The Map of All Things (45 page)

107
Ishalem

From atop God's Barricade, Soldan-Shah Omra stared at all the dead faces dumped like overripe melons at a rubbish heap—the harvest of Kel Unwar's foolish action.

After Unwar's rash decisions to kidnap and kill the hostage prince, Omra could only guess the terrible consequences his people would have to face. Considering what was done to Tomas, he had expected a ruthless response, but Queen Anjine's sheer venom stunned him nonetheless. Omra had arrived back in Ishalem in time to watch Tierran soldiers deliver cartloads of severed heads. One thousand innocents!

Now the kel stood beside him, blind to how he himself had been a catalyst for this tragedy. “Even after the appalling massacre at Fashia's Fountain, I did not imagine the Aidenists could possess such untapped depths of cruelty.” Unwar's voice was raspy, his throat apparently still sore from the shouting and weeping he had done upon hearing the news. “Look what they have done!”

Omra's fury flowed through him like molten metal from the smelters of the Gremurr mines. He wanted to grab the man by the neck and hurl him off the top of the wall for his ill-considered action—he had provoked this! But Omra needed the man, and he couldn't even publicly reprimand him: Aidenist barbarities had nearly driven the Urabans mad with the need for retaliation, and killing the young prince now seemed insufficient by far.

The brewing unrest in Ishalem was like a firepowder bomb, primed to explode. Unable to restrain themselves, slave masters had executed dozens of Tierran captives before Omra sent guards into the work camps with a written command to spare the prisoners—not out of mercy, but because the laborers were needed to excavate the great canal. Instead, the guards and supervisors settled for whipping the slaves bloody and driving them to the point of collapse.

He and Unwar were alone on the top of the wall, looking down at the mounded heads. Crows and gulls had settled in for the feast, and by now most of the eye sockets were empty, the flesh rotting in the hot summer sun. “You know what instigated this, Unwar. I am not pleased that you acted without my guidance. You have guaranteed many more years of war.”

The provisional governor was not apologetic. “Fashia's Fountain was the spark that caused this, Soldan-Shah. Not I.”

Omra scowled. “And the Aidenists would cite something else before that, and before that, and before that. No one remembers the first spark anymore.” His shoulders slumped.

“Rest assured that we were not to blame, Soldan-Shah. I will send soldiers to gather up the heads. We'll build a memorial pyre—”

“No, leave them there. This wall is God's Barricade, but the Aidenists have given us a second barrier. Let it be a wall of skulls. If ever they approach Ishalem again, these bleached bones will remind them of what they have done.”

When fishing boats raced into the western harbor to announce the approach of many fearsome vessels, Omra raised the alarm. The Tierran navy had come to capture Ishalem. Gongs were struck, bells rung. The Aidenist prisoners were locked away intheir pens once more, while Kel Unwar rallied his soldiers. Faithful Urecari streamed over to the Oceansea docks and launched any vessel that could sail, to protect their holy city.

Omra took his place at the bow of a war galley and the crew pulled at the long oars and rowed out of the harbor. As the jagged bow sliced through the water, he called to his men, “We will turn the harbor red with Aidenist blood!”

The men cheered, the drums pounded, and the ships moved forward to meet the oncoming fleet.

With surprise, Omra realized that the strange vessels were sailing up from the
south
, by way of Lahjar and Ouroussa. He saw dozens of sails, perhaps as many as a hundred ships. He used a spyglass to study the rigging, the shape of the hulls, the accordioned gray sails, then grasped the war galley's rail to steady himself in surprise and relief. A hundred well-armed ships, a formidable force. “It's the Nunghals—Asaddan and Ruad have returned!”

Foreign vessels filled the Ishalem harbor and anchored out in the deeper water. Cheering Urabans welcomed their guests and built fires in braziers at the sites of the churches under construction, adding powders to color the smoke.

Omra opened the storehouses, having workers haul out barrels of honey and casks of wine. Bakeries worked around the clock. Cows, sheep, and pigs were butchered and roasted. After long months at sea, the Nunghals fell to the strange repast with great gusto.

“What did I tell you?” Asaddan shouted above the clamor of the gathered Nunghals in the huge banquet hall. “Was I exaggerating?” Even though he had constantly told stories about the wonders of Uraba, the Nunghals were awestruck by the unusual sights in Ishalem.

