The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  No name, no appearance... the man had been a nameless victim from the city fire. A sudden chill went through his heart, freezing even the horror and outrage. "What if he is a shadow man, an evil spirit unleashed in the burning of Ishalem? What if he still wanders Olabar, seeking other victims?"

  Villiki strode over and yanked a cloak about herself. "I will go immediately to the church, have all the sikaras write and burn prayer strips."

  A second thought fell into place for Imir--not supernatural, but just as frightening. "Or he could be an Aidenist assassin, sent to infiltrate us so he could kill my wife--my wives. How many

  disguised murderers did King Korastine unleash among us after he killed Ambassador Giladen? We must find them!"

  Kel Rovik burst into the room, accompanied by ten of his guards, all with scimitars drawn and ready.

  "Hunt him down, Rovik!" Imir's voice cracked. "Hunt down the murderer, bring him to justice! But don't kill him--I must question him." After pacing around the room, Imir sank back to the cushions and placed his hands over his face as grief thundered through him. "Oh, my Asha!"

  Villiki was at his side with a whisper in his ear. "My love, my Imir. I am not afraid. You still have me. I will always--"

  It took every scrap of his control to keep from striking her. Imir pushed her roughly away, then staggered out of her quarters. He needed to be with his guards, hunting through the streets for the murderer.

  44

  Position Unknown

  During a brief squall on their fifth day adrift, Criston feared that another horrific storm would whip up and smash the makeshift raft to pieces, that the Leviathan itself would chase away the sea serpents and devour them in a single gulp. A drenching rain fell. Pockets in the bunched sailcloth captured water, with which they refilled the small keg. Criston and Prester Jerard scrambled to fill an empty cask--and even the glass bottle that had held Criston's letter to Adrea--with fresh water. They turned their faces to the sky, mouths agape like hungry hatchlings, soothing their parched throats and drinking their fill. The rain passed by midday.

  The men ate the last of the food Criston had retrieved, then created makeshift nets from pockets of cloth to catch a few small wriggling fish, which they ate raw and whole. Jerard even dangled his fishhook pendant over the side of the raft with a scrap of bloodied bandage as bait. Though the symbolic hook was not sharp, they caught several fish that way, but when the thread grew frayed, the prester feared he would lose his beloved pen, dant and placed it back around his neck.

  The old man's face was gaunt, his eyes shadowed with ever worsening pain; Jerard shied away from changing the bandages, but Criston finally removed the cloth and saw that the wound was swollen, bulging with pus and black strands of gangrene working their way up Jerard's arm. Griston said nothing, nor did the prester, but they both knew the old man would not survive long.

  Keeping his face turned away from Jerard, Criston tightened the ropes because parts of the raft had begun to loosen, leaking water. He still had the rope and the iron grappling hook, but nothing to fasten it to. To distract himself and the old prester, he took out Captain Shay's journal and studied the sketches and descriptions, but they offered no help, merely a reminder of the captain's thoughts and dreams.

  Criston could see nothing in any direction as baking sun reflected off the waves, and the monotonous light began to make him delirious. He tried to sleep, but the cool shelter of night seemed far away. He came back to his thoughts, confused and disoriented.

  Fumbling with one hand, Prester Jerard slid the fishhook pendant over Criston's head. The old man patted him, pressing the symbol against his chest. "Take this. I don't want the Leviathan to have it."

  "The Leviathan? What do you mean?" Criston blinked. "What are you doing?"

  Jerard muttered a brief benediction. "You have a long journey ahead, but mine is at its end. I have longed to see Terravitae all my life, and now I realize that I cannot get there by any earthly ship. I will find a different route to the land of Holyjoron."

  He rolled himself off the side of the raft and into the water.

  With a shout, Criston lurched after him and nearly fell off the creaking structure.

  "May the Compass guide you," the old man called as he stroked away. Reeling, Griston prepared to jump in and retrieve him.

  As though Jerard had summoned it, a huge black sea serpent rose from the water, mottled with swirling patterns of golden scales. It opened its mouth and made a sound that was partly a bark, partly a bellow. Steam whistled from its blowhole. Jerard raised his hands from the water as if to fend it off--or to pray.

