The Map of All Things (43 page)

103
Calay Castle

The windows and doors of Calay Castle were shuttered and barred as the hurricane bombarded the city. The hard rain hissed and pattered, and the impatient wind struggled against the barriers. Servants moved through the castle with their voices hushed, browbeaten by the intimidating storm.

Walking like a specter through the dim halls, Anjine stopped at the threshold of her father's cold, dusty royal chamber and stared at the large bed, the empty fireplace, the burned-out candles beside the chair where Korastine had read his books, the shelves where he had displayed his keepsakes.

The hollowness of loss drove her away. She couldn't even bear to set foot inside the room.

The long war, tragedies, and harsh decisions had debilitated Korastine, so that in his last years he could only dream of searching for sunny lands beyond the horizon. He had left the kingdom in her care—but had Anjine taken care of Tierra? Had she honored the responsibility of the crown?

A thousand heads… a thousand innocents… a revenge that could never bring back her little brother. And yet she had done it without allowing herself any regrets, any second thoughts.

Her cat found and followed her, seeking attention, but she didn't pick him up as she wandered instead to Tomas's room. Tycho rubbed against the edge of the open door to her brother's quarters. When Anjine hesitated there, the cat strolled in, curious to explore a familiar room that had been closed off. Tycho walked a circuitous route around the prince's keepsakes, furniture, clothes chest, wardrobe cabinet. The cat's confident strut thawed Anjine's joints and she followed him inside.

“He's not here anymore, Tycho,” she said aloud. The sound of her voice startled her. The winds outside pushed against the shuttered window, muffled by the thick walls into a weary sigh.
“He's gone.”

The words were so simple, but as vast as all of the unexplored seas.

Anjine knelt on the rug that covered the stone floor and gathered the cat up, pulling his warm body against hers. Tycho melted into her arms. He began to purr, a homey calming sound.

Memories streamed through her mind. Days ago, Mateo and the soldiers would have dumped a thousand Urecari heads at the Ishalem wall. Even when she pictured the look of shock and horror that must have showed on the soldan-shah's face, Anjine did not find it satisfying.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “What have I done, Tycho? I can't take any of it back.”

She had hoped to feel more, a sense of closure, of justice… but every one of those slain prisoners was also someone's child. Uraban women would feel the same loss, their little sons or brothers killed as unintentional game pieces in this terrible war. She had wanted them to feel her pain. She had needed to inflict the same hurt upon them, to make them understand the depth of the wound she had suffered.

But Anjine doubted the revenge would stop there. What would Omra do once he learned of the slaughter? What revenge would
he
take? What if the Urecari killed
ten
thousand Tierrans in an escalating retaliation? What if her own need to inflict pain ended up sparking even more bloodshed from the soulless enemy? How would she comfort the grieving families after the next wave of Uraban butchery?

As queen, Anjine was supposed to protect her people… but had she actually made them safer?

Tycho wanted to get down, and she let him onto the floor, where he took an interest in a set of carved wooden figures that had been stored on a bottom shelf with other old toys. She recognized the wooden ships, sea serpents, horses, carts—the paint was chipped and faded now, but she remembered when the colors were bright… when Tomas played with them as a little boy.

Sniffing and bumping his head against a sea-serpent figure, Tycho knocked the pieces down with a clatter that startled him.

Anjine's throat clenched with the raw pain of unvoiced sobs. She could not express the whirlwind of contradictory thoughts and yearnings inside of her. She could not break down the thick, protective wall she had built around her heart and mind….

Some hours later, Enifir found her there on the floor just staring at the wooden figures. Speaking with stern compassion, the handmaiden led her away from the small room filled with shadows and ghosts.

To drive away the persistent gloom, servants had built roaring fires in all the main rooms. In her damp withdrawing room, with a beeswax candle burning beside her and the cat curled on her lap, Queen Anjine listlessly studied documents, but she had been shuffling through the papers for more than hour, unable to focus on the words.

Enifir sat with the queen, cradling her newborn baby and letting the little girl suckle at her breast. “If there's anything you need, my Queen, I will bring it to you.”

Anjine pretended to be engrossed in the document. “No thank you. I am fine.”

Enifir kept talking, as if she assumed the queen needed to hear more human voices. “I'm worried about my Vorannen. He's out in the streets, keeping watch over the city, but no man should be out in that storm. The sound of that wind and rain makes me want to hold somebody.”

