The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  B'' The destrar shivered, though Aldo didn't feel particularly cold in the bright sunshine. Siescu said, "I will send men here to help you identify the mountains. We know to respect your people, since Saedran knowledge has saved many ships from being destroyed against the rocks or lost at sea."

  He paused in his shivering, turned his face up to the sky, then back to the giant stone prow. "King Korastine has announced plans to go to war and asked for many more soldier-volunteers from Gorag. I will see that he gets them. When you go back to Calay, tell them that we are loyal Aidenists and furious at what (he evil Urecari have done."

  Pulling his furs tight, Siescu trudged away, leaving Aldo both excited and unsettled. Within an hour, a gruff old miner came to stand with him, looking at the sketched map and comparing it to I lie distant peaks. As Aldo added details, the miner pointed out hidden paths, canyons, villages, roadways.

  The next day, a different man came and offered additional details. Aldo was thrilled with the sheer amount of information I ic was compiling. He took extra time to embellish his drawing, ndding detail lines, drawing birds in the sky, fluffy clouds, rushing torrents along the slopes. This was more than mere informa

  tion; it was a work of art. He had never seen such a gloriously beautiful--and accurate--map.

  He lost track of time and was surprised when, within a week, the metalsmiths announced that they had completed all of the instruments according to the blueprint specifications. Aldo inspected the ornate clock, the astrolabe, sextant, and the combination instruments, and pronounced each one satisfactory.

  The instruments were packed in crates to protect them from damage in transit. Aldo sealed and preserved his map, rolling it tightly to fit in the specially locked cylinder that had held the original blueprints. Aldo wanted to make sure the embellished map was not damaged, torn, or waterstained en route. With the tube's clever seals, Aldo knew that if anything happened to him, the Corag map could be opened only by one of his people.

  When he was ready to go, Destrar Siescu offered him a guide and two shaggy pack ponies to carry the boxes down out of the mountains to the river, where Aldo waited to catch the next boat, anxious to return to Calay.

  37

  The Luminara

  The great storm built for two days before it threw its full fury against the Luminara.

  The seas turned gray, and the clouds overhead became a clotted blackness, like smoke over Ishalem. The waves grew higher than the cliffs around the harbor that sheltered the village of Windcatch.

  Early yesterday, Captain'Shay had ordered the sails tied up and the crates and barrels battened down. The ship climbed

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  the rolling waves, teetered, then crashed down into the troughs. Spray washed over the decks. Most of the crewmen huddling belowdecks were knocked against bulkheads or beams. Barrels and kegs broke loose from their ties and rolled across the floor. Loose objects became projectiles.

  Up in the lookout nest, strapped to the mast so he wouldn't be flung to his death by the tossing vessel, Criston tried to peer through the sheeting rain and upflung spray. Despite the limited visibility, he kept watch for swaths of white foam that might indicate reefs or rocky shoals, but even if he sighted something, he doubted his warning shout would be heard above the din.

  Lightning crackled overhead, flashing like a momentary torch across the churning waves. The ship's masts swayed like inverted pendulums, dipping toward the water until he was sure the Luminara would capsize, but each time her well-built hull righted itself, and she pushed on for her very survival.

  Since clouds had blocked the sky for two days, Sen Nikol had not been able to use the stars and his instruments to determine their position. During those two days, the current had whisked them along in one direction, while the breezes pushed them at an angle. At times they had made enormous speed, while at other times Criston thought they were being pushed back the way they had come. They had sailed in a great circle--west, then south, and now east again. As the bad weather continued, crewmen had struggled to cast nets overboard for the daily catch--but inexplicably all the nets came up empty. It was as though all the fish in the Oceansea had vanished.

  Pelted by rain and shivering, Criston remembered tales the sailors had exchanged about the Leviathan, a single creature so enormous and deadly that even Ondun had feared to create a mate for it. According to legend, all fish fled in terror when the Leviathan was near.