  Griston yelled, trying to draw the serpent's attention, but it had seen its prey. Like a striking viper, the sea serpent flashed down to the water, mouth open wide. It grabbed the prester in its jaws and swallowed the old man in a single gulp.

  Crying out in horror, Criston hurled the glass bottle, which shattered against the black scales, making the sea serpent flinch. The monster twisted around, its gills flaring, its sharpened fins rising like bristling fur on the back of a cat.

  Seeking something else to use as a weapon, Criston seized the grappling hook and twirled it over his head, letting the rope play through his palms. He threw the sharp hook at the serpent, hating the creature for what it had done to his friend and companion.

  The serpent turned away, and the sharp iron hook caught and snagged in its blowhole. Startled, the serpent thrashed, which only set the barbs deeper--then bolted, trying to flee. With the hooks in place, dug into the opening on the back of its head, the creature could not submerge.

  The rope paid out, burning Criston's palms, but he could not hold the serpent back. Astonished, Criston recalled the story of Sapier and his sea serpent

  Working urgently, he found the other end of the rope and secured it to the yardarm at the heart of the raft, gambling all his hope on this one perilous possibility. If he were going to die, he might as well choose the time and place. The slack in the rope suddenly ran out, slamming tight and making the whole raft shudder. Criston grabbed the edge to keep from being thrown overboard.

  The frantic sea monster reared up out of the water, keeping its blowhole above the surface, black and gold scales glittering in the afternoon sun. With a great roar, the serpent plunged forward, churning up a furious wake and tugging the raft along at breakneck speed.

  45

  Calay, Sacdran District

  Returning from the high mountains of Corag Reach, Aldo looked with a new eye upon the once-familiar buildings, waterways, and bridges of Calay. He had not previously realized how seeing new landscapes could give him a different perspective on everyday things.

  When he arrived in the Saedran District with his crated navigational instruments, Aldo gave a young boy one of his few remaining copper coins and told him to go find Biento and Yura na-Curic with the news that he had returned from Corag.

  Knowing his main duty, he set off for the Saedran temple, eager to deliver the new instruments to Sen Leo. Inside, the

  scholar came forward with a gleam in his eye. "So my young chartsman has passed the first test. You reached your destination, found workers to do your bidding, managed the project to its culmination, and... paid a fair price, I presume?"

  Sen Leo led them through the secret doorway, down the narrow steps, and into the vaulted underground chamber. Once they were in the Mappa Mundi room, he helped Aldo to pry open the small crates, pulled aside the packing, and looked at the fine devices. "I see the Corag craftsmen have outdone themselves. Again."

  "The fabricators wouldn't allow me to look over their shoulders to monitor their work. They said I was disturbing them."

  "No doubt you were." Sen Leo removed the first delicate instrument, adjusted the hemispherical gauges, and aligned the Saedran markings. "Mmm, the armature moves smoothly. The calibration lines match perfectly." He adjusted a lens, sighted along a graduated line, and nodded. He set down the instrument and chose the sealed clock instead. "We will test this
one against our own perfect clock in Calay for months before we allow a chartsman to take it aboard a ship."

  Just then, his father bustled through the door of the upper temple. Glad to see his son, Biento threw his arms around Aldo, patting him heavily on the back. "I missed you! Wen and Una have been constant pests since you've been gone. Your mother could barely keep her sanity."

  "I missed all of you, too, but I saw many wonderful things, and now I can add my observations to the Saedran library." He looked up at the great map of the known world drawn on the temple walls and ceiling. Aldo saw the sparse details of Corag Reach, where the sketched mountain peaks were symbolic rather than topographic.

  Very pleased with himself, Aldo unslung the cylinder, deftly worked the combination seal, and reached inside to pull out the

  rolled paper on which he had drawn all of the known mountain peaks, gorges, valleys, passes, and villages. "These are new details. Let us compare them to the Mappa Mundi."

