The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Currently, rather than exploring unmarked territories and expanding the Mappa Mundi, Aldo drew his excitement from running dangerous waters and avoiding Uraban pirates. He assisted brash Tierran captains who dared to sail below the Kdict Line and trade illegally with the coastal cities of Outer Wahilir.

  For this twelfth voyage, Aldo served aboard a small fast ship,

  Ondun's Lightning, loaded with leather goods from Erietta, finely worked jewelry from Corag, and mammoth ivory and scrimshaw work from snowy Iboria. Such items commanded a premium in the distant south, since they could be obtained only from privateers and blockade runners willing to ignore the Edict and risk the wrath of Ondun. A single successful voyage could make a captain and crew fabulously wealthy.

  The Lightning's, captain, Jan Rennert, had already returned from two successful voyages, but wanted more. He had a contact in Ouroussa deep in Uraban territory, a merchant who was just as hungry for the easy profits, and the two men had an arrangement to distribute a shipload of luxury items.

  But a ship that hugged the shoreline could easily be seen and attacked by Uraban corsairs. Therefore, Captain Rennert needed a chartsman's help. Taking the risk again, Rennert had offered Aldo an extravagant amount of money to guide him, to plot a clever course safely far away from coastal raiders. Ouroussa was halfway down the coast of Outer Wahilir, well beyond any journey Aldo had ever made.

  "Because it is so far away," Captain Rennert pointed out, "our profits will be larger. I've already laid the groundwork--you'll see."

  So Aldo guided the Lightning out to sea, following currents he had memorized from the Saedran records. Many leagues below Ishalem, the winds became hot, and the ocean turned silty and shallow. Over the next week, four sailors fell sick with a fever they were sure came from poison fish, strange ugly things that had supplemented their meals. Heading farther southward to the fabled city of Lahjar would have been unconscionable, even to Rennert, despite the obvious profits.

  Aldo directed the captain to tack east toward shore where, if his calculations were correct, they would catch a swift current

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  to bring them in to Ouroussa from the south. As expected, and to the cheers and thanks of the crew, the ship did approach the reefs on the outskirts of the foreign city at dusk, and Captain Rennert contemplated how best to go ashore and sell their valuable cargo. The crew was in a celebratory mood.

  Two swift Uraban war galleys appeared unexpectedly, bearing down on them with long oars extended and drumbeats pounding. Captain Rennert sounded the alarm. "I had hoped to be discreet about this," he said, his expression tight. "My merchant friend must have sold us out." He ordered the sails set, planning to run out to sea. "Can you get us out of this, chartsman?"

  "Those warships are between us and the best course, Captain, but I'll try to find another way." Aldo closed his eyes and summoned up his knowledge about the reef hazards around the Ouroussa coastline, but details were sparse. He didn't see a way out. The obstacle course of shoals now cut them off. B» Another warship came toward them, dispatched from the city harbor itself. Then two more. Ondun's Lightning tried to beat a hasty retreat, but came up against a line of submerged rocks that even Aldo hadn't known about, and only a frantic heeling to port kept them from shearing open their hull.

  Familiar with the local hazards, the Uraban corsairs boxed them in against the reefs. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Aldo watched the vessels closing in, cutting off all hope of escape. Captain Rennert ordered his men to arm themselves and stand ready. As the sun sank to the horizon, the outcome seemed inevitable.

  It was nightfall by the time the ships came together in the anticipated clash. Uraban rowers brought their war galleys alongside Ondun's Lightning, and fighters threw grappling hooks to secure the vessels. "They don't look as if they intend to take prisoners," Rennert said, seeing the curved silver scimitars. Before

  the first enemy boarding party could leap onto their deck, the captain howled for the battle to begin.

  Corsairs swarmed aboard, their colorful outfits making them easy to differentiate from the drab garments of the Lightning's crew, even in the fading light. With swords, clubs, axes, and harpoons, the Tierrans fought furiously to protect their cargo and save their lives.

