The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  "We announce a betrothal!" Broeck raised his daughter's ; delicate hand in the air. Ilrida's silvery-blond hair blew in the faint breeze, and she looked very content. "Six years after the death of Queen Sena, King Korastine has finally agreed to wed again--and he has chosen my beautiful daughter to be his wife." The destrar wrapped his arms around the young woman, swallowing her slim form in a large hug. "King Korastine is kind and wise, my dear. I know he will make you happy."

  Broeck stalked toward Mateo and pounded the young man on the back. "It is time for you to go back to Calay. Your training here is finished. As your last duty, I ask that you be part of the escort to bring my dear Ilrida to her new home in Calay."

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  Olabar, Asha's Villa

  After four years of living a shadowy existence in Olabar, Prester Hannes knew all the back streets, tangled alleys, and souk labyrinths. He had found the best places to steal food and beg, the public wells and fountains that provided fresh water. Most of all, lie remained invisible.

  Though he could have stolen finer clothes, he preferred the rags and hood that let him pose as a beggar or, worse, a leper. The patches of healed but slightly waxy burn scars on his hands ;ind cheek furthered that impression. Few people looked twice at a miserable man they did not particularly want to see.

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  Obligated to demonstrate charity, the devout Urecari gave him brass coins, even an occasional cuar, and he gladly took their money. He made a habit of showing his scars, adjusting his filthy hood so that the burned part of his face showed, while carefully hiding the unblemished skin, and he silently mocked the Urabans for their gullibility.

  Each day he hoped for a sign from Aiden, while he watched for weaknesses that he could use against the enemy. No other Tierran knew so much about the followers of Urec, their cities, their culture--or their blind spots--as Hannes did. Part of him wanted to rush back to Calay to tell Prester-Marshall Baine everything he had learned. But not yet. He still felt that Ondun had far more important work for him to do.

  His favorite spot to sleep, both for its abundant comforts and for the sheer irony of it, was Asha's abandoned villa. He bedded down under the overgrown mulberry trees where she had once kept her tentworms.

  After Hannes killed her and fled, the grieving soldan-shah had ordered her private villa boarded up, and Imir had never set foot in the place again. The superstitious Urecari now believed the place to be a haven for ghosts and evil spirits, and even squatters avoided it. Asha's home would never be purged of its demons... and Hannes felt he might never be clean, either, after what that woman had done to him.

  Hannes had always tried to lead his life as Aiden would have wished, but it was difficult in this foreign place, with the entire culture against him. Asha had contaminated him with Sacraments that he could not vomit out, though he had tried--finding emetics in an apothecary shop and puking until he was so weak he could barely stand. He still felt the stain from within.

  All alone in the moonlit mulberry orchard, he tore a thorny branch from one of Asha's dying rosebushes and shed his cloak to

  bare his back. Breathing hard, he leaned forward and thrashed with the thorny branch. He winced and hissed and struck harder, whipping repeatedly. He could feel the blood running down his back, but he thrashed again and again. By flagellating himself, he could at least show his heartfelt desire to be cleansed.

  In all these years here, and previously in Ishalem, Hannes had

  i been quiet and furtive, as Prester-Marshall Baine had instructed

  ; him. But now he wondered if he had truly done enough to improve the world by the grace of Ondun, as the Book of Aiden's Rule of Rules instructed.

  ¦ He whipped himself until blood flowed so freely and the pain was so great he became delirious. Even then he did not stop.

  I Feverish, swimming in his thoughts, listening to the pain and silent screams in his head, Hannes continued to beg for forgiveness. He hoped that his dripping blood would purify this ground, make Asha's villa a tiny foothold for Aiden against the heresy of Urec. Hannes knew he remained tainted. If he was so corrupted, maybe his blood was poisoned too, and Ondun would never accept this sacrifice.

  But he could try, and he could hope. Somehow he would know. When he was weak almost to the point of unconsciousness, Hannes cast aside the mangled rose branch and sank into a pain-filled stupor beneath the mulberry trees. Fearing sleep but needing it, he clung to his faith and hoped that one day he would fulfill his mission and serve Ondun in the way he was meant to.