  His map of Corag was exceptionally beautiful, perhaps even worthy of gilding. He had scribed the labels in perfect penmanship, the artwork so detailed it looked like a painting of the landscape. He was sure his father would be proud of his artistic skill. :'..' Aldo offered the paper to his father. "I took careful measurements, aided by the Corag destrar. I spoke to the people in the mountains and learned the names of every peak." Grinning, he pointed to the Mappa Mundi on the wall. "This is not accurate enough. I have filled in the blanks."

  Sen Leo frowned, deep in thought. "It's true, Saedrans have sent explorers far out to sea, hoping to find some sign of our sunken homeland, but we have not given equal attention to looking inland." He tapped the mountains Aldo had drawn with such lush detail. "This could be vital information."

  '"Knowledge is always vital,'"Aldo quoted. "Isn't that what you taught me in one of our first lessons?"

  The scholar chuckled. "So you were listening even then."

  Biento traced the details of Aldo's map with a fingernail, committing everything to his perfect memory. "Aldo, you haven't even made your first seagoing voyage yet, and already you have added to the Mappa Mundi." He pulled over a stepstool and a measuring line, then used a charcoal stick to sketch in the topography his son had brought back. He did not need to refer to the drawn map again.

  Aldo beamed. He could tell Sen Leo was pleased with what he had accomplished, both in obtaining the instruments and making these observations. The old scholar took the paper with the meticulously drawn details and lavish artwork. He rolled it up, handing it back to Aldo. "There. It has served its purpose. Now

  take it to the brazier over there." He pointed to a brass dish on a thin pedestal. "Burn it."

  Shocked, Aldo thought of how much time he had spent, how much effort he had put into capturing all the lines and details. The art, the calligraphy, the landscape details, the perspectives. "But I worked--"

  Sen Leo cut him off. "Do not forget that the chartsman is the map. It must reside in your head and nowhere else. If we leave items such as this"--he pushed the map into Aldo's hand--"others might gain access to our knowledge. We commit nothing permanently to paper. The knowledge is what matters, not the... frippery."

  Aldo hung his head. "I understand."

  Sad and disturbed, he went to the empty brazier, where he crumpled the map and used a sulfur-tipped match to set fire to the edges. While the yellow flames turned the paper brown, Aldo could not tear his gaze away as the paper curled and the ashes fell away.

  46

  Olabar

  After killing Asha, Prester Hannes moved like an oily shadow through the streets of the Urecari capital. His heart pounded, and his instincts screamed at him to run.

  But nobody knew his name, and few people could identify him. The soldan-shah's wife had kept him in a separate part of her villa; the physicians and sikara priestesses had seen him wrapped in bandages. Asha had tended him herself, washing him, applying salves and perfumes, administering the vile Sacraments. Hannes had never felt so filthy in his life.

  Fortunately, she was dead now. Her soul would face Aiden and the truth before being sent to damnation.

  Hannes slipped through the bent and twisted alleys. Most of the people were asleep, but some came to their windows to see the cause of all the commotion back at the villa, where lantern carrying guards hunted through Asha's gardens. Two riders clattered past on the cobblestoned streets, heading to the soldanshah's palace.

  Hannes hoped the death of Asha would be a great blow to Imir, but he doubted it. Heretical Urecari beliefs allowed a man to own as many wives as he liked, as though they were no more than pairs of shoes. Hannes had done Asha a favor, freeing her from that sin.

  He found a street of merchant shops that were shuttered for the night, their awnings withdrawn, their flimsy doors barred. At an olive seller's stall, Hannes splintered the weakest plank so he could undo the door latch. Inside the dark shop, clay jars full of olives lined the shelves. He scooped out handfuls and ate ravenously, spitting out the pits. He took some preserved lemons from a large jar, then a handful of dates from another tub, eating a few now and filling his pockets; he also carried off a small jar of olives. A ragged brown robe hung on a peg beside the door, and Prester Hannes took that as well, adding to his disguise.

  Leaving the broken door wide open, he scuttled through the streets, ducking into doorways whenever he heard approaching voices or footsteps. He kept moving, though he had no idea where he might go. His knowledge of the world's geography-- particularly here--was sparse. He did not know the city's layout, which sections were dangerous, which would be safe places lo hide.