  Down on the deck, spray continued to gush over the rails and a limited crew of deck workers held fast to their ropes. Captain Shay clung to the wheel, trying to keep the Luminara under his control, wrestling with the course. The frightened sailors sent Prester Jerard topside, so he could pray to Ondun for their safety. The old man did so with great vehemence, but Criston saw no slackening of the ferocious weather.

  Sen Nikol staggered across the deck, the winds blowing his pale robes. Holding one of his navigation instruments, he struggled toward the captain's wheel, where he studied the magnetic compass to get his bearings to north, then the Captain's Compass to align their direction to Calay. But the Luminara was thrown up and down so wildly that both compass needles wavered, making them virtually useless.

  With his instruments, the Saedran chartsman made his way to the side of the ship and tried to find any star that might provide a position. A tall curling wave capped with a crest of white rose silently, like a predator, smashed across the deck of the Luminara, and swept Sen Nikol overboard into the turbulent waves.

  Criston screamed down to the wheel, and Captain Shay bellowed for help. But none of the sailors could leave their ropes. Sen Nikol was gone. A smaller wave curled over the rail where the Saedran had stood, washing away even his lingering footprints from the wet deck.

  The deck crew was in a panic at the loss of the chartsman. Without Sen Nikol, they would not know where they were or where they had gone.

  Captain Shay held fast to the wheel, soaked, battered by the driving rain. Criston heard a loud crack, and saw the top of the mizzen mast snap, then tumble over in a tangle of rigging. The bunched sails sagged, and under the weight, the second yardarm broke free.

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  The ship heeled about and bore the brunt of the waves amidships. The captain could no longer steer. Criston had to tighten his lashings to keep from being thrown out of the lookout nest; at any moment even the mainmast could break in half, and he would crash to his death--or vanish into the water.

  Terrified, he suddenly understood what his father must have felt just before his fishing boat sank. He thought of Adrea and hoped she was safe. :

  But in his instant of greatest despair, Criston saw a glimmer of light off in the distance. It grew brighter, then dimmed, then brightened again... like a beacon. The dazzling light stabbed through the furious storm, and Criston pointed and shouted, "A light! A light!" over the howl of the wind, but he didn't think anyone heard him.

  Could this be the Lighthouse at the end of the world, from the story Prester Jerard had told? Where the cursed man kept endless watch for Ondun's return? If the Luminara could reach that place, they would be saved. The island with the Lighthouse was not far from Terravitae!

  He called out again but could not make himself heard. Captain Shay needed to know about this. Criston unlashed himself and swung down, clinging to ratlines that were slick from the pounding rain. With hands that were strong and callused, he worked his way to the first yardarm, hooked his arm through the ropes for stability, and looked out again. Yes, the beacon was still there--and brighter now. Surely other crewmen had noticed it! He stared, yearning for that light, knowing what it represented. He wasn't looking down at the sea. Even if he could have sounded an alarm, it was far too late.

  The monster that rose from the black depths was impervious to the storm, greater than ten sea serpents. Its bullet-shaped head was as large as the Luminara's prow, and when it opened its

  ¦

  maw, Criston saw
row upon row of sharp teeth, each one as long as an oar. It had a single round squidlike eye in the center of its forehead, and spines like a mane around its neck and ringing its gills. Armfuls of tentacles sprouted from each side, lined with wet suckers, each with a barb in its center. The tentacle ends were blind sea serpents, opening to show fang-filled mouths.

  For a moment, Criston could not speak, could not breathe. He found his voice and bellowed with all his strength and all his soul, projecting his voice with enough power to call the attention of the sailors on deck. "Leviathan!"

  Alongside the Luminara, the Leviathan rode the waves as though they were mere ripples. Lightning lanced out, flashing an otherworldly white glow upon its scales. The monstrous tentacles smashed into the foremast, breaking away the yardarms with unreal ease, plucking the white canvas sail like a petal from a flower before casting it into the water. The tentacles' fanged mouths snapped down, splintering the ship's rail. Two snakelike appendages snatched hapless crewmen and tossed them into the Leviathan's maw.