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  Olabar Palace

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  Tukar, the half-brother of Zarif Omra, watched his mother's glee when she sank his ship. "Diagonal move," she said. "War galley rams cargo ship." She snatched an intricately carved piece from the game board. "You need to watch more carefully, my son. You always fail to prepare for the unexpected."

  "I didn't know that move was allowed," Tukar said, abashed.

  "Then you should spend more time learning the rules. Spend more time learning everything. You're the son of the soldan-shah, not a normal man."

  Tukar assessed his remaining pieces: He had his captain, six sailors, and a small dromond warship, but Villiki still possessed her coveted sea serpent, a rogue piece that could attack whatever and whenever it wished.

  Xaries had complicated rules, and though Tukar had played dozens of games with his mother, he had never won. She scolded him for his lack of strategic prowess; she had even slapped Tukar once when he dared to suggest that xaries was only a game, and that winning and losing mattered little. "It is not a game. It is a test--which you keep failing miserably."

  Tukar would rather have been outside watching Uraban soldiers drill, the mounted warriors racing about the field in mock skirmishes. Soldan-Shah Imir continued to build his armies against the Aidenists, though thus far he had been reluctant to launch them all in a full-scale crusade. Shipments of armor plating, spear heads, arrow tips, and sharp swords arrived regularly from the Gremurr mines on the north coast of the Middle

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  sea. This morning, when the heavily laden barges had docked, Tukar had gone to help unload the swords, planning to take one weapon as his own. But the curved blades with rough hilts were brutish weapons, mass produced by the hundreds and "utterly unbefitting a prince," his mother said.

  Afterward, Tukar had spent the morning on a hunt in the forested hills south of Olabar, running with the hounds he had claimed as his own after Asha's murder. Tukar liked to occupy himself away from the palace... away from Villiki. His mother had expectations and demands for him that he did not have for himself.

  "You still smell like those dogs," she said, finding something else to criticize. "And you're sweaty. From now on, before you play xaries with me, please bathe yourself."

  "Yes, Mother."

  Before marrying Soldan-Shah Imir, Villiki had been a sikara dedicated to the church of Urec. Priestesses often took many anonymous lovers, calling it a part of rejoicing, but they rarely married. In deciding to take Sikara Villiki as his third wife, Imir had caused something of an uproar. Everyone knew that sikaras were almost certainly not virgins, and by tradition the soldan-shah was expected to take a virgin bride. But Imir had found something intriguing about Villiki, so he insisted. And when the soldan-shah insisted, that was the law. Deaf to the protests of his advisers, he pointed out, "My wife is not getting a virgin husband, either, so we approach this marriage on equal footing." The Urecari Church had blessed the union, mainly because the priestesses acquired greater influence by having a sikara wed the soldan-shah.

  In the years since the burning of Ishalem, the sikaras had been using their leverage to demand a violent response to the Aidenists. Now they complained--primarily through Ur-Sikara Lukai but also through Villiki--that Imir was not prosecuting I he war with enough enthusiasm.

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  III

  The soldan-shah had responded by requesting clear
guidance from God, and the sikaras scribbled a flurry of questions on strips of paper, which they set blowing through the streets and out to sea. They wrote bold inquiries to Ondun and Urec on long ribbons, which they flew from the towers of the churches, so the ribbons could flutter in the brisk winds to be read by divine eyes. Though Tukar had dutifully studied Urec's Log and listened to the sikaras, he didn't recall that any such question had ever been answered directly and clearly. Priestesses were good at raising questions, but offered few answers. Imir must have realized the same thing.

  By sending His two sons to explore the world, Ondun had meant to test them. Aiden and Urec had been ordered to accomplish a certain unknown task... which apparently had not yet been achieved. Had Ondun sent the brothers out because He was disappointed in them? Had He wanted the two to find something--a new Terravitae, perhaps? The Key to Creation? What had their goal been? For generations, the Urecari had seen signs everywhere, in an oddly shaped cloud, a freak storm, or an unusual fish pulled up in the nets. But no one really knew the answer.'

  Now, studying the xaries board with more intensity than he felt, Tukar picked up his dromond warship and aligned it to protect his remaining captain and sailor pieces. He planned his next several moves and developed an excellent strategy, but Villiki grew bored and impatient. She picked up the sea serpent piece and devoured his captain, abruptly ending the game.