  The alleyway opened into a wider street, from which he had a good view of Asha's villa. All the windows were alight, and he

  saw figures moving about. The soldan-shah's palace was also lit up, as the alarm was sounded.

  Prester Hannes found a sheltered stone step and sat out of sight, where he could watch. Asha had shaved him every day, but now he scratched the stubble on his chin and decided to grow a beard, made patchy by the waxy burn scars on his cheeks. Feeling content and safe for the first time since he'd awakened, glad to be free from the clutches of that woman, Hannes ate a few more dates, then casually plucked olives from the jar, sucking the tender salty flesh and spitting out the sharp pits.

  He didn't think about the charity Asha had shown in rescuing him from the fires, in nursing him back to health. He had not asked to be placed under that obligation, and he knew that Asha must have had some devilish scheme in mind. She had given him the Urecari Sacraments when he could not fight back, when he could not defend himself. He felt no remorse over killing her.

  Ever since Prester Baine had taken him as an acolyte and taught him his mission in life, Hannes had attempted to be pure and devout. Now, though, in the eyes of Ondun, he was corrupt. He cursed Asha for contaminating his soul.

  A rider clattered by in the street outside the alley where Hannes hunkered on the stone step, wearing his nondescript stolen clothes. Nobody noticed him. He ate another olive. He wanted to flee Olabar, make his way out of this cursed land, and return to Ishalem and Tierra. He and Prester-Marshall Baine could pray together and begin the work of cleansing his soul.

  Suddenly Hannes realized that he wasn't seeing the greater picture. Such grand events did not happen by accident. There must be a purpose. Ondun and Aiden would not have made him suffer so unless they had a plan for him.

  He straightened in the darkness as he realized that, yes, there must be a way to redeem himself. Aiden loved him. Prester

  I

  THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 229

  Marshall Baine had set him on this course, explaining how he must infiltrate the enemy and understand them to improve the fight for Aidenism. His heart swelled with joy.

  Maybe the role he was meant to play did not bring him immediately back to Tierra after all. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Ondun had an important mission in mind for him here.

  47


  Position Unknown

  As the frenzied sea serpent pulled him across the waves, Criston lay lashed to his makeshift raft. Like a wild bull dragging a broken cart, the black-and-gold creature hurtled along at great speed. The hook caught in its breathing hole still prevented it from submerging--thankfully, or else it could have dived deep, taking Criston with it. He hung on, helpless, and the journey went on endlessly, throughout the dark night and the next day And he endured. ¦ Criston was sickened, bruised, and also starving. He had a little fresh water left in one of the casks, and when he fumbled himself free enough to move, he drank it. As the raft surged and crashed along, frightened fish were thrown onto the tangled wreckage--and he grabbed them and ate them raw. When it rained that afternoon, he captured a little more water. He thought of Adrea, and when that became too painful, he thought of nothing at all.

  He lost track of the burning days and black nights. The sea serpent continued its headlong plunge toward the rising sun, growing more and more sluggish, obviously exhausted, maybe dying, but it could not dislodge the grappling hook.

  Finally, so unexpectedly that Griston was not sure what had happened, the hook tore free, leaving a bloody gash down the monster's back like a sucking wound. The sea serpent thrashed and splashed, glad to be free; then it dove far out of sight beneath the waves, putting as much distance as possible between itself and the raft.

  Criston untied himself from the raft and collapsed, weeping. He had no idea where he was or how far he had corne, and now without the sea serpent pulling him along like Sapier in the legend, he was cast adrift, still in the middle of the empty Ocean sea, with no land in sight.

  And this time he was entirely alone. He had hated the blackand-gold creature because it had killed Prester Jerard, but now that it was gone and he sat becalmed, Criston almost longed for the serpent to come back.

  The breeze picked up, and he realized he was in a current, still drifting in the direction the sea monster had taken him. He used the cloth that had shaded them from the sun and rigged a sail to catch the wind, pushing him onward