  Captain Shay charged to the prow and grabbed a harpoon from its hooks. While other sailors were screaming, Shay stared at the monster as though mentally cataloguing its interesting aspects, then hurled the harpoon directly at its single eye. Criston had seen him throw a harpoon many months ago, skewering the Uraban pirate Fillok, but because of the ship's lurching, his aim was not true. The harpoon's jagged iron tip struck the side of the milky eye and glanced off, skittering along the scales with a flash of unexpected sparks. Captain Shay cursed the beast, raising his fists in the air.

  The Leviathan reared high, opened its great mouth, and bit down, splintering wood, taking the Luminarah bow--and swallowing Captain Shay along with it.

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  Fighting for balance, desperate not to lose his grip, Griston struggled down the mast. Belatedly, sailors on deck sprang back into action. They ran to the other harpoons to attack the Leviathan. The monster's fanged tentacles lifted crew members into the rain-whipped air and tore them apart.

  When a hastily thrown harpoon stuck in one of the Leviathan's heaving gill slits, the creature let out an unholy roar, halfway between the sound of thunder and the bellow of a hundred dying whales. It submerged, but it did not go away. After a few tense seconds, it rose again, this time smashing the Luminara from below, fatally breaking her keel and lifting the entire hull from the water. Planks sheared off like chaff in a thresher.

  % Crewmen screamed. Many fell overboard, while others, still struggling up through the hatches to join the fight, were smashed or seized by tentacles. First Mate Willin finally made it to the deck, only to be crushed by a falling yardarm.

  Criston could barely hold on. He grabbed a rope, still trying to make his way down to the deck, while the monster continued its attack.

  Water poured into the large holes in the hull. The ship's foremast was uprooted like a weed. The Leviathan broke the deck and folded the mortally wounded Luminara in half. The great sailing ship fell into pieces on the sea.

  Finally losing his grip on the rain-slick rope, Criston was thrown into the churning waves, which lifted him high and pounded him back down again. Choking, spitting water, he struggled to the surface, but the rushing sea whisked him far from the wreck. He could still hear the other crewmen screaming.

  A yardarm floated by, tangled with thick rope and a scrap of sail. Criston clung to the wood, holding on with the desperate instinct of survival, but he knew he would be dead soon. As the

  Luminara sank and the Leviathan hunted the last few screaming, struggling sailors, the currents and the storm swept him away.

  38

  Off the Coast of Tierra

  With sixteen armored war galleys and hundreds of angry warriors at his command, Zarif Orara launched the raiding party from the docks in Khenara. All sails were set to show the vengeful Eye of Urec. Their journey past the blackened scar of Ishalem only served to motivate the fighters further. When they entered Tierran waters, the fighters continued up the coast in search of Aidenist fishing villages. They attacked every one they found.

  With such an overwhelming force against undefended towns, each Urecari strike was more a massacre than a military engagement. Their scimitars were invincible and their victories dramatic, and the zarif learned that his most effective weapon was despair. The Aidenists could not deny that the followers of Urec were far stronger, that their faith was an anchor that held Omra and his men, while the rival religion was cast adrift.

  After two easy conquests that left smoking towns and destroyed harbors behind them, Omra had lost only five fighters, and their bodies had been wrapped up and cast overboard with proper ceremony. The murdered villagers were simply left behind to rot. Captive Tierran children already filled the hold of one of the war galleys. The crew of that ship complained about babysitting when they should have been fighting, but a stern reprimand from Omra silenced their talk.

  Gliding farther up the coast, the war galleys encountered and

  attacked two fishing boats. Omra put every Aidenist crew member to the sword, then scuttled the boats before sailing onward. He left no one alive to spread a warning as his fleet moved along like hunting sharks.

  Omra spied an opening in the coastline guarded by a low K wall of rock that formed a small natural harbor. With the breeze in his face, the zarif could smell the lingering stench of rotting seaweed. As he stared at the village nestled within the cove, he ordered the war ships to blockade the harbor. According to the questionable maps Uraban traders had provided, the name of this place was Windcatch.

