The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  "I never thought about that before." Criston scratched his chin. "But I agree. I'll definitely keep my eyes open for unusual specimens."

  "Mr. Vora, you are possessed of a curiosity that I admire. Oh, the rest of my crew do their work and they do it well--I am, after all, a well-respected captain." His lips quirked in a smile. "But they don't see a fundamental difference between this voyage and any other long haul, except that their pay will be significantly higher when we get home."

  As he talked, the captain sketched a fierce-looking spiny fish that had startled even the cook when the net was dumped onto the deck that afternoon. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. I'm glad to have someone I can rely on. We've had smooth sailing so far, but that won't last."

  "We can trust our luck, sir."

  "I'd rather be pragmatic. In an emergency, I've got to know how my crew will react. You never know..." The captain put his quill aside and stoppered the bottle of ink. "Ten years ago I faced a terrible storm when I was outbound from Erietta. The winds whipped up just as the sun went down, and I watched the clouds

  charge in like stampeding horses. We tried to reef the sails in time, but the blast hit us. We could only hold on and wait for the skies to clear. My Saedran chartsman was thrown overboard. I lost twelve of my crew in that awful storm."

  His gaze was distant. "I swear to you, Mr. Vora--in that storm, through the bursts of lightning, sheeting rain, and explosions of spray, I saw something. I saw something. A large bearded man in a boat like a chariot being drawn by two sea monsters. It was Holyjoron, I know it. I'll believe that to my dying day."

  The captain took a breath. "By the time the storm cleared, we'd been blown so far off course we had no way of knowing where we were. In the distance I saw low clouds that must have been strange coastlines, uncharted islands... but our ship could barely limp along. We had lost many of our supplies. We headed due east, hoping we'd eventually hit the Tierran coastline.

  "I brought my men home, which is what a captain should do. But I've never stopped wondering what might have been on ihose shores I glimpsed. Could it have been Terravitae? Were we so close to Holyjoron's land that if I had just sailed a little far I her..." He shook his head.

  "And that's why you wanted to captain the Luminara? That's why you were chosen?" Criston asked.

  Captain Shay chuckled, embarrassed. "That--and for more pragmatic reasons. After our last little misadventure at ()uroussa, King Korastine wanted me to leave Tierra. I don't suppose it matters anymore, but before the signing of the Edict, In: had already made up his mind to send me away... to the edge < >! the world if necessary."

  "I he Luminara's Aidenist priest, Prester Jerard, performed services each dawn, calling the men on deck and raising his voice in prayer as the sun rose. Other than that, the prester had very few

  duties. Busy with their own chores, the sailors were polite and respectful to him, but tended to avoid the religious man.

  Prester Jerard was far friendlier, however, than the aloof Saedran chartsman who stared at the sea day after day. Whenever he had the opportunity, Criston sat with the soft-spoken prester. The only thing the humble and unassuming man was vain about (though Griston was sure he would deny it) was his long, flowing beard, which Jerard claimed not to have cut in more than nine years.

  Jerard was earnest about his faith, unlike the village priest in Windcatch, Prester Fennan, who merely read from the scriptures and followed the service without any particular imagination or interest. Jerard, on the other hand, seemed genuinely enthusiastic about his beliefs--not fanatical, but confident.

  Like all presters, Jerard wore a simple fishhook pendant at his neck. To strike up a conversation, Criston asked him about it, and the old prester happily recited the familiar story of the founding of the Aidenist church.

  "Sapier was the grandson of Aiden, the founder of our church. Long after Aiden departed to become the Traveler, young Sapier wanted to build his own ship and find his way home to Terravitae, so he could tell Holy Joron what had happened to his brothers, Aiden and Urec. Sapier's ship sailed for months, far beyond any charts, and the crew grew frightened. When they began to run out of food and water, they mutinied and threw Sapier overboard, then sailed off, heading back home.

  "Stranded in the water, Sapier had only a few pieces of discarded wood, a fishhook, and a line. He floated for days in the great emptiness. He prayed for Ondun's guidance, hoped for rescue, but a great sea serpent came for him. Instead of giving up, Sapier threw out the fishhook, which caught on one of the

  monster's scales. Stung, the sea serpent pulled Sapier along at a furious pace.

