The Map of All Things (11 page)

22
Calay, Military District

After picking over a roast mutton dinner inside Calay's military headquarters, Mateo continued the discussion with Guard-Marshalls Obertas and Vorannen. They all had the same orders from Anjine, and they would talk long into the night, until they found a way to expose the infiltrators.

Mateo laid out the problem. “Any of our soldiers might be a
ra'vir
, especially the young trainees. If we don't root them out, they could betray us at any time. They know our ways. They hide among us. They are indistinguishable from any true Tierran. Where do they come from? How do we identify them?” He looked at the other two men. “The task seems impossible.”

Vorannen shifted in his chair. “As a first step, we should make note of every single Tierran soldier returning from the Ishalem battle. Take their names and keep them in barracks separate from the other soldiers.”

Obertas looked offended. “Those fighters risked their lives for Tierra! They almost died at Ishalem. It's preposterous to suspect them.”

Vorannen shook his head. “I don't. Any real traitors would have turned on us in the fight when they had the chance. All the
ra'virs
were killed on the battlefield. Therefore, anyone returning from the battle is almost certainly
not
a
ra'vir
. We begin with them, a pool of fighters we know to be true.”

Obertas picked a particularly stringy piece of meat from his teeth and flicked it to the side of his plate. “We'll have to interrogate everyone else, make them swear on the Book of Aiden.”

Mateo set aside his plate, no longer hungry. “And what would stop them from lying? They are already pretending to be something they are not.”

“Well… we could insist that parents accompany their sons to the recruitment stations, prove that they aren't infiltrators from Uraba,” Vorannen suggested.

Obertas disagreed. “Many of our recruits are young men who have run away from home to join the army. Just because they cannot show us their parents doesn't mean they are traitors.”

Vorannen's shoulders slumped. “And we can't condemn all orphans. Thanks to the raiders, we have plenty of children without fathers or mothers—and they have more reason to fight the Curlies than most do.”

“And yet some of them are
ra'virs
—a dozen of whom just caused the greatest defeat the Aidenist army has ever experienced.” Mateo's brow furrowed as he puzzled through the possibilities. “Poor kidnapped Tierran children who've been manipulated and confused by Urecari captors. After all these years, and so many of them, how is it possible that not one of the
ra'virs
has seen through the lies and come back to Aidenism? Do they not remember their old lives?”

“The Teacher must have a deathly hold on them,” Vorannen said. “You saw how the few survivors reacted during interrogation.”

Obertas lowered his voice, leaned closer to Mateo. “What would your father have done in such a situation?”

“I don't know, Obertas. He never faced anything like this.”

Marshall Obertas now performed the same job that Ereo Bornan had held for many years, charged with the protection of King Korastine. Mateo's father had been killed in the line of duty, and Korastine had raised Mateo in the castle alongside Anjine, almost as a surrogate son.

Since he'd taken Ereo's old job three years ago, Obertas occasionally joined Mateo for meals, wanting to hear stories of his predecessor. “I wear the same uniform as your father,” he had said. “It would be honorable to carry on that grand tradition.”

So Mateo had told him all the stories he remembered, though he had only vague recollections because he'd been so young when the former guard captain died. Not content with sketchy details, Marshall Obertas had delved into the castle archives and brought dusty tomes to Mateo, so the two of them could spend days poring over records. Like miners searching for gems, they dug out entries and reports that Ereo had written himself, as well as other references to what the brave captain had done (when he was too embarrassed to write them objectively). Together, Mateo and Obertas had gotten to know Ereo Bornan much better.

But those old stories did not help them now.

The royal guard-marshall rested his elbows on the plank table as he shifted the discussion. “Suspicions are causing as much damage as the
ra'virs
themselves. I've seen great unrest in the royal guard barracks. Fights have broken out, two knifings.”

Vorannen picked up a hard roll. “My city guard says the same thing. Neighbors are reporting neighbors. They dislike anyone with strange speech or different ways. One woodcarver with a Soeland accent was turned in because someone thought he ‘sounded Urecari.'”

Mateo wrestled with frustration. “Our society is tearing itself apart. The damned Curlies don't even need to have spies among us anymore—we're doing it to ourselves.” He had to find a solution, for Anjine, for Tierra.

