The Sea Skimmer scudded westward across an ocean Captain named the Mahajian. Tae had never sailed so far, had never heard these waters called anything at all. It was generally believed that traveling westward from the continent would soon send a ship tumbling over the edge of the universe to a dark, depthless void that would erase its victim from the world. Despite these dire warnings, from the moment he stepped aboard the Sea Skimmer, Tae never concerned himself with this possibility. He trusted Captain more than anyone to know the boundaries of the universe, especially by sea.
Aside from Imorelda, sprawled across Tae’s pallet and sound asleep, everyone aboard the ship now sat around the rickety table that served as the only real piece of furniture in the cabin. Half-cut barrels were their seats, and they slept on makeshift pallets of straw and blankets. They kept their clothing and other belongings in piles: Matrinka’s always neat, Tae’s tucked away behind his pallet, and Subikahn’s wildly scattered.
Captain had dumped his own belongings to provide them with their seats. His things consisted of a few changes of clothing and an odd assortment of metal clamps and cleats, fine rope, wooden pins, and other sailor’s bric-a-brac. He kept a few books neatly under the table, topped by a strange box with curved glass windows that Tae could not identify.
As Captain had gathered them, Tae deferred to him to speak first. He could not help wondering how the ship steered itself in Captain’s absence. The elf spent most of his time at the rudder and, as far as Tae could tell, never slept. Even those nights when Tae’s own restlessness drove him to study the dark horizon and absorb the noises that defined the sea, he found Captain steadily maintaining his course, gemlike eyes open and aware. The elf seemed content to stand in silence, or to converse, at any time of the day or night.
Now, Captain leaned forward, placing his mysterious box on the table without explanation. “How do you want to approach the island?”
Tae had given the matter a lot of thought over the past several days. He had discussed some of his ideas with Captain but had not yet given the elf a coherent plan. As the others were not privy to those conversations, he thought it best to start with the basics. “I’d prefer to catch as many as possible sleeping. Fewer eyes to see me.”
“Us,” Matrinka interjected, but Tae ignored her. He had no intention of allowing her to disembark.
Subikahn bobbed his head thoughtfully. Although they would never consider a sneak attack, Renshai did learn stealth techniques as part of their training. “Although, we might run into more security at night. These are magical beings, you know.”
Tae only nodded. He had considered that possibility and discarded it. No matter what sort of magical alarms they set, he doubted they would prove as deadly as scores of wide-awake users of that magic. He looked at Captain. “You’ve been to this island before?”
A slight smile appeared on Captain’s face, more in the canted, gemlike eyes than the mouth. “I’m thousands of years old and an inveterate sailor. I think it’s safe to assume I’ve been everywhere you can get to by sea.”
Subikahn could not help jumping in. “Have you seen . . . the Edge?”
Captain’s head swiveled toward the young Renshai, his movement more catlike than human. “The . . . Edge?”
“The edge of the world. The place where it all ends.” Subikahn assumed the intonation of a storyteller intending to frighten naughty children. “The dark, horrible hole from which nothing . . . ever . . . returns.”
Tae feigned good-natured patience, but he really wanted to know the answer, too. To his knowledge, no one had ever come close to seeing the infamous Edge, but he could think of no one more likely than an elf who had sailed the world’s seas for millennia.
A mischievous smile teased Captain’s face. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” It was a nonanswer Tae hoped would not satisfy his curious son.
Subikahn did not disappoint his father. “That just means you didn’t fall into it. I asked if you’d seen it.”
Captain met Subikahn’s interested gaze deeply and directly. An involuntary shiver traversed Tae. He had never dared to stare into elfin eyes with such focus. They always seemed so venerably ancient, so inexplicably icy, as depthless as the Edge itself. “I’ve sailed everywhere the ocean goes and never found such a place. If you travel in one direction long enough, you wind up right back where you started.”
