Broad-backed men marched off the two captured ships with bundles over their shoulders or heavy crates in their arms. People
crowded around, quarreling like magpies over stolen Tierran goods: preserved fruits, Eriettan beer, urns of honey, blocks
of aromatic wax, intricately stamped leather items, salted meats, finely worked jewelry and knives from the famed metalsmiths
of Corag.
Hannes listened to the talk around the docks that the captains of the raiding ships would have their pick of the spoils, but
the bulk of the confiscated items would be given to Soldan Attar as his due. Guards hauled off the finest foodstuffs and treasures
toward the lavish palace on a hill overlooking the Tenér harbor. Because Attar was a benevolent soldan (so they said), he
would host a large celebratory feast for himself and his family, his most important merchants, and the pirate captains that
had seized the Tierran vessels.
They would gorge themselves on the bounty of Aiden’s followers—a bounty they did not deserve. Hannes tried desperately to
understand what he was supposed to do. How he hated these people!
When Hannes saw red-gowned sikaras come to take their turn picking over the spoils he drew closer. The women ululated an outcry
when one splintered crate spilled out ten copies of the Book of Aiden. The priestesses kicked at the books, shouting against
the “lies” the Scriptures contained.
Hannes barely restrained himself from lunging forward to protect the holy books. Angry and anxious, he ran through the possibilities
in his mind, trying to decide whether to attempt a grand gesture. It would make him a martyr, but it would not save the books,
and he doubted that his death—at least here and now—would accomplish anything. A futile act could not be what Ondun wanted
from him. This had to be another test.
The people crowded close, and the sikaras piled the books on the paving stones. The lead priestess called in a shrill voice,
“Bring a torch!”
Someone handed her a flaming brand, and she made a great show of shoving the burning end against the books until all the volumes
caught fire. The flames consumed page after page, erasing so many holy and beautiful thoughts that Hannes wanted to weep.
“This has put a spark in the Eye of Urec!” the sikara crowed. “Tonight, at the soldan’s palace, we shall celebrate our triumph
and praise the name of Urec.”
Hannes backed away from the pyre, hurrying from the crowd, keeping his head down so no one would see the tears on his dusty
cheeks. What he had witnessed had been painful, but it had also clarified his mission. In a way, it had been a harsh but necessary
lesson from Ondun. Until this morning, he had intended just to pass through Tenér and continue north toward Khenara, the isthmus,
and on into Tierra. But Tenér could not now be simply a stopping point. He had work to do here.
When all the Urecari shops closed for the sunset services, the Merchant District was vacant and quiet. Seizing his chance
as dusk thickened, Hannes moved among the buildings until he found an apothecary shop. In Tierra, most physicians and pharmacists
were Saedrans, but because fewer Saedrans lived here in coastal Uraba, the locals had their own shops. Hannes pried open a
latch and slipped into the shop.
He searched among the jars of leaves, roots, and powders for what he needed. Like any dockside town, Tenér was infested with
rats that plagued the butcher shops and grain storehouses, and apothecaries provided deadly poisons for baited traps. Hannes
found an appropriate locked cabinet and stole enough poison to kill an entire army. Yes, that might be sufficient…
Up on the hill, Attar’s ostentatious dwelling was an affair of domes, towers, gardens, hedges, fountains, and sandstone arches
embraced by flowering vines. Because the celebratory feast was so extravagant, hundreds of workers had erected serving pavilions
outside. In storehouse tents behind the brick-walled kitchens, servants unloaded delicacies stolen from the Tierran ships.
Hannes managed to acquire a white bandanna and sash, so that he fit in with the similarly clothed workers. After so many years
among the Urecari, he knew exactly how to be invisible, how to deflect suspicion and interest.
He slipped under the canvas tarpaulins that covered stacked wine casks taken from the hold of one of the captured ships, and
wrestled the barrels upright, one by one. Sheltered from view, he worked loose the thick cork of the first one, poured in
some of the poison, then pushed the cork back into place. Before he could lift the next cask, a harried-looking server rushed
into the tent, glanced at him, and said, “More wine—Soldan Attar demands wine!”