“And yet there
are
spies,” Vorannen growled.

One of the blue-uniformed city guardsmen burst through the door to the military headquarters building. “Sirs, there's been another attack at the shipyards!”

Their long-cold meal forgotten, the three men grabbed cloaks and hurried from the building into the chill spring night. Shouting city guards ran through the street, carrying torches or lanterns and heading toward the docks south of the castle.

Mateo felt a leaden weight in his stomach. The Arkship had burned just prior to its departure, and now the new
Dyscovera
was almost ready to sail. He had ordered extra guards posted and kept the docks brightly lit throughout the night, but what if he had underestimated the
ra'virs
? He increased his pace, breathing cold air into his lungs until his throat burned.

To his great relief, though, he saw that the glorious three-masted carrack remained tied up in her slip, and extra guards stood on the gangplank, swords drawn and ready for battle.

The commotion, however, came from the other side of the narrow bay. Crews scurried around two smaller merchant ships, shouting for buckets, pumps, and carpenters; men scrambled down ladders into the holds. The ships were foundering, tilted at odd angles, riding low in the water.

After crossing the bridge to reach the crippled ships, Vorannen demanded a report from a guard. “
Ra'virs
again, sirs. Empty merchant ships aren't as closely guarded, I suppose, so the little cockroaches went into the water, swam below the waterline, and used augers to drill holes in the hulls. The holds are already flooded and the ships are sinking—can't patch them in time. A damned mess!”

Mateo turned his back on the wallowing merchant ships and pointed to the large exploration vessel. “Double the guards over at the
Dyscovera
! Inspect and inventory all supplies already loaded aboard to be sure no one has poisoned the rations or turned snakes loose belowdeck.”

He felt anger pounding within him and knew he had to speak with Anjine—and King Korastine—as soon as possible. “We have to launch the ship without further delay. The only way to protect
Dyscovera
from another
ra'vir
attack is to get her safely out at sea.”

23
Olabar

More than a week after his return to Olabar, the soldan-shah went without fanfare to the main church, ostensibly to pay his respects to the ur-sikara, but he had another motive. “I would like to see the Amulet of Urec. I wish to study it for myself.”

Erima looked alarmed and confused. “That is highly irregular, Soldan-Shah. The Amulet is a sacred object.”

“Yes, and it belonged to my ancestor, Urec. I am your soldan-shah. You would deny me this?” He had heard Istar complain that the sikaras denigrated her whenever he was not in Olabar, and he knew Saan's suspicions that the priestesses had been behind the recent attack in the souks. He didn't trust them.

Still, the dark-skinned woman balked. “I must consult with… with other priestesses.”

Baffled by her attitude, Omra kept his voice steady. “You are the ur-sikara. You make the final decisions.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he simply walked into the large sanctuary, prepared to summon his guards if necessary, but he hoped Erima wouldn't force him to do that.

He stood alone at the altar, perusing the gold medallion that had been passed down from generation to generation, protected in the church. This object was a direct link with Urec and his crew.

During his father's reign, Ur-Sikara Lukai had delivered the talisman to the prime Urecari church in Ishalem, where it had nearly been destroyed in the great fire, but an unknown pilgrim had rescued it. The amulet's edges and markings had been softened and blurred by exposure to the intense heat, but he could still read the symbols and recognize the marks.

The same ones as on the Map that Sen Bira na-Lanis had found beneath the ruined Aidenist kirk.

It was all Omra needed to see, but he remained there for several more moments, staring and pondering before he finally went back to the palace. He had no doubts that the Map was real.

That night, unable to sleep though he was home at last, Omra lit a brass oil lamp and closed the door to his private office. By the flickering warm light, he withdrew the beautiful Map. The Saedran architect had translated all the descriptions and labels, writing them on a separate parchment. The archaic and nearly incomprehensible text gave Ondun's blessings and directions to his “sailor son.”