For several silent moments, Subikahn stared back at the ancient elf, brows raised. Then, abruptly, he sat back with a strained laugh. “Fine. If you want to keep it a secret, I won’t ask again.”
Once more, a smile tugged at the corners of Captain’s lips but never fully materialized. Tae could not help wondering, but now was not the time to grill their host. If Captain had spoken the truth, no logical explanation existed. Tae could only assume that, when Captain sailed over the Edge, the gods chose to scoop him up and drop him back in the place he had begun. Tae doubted they would show the same consideration for foolish humans who sailed too far.
Tae returned to his original question. “You’ve sailed to this island before. Can you tell us what you saw?”
Captain rummaged through his things for several moments, returning with a quill, ink, and a curled hunk of blank parchment. He drew a lumpy, enclosed shape with blunted outreaches and lacking any flat edges. “This is the general shape.” He raised the quill, using it only to gesture. “We’re currently coming toward it from this side. Here . . .” He indicated an inlet. “. . . is where the natural pull of the current carries a floating object.”
“What’s there?” Tae asked.
All eyes went to him, and no answer was immediately forthcoming.
Tae pointed toward the spot Captain had indicated. “I mean, on the shore. Besides a bunch of flotsam. What do they use that area for?”
Captain shook his head. “Nothing, as far as I can tell. It’s too near the ocean to build on and too cluttered for a port. Last time I came here, it looked overgrown and rocky.” He glanced up. “I couldn’t tell you exactly when that was, but I’d say at least ten years by your reckoning.”
Matrinka cocked her head. She had shared her husband with an elf long enough to know Tem’aree’ay calculated years along with the Béarnides. “And by your reckoning?”
Captain grinned. “A moment?” He chuckled. “On their own, elves don’t measure time. We understand the concept but don’t see it as significant enough to quantify.”
The endless interruptions wore on Tae. He fidgeted in his seat, trying to reclaim the conversation, to keep it targeted. “Can you give us a full description of the island as you know it?”
Captain tapped his crude map with the end of the quill. “Here.” He outlined about two-thirds of the island with a finger. “Large buildings that house the giants. As far as I can tell, they live in groups that may represent tribes or families. If I had to categorize them, I’d say somewhere between humans and elves.”
Clearly Captain did not refer to height.
“How so?” Tae pressed.
Captain sighed and glanced at the ceiling, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Attitude and approach to life, I mean. To elves, magic comes as naturally as breathing. It’s a part of us to which we don’t give much thought. We’re impervious to heat and cold on a natural level, and most of us don’t sleep, so we don’t place much emphasis on structure and rules—”
Subikahn could not help interrupting. “No sleep? How lucky is that?”
“Most of us,” Captain reiterated. “A few elves have always required it. Since we’ve come to Midgard, that percentage has grown. I may not even be correct when I use the term ‘most’ anymore.”
“Why?” Subikahn pressed. “Why more sleep?”
Captain merely shrugged. “Some believe it’s because we have more responsibility, more concerns, more cares. Others ascribe less innocent reasons, usually when they want to condemn mankind as a whole. It’s all
supposition.”
Again, Tae had to take control of the conversation. He tried to guess Captain’s point to forestall a long discussion off their topic. “So, the Kjempemagiska exist in a state somewhere between elfin anarchy and human order.”
Captain confirmed Tae’s statement by turning his attention to the Eastern king. “I can’t say exactly where on that spectrum because I’ve never interacted with them. I’m going only by what I’ve observed from a distance.”
That boded well, in Tae’s mind. If Captain had managed to sail close enough to observe them, without them bothering him, scouting was not impossible. Of course, Captain had made his observations before the war, and the Kjempemagiska might have increased their security. “Like their structures.”
Captain nodded. “They live in buildings. Apparently, the weather is not immaterial to them.”
“What kind of buildings?” Tae already knew their enemy had a high level of technology. The alsona ships had seemed larger and sturdier than their own, their swords and armor well-crafted, their arrows more slender and metal-shafted. They had considered the continental architecture primitive copies of their own.
