The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Twisting the large garnet ring of office, he removea it from his finger and set it on a table next to Omra. "Enough... I have had enough. As of tonight, I am no longer the soldan-shah. I will retire. Uraba needs you now, Omra. You are my successor."

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  Olabar, Saedran District

  While Olabar was in an uproar, Aldo saw his chance. After the shocking events in the palace, no one was paying attention to a lone Saedran from a captured Tierran ship, and Sen Sherufa agreed that this was a perfect time for him to escape.

  They had already spent several weeks fleshing out her copy of the Mappa Mundi with his knowledge. After generations of minimal progress toward completing their great map, the Saedran quest had taken a giant leap forward.

  In the meantime, Sherufa had introduced him to the craftsmen and shopkeepers in the Saedran District. Knowing he was her guest, the children in the streets pestered him for candies, as well, until Sherufa insisted that he make a habit of carrying treats in his pockets. Each night for dinner, a seemingly endless succession of neighbors came by with meats or pastries, and all the guests sat in her main room, letting Aldo or Sherufa tell stories. Everyone was eager to hear about exotic Calay, the mountains of Corag, the rough waters of the Oceansea. The more Aldo talked about his life, the more homesick he became, the more he missed his family, and the more he wanted to leave Uraba. For Aldo, the turmoil at the palace could not have come at a better time. I "It will be a long and dangerous journey," Sherufa warned. "Are you sure you want to go? You would be safe here--and welcome."

  "Calay is my home" he said. "My mother and father must think I'm dead by now. How can I do that to them, to my brother and sister? I don't care about the danger. I've got to make my way

  back to Calay. I've got to." The young man's dark eyes glistened with his passion. "Can you help me?"

  And so Sen Sherufa spread the word from apothecary to physician, from moneylender to merchant, asking for assistance. She had always helped her neighbors when they asked, offering her advice and knowledge, so when she asked for a favor in return, the Saedrans in Olabar responded without question.

  Several nights later, after a filling dinner of noodles, vegetables, and sliced sausages that an innkeeper brought to Sherufa's house, she and Aldo worked together to clean up. A knock came at her door, and Aldo recognized the thin, brown-bearded man as a cabinet maker from two streets over. Nodding at Aldo, but speaking to Sen Sherufa, he looked grave and serious, as if someone had given him a very weighty responsibility. He handed Sherufa a message written in the coded Saedran language. "This is the plan. Everything is in place."

  As she scanned the scrap of paper, her lips were drawn, and the cords in her neck stood out with anxiety. "This sounds like exactly the right thing. Thank you." The cabinet maker ducked away into the dark streets.

  Aldo read the letter, memorizing the names of volunteers, the route he must take, the ships that would be waiting for! him at various ports, the helpers along the way all across the Abilan soldanate as he worked his way to the isthmus and back up into Tierran territory, whereupon any captain would happily take him aboard and give him passage to Calay. It might take him months, perhaps a year, but Aldo had no doubt he would eventually arrive home, see his family again, and report to Sen Leo na-Hadra. He could not hide the growing smile on his face and the joy in his heart.

  Sherufa went to a cupboard, removed a dusty jar, and dumped out a small stash of coins. She wrapped them in a small cloth

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  and handed it to him. "We can provide you with money for now. In other villages along the way our people will give you food and shelter."

  Over the next two days, the neighborhood people obtained nondescript Uraban clothing for him, and he shed his traditional Saedran garb. The loose, cool robes felt strange, but comfortable; he even learned how to wrap a cloth olba around his head.

  Sherufa inspected his disguise, smiling in approval. "You will pose as a metalsmith and ring maker traveling to Yuarej to visit a relative. You will carry a few appropriate tools and inexpensive rings in case you need to display your wares, but nobody should bother you. No one should notice you."

  "I'll make sure that I'm not the least bit interesting."

  Her expression grew more serious. "Please don't call attention to yourself. With Imir gone into seclusion, he's got no further interest in the politics and workings of Uraba. He might even forget about your existence altogether. But you still need to be careful."