According to the original legend, Ondun had given His son Aiden a compass that would always point the way back to Terravitae, but He had given Urec a detailed chart to guide his voyage. This chart revealed undiscovered lands, hidden coasts, far-flung islands—and clues about the Key to Creation, a miraculous object that Ondun had hidden in the world when He created it, a special prize for the most worthy of men, a talisman of great power. In their teachings, the sikaras were vague about what, exactly, the Key to Creation was; different sects and experts disagreed on their interpretations of Urec's Log.

Long ago, the Map had been lost. The official church story was that it had been swept away in a storm at sea. According to some apocrypha, however, an Aidenist spy had destroyed it to prevent Urec from completing his quest, thereby cutting him off from Terravitae—and the Key to Creation—for all time. Conversely, the corrupted Aidenist version of the story said that Urec was so arrogant, wanting no direction from his father, that he had discarded the Map.

Given that the Map had been found in an Aidenist kirk, Omra didn't know which story to believe.

Though this treasure was of immeasurable value, Omra was convinced he had made the correct decision to keep it secret. No doubt Ur-Sikara Erima would demand that the Map be given to the church, and Omra had no intention of doing so. He had too many questions of his own.

Fully awake while the palace slept, he stared down at the lines, imagining those mythical shores, the cliffs and reefs, the whirlpools and strong tides. The currents could have taken Urec to so many different places on his voyage across the unexplored world, but he had landed
here
, and he and his wives, along with the crew and their descendants, had become the Uraban people.

Omra touched his fingertips to the ancient ink and sensed a leftover aura of power. Those words could well have been written by the hand of Ondun Himself. He continued to stare by the flickering lamplight until his eyes burned and he could no longer remain awake. Unsettled, he went back to his bed, where the night breezes sighed against the silken hangings. In the hour before dawn, he finally drifted into a restless slumber, in which he had a vivid dream….

Omra saw himself standing in crystal halls, walking through mirrored caves full of marvels beyond anything he had ever imagined—jewels and fountains, alabaster statues of exotic animals. At an intersection of corridors, he stopped to face a holy light so brilliant he could not bear to gaze upon it. Though he could make out no details, Omra knew that this was the Key to Creation, the blessed talisman waiting to be found since the very beginning of the world. Ondun had sent Urec out to find it.

Omra awoke with a start—and a firm conviction. He knew what he had to do.

Hidden somewhere in the undiscovered vastness of the world was this incredible object. Now that he possessed the Map, he had to send someone to find the Key to Creation. Only then would the conflict end. With such a relic in their possession, the followers of Urec would surely defeat the Aidenists.

24
Calay

Ever since Destrar Broeck had slain the ice dragon and delivered its horn to Calay, the pearlescent relic had rested in a felt-lined cradle inside Calay's largest kirk. According to scripture, the spell Aiden had placed upon the dragon Raathgir was a powerful bane against sea serpents. Broeck had obtained the horn as a talisman to be mounted on the prow of the new Arkship, but
ra'vir
saboteurs had burned the vessel before the horn could be installed. Now Raathgir's horn would join the
Dyscovera
on her voyage of exploration.

On the last day, old Prester-Marshall Rudio led the crowded service to bless the ice-dragon relic. As late-morning sunlight streamed through the kirk's colored glass windows, the old man stood behind the altar, intoning a long prayer, then he raised his scratchy voice. “Because all magic draws its power from Ondun, we will keep part of the horn here in the holy church, while the other half sails with our greatest ship, the
Dyscovera
.”

He lifted the horn, to reveal that it had been sawed neatly in two along its axis; half of it remained in its cradle. The audience muttered, surprised. From the front bench, next to Broeck, Anjine, and a fidgeting Tomas, Korastine nodded.

“Though separated, all things remain one,” Rudio intoned from the Book of Aiden.

Sen Leo had approached him with the idea weeks ago, reminding him of how sympathetic magic worked; the king had been skeptical at first, but the arguments were convincing. The two pieces would draw strength from each other, joined with the threads of magic. The Saedran sympathetic model of the
Dyscovera
in the guarded warehouse would also receive a long sliver of the horn, mounted on its prow.

Once the prester-marshall completed his invocation, King Korastine struggled to his feet, helped by Destrar Broeck's hand on his elbow. The two men stood together to receive the half of Raathgir's horn Rudio handed them, and they raised the pearlescent object before the transfixed worshipers.