Captain popped out of his seat, tucked the box under his right arm, and seized Tae’s sleeve with his left. “Come and see.”
Terror clutched at Tae’s chest, and it was all he could do to follow numbly. “You mean . . . we’re close enough . . . to see them.”
Matrinka and Subikahn trailed them to the hatch, the Renshai stating the more important point, “We’re close enough for them to see us?”
As they emerged, a gust of wind buffeted Tae’s face, and the luffing of the sails snapped through his ears. Apparently, Captain had anchored them. Tae still managed to hear the elf say, “Of course not.” He came to a halt near the starboard rail, facing southward; and, still clutching Tae, handed the box to Matrinka. “Put it up to your eyes.”
Matrinka examined the object in her hands. She turned it over several times. “Like this?” She placed it near her face.
Captain released Tae to gently guide Matrinka’s movements.
As the box came up to eye level, Matrinka gasped, fumbled it, and might have dropped it had Captain not been there to steady it in her hands. “I see it.”
“You do?” Tae scanned the horizon, seeing only sea, sky, and a distant blob that could pass for a resting sea bird. “How can you?”
Matrinka brought the box back to her eyes, this time eagerly. Tentatively, she reached out a hand toward the ocean. “It’s like it’s . . . right there.”
Tae could scarcely wait to get Captain’s magic box to his own face. “Let me see.”
Matrinka ignored him, either consciously or spellbound, Tae could not tell. “This is . . . amazing.”
As selfish behavior and rudeness were not in Matrinka’s nature, Tae gave her the benefit of the doubt; but impatience was driving him wild. “Give it to me.” He reached to take it from her.
Captain watched, a bemused expression on his face. He almost seemed to be enjoying Tae’s consternation.
As if awakening from a trance, Matrinka slowly handed the box to Tae, who nearly smashed it into his brow in his excitement. The world turned fuzzy, and he wondered what Matrinka had seen that he could not. Then, his mind reoriented the image, and he realized what had, to his naked eyes, appeared to be a sea bird now took the form of distant land.
It little resembled the Béarnian coastline they had left behind some three weeks earlier. No mountains crowned the Kjempemagiska’s empire, at least not on the side Tae was viewing. Instead, he saw smooth, constructed rectangles reflecting sunlight with the blinding intensity of steel. Blurry figures moved through what appeared to be wide-open spaces, surprisingly ill-detailed for as near as they appeared.
Sandy flatlands stretched from the ocean, the landscape as desolate as the uninhabited Western Plains but the area oddly teeming with people. He thought he could make out living beings splashing through the ocean, as if insanity had overtaken them all simultaneously. To the left, a fleet of enormous warships bobbed in strangely peaceful waters, their sails strapped tightly to their beams.
Wordlessly, Tae handed the box to Subikahn. Surely, curiosity stabbed the boy as intensely as his father, but he had not spoken a word nor demanded a turn. Immediately, the scene returned to the vastness of ocean and a blob of undefined darkness toward the horizon. “Amazing,” he said. Then, a worrisome thought struck him. “Captain, they have magic, too. They might have created something like your . . .” Captain had not yet given it a name, at least not that he had shared with Tae. “. . . Box of Farseeing. Perhaps they’re looking at us right now.”
Captain’s gaze followed his so-called Box of Farseeing, now in Subikahn’s steady hands. The bobbing of his head, though slight, did not reassure. “Only gods have the power of creation. That’s why the world has so few solid objects endowed with magic.”
Tae noticed he did not exactly say the Box of Farseeing had no magical properties, and certain aspects of Captain’s ship defied logic as well. The ocean swells should have crushed it to matchsticks, yet they had weathered squalls with little to no damage. Captain’s extraordinary seamanship could not account for all of it.
