Then Ciarlo smelled smoke.
Running through the streets of Windcatch, Adrea pulled Cris ton's mother with her toward their home, hoping to barricade themselves inside. The raiders were smashing into shops, setting roofs on fire, seizing screaming children and dragging them back to their boats, killing virtually everyone else.
Her pregnancy was showing now. It would be another two months or more before Adrea delivered her baby, and her swollen belly made it difficult to run or fight. Telha was a scrappy woman, yes, but she would be easy prey for these awful men--Adrea had just seen well-muscled fishermen and strong dockworkers fall under a flurry of flashing swords. She and the old woman had no chance.
And the invaders kept coming. Another boatload of raiders landed on the beach, and large warships bottled up the harbor.
Ciarlo was with Prester Fennan, and the kirk was one of the sturdiest buildings in Windcatch, but as she reached the house, Adrea looked up the hill and saw the kirk burning. She felt a stabbing pain in her heart, knowing her brother was probably trapped, and he might already be dead. Telha abruptly pushed her daughter-in-law into the shelter of their house. "Whether he's alive or dead, you can't do anything for Ciarlo now." She slammed the door, and Adrea helped pile furniture against it. They built additional barricades by the windows, breathing heavily, listening to the sounds outside, looking at each other's fearful eyes.
Summoning her determination and hatred against these strangers who had come like a storm to her village, Adrea took up a heavy cast-iron pan and a long gutting knife. Telha grabbed another pan and a broomstick that she could wield as a club.
They waited together, praying that the raiders would lose interest and return to their ships. But parties of men were systematically going through the streets of Windcatch, smashing
doors and murdering everyone they found. At the beginning of the raid, Adrea had seen villagers abandon their homes and flee into the hills; now she wished that she and Telha had done the same, for the raiders were on all sides.
Adrea brandished her makeshift weapons as men hammered on the plank door, shouting in a language she didn't understand. Hearing no answer, the raiders crashed through, splitting the 11 hinges and pushing their way inside.
Telha thrust her broomstick into the gut of the first one, knocking the wind out of him. As he staggered forward, she used the I heavy pan to split his skull, and he dropped to the floor. Three I more men surged in, raising their scimitars. Emboldened by her first victory, Telha let out a yell and swung the pan at another man's face.
But this seasoned warrior had no compunction about killing an old woman. He thrust the sword point directly into her chest, just below the heart, paused, then rammed the blade all the way through, up to the hilt. He jerked the sword free and let Telha drop to the floor.
Adrea let out an animalistic scream, vowing to sell her life dearly. She flailed with the pan, slashed with the gutting knife, and cut a severe gash in a man's arm. A fighter wrenched the pan out of her hand, and she whirled to cut him as well.
Another Urecari man entered, and she saw he was dressed in the finery of a prince, but he too was spattered in blood-- Windcatch blood. Blinded by her rage and despair, Adrea thought only of killing him.
Omra had witnessed enough death and destruction in one day to make him stop seeing it all. He had decreed that these people must die, and he moved methodically to witness the purge of this Aidenist village. He didn't count the deaths; instead, he counted
the number of children taken away as trophies, but he felt only a faint glimmer of satisfaction. It had been a long time since he'd felt any real passion. Not since the death of Istar.
As his fighters burst into one particular home, he saw a young woman, her old mother killed before her eyes. She fought like a desert cougar, her fear abandoned. His soldiers overwhelmed her, wrested the cast-iron pan from her hand, and ducked her slashing knife (though two men were cut).
Something about her spirit moved him--and when he suddenly realized that she was pregnant, and further along than Istar had been when the miscarriage had claimed both her and his unborn son, Omra was stunned into unexpected paralysis. He could not drive away the bright image of sweet Istar and their lost child.
"Stop!" he shouted before the raiders could kill her. The woman wielded her knife and had raised her chin, ready to die. "Stop, I said!" Omra moved to intervene. "Take her with us." They had already gathered a few other women from the previous raided villages, either to be sold as slaves or to tend the captive children.