  "Learn that you cannot plan for disasters." She always found a way to lecture him. "Though some disasters can work to your advantage. Be prepared to become the next soldan-shah, no matter what."

  "Zarif Omra will be the next soldan-shah," Tukar said.

  "As I said," Villiki retorted, her voice as harsh as a desert wind, "you cannot plan for disasters."

  H It was no secret that the time rapidly approached when Imir would hand over the rule to his elder son. Since Omra's wife, Cliaparia, remained childless, the political machinations inside the Olabar palace were becoming more intense. Even Tukar had noticed the shift, though he remained assiduously aloof from such things, despite his mother's demands. Tukar did not want to become soldan-shah, and took no part in his mother's scheming. He admired his half-brother and felt that Omra would be a good leader.

  Weary of her constant berating, Tukar stood from the game table, ignoring the scattered pieces on the xaries board. "I know who I am, Mother, and I accept my place. I am content with my

  : lot. Why can't you --"

  m Villiki lurched to her feet and slapped him, a sharp, vicious

  1 strike that made a sound like cracking wood. "Only the lower

  classes can afford to be content. As the son of the soldan-shah,

  i you are not meant to be content. You are meant to strive. I have i

  done so much for you, and yet you continue to fail me!"

  P Villiki knocked the xaries board to the tiled floor in disgust. The bejeweled pieces clinked and bounced away as though flee: ing her wrath. "While you amuse yourself with hunting dogs, I am planning great things on your behalf. Someone has to do it, ; or you will never get your due." Her eyes were smoldering coals fanned to life by a gust of wind. "And you, Tukar, better be ready to act when it is time."

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  Iboria

  At the mouth of the wide river near Calavik, Kjelnar and his dedicated shipwrights worked to adorn a special wedding ship for Destrar Broeck's daughter. Using chisels, mallets, and rasps, the Iborians carved a benevolent bearded face on the prow: Holy Joron. The wondrous stories about Ondun's last son and the tropical land of Terravitae had always been Ilrida's favorites.

  Since Mateo and his fellow trainees were neither skilled woodcarvers nor artisans, Broeck recruited them to tie ribbons on the masts and yardarms, sweep sawdust and wood shavings from the wedding ship's deck, paint the balustrades and cabin doors, and polish the stylized fishhook anchor.

  Wood-cutters from the thick forests cut hundreds of pine trees and floated the logs downriver to the Calavik bay and the waiting wedding ship. Log herders would guide the cluster of Iborian pines to Galay as his daughter's dowry.

  When the wedding ship was decorated to his satisfaction, the destrar walked the decks and inspected the well-appointed cabin where Ilrida would spend the passage and the clean but crowded berths reserved for the returning soldier-trainees.

  When Broeck pronounced the ship ready to depart, his daughter came forward, preceded by five young female companions. Bearded Iborian men pounded on round-bellied kettle drums, making a thunderous sound like charging mammoths. Broeck proudly took Ilrida's arm and accompanied her across the gangplank to stand on deck. The young woman expressed her delight in the beautiful ship, the colorful ribbons, and the painted carv

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  ings, talking quickly in the northern dialect, still unable to speak formal Tierran. In Calavik, Ilrida lived among locals who were fluent in the Iborian tongue, and she had never found a knack for languages.

  Mateo, placed in charge of the young soldiers who would return to Galay as the wedding escort, let out a sharp whistle and marched his men on deck. In short order, the ropes were cast off, the sails were unfurled, and the barge rode the current out of the bay into the cold northern sea, with a train of pine logs in its wake. The strong southerly current would sweep them down to Galay.

  As they entered the Oceansea, a brisk wind gathered gray clouds that presaged rain, turning the coastline into a dim blur. Mateo stood on deck with the destrar as cold droplets splashed down on them. Mateo pulled up his hood for warmth, but the big destrar let his hair blow back in the breeze and smiled into the sloppy sleet. Ilrida joined them, watching the gray-shrouded shore slide by. Though at first glance she appeared as delicate as an ivory carving, the cold and wet didn't bother her, either.