  But the numbers against them were overwhelming. Instead of running for safety belowdecks, Aldo seized a sword from a dead sailor's hand and brandished it to defend himself. The bloody mayhem on the deck of the ship was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

  One of the corsair captains spotted Aldo and bellowed in Uraban, which the young man had learned in his studies, "Save the Saedran chartsman--he's valuable!" Aldo swung his borrowed sword gracelessly from side to side, trying to keep them at bay. He called out for help, jabbing and slashing at the men as they advanced on him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Captain Rennert go down, clubbed unconscious by a crowd of fighting men. In dismay, Aldo let his attention flicker for just a moment, and the largest Uraban fighter struck the confiscated sword, numbing his wrist. The hilt slipped out of his fingers, and the sword clattered to the deck. He balled his fists to fight, but the pirates surged forward to grab his arms and tie him up.

  Dragged to the side of the boat and bound to a rail, Aldo was forced to watch as the attackers hauled a groggy Captain Rennert to his feet. Without ceremony or accusations, one of the Uraban captains ran him through with a scimitar, then tossed his body overboard. Aldo vomited, then tore his gaze away as the first officer was also executed and dumped unceremoniously into the water to feed the fish.

  THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 259 A few closely guarded and terrified Tierran deckhands were

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  forced to wash the blood from the deck, and a small crew took control of Ondun's Lightning. After being put in irons, the rest of the Aidenist captives were transferred to one of the Uraban galleys, where they would be sold as slaves.

  ¦ But it seemed the Urabans considered Aldo a prize even more ; significant than the Tierran ship. He felt dazed and miserable as the Urabans dragged him aboard their lead war galley and separated him from his companions.

  53 Uraba

  The Teacher stood as tall as Zarif Omra, but opaque black robes covered his entire body, black gloves wrapped his hands, and a featureless silver mask sheathed his face, leaving only slits for eyes and mouth. Since disguise was the nature of his work, the Teacher shielded his identity from everyone. But the students in I his isolated camp would wear no masks; rather, they would hide in plain sight until it was time for them to strike.

  The Teacher's voice was muffled and genderless behind the mask. "They are prepared for their first test, Zarif."

  Omra stood with the dark figure on the outskirts of a hidden settlement an hour's ride outside of Olabar. "It has been four years, Teacher. Time for more than a demonstration."

  "Patience is a weapon as mighty as the sword. Observe." The ' I eacher gestured with a gloved hand, and one of the male tenders down in the village let out a shrill whistle.

  The village was a perfect replica of a Tierran town. The I louses were half-timbered cottages with white plaster walls,

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  brick porches, thatched roofs. A stone-lined well stood at the middle of a gathering square. The bell inside the town's Aidenist kirk began to toll in response to the man's whistle.

  Figures emerged from doorways to stand in well-practiced lines out on the dirt streets. All were children, many of them teens, laughing and joking with one another. Their Tierran clothing was a motley of browns, blacks, and even a few dirt smeared whites; most of the children did not wear shoes. Tousled blond, coppery, or brown hair hung moplike from their heads, though a few of the girls had tied their hair into ponytails with strips of cloth. They spoke perfect Tierran. For four years, the captives had remained here in a world that the Teacher kept carefully separate from the rest of Uraba.

  "Have they completed their exercises for the day?" Omra asked.
/>   The Teacher nodded again. "And they were exceptional. I am confident in how they will serve you."

  Two lagging boys fell into a tussle in the dirt, then sprang to their feet and ran to meet the others in the square. The older teenagers kept the younger children in line, scolding the rambunctiousness; all were perfectly aware of the Teacher's presence. When the black-robed man lifted a gloved hand, they all fell silent, as though in awe.

  The Teacher called out to them in his own language, "They are your first test. Are you ready?" Laughing, the children shouted their answer, and the Teacher turned his silver mask toward Omra. "You may call your guests forward now, Zarif."

  Guards on horseback ushered in four Tierran sailors who had been held out of sight of the village, pulling them by ropes bound to their wrists. Omra explained to the Teacher, "These are surviving crewmen from an illicit trader recently captured off the coast of Ouroussa. The captain and officers were slain, but we

  did manage to seize a Saedran chartsman. My father will make use of him." Omra smiled coldly as he turned to watch the proceedings. "These sailors, though, are for you. Show me what you have achieved."