One of his men, a brash soldier from Soldan Attar's army with adrenaline-bright eyes, challenged him. "She is one oithem. She's already cut--"
Omra wasted no time with hesitation and no breath on threats. He drew his own dagger and in a swift arc, as if slicing open a fish, he slashed the other man's throat, opening wide a second mouth beneath his jaw. The man staggered back, eyes wide, palms going to the wound as if he could catch the gushing scarlet fluid and push it back into his veins.
"Who else questions my orders?" Omra glared at the others.
The dying man collapsed with a wet thud on the floor, still twitching, still pouring out blood. The pregnant woman did not
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stare in shock at the murdered raider. Instead, her gaze was cold but uncertain; she didn't tear her eyes from Omra's.
KHe looked at her face rather than her rounded belly, confused as to why he had done this. "This woman is to be spared, I said. Take her back to the boats with the other prisoners."
As the raiders seized her, the woman struggled. As far as Omra could tell, she was not particularly pleased that he had saved her life.
39
Calay
As reports of Urecari depredations reached Calay, Anjine realized just how unprepared Tierra was for war. The Iborian shipwrights had only just begun to construct a full-fledged navy, and all seasoned soldiers were being rushed aboard any military ship that Tierra could muster.
Four coastal towns had been attacked, people slaughtered, homes burned, boats sunk. Survivors claimed that the Urecari had taken many children and some women as prisoners, dragging them off to their war galleys. Some believed the children would be roasted and eaten in heathen rituals, since the followers of Urec were said to love the taste of tender young flesh. Anjine had never heard such stories before, despite reading the Book of Aiden and listening to the sermons of presters. Now, however, those tales had become common knowledge.
After Mateo departed on a riverboat for his military training in Alamont Reach, Anjine had too much time to herself, and she missed having Mateo around to keep her company. No more adventures disguised as Tycho and Tolli, no more childhood.
King Korastine wanted to spend many hours patiently instructing her in statecraft, but one emergency after another sapped his energies. Every day, her father looked more weary and red-eyed as he planned his response to the latest Urecari outrages. He was convinced that the world had only begun to see the first droplets of a much larger storm.
Anjine made her way through the castle looking for her kitten. "Tycho!" But he did not yet know his name, and the castle offered a wealth of rooms and crannies for him to explore. The kitten had become extremely energetic, and he discovered countless hiding places. Each time she found him, he let out a thin, delighted meow and sprang toward her with gold-green eyes bright, ears pricked, and tail aloft. As she held him and petted him, Tycho set up a loud purr until he became restless again, squirmed out of her arms, and raced off to play.
Now she couldn't find him, and she worried he might have gotten hurt. "Tycho!" she called again, heading up the steps to the higher levels of the castle. Each riser was tall, but the kitten could bound up one step after another, until he reached the next floor, where he would find new hiding places.
Anjine discovered Tycho in the tower room where she'd once met with the king, Sen Leo na-Hadra, and Prester-Marshall Baine, when they had decided to send
a reconstruction crew to Ishalem. "There you are, little mischief-maker!" She gathered the kitten, scratched under his chin, stroked the top of his head. Tycho looked at her with a curious expression, as if wondering why she had taken so long to find him. Anjine laughed at how silly he looked.
Then her gaze lifted to the shelf, where the detailed sympathetic model of the Luminara rested. The replica lay destroyed, smashed to splinters.
Tycho squirmed in her arms and jumped down to the floor, wanting to play, but Anjine stared dumbly at the model. Everything was broken apart. The Luminara had been wrecked!
She raced from the chamber and bounded down the stone stairs three at a time. She had to tell her father the awful news.
40
Olabar
Recovering his strength by faith and sheer force of will, Prester Hannes had healed sufficiently that he could get out of bed. But he did not let Asha know how strong he had become. Every day trapped in Olabar, and tended by the soldan-shah's wife, pained him like a knife tip worrying at his wounds.
Asha treated him like one of her pets: coddling him, feeding him. She prayed over his bed, expecting Hannes to join in as she attempted to sell his soul to a false god. He bided his time.
