The Map of All Things, page 33
part #2 of Terra Incognita Series
Asaddan stood beside his Nunghal cousin. “Aren't you glad you listened to my advice and dared to take this voyage? You'll be celebrated among the clans—you know that, don't you?”
“That was my plan, friend. There's gold and jewels in our treasure chests, but I'll take my treasure in respect and prestige among the Nunghal-Su.”
“Oh, does that mean you grant me your share of the profits?”
Ruad laughed. “I wouldn't go that far!”
They voyaged south for weeks and rounded the coast, heading east until they entered familiar waters. After dispersing from a clan gathering, Nunghal-Su ships wandered the waters in a loose confederation, living off of the sea.
Ruad's ship finally encountered a group of fourteen vessels from allied families. The shipkhan sent up signal flags to request a meeting of clan elders. Some of the other shipkhans were gruff or skeptical, making snide comments. “So, Ruad, lost any ships lately?”
But Ruad paraded across the deck of his own ship, wearing colorful clothing given to him by the soldan-shah. “I lost nothing and gained much. My ship voyaged far past any explored coastline, headed north, and discovered a route to the land of Uraba.”
One of the captains scoffed. “Did you find sea witches and mermaids as well?”
“I was too busy filling my cargo hold with riches. Would you like to see?” Planting his hands on his hips, Ruad commanded his sailors to carry a sample of the chests over to the other ship to show the bounty Omra had given him. “Uraba is a wealthy land, and the people are eager to trade with us. I can lead you there, if you're interested in being rich.”
The proof of Ruad's claims immediately changed the attitude of the clan elders. He continued to tempt them with the promise of riches. “We braved the unknown and marked our charts. Soldan-Shah Omra and the Urabans are our friends and allies—not to mention rich trading partners. Once we reprovision, I intend to go back there. We invite you to accompany us—if you have the balls for it. I promised the soldan-shah we'd bring more Nunghals next time, but if the dangers worry you too much…”
“The Urabans are in the middle of a war and need fighters,” Asaddan interjected. “The soldan-shah promises to pay well for any man who is not afraid of an adventure.”
“This will require a council meeting.” One of the stern older shipkhans shook his head. “That isn't where we had planned to sail.”
Ruad rolled his eyes with a confident, lighthearted disrespect he would never have dared show the elders before. “And where did you plan to sail? Nowhere! I know what courses you set. Your families move across the waters like aimless buffalo move across the plains. Why not choose a destination with a purpose?”
Next to Ruad, Asaddan gave a nonchalant shrug. “Of course, if you're not interested, we'll find other Nunghal-Su ships whose shipkhans are fond enough of profits.”
Ruad directed his sailors to pack up the samples of treasure, then he and Asaddan headed back to their own ship. When they were out of earshot, the shipkhan whispered enthusiastically to his friend, “They will join us—I saw it in their eyes!”
“Why stop there? There must be other groups out in the waters. Let's assemble the largest flotilla possible.”
“By our course, I can make sure we encounter more clan groupings before we head for Lahjar again. By the time we leave, even those who don't decide to go with us will have heard of my travels. The story will spread, and the rumors will grow. The great Shipkhan Ruad—that's what I want.”
Asaddan chuckled. “In that case, cousin, I shall help spread the rumors myself.”
76 The Dyscovera
Rising up from the waves, the black-and-gold serpent blasted spray from its blowhole. Its jagged fins sawed like notched sword blades through the waves as it warily circled the Dyscovera. The creature looked exactly like the one that had attacked Criston in the wreckage of the Luminara, devoured poor Prester Jerard, and dragged the rickety raft for leagues across the uncharted sea.
He raced across the deck, yelling, “Damn you and your kind!” He kept a white-knuckled grip on his dagger, ready to stab the monster if it should snatch him from the deck. “Grab your bows and harpoons! When it gets closer, aim for the soft flesh inside its maw!”
“I don't want to see the inside of its mouth,” Kjelnar growled as he knocked off the lock to the weapons storage chest.