“Vorannen needs to be here with you—is there any way to call him back?”

“No, Majesty. He knows his duty, as do all the city guard.” Finished nursing, the handmaiden walked around the room with the baby on her shoulder. She paused in front of the queen, who looked up at the baby. Enifir's expression softened. “Would you like to hold her, Majesty?”

Hesitantly, Anjine took the infant wrapped in blankets and gazed down at the small face. She reflected on how tragic life was, how clearly she remembered holding her baby brother, how much joy Tomas had brought to Korastine and Ilrida. Yet even with so much sadness, so many times when hope and perseverance were knocked to the ground, fresh hope returned and life went on.

Fleeing her own thoughts and afraid she would break down and cry, she handed the little girl back to Enifir. Tycho adjusted his position, making a warm nest in Anjine's skirts, and she petted his head. He didn't like the storm either.

Sen Leo entered the sitting room, looking worried, as he always did. Anjine finally gave up on the document and set it aside. “Shouldn't you be in the Saedran District with your family, Sen Leo?”

He made a grimace of impatient frustration. “I've been here for two days, my Queen. I don't dare leave the castle now, but… yes, I am concerned for my wife.” He slumped in one of the hard chairs. “She's never been a fool, though I doubt she'd say the same thing about me. She knows how to take care of the house and herself. I just wish I could be with her.” He paused, then shook his head. “Be thankful, Majesty, that the headlands shelter the harbor from the worst of it. The Oceansea must be a great cauldron, boiling and churning, stirring things up from the depths.”

“This is how Ondun washes the stains from the world,” Anjine said quietly.

“Is that a quote from the Book of Aiden? Prester-Marshall Rudio said the same thing to me an hour ago.”

Anjine was surprised. “He is here too?”

“He came to perform services when the storm began, and he remained in the castle rather than returning to the kirk. I don't think he wanted to get wet.”

As though responding to his name, the old prester-marshall appeared at the workroom door. When a particularly loud gust rattled the shutters, Rudio winced, ready to duck should the stone walls blow in. Embarrassed, he tried to disguise his reaction as a bow of respect. “My Queen, on such a long stormy day, I came to see if you would like me to pray with you?” He glanced at the Saedran scholar, a bit intimidated. “And of course Sen Leo na-Hadra is welcome, if he would join us.”

“Thank you for the offer, Prester-Marshall, but I prefer to pray by myself.” Sen Leo smiled over at Anjine. “While we've been cooped up inside the castle, Rudio and I have had many interesting and insightful discussions. It reminded me of my times with Prester-Marshall Baine.”

The prester-marshall's expression soured. “Sen Leo is a wise Saedran, but no matter how many times I show him Aiden's words as proof, he still clings to his own beliefs.”

The old scholar responded with a humble shrug. “I was about to give a similar assessment of you, Prester-Marshall.”

Acutely aware of the hollowness inside her, Anjine was in no mood for banter. “To answer your question, I have already done plenty of praying, but no matter how benevolent Aiden is, he won't find a way to place my brother's head back on his shoulders, or to gather all the innocent blood our enemies have spilled.” Anjine extricated Tycho from her lap and set him on the stone hearth near the fire. She walked over to the shuttered window, feeling drafts whistle through the cracks. The wind reminded her of a cold, moaning whisper of grief. “We are beyond prayer. Now we must do our worshiping with a sharpened sword.”

104
Iyomelka's Island

Considering the possibility that the sacred wellspring might be repaired, Iyomelka was anxious to provide any assistance. Even though the magic-infused water had not started flowing yet, the crone already looked healthier, charged with excitement. Grigovar was ready to row back to the
Al-Orizin
so they could gather the equipment needed to fix the well.

Saan grinned teasingly at Ystya as they returned to the longboats on the beach. “If we fix your spring, I hope the water doesn't turn you back into a child.”

The young woman looked at Saan with wonder in her eyes. “Do you think that could happen?” Ystya was so strange and exotic, so beautiful… so different from the women in Olabar who flirted with him only because their fathers wanted closer connections with the soldan-shah. Saan laughed, but he didn't know the answer to her question.

On impulse, he gave the old woman his most pleasant smile. “Lady Iyomelka, your daughter might like to see my ship. We have many Uraban objects that would seem strange and wonderful to her. Would you let her join me, while I gather a few items for exploring the well?”