  Sherufa helped him pack as they waited anxiously for nightfall. In the full darkness, she and Aldo made their way down to the harbor, where he met the short-haul captain who would take him on the first leg of his journey. On the dock, before boarding the Uraban ship, Aldo turned to embrace Sen Sherufa. "Thank you for taking care of me."

  With tears in her eyes, Sherufa squeezed him tightly. "And thank you for reawakening our spirit of exploration, Aldo naCuric. Until now, I had forgotten the reason why I'm here. Now T know that the Mappa Mundi is not just a thing of academic interest."

  Lanterns had been lit on the small ship, and the crew prepared to depart with the outgoing tide. The captain whistled lor him to come aboard, and Sen Sherufa slipped away so that

  no one would recognize her. As a "Uraban metalsmith," Aldo should not let himself be seen with a Saedran woman.

  Aboard the ship, he took a long breath and looked back to the sparkling city lights of Olabar. A few other travelers snored softly in out-of-the-way places, and the sailors ignored him, having their own tasks to do. Containing the excitement inside him, he found a comfortable spot at the stern and sat down beside a coil of rope. At last, he was on his way home.

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  Calay

  As soon as he had made up his mind, King Korastine set the wheels in motion to create a special reminder of Ilrida's home, something that would show her how much he adored her. Yes, as Tierra's king, he continued to build warships and send out naval patrols to guard the coastline, but here he would spare no expense to make his new wife feel happy.

  After consulting with Sen Leo na-Hadra, he commissioned a Saedran architect to design a traditional Iborian-style kikk, mimicking the appearance of the small chapel she had left behind inside the stockade walls of Calavik. He hired Aidenist artisans to provide appropriate religious trappings, symbols, and details. When complete, it would be marvelous.

  Because so much construction was always taking place near the castle and in the adjoining Shipbuilders' Bay, Korastine did not find it difficult to keep Ilrida from noticing the work, but as the structure took shape, he enlisted Anjine's aid to keep the secret. Happily joining in the plot, the princess accompanied Ilrida on her trips into the city, careful to steer her away from the site of the kirk.

  Following Iborian tradition, the kirk was assembled from seasoned pine, each log stained dark to enhance the grain and knots. Lapped wooden shingles covered the steep roof like the scales of a great sea monster. The shipwright Kjelnar provided two of his best wood-carvers to depict scenes from the great story along the kirk's outer walls, Ilrida's favorite tales of Holy Joron's adventures. As they set to work constructing this familiar structure, the Iborian shipbuilders began to grow homesick for the dark forests and huddled towns of the north.

  As an added extravagance, King Korastine told his carpenters to use iron nails rather than wooden pegs for the entire construction, as his way of showing the permanence of his feelings for Ilrida. He couldn't wait to see the expression of delight on his young wife's face when he finally revealed the surprise.

  Ilrida had not yet learned to speak Tierran very well, but the king was patient with her and managed to make himself understood. Longing to communicate, she had tried to teach him the northern language, but he found it just as baffling. Now he wished he had insisted on continuing to learn other languages despite Queen Sena's disapproval of the suggestion. Ah, how different sweet Ilrida was! Sena had been able to talk w
ith him as much as she'd liked, and she had said little of merit; even with her few words of Tierran, however, Ilrida could express volumes of affection. Korastine learned how to tell his Iborian sweetheart that he loved her, in both languages, and that was enough. I When the kirk neared completion and the wood-carvers erected two obelisk trunks by the front door, the carpenters finally allowed King Korastine inside to view their work. Dark paneling covered the interior walls; candles stood in iron sconces, illuminating the interior with an orange glow. Traditional Iborian kirks had slit windows to block out the wind, which also denied sunlight.

  Korastine had engaged the services of a well-known Saedran portrait artist, Biento na-Curic, to create icons in lustrous colors by mixing powdered gold and silver with the pigments. From above the altar, the image of Holyjoron seemed to glow in the candlelight, smiling down at the private worship area.