Hannes pushed the tainted barrel at him. “I have already loosened the cork.” The server gave him a look of gratitude, then
hurried away, straining with his load. Hannes called after the man, “I’ll loosen the other corks as well.”
“Bless you!” the servant called, then disappeared.
Hannes went about his work, using all of his poison powder to prepare six kegs, which would be swiftly consumed. Ondun had
performed a miracle, shown him the light, and opened the way for him to continue his work.
Improving the world…
Hannes darted behind the tents and outdoor warehouses and found a shadowed place in the hedge maze of the eastern courtyard.
He relaxed on a cool stone bench where young couples might have met for assignations. From here, he could hear the raucous
conversation, the singing and laughter—the gloating—of the celebrants within.
He waited.
In less than an hour he heard the sounds of revelry change to surprise, to horror, then a succession of screams.
And finally a long and satisfying silence.
After years of listening in council sessions, meeting with the treasurer of Calay, and poring over trade ledgers to understand
the tariffs paid by all merchants, Anjine realized the magnitude of the project her father had undertaken. A whole new Arkship!
It would take several years for such a vessel to be designed, for the wood to be delivered and cured, for the work crews to
be assembled, for the hull construction to commence. This was no patrol ship. Korastine’s Arkship would be a craft unlike
any other.
And it might bankrupt Tierra. With the war expenditures, the constant destruction caused by Urecari raiders, and the curtailing
of normal trade with half the world, the kingdom’s coffers were already drained. And now this expensive and long-term project?
Anjine sympathized with her father and knew why he longed to do such a thing. Yes, she too dreamed of one day being reunited
with Ondun’s children in the land of Terravitae. She yearned for a return to peaceful times, as did everyone. She understood
her father’s passion. Even so, Anjine couldn’t be sure he was thinking clearly. Because Korastine was her father and he loved
her, she hoped she could change his mind by talking with him.
After putting Tomas to bed, she went quietly to the king’s private chambers, where he sat by a tall candle that shed a pool
of light across the book he was reading—a book written in the language of the northmen, a dialect he had vowed to learn, though
he had not become fluent while Ilrida was with him. Now he seemed more determined than ever, though Anjine didn’t know what
he would gain from the obscure tongue now. He also kept the map-inscribed turtle shell on a precious shelf, so he could see
it whenever he liked; a shelf nearby held the preserved, splintered fragments of the twinned
Luminara
model.
After he greeted her, Anjine pulled an ottoman forward and sat before him, as she’d done when she was a little girl. Korastine
closed his book and gazed at his daughter with such deep emotion that the words caught in his throat. “Anjine, when did you
grow up? You’re a full-grown woman now, old enough to be a queen, a wife, a mother.” He blinked. “Thank you for helping me
with the burdens of leadership since Ilrida… in recent days.”
“I’ve learned a great deal from you, Father. You have taught me, and reality has taught me.” She leaned forward on the padded
seat. “And I hope you will hear me now. I speak to you out of love, and also concern.”
He stroked his beard. “You’re worried about my plans for the Arkship.”
“I am worried that it’s a fool’s quest, when the money and resources could better be spent to conquer the port cities of Outer
Wahilir, to push back the Urecari, to rebuild Ishalem and keep our own lands safe.”
Korastine nodded slowly. “That could be done, yes, although I’m not confident that we wouldn’t fail, even so. This is more
important.”
“Think of Tomas. Think of all the soldiers, think of the villagers who are repeatedly preyed upon by Urecari raiders. Think
of Mateo!”
“I always think of those things… yes, and Mateo, too.” Korastine gestured toward the turtle shell. “But how can you question
this map? Do you doubt the existence of Terravitae?”
She wrapped her hands around her knees. A crock of warm mulled wine sat on the table, but he had not yet poured himself a
goblet. Anjine served her father and took a smaller cup for herself. “I believe in the Book of Aiden as much as anyone, Father…
but I see some of the stories as parables, legends told to entertain listeners. Can all of the tales of the Traveler be true?
