“What about my face?” the lipless man asked. “A mantic is the only one who can fix what that crow did to me.”
“I’m all sympathy, son,” the captain said. “I did my best. Truly I did. But the gods are against me. About time you learned to live with it. Look at the bright side. You’re terrifying to look at. That face makes people instantly fear you. We’ll call you Growler or Fangs or something delightfully horrible. We’re better off on our own without the mantics trying to control us.”
A strange comment coming from a man who kept a common shadir. Gozan could not tell which human the common was bonded to, so he took the form of a common of equal strength and struck up a conversation. A few questions and praises and he had the common, whose name was Haroan, bragging all about its exploits.
“My master is in his cabin. We snuck aboard when Randmuir the pirate met with King Barthel. We’ve put the pirate under our control, so we rule this ship now.”
“How clever,” Gozan said, noting the tattoo on the back of the captain’s neck. “So you’ll compel him to follow the Amarnath?”
“No,” Haroan said. “Our orders are to follow the pirate and report back. The compulsion will only be used when it best serves the king.”
Interesting. Dendron’s reach was far. Gozan bid the common good luck and set off to see why the Armanians were leading the majority of the fleet away from land.
He arrived on the Seffynaw and found the Armanian princes with the captain on the quarterdeck.
“I am certain I can steer us around the storm and back toward land, Your Highness,” the helmsman said.
“I have no doubt of that, Master Shinn,” Prince Wilek said. “But I was wrong to counter an order from Arman. We will sail north until the prophetess tells us we have reached our original course. I will issue new instructions then.”
“Yes, sir,” Shinn, the helmsman, said, and Gozan reveled in the man’s anger.
Prince Wilek walked away, and the younger prince chased after him. Gozan followed.
“But, Wil. Maleen says land is southwest.”
“I know it. But Arman does not wish us to go that way.”
“But . . . why?”
Prince Wilek set his hand on the younger prince’s shoulder. “Miss Onika says that land in particular is not for us. Obeying her caution was not easy for me, brother. I need your support in this.”
“Of course,” the young man said, though frustration rose up inside him.
Gozan soaked it in as he considered their words. Miss Onika? The pale blind woman Sir Kalenek had been leading through Rurekau? That she had been advising the Armanians annoyed Gozan. The prophetess swore allegiance to Arman, enemy of Lord Gâzar. Gozan could not allow her to have influence over Jazlyn. He set off to convince Jazlyn to urge Emperor Ulrik to stay away from the Armanians at all costs.
Trevn
The next morning when Trevn was on watch, he stood at the top of the mainmast, gazing out at the horizon and the distant crest of land. Devastated by the sight, knowing they were not to go there, Trevn did not call down what he saw. No matter. The lookouts on other ships did, and signal flags had shot up all over. The flagmen on the Seffynaw were doing their best to communicate Wilek’s wishes.
That land was not for them. They would continue north.
It likely sounded insane.
Trevn watched ships ignore the flagship’s orders, peel away from the fleet, and sail toward the land. By the end of his watch, at least three dozen had done so, but by then another storm had risen up in the distance, hiding the land from view.
A large portion of the fleet had stayed with them, including the Sarikarians, which did not surprise Trevn considering they had wanted to travel northwest from the start.
Trevn reached for Mielle. At first he felt nothing but the hollow pit where her presence should abide. This brought on a panic that she might have died. Without wanting it to happen, tears sprung to his eyes.
A familiar concern pressed upon his heart, and he knew that it was Mielle, worrying about the worry she felt from him.
“Where are you?” he asked, wishing she might hear and answer.
He stared at the blackish skyline that now completely hid the pale’s land from view. Surely Arman wouldn’t allow Mielle’s ship to reach the pale’s islands if that wasn’t where he wanted them to go. The Rafayah must be in the fleet, somewhere behind them, perhaps. Once they found land, Trevn would know for sure.
The question was, how much longer would they have to wait?
Wilek
Going north was easy sailing. Not only that, but fishing improved, and calm rains were frequent enough to keep the water barrels filled.
