The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Istar would arrive soon to join him, since she loved to hear the people present their issues before the dais, even though Omra found her to be distracting when he most needed to show his strength. Anxious to get started, he clapped his hands to summon the first visitor.

  Dressed in dyed linen garments, a'young man entered--his cousin Burilo, the eldest son of Xivir, the soldan of Missinia. Burilo was the same age as Omra, but gangly and awkward, since his growth spurt had occurred much later than Omra's. The zarif welcomed him warmly. "What news have you brought from Arikara? Is my mother well?"

  "Lithio is quite comfortable and happy, though she'd be happier if you visited her more often."

  Omra chuckled. "Yes, whenever I can break away from my obligations here in Olabar." His mother often asked him to make the trip down to the capital of Missinia, and he suspected she did it more as a teasing way to annoy his father than because she had a heartfelt desire to see him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

  "I bring you a joyous gift, Zarif." Burilo called his servant, who entered the throne room carrying a large square box. Burilo lifted the lid and reached in to withdraw a decapitated head that had been smeared with tar. The dead man's lips were drawn back to reveal crooked and yellowed teeth; dark tattoos showed on the skin even through the preservative coating. In disgust, Burilo tossed the head to the floor, and the tar from the head stained the polished driftwood tiles. "One less desert bandit to prey upon our villages and farms. Our soldiers killed the leader of the band."

  Omra leaned forward to inspect the head. Years ago, SoldanShah Imir had declared a bounty on the ruthless bandit tribes who lived in the inhospitable sands of the Great Desert. The bandits emerged like a sandstorm on swift and sturdy horses to harass small Missinian villages. After stealing, raping, and pillaging, they vanished back into the dunes faster than Soldan Xivir's armies could respond. Whenever a military force pursued them into the sands, the bandits ran circles around the soldiers, picking them off until they were lost.

  Omra's expression darkened. "I doubt the bandits will be deterred by their loss. They are like a demon serpent--cut off one head, and two more grow in its place."

  Burilo gave a strange, cockeyed grin as he answered. "Then there will be more bandits to kill, and more bounties to earn."

  Omra told his chamberlain to pay Burilo the promised reward, then directed servants to place the head in a trophy case. Two silent slaves hurried forward to clean the tar stain from the polished floor.

  Beautiful Istar entered the throne room. After bowing formally before her husband, she sat on a pale green cushion below the raised dais. He reached out and took her hand. At five months, her pregnancy had begun to show, though draping Yuarej silks covered her. In private, he loved to run his palm over the swelling curve of her belly. Istar's dark hair hung in a single braid interwoven with gold ribbon. As a secret between the two of them, she had decided to wear her hair in one braid for the first child she would bear; when she gave birth a second time, it would be two braids, and so on. They often joked about how many braids her lovely head could sustain. Omra wondered if other Urabans would adopt the tradition.

  "Before your next visitor, I have called for tea and almonds," she told him demurely. The treat was as much for herself as for him.

  Istar was the daughter of one of the most powerful merchants in Olabar, a man whose ships ran the coast of the Middlesea to trade with Sioara and other ports of Inner Wahilir. Omra had fallen in love with Istar and married her. However, since Istar's blood wasn't noble, the zarifs choice of her as his first wife raised eyebrows among the extended families of the other soldans; conversely, his selection pleased the merchant families.

  His half-brother Tukar also entered the throne room, finding a seat in the back where he could observe quietly. A stocky young man two years younger than Omra, Tukar rarely participated in the discussions--in fact, he usually appeared bored--but his mother Villiki insisted that he watch and learn from court politics. Villiki had great plans for him, though the young man him

  self showed no signs of being dissatisfied with his subordinate role.

  Merchants from the soldanate of Yuarej entered next, carrying bolts of the finest silk, which they spread out to display dyed patterns of the unfurling fern, the Urecari religious symbol representing rebirth and potential. Istar delighted in the brilliant green, blue, and scarlet fabrics. "We can have garments made for Sikara Fyiri, since she made such a wonderful blessing for the baby."

  Omra squeezed her hand. "It was a wonderful blessing, indeed."