No one believes that. Before we spend so much of our treasury on this new quest, can we be absolutely certain that the land
of Terravitae isn’t just one of those parables?”
“It is the truth.”
She got up and went to the sea-turtle shell. “How do we know that this map is correct? Who drew it? Some sailor washed up
on an unknown shore?”
“Saedran chartsmen have verified it,” Korastine said. “The known details match up perfectly. That can’t be an accident.”
Though he was being stubborn, Anjine didn’t give up. “Then, if you must launch this ship, I beg you to remain here. Tierra
needs its king. Tomas needs his father.
I
need my father. This mission is a diversion we cannot afford right now.”
Korastine sipped his wine and looked at his daughter with a beatific expression. She didn’t understand why he was smiling.
“There are things you don’t know, my daughter.”
Levering himself out of the tall chair, he stood straight. He seemed very old when he reached out to take her hand. “It is
time you saw for yourself. Follow me.” Taking a candle, he led her out of the royal chamber and down the corridor to a hanging
tapestry, which he pushed aside to reveal stone blocks of a slightly different color. A hidden door.
Korastine took a heavy set of keys, thrust one into a crack in the stones, a cleverly concealed lock, and turned it until
she heard the tumblers align with a
clack
. He pulled the low door open. “This way.” He held the candle ahead of him as they climbed an upward-spiraling staircase to
a small, isolated tower room inset with thin windows of clear glass panes.
“What is this place?”
Breathing heavily, Korastine seemed excited. “Remember the story of Aiden and Urec? Remember how Ondun sent them on their
separate voyages, and how He gave each man a gift?”
Every Tierran child heard the story again and again, told by the presters in their kirks. Ondun had given Urec a special map
to show him the secret pathways of the world, but the prideful man had discarded the chart, claiming he didn’t need it. Aiden
had received a Captain’s Compass, its needle twinned to a special counterpart in Terravitae, so it would always point the
course home, but that compass had been broken. When they were younger, she and Mateo had searched for the relic in obscure
market stalls run by dealers of oddities.
Korastine lit a taper on the wall from his candle flame, then touched it to the wicks of oil lamps set in sconces in the stone
blocks. The room was like a vault, with only a small table and one chair.
On the table lay an intricate compass, an ancient device that radiated age and power. A special compass… its crystal cover
cracked, its needle bent out of alignment.
“This is Aiden’s Compass, broken long ago by a spy from the ship of Urec,” Korastine said. “So far from Terravitae, the sympathetic
magic is weak, and the needle can barely find its way. But if we can journey to the right part of the world, if the Arkship
can get close enough to Terravitae, the needle will point the way. I know it. How can Aiden’s Compass not lead us home?”
Anjine cautiously leaned forward to inspect the object. She had not experienced such awe and wonder since she was a little
girl. Aiden’s Compass! The
actual
compass! It was one of the most miraculous artifacts in history, and her father had known of its existence all along. When
he had announced his mission, his intention to build the new Arkship, he already knew the compass was here, and that it could
be used to find the lost holy land.
Despite her doubts and concerns, Anjine now realized that her father was not deluded. Given the potential glories of redis-covering
the land of Joron, perhaps he was thinking as clearly as ever a ruler had.
“You’re right, Father,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “The Compass will guide us. We have to build the Arkship.”
Waves rolled in and crashed against the black rocks on the rugged coast south of Calay. Tides pushed and pulled the currents
like watery pendulums. Floating objects followed a drunkard’s path, drifting close to shore before being swept far out to
sea again, only to return to a different part of the coast.
As the moon waxed and waned and the tides completed the next movement of their dance, driftwood piled high on the beach, caught
amongst strands of seaweed and moss.
A glass bottle, its mouth firmly sealed by a cork, rode the perilous crests and valleys, rolling forward on a whitecap’s peak,
then floating gently back once more as if to catch its breath. The bottle contained rolled-up sheets of paper covered with
handwriting. And a single strand of golden hair.