This did not appease the passengers. As rumor spread of land passed by, they began to rebel. Crime increased, and as a result, so did floggings. Wilek hated it, but he didn’t know what else could be done. One week passed, then a second. And while the fish and water kept everyone well nourished, morale bordered on rebellion.
Until one late midday nearly three weeks after they’d changed course. Oli Agoros barged in to Wilek’s office, followed by Novan.
“It’s land, Your Highness,” Oli said.
Wilek shot out of his chair and ran.
As he made his way to the quarterdeck, he could feel the ship listing to port. He sprinted outside, greeted by a blast of frigid air. The deck was nearly clear, as everyone had crowded the port side. Hope clawed its way up Wilek’s throat, making it difficult to breathe as he pushed through the crowd toward the rail.
“Make way for the sâr-regent!” Novan yelled.
A cheer rose up. The people parted, and Wilek stepped into the opening. A sheen of sunlight painted the water in brightness. Wilek squinted and held his hand above his eyes. There on the horizon was something solid. Something brown and gray. And white.
Land. It stretched out to both sides as far as he could see. Surely this was large enough for their remnant. He spotted a distant white mountain peak and grinned. This place would have to be vast to host such a monument.
“Fetch Miss Onika,” he told Novan.
Novan echoed his order to a soldier as Wilek devoured the sight with his eyes. He saw no grass, though there were spindly gray trees with branches that stretched toward the white ground. Was that sand? He had never seen white sand before. This place looked nothing like Bakurah Island, Armania, or any place Wilek had seen in the Five Realms.
“How long . . . ?” He twisted about, suddenly uncertain where the captain or admiral might be. “Novan, I must speak with the admiral.”
“He’s at the whip with the captain, Your Highness.”
Wilek made his way through the crowd toward the men. “How long until we reach it, Admiral?”
“Distances from land can be deceiving, Your Highness,” Admiral Livina said.
“Hazard a guess.”
“It’s nearly sunset. We’ll get as close as we can, then drop anchor for the night. We’ll take the longboats out at first light. I’d like to sail around it, look for a sloping beach where the surf is gentle before making landfall.”
“No. I must land today,” Wilek said.
“One should never land in a foreign port at night, Your Highness.”
Wilek put a grow lens to his eye, studied the rocky beach with tufts of yellow plants sprouting up here and there. “It looks gentle enough, don’t you think?” He passed the lens to Admiral Livina.
The man looked through it and sighed. “Very inviting, I’d say.”
“We’re on the leeward side,” Captain Bussie added, “so that’s a boon.”
“There could be coral reefs in our way,” the admiral said. “I’d much rather wait until morning.”
“I cannot wait, Admiral,” Wilek said. “To wait is to give our enemies first pick of the land.” He gestured behind them. “Even my own people won’t wait, I assure you. I must be first.”
The admiral sighed. “The land is likely occupied already.”
“Then I will be th
e first from the Five Realms to know it. Captain Bussie, monitor the depths and get us as close as you feel comfortable before setting anchor. Rayim, prepare four longboats and three dozen men. Dendrick, pack enough tents and whatever supplies you deem necessary. We will see the Armanian flag flying on that shore by nightfall.”
“I’m coming with you,” Trevn said.
Wilek met his brother’s eyes. It wasn’t a good idea for them both to leave the ship, but he had no right to deny Trevn this moment. His brother had worked harder than most to get them here. “Captain Bussie, I’m removing Sâr Trevn from your crew.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said.
Trevn grinned. “Thanks, Wil! I’ll get my things.” He sprinted away.
As the longboats were made ready, Wilek sought out Miss Onika. He found her with Inolah and Oli, who were standing on the stern deck at the taffrail.
“Miss Onika,” Wilek said. “Please tell me this land is acceptable to Arman.”
Her joyful expression answered before she spoke. “I have no objection to it, Your Highness. It will not be long until Arman confirms it himself.”
Cryptic but enough of a yes for him. “Thank you, lady.”
Zeroah found him then and slipped her arm around his waist. “Another island?” she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I don’t think so,” Wilek said, pointing to the mountain. “See that peak? No tiny island could hold something that big.”