  With the church's main sikara accompanying the soldan-shah to Ishalem, Omra and Istar had enlisted the service of a young priestess with no obvious political agenda, though the zarif was sure she would develop one in time, as sikaras usually did. Fyiri had come for the sunset ceremony, bringing her copy of Urec's Log and ribbons of colored paper on which she would write prayers before tying them to sticks to flutter in the wind where Ondun could read them.

  "We accept your offering of the silk," Omra said to the merchants. "My wife certainly approves." He ate one of the warm almonds roasted in sea salt, while Istar poured cups of sweet tea for both of them. At the back of the room, Tukar employed a piece of chalk on a square of slate, writing a note to himself.

  Omra called the next visitor, knowing that this was what his father did every day. No wonder Soldan-Shah Imir had been so eager to make the voyage to Ishalem.

  1

  Ishalem, Urecari District

  Prester Hannes wore dirty clothes in the Uraban style, shapeless rags draped over his shoulders to make him look like a beggar, because beggars drew very little attention. The people he encountered on this side of Ishalem automatically assumed he was a follower of Urec. Though that meant his disguise was perfect, he still resented being confused for one of the loathsome heretics.

  But he had to be convincing, had to fit in. "Consider yourself a spy for God," Prester-Marshall Baine had told him more than a year earlier, before sending him to Ishalem. Fortunately, Hannes's faith in Aiden was unwavering, and Ondun Himself knew the difference between truth and lies.

  Head down, he wandered the streets in the Urecari District, noting how the merchants cheated their customers, listening to the gossip and the delusions. These people went about their lives without even realizing their sins. As a prester, he was a kind and compassionate man, doing the work of Ondun, but sadly none of these Urabans could be forgiven.

  Beneath the gigantic wreck of the Arkship--Aiden's ship, though all these people pretended it was Urec's--devout Urecari made pilgrimages up the switchbacked path to stand in the shadow of the ancient, ruined hull. Pilgrims petitioned sikaras, paying fees to climb the hill and even touch the holy wood of the enormous beached vessel. Prester Hannes had been up to the Arkship many times since arriving in Ishalem. He climbed the hill at night and slipped past the church guards, just so he could have private time with his prayers.

  Now, as thin brass bells pealed in the minaret towers of the prime church, he moved along the streets, blending into the crowd of worshippers called to sunset services. The outside of the monumental heathen church bore carved stone stations, each panel depicting part of the story. Some images were correct, in order to lull the faithful: Ondun and his sons in Terravitae... Aiden and Urec sailing off in their separate vessels, leaving Holy Joron behind... Urec with his map, Aiden with his sacred compass.

  Then the deception began: Urec and his ship arriving on the shores of Uraba... battles with the natives who viewed them as enemies... Urec's decision to take multiple wives for himself, a rule that all Aidenists despised... then an aged Urec planting the golden fern before wandering off to become the Traveler.

  Hannes had seen these images many times, had heard the lies in the sermons given by the sikaras. He still felt the knot of anger each time he witnessed the dissemination of such blatant untruths. Aiden had become the Traveler, not Urec. Unable to build their own religion, the Urecari had obviously co-o
pted the tenets of Aidenism. And yet they were blind to their delusions. He both pitied them and reviled them for it.

  With the sunset services about to begin, Hannes followed the crowd, steeling himself. "The truth of Aiden is the truth of God," he muttered, reciting a well-known prayer that Prester-Marshall Baine had taught him. "And the truth of God is the truth for all, even those who refuse to hear it." Hannes squared his shoulders and, still wearing rags, approached the church.

  Outside the large stone-and-wood building, numerous banners hung down, swirled with the unfurling fern symbol. Vendors sold trinkets to visiting pilgrims; a majority of the vendors were Saedrans, "Ondun's stepchildren," who believed that their people had left Terravitae at a later time and were not descen

  I

  28 Kevin J. Anderson

  dants of either Aiden's crew or Urec's. As a people, Saedrans kept to themselves, but their craftsmen created mementos, candles, or prayer ribbons, which they sold outside the kirks and churches, catering to both great religions.

  Prester Hannes didn't hate the Saedrans for their lack of belief; at least they weren't as completely wrong as the Urecari. The truth of God is the truth for all.