“Though separated, all things remain one,” Korastine repeated, and this time the audience cheered.

Aware of the schedule they had to keep in order to meet the following day's departure, Broeck handed the relic to Kjelnar as soon as the service was over. The big shipwright, looking very uncomfortable in formal clothes for the kirk, bowed vigorously to the king, the destrar, and the prester-marshall, before he rushed down to Shipbuilders' Bay to install the finishing touches on the
Dyscovera
.

On the last day before the launch of the
Dyscovera
, Aldo na-Curic spent every possible moment with his family. He doted over his two children, listened to his younger brother Wen mooning about how he wanted to be a sailor too. His mind rattled with numerous details, and he compiled lists of things to add to his pack, items to leave behind, people he wanted to see, farewells he needed to say.

In his studio, his father worked on a painting that showed Aiden at the prow of his Arkship, casting away the sea serpent Raathgir. To the group of sailors depicted there, Biento added a brave crewman whose features looked exactly like his son's.

When a knock came at the door, Sen Leo na-Hadra greeted him with a large wire cage full of restless pigeons. “Sen Leo! Come in—I had hoped to see you before the ship sailed.”

Lanni ran to hug her father, and Aldo's mother came forward, perplexed by the caged birds. “Are those for us, Sen Leo? Even with Aldo gone, I don't think we'll be reduced to eating pigeons!”

The scholar made a tsking sound. “If you eat
these
pigeons, the elders will be quite upset. We developed them as an experiment.” He tapped the cage, making the crowded birds flutter again. “
Rea
pigeons are a breed whose eggs commonly have a double yolk. These birds are all twins—one here in this cage for Aldo to take aboard the
Dyscovera
, its counterpart back in a coop on the roof of the Saedran temple.”

Aldo understood. “Sympathetic magic!”

“I'll show you how to tie a message to their legs. When you release a bird, it
should
find its way home to its counterpart. The theory is sound, but in practice…”

The children ran around pestering their grandfather before Wen shooed them all away, herding them into their own room. Aldo's mother whispered something to his sister, who marched off into the kitchen. “You will stay for dinner, of course, Sen Leo.”

Bending slowly, as if his joints ached, the scholar sat down at the table beside the birdcages. “Of course. We will have much to talk about.”

Late at night, after the children were put to bed, each with a loving kiss on the forehead, Aldo sat up talking with his parents and Lanni, and spending a few private moments with his old mentor.

Sen Leo sighed, turning away to hide his reddened eyes. “Aldo, I taught you to be a chartsman. You know of the Mappa Mundi. Every place you explore, every new coastline and island you chart, will bring us closer to finishing our great task.”

Aldo nodded, trying to be serious, but his excitement got the best of him. “And when we have completed the Map of All Things, Ondun will return.”

Sen Leo cocked his eyebrows, nodded pensively. “It may just be a legend, it may be the literal truth, or some combination of both, garbled and distorted by time. And you know the story of our origin, the lost people, the sunken continent. As you sail into the unknown, keep your eyes open for where our race once lived before it sank beneath the waves. Who knows, you just may find it, eh?”

“I've already prepared myself by studying all variations of the legend recounted in the Tales of the Traveler.”

Sen Leo made a chiding sound. “Now, now, you know that many Tales of the Traveler are not entirely believable. Learn whatever you can. Find the truth.”

Aldo promised him. “That is what the voyage is all about, sir.”

While most of the ship's crew enjoyed one last night on land, Criston remained in his cabin aboard the
Dyscovera
. On the dock itself and in boats anchored nearby, a barricade of nervous city guards protected the vessel from harm, after the recent sabotage. But Criston did not mind being alone on the ship.

Anxious to set sail, young Javian had wanted to stay with him,but Criston insisted that the boy go into Calay. “Eat whatever treats you enjoy best, walk past the old homes and shops, smell flowers and trees—and
remember them
. Those memories are the most important things you can pack with you. At times, they may be all you have.”

Though he appreciated the young man's dedication, Criston wanted solitude to consider the imminent departure, the dangers, the hope and responsibility. This voyage would be much different from the previous one….