He kissed his wife’s hair and left her with Inolah and Oli, then walked to his cabin to gather his things. When he returned to the boat fall, Trevn was helping the sailors load the longboats. Time seemed to crawl. The sun had already begun to set. Lately it had been doing so much earlier than it ever had back in Everton.
Soon they were on their way. The longboat jerked across the inshore currents, the men rowing hard. Wilek stood with one knee on the forward-most bench that was nestled in the bow, eagerly looking ahead. Trevn stood beside him, leaning forward with both hands gripping the boat’s edge. Seagulls swarmed the rocky beach like gnats, and higher up, raven-like birds circled. The wildlife gave him hope that this was land to be lived on.
Let it be so, Arman. Let this be home.
The beach was smaller than that of Bakurah Island. To the east a forest of droopy charcoal trees met the sea. The air held a combination of salt and the strong, bitter scent of earth.
By the time Wilek’s boat first scraped over the rocky sand, dusk had fallen. The oarsmen jumped out into the water and ran the boat up onto the beach. Trevn didn’t wait for them to finish. He leapt over the side and into the shallow surf, gasped.
“Sands! That’s cold,” Trevn said. Breath fogged from his lips as he swung his arms and pulled his legs along. “Good thing I wore my boots.”
Wilek followed him into the frigid water. It came up to his knees, quickly filling his boots and making his trousers cling to his legs. “Mine don’t seem to be helping,” Wilek said.
They slogged up onto the white sand. Wilek took two steps, and the sound and feel of the ground under his boots made him realize that this was not sand at all. He picked up a handful of icy wetness and it melted in his palm.
“It’s snow!” Trevn yelled, tossing a handful at Wilek.
Snow. Wilek had heard talk of snow from those who’d visited the Polar Desert, but he’d never had reason to make the journey himself. It was said nothing could live there. Sarikarians knew more of it. He kicked some dead stalks of golden grass that poked up from the ground. He would have to consult with King Loran right away as to how to live in such an environment.
“Do trees grow in the Polar Desert?” he asked Trevn.
“I don’t think so. The Polar Desert is nothing but plains of ice and snow. Look at this.” Trevn crouched beside a twiggy bush. “See these knobs along the branch? That’s a sign of leaves. There are seasons here, Wil, like in Sarikar and Magonia. This must be winter.”
“But it’s summer,” Wilek said.
“By the Five Realms calendar, yes, but we’ve traveled a long way. It’s winter here.”
They had landed on a point where both sides of the coast seemed to run northbound. Their breath puffed out in clouds. Trevn’s lips were turning blue, and Wilek’s feet already felt numb. Would it be too cold to live here?
They were out of food. Out of water. Out of time. This place was their last chance. And Onika had concurred. This was home. They would have to find a way to make it work.
Wilek sank to his knees, grabbed two handfuls of snow, and lifted them up before his eyes. He squeezed and let the icy water drip from his fists. Glorious land. They should build an altar, sacrifice a burnt offering, but there were no animals left to sacrifice but three horses and some hens. Wilek would not sacrifice a human.
A vow offering would have to do until he could bring the horses ashore or hunt something better.
“To you, Arman!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “I know now that you can do all things. No plan of yours can be thwarted. That I doubted you . . . I despise myself. I repent!” He looked up to Trevn, grabbed his brother’s wrist. “Kneel in worship before He Who Made the World, Trevn. The God led us here, and we must thank him.”
Trevn knelt beside Wilek and grabbed his own handful of snow.
“We thank you, Arman, for this land,” Wilek said, “and dedicate it to you. Our people will honor you here.” He glanced at Trevn. “We vow to you they will, as long as it is in our power to lead them. Vow it, Trevn.”
“I vow it,” Trevn said.
Wilek bowed down and kissed the cold, gritty rocks. Trevn mirrored him. Heat grew within Wilek’s chest, and words came from inside his head.
“WELCOME, LITTLE KINGS. WITH YOU BOTH I AM WELL PLEASED. TAKE THIS LAND AS YOUR OWN AND MAKE A PLACE FOR MY PEOPLE. FOLLOW MY COMMANDS AND YOU WILL PROSPER. DO NOT HARDEN YOUR HEARTS AS YOUR FOREFATHERS DID IN THE DESERT OF ARMANIA, WHERE THEY TESTED AND TRIED ME. THEIR HEARTS WENT ASTRAY FROM MY WAYS, AND THEY SHALL NEVER ENTER MY REST.”