When she left him alone in the beautifully appointed chambers of her residence (along with three cages of birds that would not stop singing), Hannes climbed out of bed and found a loose green robe among other garments in the room. Hissing in pain but clamping his lips together to stifle any sound, he struggled to get dressed. He had no thought for what he would do beyond escaping. Nothing else mattered now.
Hannes whispered a heartfelt prayer, asking Aiden for deliverance from this place, then grasped the bedpost and swayed, gathering his energy. Yes, his body did function. Yes, he could get out of here.
Then Asha bustled into the room, saw what he was doing, and
let out a gasp of worry and delight. She rushed forward to take his arm. "Let me help you! I'm so glad you're up. Come with me to the balcony."
Despite his reluctance, he leaned on her, and they walked with small, slow steps across the tiled floor. He felt his muscles reawakening from long dormancy. His vision seemed blurred by the burns and the healing salve; his left upper eyelid had healed awkwardly, heavy with scar tissue, but it worked well enough.
Asha tugged the loose hangings aside to let Hannes step into the bright sunshine and fresh air. Much too bright. From her private villa, he gazed at the foreign city's towers, cupolas, and minarets, the winding streets that led down to the crowded marketplace near the docks, the long low ships that filled the harbor. The many-turreted palace of the soldan-shah stood not far away. Immediately beneath the balcony, Hannes saw Asha's personal gardens, colorful flowers and a small orchard of mulberry trees.
"You are still such a mystery to me. We found you in Ishalem, but we don't know where you came from." Asha paused, waiting for him to answer, but Hannes remained silent. She continued to chatter. "You've been through a terrible ordeal, but you're so much stronger now. What is your name? When do you think you can tell me more about yourself? I want to know it all! Soon Soldan-Shah Imir will invite us to the palace. I told him about the man I rescued--a holy man." She beamed at him, her dark eyes sparkling. "All the priestesses are praising you for rescuing the amulet of Urec. You have done a great service to the church."
What foolish assumptions Asha was making--or perhaps it was all part of a carefully planned deception. Hannes seethed, barely able to control himself; his vision turned red.
Suddenly Asha looked worried, as if she sensed his volatile mood. "The joy of Ondun must be filling you right now, but
please do not strain yourself. Let me take you back to bed. After the sunset services, I will return with your meal. We'll talk some more then." She guided him back across the floor.
He didn't want to collapse onto the cushions piled on the bed;
he wanted to strike Asha and curse her for what she had done to
him. "Until evening," he managed to say. His words came out
in a croak, and he suddenly realized that speaking Uraban had
become even more natural to him than his own Tierran tongue.
She left him a pot of sweet mint tea and a dish of cut oranges with rosewater. "This afternoon the soldan-shah has asked me to attend him as he tells of Zarif Omra's wonderful raids against the Aidenists, and after that we will attend the sunset services. In the meantime, a sikara could read with you, pray with you. Shall I send one to minister to you?" Oh, Asha was so devious!
Hannes could be devious, too. "No. Only you," he said, and Asha brightened at that. He lay back to lull her suspicions. Without revealing any important details about himself, he tricked her into telling him things about Olabar, about the Urecari preparations for war. Unfortunately, the soldan-shah's wife knew and cared little about politics, and she could give him few specifics about what had happened in far-off lands.
After she departed, he had several hours to plan.
At sunset, he heard shrill bells ringing from the many churches in Olabar. He was surrounded by enemies, perhaps the only faithful Aidenist in this entire city. This must be a test of his faith, an ordeal he would have to endure. And he vowed to show his strength and do what was necessary. Even now, he knew that the soldan-shah and his wives would be finishing their heretical worship services.
When Asha returned, she wore colorful scarves draped around formal garments; her face had been painted, and a smell of sandalwood incense clung to her. Looking breathless, as if she
had rushed, she entered the room carrying a golden plate upon which rested a goblet and small strips of translucent paper. A tray of food sat on the side table.