Captain seemed to read Tae’s mind, not for the first time. Though a clear extension of the conversation, Captain’s explanation sent a chill through Tae. “Elfin magic is little more focused than the chaos it’s composed of, but many of us have a particular talent or niche. For some it’s healing or summoning. For others, it’s self-directed or other-directed magic. Helping things grow, detecting abnormalities, finding balance . . . the possibilities are limitless.” He stopped abruptly, as if worrying he had said too much.
Tae pressed forward. Captain had to know his present company meant him no harm. He tried not to think about the fact that information, once revealed, could not be withdrawn and alliances, at least among mankind, changed nearly as swiftly as the weather. Sometimes, a little knowledge proved more dangerous than too much. Tae needed to make it clear he had heard and deduced enough that Captain might just as well finish his thought. “Your talent is . . . stabilizing constructs.”
Captain gave the announcement ample thought. “That’s near enough correct. Hervani arwawn telis braiforn.” He slipped into the musical elfin language, using a phrase Tae had never heard yet which fit easily into the comprehension his minimal contact with its speakers provided. “It doesn’t translate into languages that have no real concept of magic. Nothing human can truly encompass it.”
Tae sifted the phrase through his mind, combining his own rare talent with languages with the “otherness” they helped him understand and the words he had picked up when he and his friends had traveled with a pair of elves. It conjured an image of joining together that which normally had no true focus, a magical strengthening of concepts that existed without need for explanation. His experiences with Captain filled in the rest. Captain’s talent allowed him to add magical strength to solid objects.
Tae also realized he should have deduced this particular ability long ago, from direct observation. With the power of elfin jovinay arythanik, Captain had located every piece of the broken Pica Stone, scattered through many worlds, eventually reassembling them. His ship demonstrated stability far beyond its materials and even its expert craftsmanship. Then, the box came to his mind, and Tae lost what had seemed like a clear train of thought. “So, the Box of Farseeing has an innate ability to bring things closer even without the use of magic. Your magic only strengthens the basic structure and . . .” Tae was not wholly sure if he had deduced this properly. “. . . enhances its properties.”
A hint of fear flitted through Captain’s gemlike eyes, replaced immediately by their usual ancient glow. He managed a laugh. “I forget how quickly your mind works, Tae Kahn Weile’s son. The box has hunks of glass ground more finely than our current technology allows. And your fears are quit
e reasonable.”
Tae tried to think back on the conversation to when he had expressed a fear.
“I got these bits of glass from a similar contraption lost in the ocean by the Kjempemagiska.”
That clinched it for Tae. Initially, he had surmised the possibility that the Kjempemagiska might be observing them from the same distance.
Captain continued, “But you needn’t worry. I refined this device both creatively and magically.”
Tae nodded, though not wholly reassured. The Kjempemagiska also had cleverness and magic to enhance things, especially an object they had created. It seemed unlikely, however, that Captain had not considered this possibility. Surely, he left unspoken the fact that his particular magical ability, honed over millennia, was more powerful than anything the Kjempemagiska could muster. This only made the mission to recruit the elves to war more critical. Without intention, Tae’s subconscious mind worried the idea that this odd ability of Captain’s might somehow prove invaluable to the continental warriors.
At some point, Subikahn had passed the Box of Farseeing back to Matrinka, because she held it firmly to her face as she made a sound of wistful awe. “They could teach us so much. If only we could be—”
Tae sprang to her side, clamping a hand over her mouth before she could finish. “Don’t say it! Don’t ever say it!”
Startled, Matrinka dropped her arm, the box still clutched tightly in it.
Tae released her just as swiftly. “Don’t even think it.”
Matrinka glared at Tae, reaching around him to hand the Box of Farseeing safely to its owner. “What’s wrong with you, Tae? I was only going to say—”
Tae silenced her with an angry gesture. “The moment, Matrinka . . . The moment our warriors start to think of the enemy as human, the war is over.”
Subikahn developed a sudden interest in cleaning his always pristine sword.
Fields of Wrath Page 33