  The king brought in the new prester-marshall, Rudio, to bless the kirk. The successor to Baine was not quite the firebrand visionary the younger man had been. After the martyrdom of the volunteers in Ishalem, a convocation of presters chose Rudio--an older and much more traditional man than Baine had been, someone not as keen to espouse experimental new ideas, preferring instead to reinforce the old ones. At the time, Korastine had realized that the man's selection was not so much a backlash against Prester-Marshall Baine as it was a retrenching, a return to the basics of the religion. However, because Baine had died horribly for his faith, no other prester dared to dispute his controversial call to explore the world, though the distractions of the war focused Tierran resources elsewhere.

  After Kjelnar completed an inspection of the new structure, he gave his wholehearted approval. "This is a true Iborian kirk, Majesty. It is as though Destrar Broeck uprooted the'building whole and shipped it here. Ilrida will be delighted."

  The next day, Korastine felt like a boy waiting to open his gifts on Landing Day as he took her hand and led her out of the castle. He felt as though his heart could not contain any more love for this young woman. His mood was infectious, and she gripped his arm, snuggling against him as they walked through the castle gates and down the path. She could sense his excitement.

  At the base of the hill, Korastine led her along a street adjacent to the castle, rounded a corner--and Ilrida stopped with a

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  look of astonishment on her face. Her ice-blue eyes widened, and her snow-silver hair blew about in stray breezes.

  "For you." Korastine gestured toward the distinctive building, then to her. "A kirk to remind you of your home." Then he repeated it in her own language, a sentence he had worked hard to memorize.

  Ilrida pulled on Korastine's hand, insisting that he come with her. "Wonderful," she exclaimed, adding many words in the northern dialect before she found another Tierran word. "Beautiful!" She paused to touch the carved obelisk posts on either side of the door, then rushed inside, delighted.

  In the middle of the kirk was a wide altar made of thick pine planks held together by crossbars and iron nails. The beautiful painted icons with Holy Joron stood on display, but subordinate to the kirk's main treasure: a twisted, burned fragment of wood from the original Arkship, perhaps the most valuable object in the entire Royal District, which had recently been purchased at great expense from a pilgrim trader in the streets of Calay.

  Ilrida turned to Korastine, beside herself with happiness. "Beautiful!" she said again, shaking her head with an obvious wonder far more eloquent than words. She threw her arms around his neck to kiss him. "Wonderful!" Her Iborian ladiesin-waiting would also want to come see the structure.

  She took his arm again and drew him to the plank riser before the altar. When she knelt, he bent beside her, their shoulders touching. Ilrida gazed upon the benevolent face of Holy Joron in the icon. She closed her eyes, Korastine did the same, and the two of them prayed together, each in their own language.

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  Olabar Palace

  Her new quarters in the Olabar palace felt like a different kind of captivity, and a more suspicious one. As a household slave, Adrea had cleaned these rooms many times, though she had never known to whom they belonged. Now Omra gave them to her. Adrea was no longer a slave.

  At first, after all the turmoil that followed Imir's abdication, she had not believed Omra would keep his word. She waited in her rooms, alone and on tenterhooks... until an unfamiliar sikara brought her son back to her. "By the soldan-shah's command," the priestess said, bowing slightly.

  Adrea rose, gazing at Saan in disbelief. Seeing his mother, the boy ran toward her, and she scooped him up in her arms. His face was sunburned, adorned with an extra splash of freckles; his hair looked bleached and tousled. It took her a moment to realize that he wore Tierran clothes, traditional garments she hadn't seen since Windcatch. Why would Saan be dressed as a Tierran here, in Olabar?

  But the joy in her mind and heart was so great that she had no room for questions. Saan was safe, truly safe, and back with her. She held him, suddenly free in a way she had not felt in the more than five years since losing her home and her past. For so long she had clung to absolute silence as a defensive shield, but now there was no reason not to speak openly with Saan. She could talk with him, without reservation, and she poured out all the things she had wanted to tell him for so long. Adrea talked with him for hours, needing to make up for years and years of silence.