"I wish you could have gone with me," she said. "Ur-Sikara Lukai wants to give you her personal blessings."
Hannes sat up in bed as Asha curled onto the sheets, setting the golden plate next to him. The balanced goblet was half full of a dark red wine. Hannes looked down suspiciously, and she explained. "I've brought you the Sacraments. How fine it will be to have you awake for them! You weren't aware of what was happening, all those other times."
All those other times?
From a bedside table, Asha withdrew the ever-present copy of Urec's Log and flipped open its illuminated pages. She ran her fingers down the lines of looping Uraban text until she found the verses she wanted.
"What did you mean, I wasn't aware of what was happening?"
Asha blinked at him, then smiled once more. "Oh, while you were unconscious, we had to minister to you. We prayed over you. Though you slept, we presented the Wine and the Name." Asha read her verses and picked up one of the pieces of tissue thin paper, upon which had been written the name of Urec. "Swallow this, and take the spirit of Urec inside you."
A thrill of disgust went up Hannes's back like a line traced by a hot spike as he realized what she had done. While he had lain writhing in delirium, struggling through the pain of his horrific burns, she had pried open his lips, forced the abominable thing into his mouth, made him swallow. "You gave this to me while I was.. .sleeping?"
"Four times," Asha soothed gently. "We were very diligent;
fear not. We did not let you miss any of the holy days." She lifted the goblet of wine to him. "We safeguarded your soul."
Rage overwhelmed him. He wanted to vomit out all of the hateful corruption she had forced into his body, but he was already damned. She had stolen his soul during his nightmares.
He slapped at the goblet, splashing its contents in her face. Startled, Asha drew back. Her hair and swirling scarves dripped with bloodred wine. "What is it? What have I done?"
Hannes had tested himself that afternoon, lifting objects, walking around the room, flexing his muscles. He was much stronger than Asha suspected, and now he knocked aside the platter with the scraps of paper bearing the name of Urec. He threw himself upon Asha, grabbing her scarves and wrapping them around her thin, smooth throat. "You defiled me!"
She beat at
him with hands that fluttered like the birds in their cages. He needed to kill this demon masquerading as a benevolent woman. She had tricked him, forced him to participate in rituals that were anathema to him.
He twisted and tightened the scarves until Asha's eyes bulged and her tongue protruded from her mouth. Her wine-damp hair clung to one cheek. She shuddered, her struggles more feeble now. Just a little more. Her right ankle twitched in a last spasm, faintly jingling the tiny silver bangles there.
Hannes's heart pounded, and sweat trickled from his pores. I The songbirds were agitated in their cages, chirping, fluttering
I;
around. He had listened to their incessant noise for too long. They never stopped--never. He opened the cages and killed each of the birds, strictly out of spite.
The time had come to leave Asha's villa and get away from Olabar. Hoping that no one had heard the noise of their struggle, Hannes quickly dressed himself, then ate the food Asha had
brought with her. He had to hurry, and he had to be smart. He would need money to survive.
With a vicious yank, he tore off Asha's silver anklet, searched her body and stripped away her jewels. With one of her scarves that lay loose by her head, he formed a makeshift satchel, which he filled with other useful items from the chamber. The balcony butted up against a low hill that descended into the gardens. With slow, painful moves, Hannes swung himself off the balcony and stole away into the shadows of the mulberry trees. Finding an unwatched gate at the garden wall, he darted through. Soon, he found himself in the tangled streets and anonymity of the Uraban capital. By the time he heard the first wails of grief and cries of alarm ring out, he had already reached one of the many alleys. Asha's pet hounds set up a loud baying. Hannes glanced at the commotion and smiled, content with what he had done as he vanished into the city streets.
41
Position Unknown
Drifting among the wreckage, Criston awoke coughing and shaking, soaked in salt water--but alive.
The sky above him was mockingly clear and blue. The waves were calm, as though the storm's fury had been spent once the Leviathan destroyed the Luminara. Apart from the sloshing of waves and slap of water on debris, the world around him was utterly silent. He was alone.
The Edge of the World Page 19