During the voyage from the southern sea, Asaddan had flitted from one ship to another, like a popular man at a clan dance. No longer suffering from seasickness, he taught the shipkhans and crew a few words of the Uraban language, while also proclaiming the (exaggerated) exploits of Ruad. The once-disgraced shipkhan was clad in fine garments now, a hero among his people, and the soldan-shah gave him and Asaddan seats at the head of the main table.

“It was a close thing, Soldan-Shah.” Asaddan gnawed on a rib bone, peeling off a few scraps of meat. Though he'd consumed a great deal of red wine, his goblet kept being refilled. “These other men were skeptical, remembering how poor Ruad had crashed his ship long ago.” He reached over to wrap his arm around his friend's shoulders, giving him a vigorous hug, even though Ruad understood little of what he'd said. “Now all that is forgiven and forgotten.”

Omra picked at his food, thinking of the tragedies that had occurred since Asaddan's last visit here. “You could not have come at a better time.”

The next morning, he led a representative group of Nunghal shipkhans out to view the canal across the isthmus. With Asaddan translating, Omra said, “Someday soon, my fleet of ironclad warships will sail from the Middlesea out into the ocean. And with your hundred vessels added to our own navy, we will at last overrun Calay harbor and squash the blight of Aidenism.”

Next, he took them to God's Barricade. The towering seven-mile-long wall astonished them; neither the nomadic clans nor the seafaring families had ever built anything so massive or enduring. From the wall, Omra told them the horrific story and showed them the decaying heads of innocent Urecari prisoners strewn on the ground. “What more do you need to know about how evil the Tierrans are?”

The Nunghal captains muttered to each other, and Asaddan spoke for them all. “Urabans are our friends and our new trading partners. Of course we will help you against your enemies.”

108
Iyomelka's Island

When the longboat came back ashore, Iyomelka was waiting on the beach, weak with relief to see her daughter safely returned. “There was no need to worry,” Saan insisted, careful to keep the annoyance out of his tone. “No follower of Urec would ever overpower a girl and take her against her wishes. It goes against our teachings.”

As he spoke, though, Saan wondered what his mother would have said about that, considering that
she
had been taken against her will from a Tierran village. Istar had told him her story, and Soldan-Shah Omra had never denied the facts. Saan didn't quite understand what had really taken place, so many years ago.

Ystya, however, had made it clear to him in quiet words that leaving the island would not be entirely against her wishes….

With Grigovar carrying the heavy tools and equipment they needed for exploring the dried-up well shaft, Saan took a few items and headed back up the hill to the failed spring. On the way, Ystya couldn't help describing to her mother all the wondrous things she had seen.

Her mother, though, had eyes only for the ropes, pulleys, pry bars, and tools they carried. “We will have time enough to talk about it later, daughter, after these men have sailed far away. For now, I am eager to see if Captain Saan can fix our spring.” She looked hungrily into the open mouth of the well. “Then everything will be right with the world again.”

Saan cautioned, “Remember, we made no promises, Lady Iyomelka. We said only that there
might
be a way to make the water flow again. Yal Dolicar has ideas, but if the cause is truly a curse—”

Dolicar hurried up, soothing the old woman. “But your offer of treasure gives us all the incentive we require. If there's a way to do it, we will succeed. We're ingenious and resourceful, you'll see.”

“I think Saan can do it,” Ystya said without a shred of doubt in her voice.

Grigovar dumped the equipment and began setting up the ropes and pulleys, while an anxious Iyomelka followed his every move.

While they were gone, Dolicar had paced around the circle of stones and studied the dark shaft, igniting bits of tinder and dropping them down into it, to see if he could make out any details. Now he took Saan aside for a quiet consultation. “From what I can determine, Captain, there is an obstruction blocking the flow from an underground aquifer. I wouldn't stake my other hand on it, but I suspect that a rockfall diverted the water to another outlet, perhaps an undersea cave. Since water flows along the easiest path, all we have to do is make it
easier
for the water to bubble up here. Nothing magical about it, but we can certainly impress the old woman.”

Saan dropped his coil of rope onto the ground. “You sound like an expert. Are you just talking again, or do you genuinely have knowledge about wells and irrigation?”

The other man glanced away abashedly. “I am embarrassed to admit that I was once arrested in Abilan—falsely accused, I swear!—but the magistrate would not hear my defense. I was sentenced to a year of digging irrigation trenches. I had to climb down wells to clear dried or clogged shafts. But it was the will of Ondun, and I'm pleased that my unfortunate experience has given me an opportunity to help these dear ladies.”