  "Astonished, he arrived back at Tierra even before his treacherous shipmates did, and when the cowardly sailors told the lie that Aiden's grandson had been eaten by a giant monster, Sapier came forward to confront them. Seeing him alive, the mutineers were stricken and ashamed. Some of them threw themselves into the sea to drown, and others were driven out of Tierra.

  "But during his long privation at sea, Sapier had a revelation that became the basis for the church of Aiden." Jerard held up the pendant. "Sapier said, 'This fishhook and line are like I my faith that pulls me through life and secures me to the truth.' Thus the fishhook became the symbol of the church."

  Criston had heard the tale many times, but he was pleased to listen again, and Jerard certainly enjoyed telling it. "You're a good teacher," Criston said.

  Jerard seemed embarrassed. "I suppose the quality of my students speaks to the quality of my teaching. A long time ago, when I was just a prester in a small kirk, I taught a very skilled young man named Baine."

  "You mean Prester-Marshall Baine?" Criston asked.

  "Well, he wasn't prester-marshall then, merely an acolyte. But lie rose quickly in the church, and now he chose me for this voyage." Jerard spread his hands as the two of them looked out to sea. "If we do find ourselves facing Holyjoron and the people of Terravitae, someone aboard had better be conversant with the Book of Aiden."

  I

  24

  Windcatch

  Over the next few months back home in Windcatch, Adrea's life settled into a new routine without her husband. She had not imagined Griston's absence would feel like such an emptiness. She wondered if this was like what an injured fisherman experienced when he lost an arm but continued to feel ghost sensations from the missing limb. But she had promised that she would be all right without him. Adrea had made him swear not to worry about her. With the money from the sale of the Cindon, she could run their household for more than a year. Now, though, everything had changed... and she couldn't even tell him the news herself.

  Instead, she had to rely on her family. As she helped Criston's mother, Telha, cut up vegetables and slice strips of dried seaweed from the last year's harvest, she smiled to herself, drew a breath, and announced, "I have news, Mother Telha. Exciting news. I waited until I was sure." Telha raised one eyebrow, as was her disconcerting habit. "News?" She continued to wash green mussels and throw them into a boiling pot of salted water, while Adrea added the vegetables. "Is it the news I've suspected for days?" "How did you know?"

  "I've seen a difference about you. I can tell."

  "What news?" Ciarlo sat surrounded by ropes and cords, the tools of his trade.

  "Criston and I are going to have a child."

  "That's wonderful," Giarlo said, then muttered, "But he picked a fine time to go away."

  Telha drew a deep breath. "You'll have all the help you need here. Ever since my Cindon was lost at sea, I've been looking forward to grandchildren."

  Ciarlo grunted as he shifted his stiff leg to a different position, then pulled a large ball of string from the basket beside his wooden chair. He made his living repairing nets for the town's fishermen. Though he could walk only with great difficulty, Ciarlo's fingers were nimble, and he knew a thousand different types of knots. His hands were always busy. Even when he had no net to work on, he used short scraps of string and thick threads, tying them toget
her in intricate spiderweb sculptures. Virtually every home in Windcatch had one of Giarlo's sculptures hanging from the rafters inside.

  Now it appeared that the young man had another career ahead of him. Prester Fennan had taken Ciarlo on as his acolyte and made no secret of the fact that as soon as he wanted to move into the small kirk, Adrea's brother could become the town's assistant prester.

  As the vegetables and herbs simmered with the mussels, fish, and pungent seaweed, Adrea added a pinch of coarse black pepper she had purchased from a spice merchant in Calay. She wanted to extend her supply for as long as possible, but she imagi ned that Criston would return with treasure chests of exotic spices from his extensive voyage. In a year.

  Prester Fennan arrived just as Telha was removing the pot From the fire. He seemed to know exactly when dinner would be served. At first it had been a quiet joke in the family, and then I hey accepted his arrival at mealtime as a matter of course. Fen Man generally paid for his supper by instructing Ciarlo how to read the Scriptures in the original archaic language.