Wilek gasped, overcome by warmth and love. He glanced at Trevn and found his brother’s face amazed and streaked in tears.
“We will not harden our hearts, Arman,” Wilek said. “We will follow your commands as they are written in your book.”
“I HAVE SET ASIDE FOR MY CHOSEN PEOPLE A GIFT,” the God said. “FOR THOSE IN WHICH THE BLOOD OF KINGS RUNS TRUE, IF USED WELL, THIS GIFT WILL SAVE YOU FROM THE EVIL YOU BROUGHT TO THIS LAND. USE IT NOW. SPEAK TO YOUR BROTHER IN SILENCE, WITH YOUR MIND. THINK AND HE WILL HEAR YOU.”
Wilek glanced at Trevn, who shrugged. “What did the God mean?”
Trevn grabbed his arm. “He means think to me and I will hear you. I just did! You thought, ‘What did the God mean?’”
“You heard that?”
“Yes.” Trevn’s voice in his mind. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes!”
“It’s like the soul-binding,” Wilek said, wary.
Trevn nodded. “But no mantic cast a spell. Arman spoke to us, Wil.”
Wilek could not deny that the voice was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
“Is it just for us?” Trevn asked.
“He said it was for his chosen people. For those in which the blood of kings runs true.”
“So . . . royalty?” Trevn asked. “See if you can talk to Sârah Zeroah.”
“Zeroah?” Wilek thought.
He heard no answer.
Perhaps he needed to concentrate or be closer. “I don’t want to frighten her,” Wilek said. “Let’s move ahead cautiously. Tell no one of this for now, at least until we understand it better.”
“A solid plan,” Trevn said. “Let’s post the flag and get a fire built. I can’t feel my feet. It would be a shame to freeze to death after coming so far.”
“A person can freeze to death?” Wilek asked.
Trevn pushed off Wilek’s shoulder and stood. “You really should read more, brother.”
“Wait!” Wilek pulled Trevn back down bes
ide him. “We must thank Arman for this gift.”
The first night came with no sign of pirates, Rogedoth, Magonians, or natives, or dangerous beasts. Wilek and Trevn shared a tent and built up a strong fire in their brazier, but it remained so cold in their beds that they dragged their mattresses over by the fire. Despite being warmer, Wilek couldn’t sleep. Everything felt too still without the constant rocking of the ship. The waves crashing on the shore and strange birdcalls kept him alert. From the sounds of Trevn’s thrashing about, it was the same for him.
In the morning, once Wilek realized they were still alone, he sent messages to the Seffynaw, Kaloday, and Gillsmore to announce his plans to stay. King Loran came ashore at once and set up his own camp, but Emperor Ulrik sent back a message that he wanted to settle his own land apart from Armania and would take the remainder of his ships up the western coast.
Wilek and King Loran met, and several plans were put in motion. Three groups of explorers set out to survey the land. Wilek sent Rost Keppel and his team up the eastern coast. King Loran sent his explorers to the west. And Wilek allowed Trevn to take a group of soldiers inland to search the immediate area for signs of life and to determine the best means for building shelters.
“Do not go far,” Wilek reminded his brother. “I need you to bring me answers with haste. We have to accommodate a hundred thousand people coming ashore.”
Trevn looked out to sea and the ships that had anchored along the coastline. “I don’t think we have near that many left, brother. I doubt we have half what we came with.”
Surely not.
“It will take time to gain an accurate count,” Wilek admitted. “But we can’t have lost that many. Now, I want you back before midday. No drawing maps today. We must organize or we’ll have a disaster on our hands. Plus I need some time with you to figure out how this blood gift works.”
“I need to find Mielle.”
Wilek sighed. “Please don’t do that until we can practice. It unnerves me.”
“I didn’t mean to do it that time,” Trevn said, grinning. “But it is rather easy.” And he started to sing a song in his head about the first king of Armania.
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