that way. He didn’t believe that she actually thought that, but Lithio had a talent
for frustrating him. After she had borne the requisite son and heir, he had been happy to “allow” her to return to her native
soldanate of Missinia, where she’d lived a quiet and comfortable life for the past twenty years.