  When the beaten and exhausted captives saw the familiar looking village, they brightened. One man praised Aiden, and the offended guards cuffed him. Omra's men slashed the bonds around their wrists and pushed the men forward.

  The four captives hurried into the village, where the pale skinned children greeted them enthusiastically, calling the men i farther into the square. The captured sailors, laughing or weeping with joy, threw their arms around the Tierran children and stood, heaving great breaths. B The Teacher shouted a single order in Uraban.

  The children moved like a dance troupe, their reactions perfectly coordinated. From their ragged clothes they produced knives. Each child, down to the smallest boy and girl, was armed.',¦¦,

  The captive sailors were surprised, perplexed. One blurted out a question. The children fell upon them in a frenzy of stabbing, pushing forward, flashing their knives, each one wanting to feel the bite of a sharp blade into flesh and bone. Before long, the four dead sailors were no longer recognizable as human.

  "No hesitation," the Teacher pointed out. "They are completely loyal, completely trained. They may have been born in Tierra, but their hearts belong to Urec. Your plan will succeed, Zarif."

  Unable to tear his eyes away Omra felt great satisfaction. "We will call them ra'virs." Omra took the name from a rare bird, the ra'vir, which had a habit of laying its eggs in another bird's nest, so that its offspring would be raised among other species. But ra'virs often killed their fellows to eliminate competition.

  "An excellent name."

  Omra's ra'virs, these captive children, would look and act exactly like Aidenists, but would always be loyal to Uraba, ready to perform destructive missions when they received orders.

  "I'm pleased with this demonstration, Teacher. Continue your work. Soon we can start sending them north to infiltrate Tierran society."

  54

  Olabar Palace

  Inside the Olabar palace, Adrea worked silently, unobtrusively. Some days, the guards let her out into the gardens to scrub flagstones and pull weeds. Today, she toiled in the spacious quarters of Soldan-Shah Imir's third wife, Villiki. Using rags and brushes, she scoured dust and dirt from cracks in the tile floor. She polished statues, cleaning the stone faces of arrogant-looking men whose names she did not know. She used her spit to moisten the rag. A fresh dove dropping stood out on the man's sculpted head, and she took pleasure in smearing it all over the implacable face before wiping the filth away.

  Uraban handmaidens with gaudy clothes and ripe perfumes twittered as they moved from room to room, fawning upon the soldan-shah's wife. Imir's second wife had been murdered four years ago, not long before Adrea was brought here, and the first wife -- Omra's mother--had lived apart from her husband for more than a decade.

  Like creatures settling into a fresh tide pool, a group of scheming handmaidens surrounded Zarif Omra's only wife, Cliaparia.

  Gliaparia was Adrea's age, dark-haired and beautiful, though with an arrogant self-absorption that diminished her charm.

  As a mere palace slave, Adrea was immune to all politics. To the members of the court, she was invisible, a disguise she had carefully cultivated during her years here. When she was first captured, she had expected to be raped and abused, passed from I one Uraban soldier to another, regardless of her pregnancy. At the very least, she had been sure she'd be forced into Omra's , personal harem, since a Urecari man could supposedly take as many wives as he pleased. But to her surprise, she had not been harmed; in fact, Adrea had been given her own simple quarters, and was fed and clothed.

  K When it was time for her baby to be born, a Uraban mid wife tended her, spoke soothingly, gave her medicines and herbal tea to ease the delivery. Without Griston at her side, Adrea had given birth to a baby boy, whom she named Saan. She had even been allowed to keep him, to raise him. Adrea didn't understand these people. > Saan was now four years old, a perfect blond-haired, blue eyed boy, and his face showed hints of her beloved husband. Every time she saw her son, she ached for what she had lost in Windcatch--Griston, her family, her life. By now, he must have long since returned home from his voyage. She imagined the Luminara sailing into Calay Harbor in triumph. Criston had likely received a fortune for serving on such a brave expedition... only to come home to a devastated Windcatch, his mother dead, Adrea gone. In the fire and slaughter and confusion, she doubted anyone had seen her captured. If anyone had seen it, they had probably perished that day as well. y

