The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  As they watched the solemn ship glide into the harbor, Anjine stood with her father, who wore black robes and a heavy crown. At the prow of the funeral vessel, the bearlike destrar wore polished armor and a fur-lined cape draped about his shoulders.

  At a whistle from the squad captain, members of Korastine's royal guard formed ranks and beat deep kettledrums. Men threw guylines to tie the Iborian ship up against the royal wharf, and when the vessel came to rest, the drums stopped.

  Young Tomas held a pillow of purple velvet--his mother's favorite color--on which rested the delicate crown that Ilrida would never again wear. Anjine put a reassuring hand on her little brother's shoulder, and he didn't flinch.

  With his head hung low, Destrar Broeck strode down the

  boarding plank, shrugged off his fur-lined cape, and formally bent his knee to Korastine. The king stared for a long, frozen moment before he came back to himself, helped Urida's father to his feet, and embraced him, not caring whether their shared grief would be seen as weakness before the crowds.

  A loud fanfare blew, and the kettledrums began anew. Korastine and Broeck walked slowly up to the castle, followed by Anjine and Tomas, and then the crowd of followers and retainers.

  The next day, Ilrida's preserved body lay stretched out atop a bed of ivory cushions on the deck of the funeral ship. Her beautiful purple gown was surrounded by a cape lined with Iborian ermine fur. Her silver-blond hair had been combed straight, her hands folded across her abdomen. Her skin was heavily powdered, for Destrar Broeck had needed several days to make the journey. Her cushions were surrounded by straw and dry kindling that had been soaked in fragrant oil. Additional oil casks were broken open to drench the deck planks.

  The holy fragment of burned wood from Aiden's Arkship was (aken from Ilrida's kirk and placed aboard, next to her head. Though Prester-Marshall Rudio had requested it be moved to (Malay's main kirk in honor of the fallen queen, Korastine insisted that the relic belonged with her, even in this final ceremony.

  Anjine could see that her father had dreaded this funeral for days. Korastine had spent the entire night kneeling in vigil on I lie deck, refusing even a folded cloak to cushion his knees as he prayed over Ilrida's body. As his daughter, Anjine stayed beside him, touching his shoulder, feeling the unrestrained outpouring of his grief.

  "After the fires of Ishalem, then what happened to Baine and ;ilI those volunteers, the terrible raids...and now Ilrida." He shuddered, looking up at Anjine, who had also begun to weep.

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  "If we are truly fighting on the side of God against His enemies, then why do all these tragedies keep happening to us?"

  Anjine did not pretend to have an answer for him. Not even the old prester-marshall could have given a convincing response.

  At sunrise, the time for the most solemn Aidenist services, Destrar Broeck clomped with heavy bootsteps onto the deck to join him, and the two men bound by common sorrow crossed over to the royal cog, which was connected to the funeral ship by strong grappling hooks.

  Even Mateo had come back from his patrol and insisted on joining the solemn group. From his time in Iboria and escorting Ilrida to Calay, he too had known the kind and ethereal queen, and Anjine had granted a special dispensation for him to don a royal guard uniform. She had not been able to speak with him further, but now she could see a sparkle of unabashed tears on his face as he stood with his fellow guards.

  Weighing anchors as the day brightened, the two linked ships cast off from the royal wharf and sailed out of Calay Harbor to the open sea. When the ships passed the lighthouses on the headlands, young Tomas stared at the wondrous sight. Korastine, though, did not turn his gaze from the adjacent funeral ship and the silently resting Ilrida.

  When the linked vessels reached the open water and the brisk current caught the vessels, Prester-Marshall Rudio called out a solemn prayer, both in traditional Tierran and again in the northern dialect, in honor of Ilrida's memory. Rudio had learned the phrasings specifically for this ceremony.

  Mateo and the royal guard escort detached the grappling hooks to separate the vessels. The royal cog raised its sails, and the pilot turned the wheel, while the funeral ship continued on its way, drifting farther out to sea. As the separation between the vessels widened, Destrar Broeck blew a horn.

  Mateo and several other well-trained archers lit pitch-covered arrows and raised them to the sky, loosing a volley that arced gently over. In unison, the arrows struck home and ignited the funeral ship's deck; two of the shafts plunged into the cushions and kindling beneath Ilrida, and within moments, her pyre was alight.

  Tomas started to cry again, and Anjine held him. She didn't need to say anything. By the time the fire began to consume Ilrida's body, the ships had separated enough that Anjine could see only the flames rising above the deck rails. Her father clung to I lie beautifully painted icon of Holyjoron he had commissioned lor Ilrida's special kirk, holding it against his heart.

  His hair blowing in the sea breeze, Destrar Broeck turned to I lie king. "My daughter could not have asked for a better husband, or a better life." He glanced down at Tomas. "Or a better child. Although you built that kirk for her, the innocent scratch of a rusty nail has caused great tragedy. I beg your indulgence now, Sire--let me and my men tear down the kirk."

  Korastine appeared broken, but his eyes sparkled with an odd wistfulness. "I have a mind to do something else, Destrar. 'It is belter to fix than to break, better to stitch than to tear, better to caress than to strike, better to build than to knock down.' I command that Ilrida's kirk be remade entirely. And this time, we will use only wooden pegs and nails of fine silver... silver, like my beloved's hair."

  The burly destrar seemed surprised, but satisfied. "You see clearly, Sire, and you speak wisely."