  Taking that command to heart, Aidenist missionaries had ventured into Uraba. The Book of Aiden gave all of his followers the freedom to trade wherever they wished, to correct Urecari misconceptions wherever they encountered them. But the followers of Urec had not received the missionaries well, and many were killed for daring to speak of their religion. Hearing such stories made Prester Hannes hate them even more.

  As he paused before the prime church's tall wooden doors, Hannes saw a Saedran vendor behind a small table displaying beautifully molded candles, all of which burned with tiny protected flames. The candlemaker had a balding head, long white hair, and a square-cut gray beard. "Candles! Candles for the faithful." He lifted up a dark red wax cylinder that bore the fern spiral. "Ten coppers apiece. Show your flame to Urec. Burn the light of his words in the church."

  Hannes recognized the candlemaker as Direc na-Taya, a man who alternated his wares as trade dictated; today he had come to the Urecari church, and tomorrow he would be selling fishhook candles to Aidenists. Seeing Hannes's ragged clothing, the vendor ignored him, assuming a beggar would never buy his candles.

  Hannes brushed past the Saedran and entered the church. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of their pressing bodies, their oils and perfumes, even the odd stink of their cooking and spices. Inside the vast nave, banners hung from stone arches in the

  vaulted ceiling, each one covered with a written prayer, as if Ondun would bother to read them... but He was off creating other worlds and had neither the time nor interest to read notes from the subjects He had left behind.

  The worshippers entered on a spiraling path of dark tiles inlaid on the floor, walking around the central altar. The track was designed to imitate the unfurling fern, though it forced the crowds to stand in an unnatural coil, all striving to see the sikara in the middle of the chamber. The orderly wooden benches in an Aidenist kirk made so much more sense.

  The head priestess had recently arrived in Ishalem, just as Prester-Marshall Baine had come with King Korastine. Usually other sikaras led the service, but for this ceremony Ur-Sikara Lukai herself delivered the homily. As the red-gowned woman stepped up to the long wooden altar crowded with goblets, urns of fragrant oil, braziers, tall candles, and other talismans, Hannes scrutinized her.

  Lukai wore necklaces of beaten gold; bangles hung from her ears and wrists. To most of the crowd, she appeared statuesque and beautiful, but his discriminating eye could see that her face was covered with thick makeup, her eyes outlined with heavy kohl. He saw past the trappings to the signs of age on her face, the faint wrinkles that could not entirely be concealed. The wearisome burden of deception and lies must have aged her prematurely.

  Among the worshippers, Hannes stood silent and uncomfortable, listening as Ur-Sikara Lukai invoked chants and read passages from Urec's Log. Though Hannes pretended to listen, his mind was closed down. He recited a litany of his own prayers and quotations from Aiden to protect him from the heresy surrounding him.

  As a special commemoration of her visit to Ishalem, the ur

  sikara presented an ancient medallion of gold inset with chips of lapis lazuli and encircled by small topaz stones. She held it up, and the trophy gleamed in the light of the candles and braziers around the altar. Lukai was rewarded with a chorus of awed gasps. "This amulet was worn by Urec himself on his voyage. He gave it as a gift to his wife, Fashia, upon their arrival in Uraba. It belongs here, at the altar of our prime church."

  With obvious reverence, the sikara placed it between two massive candles, each as thick as Hannes's thigh, then spread the heavy golden chain on a blue velvet pad in the center of the altar. "Ondun Himself gave this amulet to His son. And now we give it to the church."

  Hannes narrowed his intense gaze. If Ondun had indeed created that amulet, He would not want it to remain in the hands of heretics.

  Throughout the remainder of the service, Hannes wrestled with his thoughts, trying to decide what he should do. Outside once more after the service's conclusion, Hannes crouched at the mouth of an alley, leaning against the whitewashed wall of a potter's shop that had closed for the church services. Wrapped in his thoughts as well as cloaking rags, Hannes gave little consideration to the picture he must present.

  A rich Urecari merchant walked past, still glowing from the service. The man paused when he saw Hannes, reached into the purse at his waist, and retrieved three cuars. He tossed the silver coins at Hannes. "These are for you, my brother. God has hope for all of us. Your life, too, will shine with the blessings of Ura."