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  At the crowded dinner table, the prester offered the blessing and Giarlo mouthed the words, practicing the ancient tongue. For his contribution, Fennan had brought half a loaf of old bread one of the parishioners had given to him. They shared the stale bread around, dipping chunks into the soup to mop up the broth. Afterward, satisfied, Telha busied herself in the kitchen, while Giarlo and the prester sat with the open Book of Aiden by the soft glow of a whale-oil lamp.

  "We must learn the Scriptures," Fennan said. "We must be prepared. Ondun has left us here with a quest, and we dare not disappoint Him when He returns."

  "But... I don't understand the quest," Ciarlo said.

  "I have taught you the words. We must improve the world, by the grace of God. Ondun created this place. We are its caretakers, its artisans."

  "Prester-Marshall Baine says that we've got to explore and learn," Adrea interrupted. She thought of Criston, far off beyond the horizon in uncharted seas. "That's how we improve the world and ourselves."

  Prester Fennan frowned, obviously uncomfortable with the idea. "That is an ambitious interpretation, but we cannot all be explorers. Most people can improve the world just by being good, by taking care of one another, and spreading the Word of Aiden."

  Some presters believed that people should use the world Ondun had given them, by planting crops, mining metals, fishing the seas, and hunting in the forests. More ambitious followers wanted to build kirks and monuments to prove to Ondun's all seeing eyes that they remembered and appreciated Him. Adrea liked to think that Criston was doing great work by seeing every aspect of creation, for perhaps Ondun had left majestic secrets behind as a gift for the faithful.

  Prester Fennan opened his worn Book, which had served the

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  last four presters of Windcatch. "Read with me, Ciarlo. I know it's a tale you like--the story of the Leviathan."

  Adrea stood behind them, trying to be unobtrusive as she looked over their shoulders. She'd been present at all of her brother's lessons, deciphering the obscure letters of the strange old language. Adrea found to her surprise that she had more of an aptitude for the studies than her brother did.

  "When Ondun created all the creatures," Ciarlo read aloud, struggling with a few of the words, "He also made the Leviathan, a giant and hungry creature with a cavernous mouth, tentacles, a single glowing eye, and a blowhole that belches poison. But when Ondun saw how monstrous the creature was, He wisely decided not to make a mate for it."

  He looked up at Prester Fennan, who nodded in encouragement. He continued reading. "For if the Leviathan were to propagate, its progeny would devour all the fish in the sea. So now the world remains intact, but the Leviathan is lonely and angry, for it is the only one of its kind."

  Adrea pressed her lips together. She was terribly lonely, too, but she didn't feel angry and destructive. She only wanted Cris ton to come home

  She lost herself in the memory of him on the last night before I he Luminara's departure, those sweet hours aboard the Cindon with the portholes open to let in the fresh night air. Adrea and Criston were alone in the small private world they made for I hemselves. Outside, the darkness was lit by thousands of lanterns and candles aboard boats and ships, bright windows of dockside taverns and inns, torches carried by watchmen and revelers. She iind Criston had no interest in going out to experience the bus I ling nightlife of Calay; they wanted only to hold each other.

  It seemed as if Adrea had known him forever, that they had always belonged together, and yet--on that final night, con

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  fined in the hot and stuffy cabin with a gentle breeze whispering in--it felt as if they were discovering each other for the first time. While her brother snored softly out on the deck, letting them have privacy in the small cabin, Adrea had held Criston, warm skin touching warm skin, and fingers meeting each other with a sense of wonder. She was sure that was when she had conceived his child. "I wish I could go with you, Criston."

  "You will be with me--in my heart... all the way to the edge of the world." He kissed her ear, her neck. ¦.¦'¦¦¦ "To the edge of the world--and back."

  "Of course I'll be back." He pulled her down onto the bunk so abruptly she let out a laugh. "And think of the stories I'll be able to tell you! Just you wait." That night had been more than lovemaking; rather, it was a heartfelt goodbye, a collecting and treasuring of memories that would have to last for a year Now, months later, Adrea savored the memory.