“
And
gain treasure for yourself.”

Dolicar gave a charming shrug. “That, too. As I said, the will of Ondun.”

Grigovar tied off one of the ropes on a sturdy palm tree. “Enough talking over there. Best way is to go down and see for ourselves.”

Yal Dolicar held up his hook with an exaggerated expression of disappointment. “Unfortunately, due to yet another unpleasant circumstance, it's not possible for me to climb down a rope. You'll have to do it for me.”

Grigovar fastened the other end of the rope around his waist. “I'll climb down. No need for you to come along, Captain.”

“Perhaps not, but I will.” Saan wanted Iyomelka to see his earnestness. “Wish us luck.”

“May Ondun's blessings be upon you.” The old woman's voice carried an unexpected and inexplicable undertone of sarcasm.

Shrugging, Saan secured himself with another rope while his men lit three enclosed lanterns, attached them to lengths of twine, and carefully dropped them into the shaft's dark depths, shining the way. The big reef diver lowered himself over the edge and soon disappeared into the darkness.

With a quick wink at Ystya, Saan stripped off his shirt and dropped after him, resting his weight on rough rock outcroppings. Holding on to the rope, he glanced up to see faces crowding the pool of sky above. Accustomed to climbing the masts and rigging of the
Al-Orizin
, both men descended without difficulty.

The well was deeper than Saan had expected, and it remained bone dry. Though he was dubious that the waters had magical powers to restore youth, he couldn't deny the excitement and hope on Iyomelka's face.
She
certainly believed. More importantly, his men had seen the treasure, and Saan already knew what reward he wanted.

At last, he and Grigovar reached the seeming bottom in mud and moisture, but the well wasn't dry. The shaft curved horizontally in an abrupt gooseneck, at the bottom of which they found a pool that seemed to extend much deeper, a channel that curved out of sight. While Grigovar untied the lanterns dangling from the twine and set them all around for light, Saan inspected the pool, frowning. “I don't see how we can pump this water all the way to the top of the well shaft.”

“Maybe something is blocking it below. I'll dive down to see.” Grigovar began heaving great lungfuls of air, preparing himself. He flashed an encouraging grin at Saan and pointed into the curved shaft. “It'll be just like sliding down the throat of a sea serpent.” Without another word, he dove in so smoothly that he barely made a ripple.

Long minutes later, when the reef diver returned, he tossed his shaggy wet hair out of his dark eyes. “Follow me, Captain—I want you to see this for yourself. It's only four body-lengths down.”

Saan filled his lungs, then followed the reef diver into the pool's depths. As he immersed himself, he sensed no magical energy tingling on his skin—just water. But Iyomelka certainly expected the spring to have amazing properties.

They swam deeper, and in the fading glow from the lanterns above he saw Grigovar pointing. Yes, tumbling rocks had blocked the narrow mouth at a bend in the shaft, sealing off all but a trickle of water. Without too much trouble, they could move some of the stones and clear the obstruction so water could flow again.

Grigovar touched Saan's shoulder and pointed to the ceiling of the underwater chamber they had entered. Saan was so startled by what he saw that the air nearly exploded from his lungs.

The pale body of an old man floated there, caught in a pocket at the chamber's ceiling. But the flesh had not swollen or decayed. Rather, the man seemed perfectly preserved, like a wax figure. If Iyomelka's story was true, this had to be her husband.

Saan's lungs ached and burned, and he stroked quickly back to the surface of the pool. He gasped much harder for breath than Grigovar, who rose beside him. The two stared at each other, and the reef diver had a tinge of awe in his voice. “Have we just laid eyes upon Ondun?”

“Well, His body would be free of corruption and suffused with magic. That could be what seeped into the spring water, gave it the potency Iyomelka says.” Saan intended to scoff, but he did feel a strange awe. This island held far too many mysteries—the old woman and her daughter, and those shipwrecks around the reefs. “Ondun supposedly left the world to create other places. What if He simply left Terravitae and came here to this island with His wife? What if He had a daughter here and then drowned in the spring? That would explain why Ondun never returned to the world.”

Grigovar climbed out of the pool, getting back to business. “I'll leave that for the sikaras to decide.
Our
job is to clear that blockage and get the spring flowing. If we use pry bars and work together, we can shift those stones.”