Long ago, before sailing on the
Luminara
, Criston had made love to Adrea for the last time aboard his own small boat. Years had only added a warm glow to the memory of that final moment together, when they had believed in the future, trusting their decision as husband and wife, both ready to wait as long as it might take. God had smiled on them all. Neither Criston nor Adrea had imagined the span of years that would separate them, the gulf of time and tragedy.

On that last night, they had held each other belowdecks in their small cabin aboard the
Cindon
, the boat he had named after his father who had been lost at sea. That night each moment with Adrea had been fresh, and even after nearly two decades of longing, those memories remained vivid in his mind. Now in his darkened captain's cabin on the
Dyscovera
, he was alone but not lonely, because Adrea was there with him in spirit.

Logically, he knew that his wife must be long dead at the hands of the Urecari monsters. The raiders had destroyed everything they touched. And yet his heart clung to hope, and he still wrote her letters, sealed them in bottles, set them adrift….

Restless, he walked the quiet deck and stopped next to the three compasses. The ancient relic of Aiden's Compass was polished and lovingly restored. With his fingernail, he tapped the crystal, but the needle did not move, even though it had been set back into place and carefully balanced. The compass had either forgotten its way, or Terravitae was simply too distant, the magical bonds too thin and frayed.

May the Compass guide you
. Aidenists used that blessing to focus their very lives. In the morning, when they sailed out of Calay harbor, the Compass, and Criston's own skills as captain, would guide them across the unexplored seas.

It was late by the time Sen Leo left the na-Curic household. The Calay streets were quiet, and the air smelled of a cool harbor mist; the lamps on street corners and lintels were haloed in the fog. Inside the temple, he opened the hidden door behind the complex mosaic and descended the stone staircase. Down below, he could hear the muttered voices of learned men engaged in a heated discussion. The Saedran elders were waiting for him in the secret underground chamber.

Dozens of candles illuminated the intricate painted cartography that covered large portions of the chamber's smooth walls; constellations spanned the vaulted ceiling.
The whole known world.
Though the sum total of Saedran geographical knowledge covered these walls, significant areas remained blank. And time was running out, if the cryptic prophecies and old writings could be believed.

Six revered scholars sat at the table with their parchment notes, their inkpots, and their perennially furrowed brows. The drawings traced from the sea-turtle shell lay in front of them, along with a few questionable outlines, additional scratched landmasses that had become visible on the shell after the Saedrans gently applied chemical powders to enhance contrast.

“Sen Aldo na-Curic has all the information and assistance we can give him,” Sen Leo announced. “He will send his reports via the bonded pigeons, and each letter will tell us more about unknown geography.”

Portly Sen Belos scowled. “A chartsman should not write down his observations, but keep them solely in his memory. What if someone else should intercept these notes?”

“And what if the ship sinks before Sen Aldo returns? What if we lose everything he has seen up to that point, as we did with the
Luminara
?” Sen Furic interrupted.

Sen Cherr always had a sleepy-sounding voice, but it carried great power. “I consider it an acceptable risk, Belos. Aldo will, of course, write his letters in our coded language. It is imperative that we complete the Map of All Things.”

Sen Leo pointed to the Mappa Mundi on the wall. “And don't forget, we are speaking of Aldo na-Curic. Thanks to his connections with Sen Sherufa na-Oa in Olabar, he delivered detailed descriptions of all five soldanates of Uraba, and brought us the southern coastline beyond the land of the Nunghals. Because of Aldo, in one generation, Saedran knowledge of the world has unfolded dramatically. I would not dismiss his likelihood of success.” He looked around at the other elders. “We must complete the Mappa Mundi as soon as possible. You all know the reasons why.”

Cryptic lines from the Tales of the Traveler, the Book of Aiden, Urec's Log, and Saedran scriptures yielded a convergence of prophecies that suggested the arrival of humanity's final days… that Ondun had given them only so much time to explore and unveil His entire creation. If they did not complete the Mappa Mundi soon, the world itself might be torn asunder.

“All Saedrans have the same goal, Sen Leo,” said Belos, trying to be conciliatory. “If the pieces can be brought together, our information will be complete.”

Sen Leo closed his eyes, but the image of the Map remained before his imagination. “Then we will be able to save the world.”