  That night, after Prester Fennan departed, Adrea lay awake in bed, smiling, wondering what Criston was doing. Despite her loneliness, she was content and not afraid. Everything seemed right with the world... except for the fact that he wasn't with her.

  25

  Olabar

  Once again, Hannes awoke as a prisoner of burning, bandages, and pain. He had no idea how much time had passed, or where he was. He could see nothing because of the coverings on his eyes. He didn't know how often he had struggled back to acid

  stained consciousness, only to be confused and overwhelmed by agony before diving deep into the blackness, clinging to the anchor of his faith.

  Each time, like a tempting seductress, he had heard the sweet woman's voice, her soothing songs, the delicate music. He felt cool water on his lips, tasted lightly spiced food, sweet fruit juices, figs covered with honey. He wanted to believe this was his reward for a lifetime of devotion, but for now he had to believe this was a trick. He could not let down his guard.

  Finally when the nightmares subsided, leaving him with the staccato firing of raw nerves and furious itching of scabs on his skin, he listened carefully to the voice. He was so familiar with the language that he did not at first realize she was speaking Uraban. "I know you're awake. Gome back to me. I took care of you," she whispered close to his ear. "Come back to me."

  Only rough animalistic sounds came out of his throat. His mouth was dry, and he felt fingers touch his chin, part his lips. Lukewarm tea slithered into his throat, and he swallowed, then coughed.

  The woman wiped his mouth and said, "Rest. I see you growing stronger every day."

  He tried to talk again, but could not find the right words. Language was a confusion in his mind, but he seized upon one word. "Where?" Then he asked again, gaining strength, building confidence. "Where am I?"

  "With me--Asha. You are safe here. I rescued you from the (ire."

  He tried to see, but his vision could not penetrate the bandages over his eyes. He felt a touch of cool, moist cloths; she was bathing him, wiping his rough cheeks, his hands and arms. He could hear birds singing and a breeze rustling fanlike leaves-- palms? -- outside an open window.

  "Why can't I see?" Hannes spoke Uraban, just as the woman did.

  "It's time I removed your bandages. Just wait; it will get better. The doctors say your vision should be safe. For a while they thought y
ou were blinded, but I didn't lose faith."

  Hannes felt the cloth pull away with an extra tug. Blood, scabs, and salves had fused the threads to his face, but that little pain was nothing compared to what he had already endured. Asha gently peeled away the gauze, flooding his eyes with light.

  He could see nothing but a blinding whiteness so different from the awful orange flames that had consumed him. Colors seeped into his awareness, but he was slow to focus; everything was blurry and shifting. Then a dim figure--the woman Asha--dabbed a cloth against his stinging eyes. "You are crying!" she said, her voice touched with awe.

  In the background, Hannes heard barking dogs, the rustle of birds in cages, and now he sensed perfumes and flowers. Smoke and soot had filled his nostrils for so long that he'd been able to smell nothing but the burning, but now his whole body seemed to be awakening.

  Hannes was wary, even more suspicious that this might be a trick. If he were indeed in heaven, why did the woman speak Uraban? Blinking and blinking, he began to discern the hangings in the chamber, saw the ewer of water, a tray of food. Bird cages hung on either side of his bed.

  The woman was beautiful, in the Urecari way. She smiled when she saw him focus on her. "This is my private home, a villa near the soldan-shah's palace. I made him promise to let us care for you until you are better." Asha touched his cheek, then ran her hand over the brittle stubble of hair on his head. How long had he been unconscious and recovering? "We are amazed

  the burns did not scar you worse than they did. I applied the unguents and salves myself. And now you've come back!"

  "Why?" he croaked. "Why would you do this?"

  Asha held her hands together as though she revered him. "I made them care for you, because Urec himself said we must tend the sick and wounded as our human duty, but when I discovered you had saved the golden amulet, the medallion of Urec, I knew you must be a sacred man!"

  She hurried to her table and returned, holding the amulet. Its edges had been blurred by the immense heat, the ancient embossings softened but still prominent. "You must have been guided by Ondun Himself to preserve the sacred relic for us. UrSikara Lukai will place it here in the Olabar church. She'll want to meet you, when you feel up to it."