Sailors scrambled to grab bows and arrows as the first mate handed them around. Without any sort of military precision, the men strung the bows, nocked arrows, and let fly even as the sea serpent threw out another challenge. The shafts bounced off the ebony scales, provoking the creature to rush closer in a froth of splashing foam.
At a run, Prester Hannes bolted past Criston to the bow, his countenance ablaze with fervent purpose. The wind flapped his clothes, and he clenched his fishhook pendant. “By the power of Aiden, I command thee begone!” From memory, he shouted out verses from the Book of Aiden that included stern invocations against evil.
The creature lurched toward the Dyscovera like a serpentine spear. Seeing the telltale lash of its head, Criston yelled, “Brace yourselves! It'll charge.” The archers loosed another volley; this time one of the shafts struck inside the monster's mouth, which only enraged it further.
But as it drew close, the sea serpent thrashed and hesitated, raising its long and supple body high out of the water. It stopped its charge, as if it had run up against an unseen barrier.
Kjelnar pointed wildly toward the Dyscovera's bow. “The horn! Look at Raathgir's horn!” The milky, knurled shaft shone with a cold blue luminescence.
The monster thrashed from side to side, intimidated. It was close enough that Criston could see runnels of water pouring from its black-and-gold scales, but it could not cause any damage. The beast opened its mouth, as if its jaw had come unhinged. Its forked tongue flailed back and forth like a whip, but it refused to come closer to the glowing horn.
Etched with verses from the Book of Aiden, the relic was connected through sympathetic magic to its counterpart on the altar in the main kirk in Calay. Until now, Criston had not entirely believed Iborian tales of the ice dragon's magic, but the power came from somewhere—protecting the ship from the sea serpent.
Criston stood at the side of the ship, staring it down, looking right into the slit of its reptilian eye. He had seen an eye like that, much too close, just before a similar beast had killed kindly old Prester Jerard. Criston did not waver now.
The monster strained against the invisible barrier, but could not attack as the Dyscovera sailed on. Defeated, the thwarted serpent snorted an indignant burst from its blowhole and dropped its head into the water again, cutting a path in the opposite direction as it sank slowly.
Laughing, the Iborian shipwright hammered his chest with one fist. “Raathgir has protected us!”
Prester Hannes looked patiently at the first mate and gave a slow shake of his head. “It wasn't your superstition about the horn but my prayers that drove the monster away.”
Criston intervened before the two could argue. “We are protected by the grace of Ondun, whatever form it may take. What matters is that the Dyscovera is safe, and we can continue our voyage.”
77 The Al-Orizin
All across the uncharted Middlesea, Saan saw nothing but water, endless water… until a trio of golden sea serpents approached. The lookout bellowed an alarm, and crewmen raced to the bow, taking up spears.
Grigovar held a harpoon in each hand. “You will find me a difficult mouthful to swallow! Ask your brother, who lies dead back in the reefs.” But the monsters did not react as he brandished the weapons.
Yal Dolicar tugged at leather laces to secure the knife-blade prosthetic to his stump. “If one of those things tries to swallow me, I'll cut my way out, just like Grigovar did.”
Saan stared at the three serpents. “Hold a moment, you two. Let's not provoke them just yet.”
The three creatures were gorgeous, their wet scales reflecting the yellow sunlight. Curious, they circled the strange vessel, blasting vapors from their blowholes, then dropped beneath the waves and swam away.
Relieved, Saan turned to Sen Sherufa. “That's enough excitement for one day.”
“Another story to tell Imir, when we get back home.”
Fyiri emerged from her cabin, holding a large golden fern in one hand. Saan wondered if she intended to take credit for driving away the monsters, but she had lost her moment. Instead, the sikara took a stance of authority and caught the attention of all the men. “Not all sea serpents are dangerous, but they have a cursed origin. Such monsters are the offspring of Bouras—the gigantic serpent that girdles the world, an enormous beast that no man's imagination can fully encompass. The Father Serpent is the personification of evil that thrives in our world.”