  The five-year-old boy described the adventures he'd had after Ur-Sikara Lukai took him away to live in an entire strange village populated by children and very few adults. He tugged at his brown tunic. "They wear clothes like this. And other people there have yellow hair, like me. They speak Tierran and Uraban." Then Saan flinched when he spoke of the "Teacher"--a hooded, gloved enigma who wore a silver mask.

  He described half-timbered houses with thatched roofs, and when Saan insisted that the town church "wasn't right," Adrea realized he was describing an Aidenist kirk, complete with the fishhook symbol. The concept mystified her. Why would there be an entire village of Tierran refugees, most of them children? Could they be the other captives Omra's raiders had taken all those years ago?

  For the next four days, their meals were brought by servants whom she recognized, but Adrea neither saw nor heard anything from Omra. Gradually, as questions piled up, her happiness slid into concern. She knew that her fate dangled by the thinnest of threads, like a fish on a line. At any moment, the new soldanshah could renege on his promise... or some capricious priestess could steal her son away again. With the death of Ur-Sikara Lukai, the humiliation of Villiki and the exile of Tukar, Adrea had witnessed how swiftly the palace could change.

  One day, a young sikara arrived at her doorway. "I have come

  ¦to ask if you would like your son to continue his instruction. I

  ¦will take him back to his old classes, if you wish it."

  Even though Saan clearly wanted to go with the priestess, 1; Adrea clutched the boy's arm. "He stays with me." She was surprised when the other woman relented and left them alone, and H for hours afterward she expected guards would come to enforce their will, but no one bothered her.

  Every day was tense, heavy with waiting. Saan had been

  taken from her once, and she had averted that disaster by only the narrowest of margins. She felt like a ship's captain, skating past treacherous rocks to escape with only a scraped hull. The image made her think of Criston, wherever he was

  Adrea spent her days thinking and planning, trying to guarantee a future for herself and her son. She would do anything to keep him safe. Because the soldan-shah had given them his protection, none of the guards, sikaras, or palace workers could harm her or Saan. By the same token, she would have no recourse, no chance for appeal, should Omra change his mind.

  He surprised Adrea by inviting her to dine with him.

  Three dark-haired and demure Uraban handmaidens came to her room with bundles of colorful garments and instructions to make herself presentable. Adrea knew these
women, but they had never treated her as an equal, for she was a Tierran slave and they had been invited to the Olabar court. Now solicitous, they offered Adrea choices of scarves, long-sleeved gowns, and braided sashes. They fussed over her long blond hair, pulling it back and holding it in place with combs. Adrea shunned the makeup and perfumes, not wanting to look like a whore (though that might be what Omra intended for her to be). Now that he had saved her son, he probably considered her beholden to him. What if he wanted to make her serve as a different sort of slave?

  Adrea felt a cold resolve. Long ago, she had expected to become a sexual plaything for the Uraban raiders, but she had remained untouched for all these years. Her only lover had been Criston Vora, whom she saw nowhere but in her dreams.

  But Omra had saved her twice now. What else did he want from her?

  She resigned herself to do what must be done. Long ago, though she had dearly wanted to marry Criston Vora, she refused to do so until he agreed to care for her brother as well.

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  Now she might have to make another bargain with Omra for the sake of Criston's son.

  When the handmaidens finished properly dressing her, she appraised herself in a polished mirror. She bore a passing resemblance to a proper Uraban woman, and the idea made her stomach twist. As Criston's innocent young bride, she had been so beautiful, but that young woman of Windcatch had been left behind forever on the shores of the Oceansea. Now her features were stronger and sharper, chiseled into dramatic relief by all that she'd endured.

  The handmaidens promised to watch Saan in her quarters, and she gave the boy a kiss before departing. She didn't trust these women, but if Omra wanted to take the boy away again, if he intended any treachery, he hardly needed such an elaborate plot to do so.

  Adrea went to the soldan-shah's quarters, escorted by silent guards. Omra had been waiting. He smiled at her, gesturing to the comfortable cushions laid out before him. 'Join me." Dishes of food were arrayed in a banquet on a low table between them.