  The ocean remained choppy for three days, and the rocking of the ship made many of the recruits sick. Broeck urged them to come out in the open, but they huddled belowdecks, vomiting and groaning. When the weather calmed as they sailed past Erietta Reach, the recruits finally emerged on deck looking gray and shaken, breathing gulps of fresh salt air in an attempt to recover. Unafflicted by seasickness, Mateo preferred to be out in the cold open breeze, rather than in the close vile-smelling hold below.

  Kjelnar, who had also accompanied them aboard the wedding ship, kept an anxious watch on his raft of logs. After the days of rough seas ended, he lowered a rope ladder over the side and dropped down onto one of the floating logs. From there, he skipped from one floating trunk to another, inspecting the chains

  that held key logs together. Mateo watched him incredulously, knowing that any slip would bring the shipwright between the logs, where he would be crushed. But Kjelnar did not slip.

  During the storm, some of the outlying pines had broken loose and drifted free, and Kjelnar barked instructions for Iborian workers to lower the ship's boat over the side and row out to retrieve them. Not only were these pines valuable, but any rogue logs would pose a sailing hazard for future ships. Besides, he intended to use all the wood for constructing new warships in Calay Harbor. After what he had seen the Urecari do to PresterMarshall Baine and his crew in Ishalem, Kjelnar did not ever want to stop building attack ships.

  Ilrida stood on deck all day long, her pale blue eyes wide with wonder. Broeck's daughter was twelve years Mateo's senior, yet she seemed more innocent than he was, having lived a sheltered existence in Calavik... possibly because the destrar was afraid of losing her, as he had lost his wife in a snowstorm.

  Broeck told Mateo to keep her company, which Mateo did awkwardly, since he was not fluent in the northern dialect. "Talk to her in Tierran," the destrar suggested with a shrug. "She'll have to learn it sooner or later."¦'¦< ¦ j

  And so the young man stood with her on the open deck, telling her stories, describing Calay. He talked about the kitten he had given Anjine as a going-away present. He also shared snippets from Anjine's letters about how she had raised Tycho as a veritable feline prince. Most important, Mateo told Ilrida how kind and generous
King Korastine was. He described how Korastine had given his word to Mateo's dying father and had never turned from his vow. "He will be a good husband, I promise you."

  Looking wistfully at the coast, Mateo smiled. "And wait until you meet Anjine. She will make you feel at home. I'm sure you'll be great friends." He told her the stories of the things the two of

  them had done together as younger children. He laughed aloud at the memories.

  Ilrida smiled at him, but Mateo could tell by her puzzled expression that she didn't understand much of what he said. Still, she seemed to enjoy his company and his voice, and he knew she picked up some basic words. Telling these stories had increased Mateo's own homesickness. He watched the coastline and knew they were almost home.

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  Olabar, Saedran District

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  Under house arrest in Olabar, Aldo na-Curic was considered a particularly valuable captive. The barred windows of his small, sparsely furnished cottage afforded him a view of the soldanshah's palace and the nearby Urecari church. He still didn't know what would happen to him or what the Urecari wanted from him. Two guards were posted outside the main door, another in the rear, although Aldo had made no attempt to escape. Where would he go?

  Each day, as he paced his room, his thoughts knotted as well as his stomach, he listened to the sikaras sing their call to the sunset services. He heard a cacophony of merchants shouting to customers who were bidding against one another, which made Aldo conclude that he must be near the main souks. He missed his parents, his brother and sister, and stern old Sen Leo.

  No one seemed surprised that Aldo could speak passable Uraban, and he concluded that Saedran chartsmen were so rare here on the foreign continent that they seemed like sorcerers. As he brooded in his locked home, Aldo considered how to use that

  perception to his advantage. Maybe he could bargain his way home, or at least to freedom.

  After a week of not-unpleasant captivity, during which Aldo realized he was more curious than terrified about his future, he resigned himself to learn what he could from his strange situation. Even in Sen Leo's large library, descriptions of Olabar and the Uraban interior were sketchy at best, the details unverified. After his ordeal, if he did get away, Aldo was determined to return to Calay with a useful report. It would make all his tribulations worthwhile if he could sketch in another blank area on the great Mappa Mundi.