She glared at the crew, as if blaming each one of them. “Long before He departed from our world, Ondun attempted to stop Bouras and his deceit. He commanded the Father Serpent to bite his own tail, so that he could no longer speak lies. He must remain trapped like that until he is freed. After countless centuries, Bouras has grown so large that he encircles the entire world.”
Fyiri gestured across the open water, to where the three golden creatures had disappeared. “If you fear those serpents, remember that they are just the tiniest offspring, the infant children of Bouras. Pray that our voyage does not take us across the great monster's path.”
When the crew muttered with fear and anxiety, Saan was annoyed with Fyiri for preying upon their superstitions. He laughed, showing just what he thought of such nonsense. “Well, then we'll keep a sharp watch!” He sent a second man up the mainmast to the lookout nest. “If the Father Serpent girdles the entire world, then he had better get out of our way. No monster is going to stop this voyage.”
The sleek ship sailed on into uncharted waters, under blue skies and with no threat of sea serpents. For all the excitement and fear of sailing into the unknown, Saan lounged on the deck, waiting for something to happen. They had traveled countless leagues, but he didn't feel any closer to finding the Key to Creation. Even Sen Sherufa remained unable to interpret the Map.
Yal Dolicar often wore a frilly white shirt despite the heat of the sun, while most of the Al-Orizin's crew stripped down to keep cool. Dolicar had affixed the carved wooden hand to his wrist, and now rubbed it self-consciously. “I listened to Sikara Fyiri give her report from the Olabar church last night.” The priestess often read pleasant but meaningless words that appeared on the pages of the sympathetic journal. The mere fact that she remained in communication with Uraba reassured the men. “She makes it sound as if there is no news and no conflict back in Olabar. Everything seems to be right with the world. Suspiciously so, don't you think?”
“What do you mean?”
With a shrug, Dolicar hunkered down alongside his captain. “Sir, do you actually know what the sikaras have written, back and forth? Have you looked at the sympathetic journal yourself to see what the words really say?”
Saan frowned. “That's Fyiri's business. Same as my captain's log is my business.”
Dolicar chuckled. “Don't kid yourself, Captain. You should be more suspicious.”
Saan tapped his fingertips together as he considered. Fyiri did have sole control over the sympathetic journal, and she could be writing anything, spreading false rumors to the ur-sikara. She could also be distorting, or completely falsifying, the reports that supposedly appeared in the volume. Saan sat up straighter as the wheels began to turn in his mind. “Thank you for your concern, Dolicar. I'll take it under advisement and make a decision.”
* * *
Unwilling to remain in her quarters all day, a restless Sikara Fyiri walked the deck, visited the cargo hold and the crew bunks. She spent time in the galley criticizing the cook, though he pretended to be deaf to her complaints.
When she was gone, Saan boldly walked to the door, worked the small latch, and entered the priestess's private room. Fyiri had left small candles burning in covered lamps—a fire hazard aboard a sailing ship, but the stern sikara believed that she operated outside of rules. It would be good to remind her of her place.
Saan found the sympathetic journal and opened it, flipping the sheets of paper that were torn in half. He scanned the letters written on each page—lines in Fyiri's strong and determined script, and other words written in a more formal hand.
He saw immediately that Fyiri was indeed withholding information, just as Yal Dolicar had suspected. She had not recounted any of this news to the Al-Orizin's crew. He read entries describing Soldan-Shah Omra's ambitious scheme to dig a great canal across the isthmus, news that Saan's half-sister Adreala had gone south with her grandfather to visit the Nunghals, and that his other two sisters were now acolytes in the church.
When he read that Cithara was being groomed for a “special mission,” the wording raised Saan's suspicions, and he studied more closely, flipping through the later entries as Fyiri's mysterious correspondent grew more careless with her reports. When he finally read the writer's name, the word struck like an icicle in Saan's spine. Villiki! Villiki was still alive!
The woman had gone into hiding and somehow worked her way into the main church; now she was using the sympathetic journal to communicate with the sikara aboard the Al-Orizin.
Fyiri had kept all this from him.