  Hannes muttered automatic thanks to the man and picked up the cuars. With the blessings of Urec.

  As soon as the man was out of sight, he cast the coins into the alley shadows in disgust, afraid they might burn his skin.

  O Calay, Saedran District

  With the thick curtains drawn and the candles lit (though it was bright daylight), Aldo na-Curic sat at a table in the main room of his family's house in Calay. He faced his nemesis, his teacher, his tester. He knew what was at stake.

  Aldo, a clever young Saedran man of eighteen, had always admired the gruff, stern elder. Sen Leo na-Hadra had a deep voice, a lined face framed by a long thick mane of gray hair, and an equally thick gray beard. His pale blue eyes were fearsome, and they did not blink as he leaned closer to Aldo and mercilessly fired questions, one after another. "Name the eleven main Soeland islands, their villages, and the village leaders--in order from smallest to largest."

  Aldo did so without even blinking.

  "List the nineteen coastal villages from Galay to Ishalem."

  "There are twenty-three coastal villages."

  Sen Leo smiled. That detail had been part of the test. "Then name all twenty-three."

  Aldo did so. This was too easy.

  The old teacher wore dark, shapeless robes that masked his body. Aldo suspected the older man was somewhat heavyset, but he could never know for sure. Sen Leo slid a blank piece of paper forward, gave Aldo a lead stylus. "Now draw, as exactly as you can, all the stars in the Loom as seen from far Lahjar."

  Aldo had expected questions like that. Taking up the stylus, he quickly made marks, needing no tools, estimating the angles

  and distances with an expert eye. Lahjar was the city farthest south on the outer coast of Uraba; no known settlements lay beyond, since reefs and intense heat blocked the passage of ships. Aldo had never seen the constellations from that distant corner of the world, but the details had been reported reliably by Saedran chartsmen.

  Their libraries held thousands of volumes written in a coded language that required expertise to read; no outsiders could decipher their complex letters. Every Saedran home, including Aldo's, held dozens of heirloom volumes, luxury items that most Tierrans could not afford.

  Finished, the young man slid the hand-drawn con
stellation map back to Sen Leo, who glanced at it, then brushed it aside. "Describe in detail the streets in Bora's Bastion, the capital city of Alamont Reach. Tell me in particular what the houses look like, and list the merchant stalls in order, as one would encounter them walking clockwise across the central district from the riverport."

  Aldo painted the picture in his mind as vividly as if he had seen these things himself. He did as the old teacher asked. He had never been to Lahjar, nor to Alamont Reach, nor to any place other than the city of Calay, yet his answers didn't waver.

  Sen Leo watched him intently; Aldo hoped for a smile of approval, but did not expect to receive one. With each question, the examination was bound to get much harder.

  Among Saedrans, occasionally a child would be gifted with perfect recall, the ability to memorize details at a glance and retain them without flaw. Saedran families carefully tested their children, watching for any hint of the valuable skill. Anyone who demonstrated a particularly sharp memory was marked for special teaching, in hopes that he or she would become a chartsman. Aldo had been developing his talent for so many years that he

  could answer all the instructor's questions as a matter of course. After today, he would he a chartsman.

  As navigators aboard sailing ships, Saedran chartsmen were highly prized and highly paid. The captain of any large cargo vessel desiring to take the fastest course needed a chartsman aboard; otherwise, he wouldn't dare lose sight of the coastline. Skilled chartsmen, however, could navigate theoretical courses and locate a ship's position by esoteric means. They knew how to use astrolabes, sextants, and ship's clocks to determine the precise latitude of sailing vessels. Their intricate sealed mechanical clocks allowed them to tell time with sufficient accuracy to calculate longitude. Only Saedran chartsmen understood how to do it, and they carried no documents, no books or tables; they had to have every coordinate memorized.

  Though their population was small, Saedrans were crucial to Tierran society as well. Even those who did not have perfect recall served vital roles as astronomers, alchemists, cartographers, apothecaries, surgeons. They did not follow the Aidenist religion, but they were not persecuted. Even so, his people drew no attention to themselves. It would not do for other Tierrans to realize just how wealthy the Saedrans were, or how much political influence they wielded.