  How could Criston not assume she was dead? Her heart felt heavy as she wondered if he had married again. Criston would

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  still be young and handsome. He would probably never learn that she had carried his child--much less that the boy was alive

  Now, as she worked to make the marble of the statue gleam, tears sparkled in her eyes, but she wiped them away before anyone could see. In all her time here, she had refused to let her Uraban captors see a hint of emotion from her, and she had not uttered a word to them. They all believed she was mute, nothing more than a beast of burden--and a rather stupid one at that. Such attitudes worked to her advantage, and she clung to her shield of silence while she did her tasks in the soldan-shah's palace.

  Although Adrea had no desire to please her captors, she worked hard because she couldn't risk being punished. She had too much to lose. In her precarious position, if anything happened to her, then Saan would pay the price. Adrea knew she could no longer count on Zarif Omra's help; over the past several years, he had paid little attention to her. By eavesdropping, she had long ago learned that Omra's first wife died during a miscarriage, and she concluded that a moment of weakness had caused Omra to protect her. Perhaps he had felt some empathy for her and her unborn son. But not anymore.

  Each morning before Adrea left her quarters, Saan was taken away to a nursery school in one wing of the palace. She could not object, but it disturbed her to know that her son was being indoctrinated in Urec's Log, taught things that she found hateful.

  Her own protective silence had laid a trap for her. Though Adrea longed to teach him his own language and heritage, Saan spoke only Uraban. The four-year-old did not understand his situation. Even when she held him in their quarters at night, clinging to him like one last possession that couldn't be taken from her, she feared that if she gave him words in his own language, told him the name of his father, described the village of Wind

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  I catch and the wonders she had seen in Calay, Saan might blurt something to his teachers, and her secret would be exposed. So when she whispered to him in the night, soothing him r making him feel loved and comforted, Adrea spoke in Uraban,'

  I but made him swear never to tell anyone that she could talk. The

  I boy had given her his word with all the earnestness of a child and for four years she felt as if she had been holding her breath.
/>   Each day, when she finished her work in Villiki's quarters and most Urecari were preparing to go to their churches for sunset ceremonies, Adrea waited for Saan to be released from the school and led back to their quarters. Out in the long, open-air corridor, she moved on to the next statue, polishing it in the daylight that filtered through the corridor's vine-covered windows. Bees buzzed around the trumpet shaped yellow flowers. She looked up, hearing a rustle of sandals and robes. While Adrea disliked ambitious Villiki, the mother of Imir's second son, she had come to resent the Urecari priestesses even more. Ur-Sikara Lukai flaunted her superiority over any Aidenist captive, but since Adrea did her assigned tasks reliably, the sikara heaped scorn on her merely out of habit Today, red-robed Lukai herself brought the boy out, clutching his small hand. Adrea knew something was wrong. The priestess smiled at her with a face as hard as the statues Adrea had seen all day. Out of habit, Adrea lowered her head respectfully. Ur-Sikara Lukai spoke in broken Tierran, sure that Saan couldn't understand her. "Your son...soon he will change.

  When he is five years old, we take him from you. We train him."

  Adrea looked up, suppressed an involuntary cry of alarm, bit

  I >ack the words she wanted to hurl after her.

  Lukai seemed to enjoy her reaction. "He have the honor of being trained among ra'vir." Adrea didn't know what that meant,

  but she grabbed Saan and pulled him close. The sikara laughed. "Soon now, he is old enough."

  The priestess turned with a sweep of her red gown and stalked away. Saan had no idea why his mother was so emotional. She held him, her thoughts in turmoil, at a loss as to how she could protect her son.

  55

  Corag Highlands

  High in a mountain meadow at the edge of Corag Reach, Cris ton Vora sat on a lichen-spattered boulder. The black and gray peaks above the meadows were frosted with thick snow that would not melt even at the height of summer.

  He watched his small flock of sheep graze contentedly on the lush spring grasses. Magenta, white, and yellow flowers splashed color like daubs of paint across the greenery. Silvery meltwater streams trickled down from the highlands, gathering into larger brooks, all of which flowed into valleys and eventually to the sea.