  From the broad open windows of his kirk, which sat on a small rise on the outskirts of the village, Prester Fennan spotted the approach of foreign war galleys. He grasped the rope and furiously clanged the bronze bell normally used to call worshippers to his dawn services.

  Urecari attack boats swarmed into the harbor, and raiders disembarked at the town docks or sloshed onto the shingle beach. The men set fire to overturned dinghies, slashed fishing nets hung out to dry, then surged into the small village.

  Fennan continued to ring the bell, hoping that some of the people would stand and fight, knowing that others would flee into the hills. Either way, he had raised the alarm.

  That morning, Ciarlo had been studying with the prester inside the kirk, helping him prepare for the next dawn's prayers. Immediately upon seeing the sign of Urec on the raiders' bright sails, however, they both knew the Aidenist kirk would be a target. Fires had already been started down by the wharves, and black smoke rose from boathouses and the harbormaster's office shanty.

  From the hill, Ciarlo watched dock workers grabbing boat

  poles or oars to defend themselves, but the attackers struck them down with scimitars and moved onward, attacking everyone from old women to overweight shopkeepers. "They are coming here, Prester. We have to fight for the kirk!"

  "The Urecari will not respect the fishhook, boy. They'll burn this place down," Fennan said, still panting from his bell ringing. "You have to survive. We can rebuild the kirk, but they can't destroy our faith." Frustrated, Ciarlo moved away from the altar with an exaggerated limp. "I'm not going to be running very far." "Go into my office. Look for a trapdoor beneath my writing table. We keep our service wine there and some precious artifacts down in the root cellar. You will be safe enough." "No--I will fight with you!"

  "This is not a fight we can win, boy. And you"--Fennan glanced at Giarlo's damaged leg--"you are not a warrior." "You aren't a warrior, either--you're a prester! I'll stand with you and die with you, if we both must die." "But we both don't have to die. Go and take shelter."

  "You don't have to die either."

  Loud shouts rang out in the yard in front of the kirk. Fennan ran to the wooden main door and pressed his shoulder against it just as heavy fists began pounding. He threw his weight to stop the raiders from crashing inside, but it wouldn't hold long. As a kirk, it did not have a crossbar to lock the door. "Go! Ciarlo, go now--I can
't delay them more than a few minutes." Wrestling with his thoughts, Ciarlo lurched toward the door to help Fennan, but the prester roared at him. "Do as I say! I am giving you a chance." "No!"

  Fennan strained against the door that rattled and shuddered

  as the Urecari men threw themselves against it. One of the planks cracked. "I command it! You are my acolyte--obey me!"

  Biting back a useless response, Ciarlo staggered off, still defiantly trying to show that he could run, but failing miserably. Prester Fennan was right. He got to the back room, found the hidden trapdoor underneath the table, and used the fingerholes to lift it.

  The Urecari raiders hammered the door with the hilts of their scimitars and smashed the colored windows, hurling curses in their looping, glottal language. Prester Fennan yelled as the kirk doors splintered open, and a swarm of Urecari men rushed inside, bowling him over. Terrified, Ciarlo ducked into the back room just in time, as a freezing chill washed through his bones. Those men would murder Prester Fennan, and they would destroy the kirk.

  We can rebuild the kirk, but we can't rebuild our faith. '; Fennan was still trying to buy him time, knowing that Ciarlo could not move swiftly. In the back room, struggling to get into the hiding place, the young man cursed himself, cursed his old injury.

  Backing to the altar, the village prester seized his thick Book of Aiden and lifted it as a shield, but one of the foreign invaders struck him down with two brutal blows of a scimitar. Then they began to ransack the kirk.

  Terrified, Ciarlo understood now that fighting the Urecari here could serve no purpose and would only get him killed. He dropped into the dark root cellar beneath the kirk and pulled the trapdoor shut, praying he wouldn't be found.

  He heard battering sounds above, the clomp of booted feet, shouts, smashing glass and splintering wood. After a long moment, they fell silent.