The cabin door opened, and he heard the woman laughing seductively; Fyiri held Grigovar by the arm, leading him into her cabin with obvious intent.
Saan closed the journal with a loud thump. When the sikara saw him lounging at her writing desk, her face blazed with fury. “What are you doing in my quarters?”
Saan kept his demeanor cocky and confident. “Your quarters, perhaps, but my ship. I can do as I wish.” He held up the journal.
Fyiri lunged wildly for it. “How dare you!”
He rose to his feet, all nonchalance gone. “You have withheld information from your captain. You exchange private messages with a woman who attempted to poison the soldan-shah. It seems the church of Urec now gives this traitor secret sanctuary.” He tucked the book close under his arm. “Obviously you cannot be trusted.”
Fyiri clutched Grigovar's arm and snapped at him. “Well, what are you going to do about this? Aren't you going to defend me? Look what he's doing!”
Grigovar burst out laughing. “What am I going to do? Why, I'm going to follow the captain's orders! You think you control me just because I sleep with you?” He guffawed at the thought. “You have a very high opinion of yourself, Priestess. If a woman's bed turns cold to me, my hand is warm enough. You place too great a value on your skills as a lover.”
Fyiri was dumbstruck, and Saan couldn't help grinning. “I am confiscating this journal, Sikara. Obviously it is too powerful and too tempting for you.”
“But only I can use it! You will never be able to send messages back.” She gave a haughty sniff.
“If our messages go into the hands of Villiki, the messages are of no use to me. There is nothing I wish that woman to know. Besides, Sen Sherufa is perfectly capable of transmitting any words that I deem necessary.”
“Sen Sherufa! A Saedran woman?”
“Yes. And I trust her far more than I trust you.”
78 Olabar Palace
Soldan-Shah Omra remained in the palace for only a few days before departing for Inner Wahilir and then continuing to Yuarej to discuss the border dispute with Soldans Huttan and Andouk. As he prepared to leave again, Omra grumbled to Istar, “Maybe I should just let their First Wives resolve the issue between them.”
“Women solve problems differently than men do,” she said.
“Sometimes that is a good thing,” he said. “Sometimes it isn't.”
“I could talk to Kuari and Sharique, let them prove themselves as your emissaries.” Since being placed in their new positions, the five First Wives had begun to take great interest in matters of politics.
“Let me try it my way first.” And then he was gone with the morning tide, sailing westward along the coast, leaving her to manage the affairs of Uraba. No one questioned Istar now when she received visitors and discussed matters of state with various ministers of trade, finance, and culture. The First Wives came and went, bearing messages from the soldans, accompanied by Olabar guards.
Omra had been gone for two days when a stunned and frightened-looking traveler stumbled into the Olabar court, exhausted from his long journey. The man, a gaunt pilgrim, looked as though he hadn't eaten in some time. With a sickened expression, Kel Rovic hurried him forward. “My Lady, listen to what this man has seen.”
The anxious traveler supported himself on Rovic's arm. Though befuddled to see her instead of the soldan-shah on the dais, he fell to his knees. “Fashia's Fountain has been desecrated! Aidenists, my Lady—they attacked, slew all of the priestesses. The temple is burned, the fountain and pool fouled.”
Istar sat bolt upright, her fingers clutching the fabric cushions so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Hot blood pounded in her ears. “How do you know this?”
The man hung his head, shuddering. “I went on pilgrimage there to cleanse myself of my sins. The boat dropped me off with three fellow pilgrims. There were no other boats, and we saw no one else on the trail or at the landing. We thought it odd, because the shrine is usually crowded this time of year. When we hiked up the path, the stench… the bodies were bloated, pieces floating in the pool…. It must have been days since the attack.”
The traveler continued, glassy-eyed with shock. “The birds had already found the bodies. No one was alive. No one. And the fountain itself, the smell!” He began to sob. “I knew I had to come to Olabar straightaway. I used all my money—joined a caravan, bought a horse, paid passage on three different ships. I traveled for more than a week, but I could not get here any faster.”