Ystya brightened. She could see the beautiful
Al-Orizin
anchored out at the edge of the reefs. “Oh, please, Mother—let me see it.”

Iyomelka turned stony. “No. My daughter must remain here, under my care.”

Saan was more hurt than indignant. “We'll be gone no more than a few hours. Do you think I would harm the girl in some way?”

Ystya clung to the older woman's arm. “Oh please, Mother! I'll never have a chance like this again! I've seen the sunken ships out by the reefs, but never a vessel when it was intact.” She blinked her large eyes. “They'll sail away soon enough… and I'll always wonder.”

Grigovar was impatient to go. “Well, make up your minds, one way or the other. If we don't get the equipment soon, there won't be enough daylight to try to fix the fountain.”

The crone's resolve wavered. “Very well. But return her to me safely—and swiftly.” She touched her daughter's slender arm, lowered her voice. “Do not be tempted by the strangeness of it, Ystya. You will gaze upon many objects from the outside world that you have never needed.”

Saan helped situate the young woman in the front of the longboat, then he and Grigovar pushed it off the beach into the water. Ystya held on to the gunwales as the boat rocked. When the big reef diver climbed aboard, he set the oars into the locks and began to row. One of the green seaweed plaits in Ystya's ivory-colored hair came unraveled and blew away, and she laughed.

Saan touched her hand. “Look behind you. Look at your home.”

Ystya turned to see the receding shore and caught her breath. “I can see the whole island from here!”

“That spot of land is the edge of your world, all you've ever known.” Then Saan directed her gaze out toward the
Al-Orizin
and the great ocean beyond. “But the real edge of the world is far, far from here. That's where my crew and I are going—to find Terravitae and the Key to Creation.”

“You must have seen many wonderful things.”

“Not enough of them, not yet. We still have a long voyage ahead of us.” As if sharing a secret, Saan described Olabar and the palace in the brightest possible terms. He told her the story of finding the real Golden Fern in the forest when he was just a boy; he described crossing the Great Desert in a sand coracle, and how he had lived among the Nunghals as they herded buffalo across the plains. He talked about the seafaring Nunghal-Su, whose families lived aboard hundreds of ships that crossed the Southern Sea. With each description, Ystya grew more amazed, and Saan didn't even have to exaggerate.

When the longboat pulled up alongside the
Al-Orizin
and crewmen tossed down the rope ladder, Ystya touched the hull. “This was built by your people?”

“Yes. There are many such vessels in Olabar harbor.”

Once on deck, Ystya looked around, touching everything as if to convince herself it was real. While Grigovar and other crewmen busily loaded ropes, tools, and enclosed lanterns aboard the longboat for work on the dry well, the young woman asked the names of the simplest objects. Even ropes, sailcloth, stanchions, hatches, and winches were exotic to her.

In his cabin, Saan unrolled the colorful ancient Map of Urec, and her eyes widened with unabashed amazement. “Ondun gave this Map to Urec?” Her slender finger traced the outlines of Terravitae, the mysterious continent, the archaic words that she seemed able to read perfectly well. “Did it lead you here to our island?”

“The winds and storms had more to do with that. Even Sen Sherufa hasn't been able to use the Map as a navigational tool—yet. But we hope it'll lead us to the Key to Creation.”

“But you don't know what that is?”

“I'll know when I find it.” Saan never doubted his resolve or his abilities. “Urec was searching for the Key, and we will carry on his mission.”

He reverently rolled the Map, sealed it away, and led her out to the deck again. Saan felt such an odd connection to this young woman. “There's so much I wish I could show you. It's a shame to hide you away on that island.”

“I
want
you to show me. I want to see.” Ystya shook her head, turning away from the view of the island. “That place is like a prison. I've memorized each rock, each tree—but it's like knowing one grain of sand, while ignoring the rest of the beach. I want to know the rest of the world.”

Saan heard the longing in her voice. “Then come with us.”

“My mother would never allow it!”

“Then we'll just have to figure out a way.” She did not seem convinced by his reassuring smile, but he knew that Yal Dolicar could probably come up with a dozen suggestions, right off the top of his head. Saan was sure he could think of something himself.

He took her to the captain's wheel. “On this one voyage, I've seen that Ondun's creation is vaster than I imagined.” He leaned very close to her and whispered, “And maybe all the things I've experienced are still just a grain of sand. Think of how much more might await us.”