Saan tied stone weights around his waist so he sank faster to the obstruction of rocks, which gave him an extra minute or so to work underwater. Grigovar's lung capacity was nearly three times his, and the reef diver kept laboring by himself even when Saan had to swim back to catch his breath. Together, they pushed on pry bars, moved boulders, and worried away the smaller stones, loosening the rubble, bit by bit. The obstruction began to crumble, and they felt a strong, cold current flowing through the cracks.

On their fifth descent, Saan and Grigovar pushed aside a key boulder, and the force of the surge knocked away the rest of the blockage. Around them, the water plunged into darkness as the rising pool flooded the upper chamber and extinguished the lanterns.

Releasing the weights around his waist, Saan flailed, trying to reach the surface. Rushing water swept him upward like a geyser. He needed to breathe but could not open his mouth. Frothing water swirled all around him. He tried to swim toward the bright sunlight above. He bounced against the side of the shaft, struggled out to the churning center.

He felt a hand against his, a cold arm—and saw the preserved body of Ondun tumbling alongside him, propelled toward the surface like a projectile. All of the air burst out of Saan's lungs.

When the cascade breached and spilled over the edge, Saan tumbled out of the well shaft, coughing and gasping, swallowing mouthfuls of water. Grigovar hauled him to the side, while the water flowed and bubbled around them, flowing across the hilltop.

Iyomelka crowed and danced. The
Al-Orizin
's sailors applauded, laughing. Yal Dolicar cheered louder than the others.

Moments later, everyone saw the sprawled corpse ejected by the flowing water. Ystya recoiled in horror, while her mother ran to the body, dragged it to the side of the pool, and held it in an embrace. “My husband!” Iyomelka gazed down at the smooth, dead face that wore a wise expression unaffected by all the time he had been preserved in the water. “You have returned to me, my love.” She kissed the forehead with her wrinkled lips. “As you can see, I am not the same woman you knew. But I will be again.”

Without removing her garments, the crone plunged into the newly bubbling spring, stroking back and forth, drinking deeply.

Saan had swallowed plenty of the water on his way up the well shaft, and it drenched his hair, his clothes, his skin. Still, he felt no different. Grigovar shook his head, splashing water everywhere, and he too seemed unchanged.

Iyomelka, however, exhibited an immediate transformation. As the droplets flowed through the wrinkles on her cheeks, the imperfections miraculously smoothed. Her rheumy eyes brightened, her wet hair thickened and darkened to a steel gray, her body filled out.

Yal Dolicar pointed with the hook at the end of his stump. “She was telling the truth!” Without being invited, he ran to the spring, dropped to his knees in the fresh mud, and used his good hand to scoop water into his mouth, expecting miracles. He removed the hook attachment from his stump and looked down at the abrupt pinkish scar, waiting for his hand to grow back. But he was disappointed. “I guess the rejuvenation doesn't always work.”

“Or maybe it just doesn't work on men,” said Sen Sherufa.

Sikara Fyiri stood watching in anger and confusion. The others ignored her.

Iyomelka reveled in the bubbling spring, then climbed out to stand dripping in the island sunshine. No longer a crone, she was now a statuesque but stern-looking woman who appeared to be about fifty years of age. She gave Dolicar a withering look. “The magic was not meant for you. It does not work on mere humans.”

Her words surprised them all. Saan said, “Mere humans? What are you?”

“Much more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she drew a rectangular shape in the air, pulling both sorcery and substance from nowhere to create a long crystal-walled box. “Come, Ystya, help me place your father here, where he will be safe.”

Worried, the young woman looked at Saan, then back at the corpse. “It's been so long, I barely remember him.” Together, the two laid the old man inside the transparent container. With another gesture, Iyomelka called on the spring water to fill the coffin, like an aquarium Saan had once seen in a wealthy merchant's home in Olabar.

“Yes, the power is at last restored. The power of life, the power of youth, the power of creation.” The island witch sounded pleased. She turned a triumphant smile to Saan. “Very well, you've done everything I asked, Captain, and I am true to my word. My gratitude is great. Choose whichever treasure you like, take what you will—so long as you depart this island. Everything has changed now, and there is much for us to do.”

The lure of the reward salved Yal Dolicar's disappointment at not regaining his lost appendage. He glanced back toward the jungle, where the fabulous wealth of flotsam treasures lay in piles.

Saan raised his chin, utterly confident. “I have made my choice, Lady Iyomelka.” Beaming, he took the girl by the arm. “Your daughter is the greatest treasure on this island. I choose
Ystya
as my reward. I'll take her with me when we leave.”