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  ' They watched the funeral ship, now entirely aflame, its black nils consumed, the masts transformed into giant torches. The hip drifted west, toward the endless watery horizon.

  Korastine stroked the lustrous painted icon of Holyjoron and a/.ed at the shimmering illuminated eyes of the saintly man.

  He whispered, as if Ilrida could hear him, "I hope you find Holy Joron and the land of Terravitae, my love." They watched the plume of smoke as the burning ship shrank into the distance.

  Then the pilot heeled the cog about, and they sailed back to Calay.

  Black pennants and banners hung all around the castle for the declared time of mourning, and King Korastine withdrew to his chambers. But Sen Leo was quite insistent.

  Always before, the Saedran scholar had been allowed to see the king, but the royal guards were reluctant to disturb the grieving Korastine. Sen Leo stood outside in the corridor, his arms wrapped around a roughly woven sack large enough to hold a thick pillow. The sack was tied shut, showing only hints of the mysterious object within. "Tell King Korastine that I have found hope."

  One of the guards retreated into the royal bedchambers and eventually returned, signaling for Sen Leo. Gathering himself, the Saedran scholar entered the room and stood before the king, who slumped in one of his high-backed chairs like a discarded suit of clothes.

  Sen Leo and the king had held many long discussions in this room, exchanging ideas on politics and history, contemplating the war. Now the scholar took a seat opposite him, holding the sack in his lap. "Majesty, I have something very interesting here."

  The king sounded incredibly weary as he regarded his visitor. "There are few things I find interesting these days, old friend."

  "Nevertheless, you will want to see it." Sen Leo toyed with the string that tied the sack shut and slowly worked the knot loose. With great care, he spread apart the opening and slid out a dome-shaped object necked with bits of dry seaweed. It was an old sea turtle shell, weathered and notched.

  When King Korastine showed little excitement, the Saedran scholar reverently turned the shell to display its underside, where many lines had been carefully engraved, coastlines etched, notations made.

 
; "There is a map etched on this shell." Sen Leo ran his ringer along the lines, touching some of the blurred sections. "Look, Sire--much has been worn away or covered over with algae, but see these islands, this coastline, the details of these reefs? Believe me when I tell you, Majesty, this is an accurate representation of what we know, including obscure details that only Sae Iran chartsmen know."

  Korastine leaned forward, not grasping the significance. "So someone drew a map on a turtle shell..."

  Sen Leo slid his hand to the far side of the engraved map where, well beyond any familiar points on the coastline of Tierra, was marked another whole continent on the far side of the world. He lowered his voice with a genuine sense of wonder. "This, Majesty... this is Terravitae."

  Korastine straightened with sudden interest. "The land of Holyjoron?"

  ¦"This map is clear evidence--or at least a very convincing

  argument--that the realm of Holyjoron is real."

  "We already sent out the Luminara." Korastine sagged back a bit. "It was lost at sea. I received a letter, long ago, but no one ever found the man who wrote it. Still, we know from the sympathetic ship model and from the letter that the ship was destroyed..."

  "Majesty, it is a sad fact, but many ships are lost at sea, especially those that embark on dangerous missions. Does that mean we should give up entirely? Years ago, Prester-Marshall Baine Mid I convinced you that Ondun wants his people to study the

  n%?

  a finger on the hard shell--"we have a much better chance of finding the lost continent from which we all came."

  89

  Olabar, Saedran District

  The second foreign visitor who stayed with Sen Sherufa na-Oa proved to be stranger and far less comprehensible than Aldo had ever been. Five years ago, the young Saedran chartsman had vastly increased Sherufa's knowledge about the world, and for that she would always be grateful.

  The new exotic stranger posed an entirely different sort of challenge. Unlike Aldo, this man shared no language, culture, or common experiences with her. He was said to have crossed the Great Desert from unexplored lands beyond and collapsed in the foothills of Missinia. Sherufa didn't know how she could believe that preposterous claim.

  In the Olabar palace, the man had recovered from his mysterious ordeal. Sikaras prayed over him and performed the Sacraments, but he clearly didn't understand what was happening. A man so entirely unfamiliar with Urec's Log was an amazing novelty to the priestesses. Imir had suggested Sherufa to SoldanShah Omra, and as soon as the stranger was healthy, Omra sent him to the home of the Saedran woman, who began trying to communicate with him.

  He was a large, muscular man, albeit not threatening, and seemed genuinely interested in learning the Ura'oan language. The man identified himself as Asaddan, but he was impatient because he didn't have enough vocabulary to describe for Sherufa the things he'd experienced, the places he'd seen.

  He had a wide, flat face and tanned, weathered skin, as if he had stared into blowing winds all his life. When he smiled, a prominent gap showed where one of his front teeth had been knocked out. His hair was a dark, thick black and plaited with thin leather strands into clumps that seemed to have some kind of significance for him. His original clothes had been tattered by his journey, and his new Uraban garments looked odd on him.

  For days, her neighbors stopped by to see the curious stranger, and when Asaddan saw that he frightened the children who came to see him, he released a loud storm of laughter and lured t hem back. Sherufa insisted to the wide-eyed boys and girls that (he stranger wasn't really an ogre from the deep desert, but her lone sparked their imaginations. Asaddan then fascinated them by whistling through the wide gap from his missing front tooth. A young boy who had also lost a front tooth spent hours trying to emulate the sound.

  Sherufa devoted every waking moment to teaching her visitor to speak Uraban, working the lessons into the tasks of daily life. Occasionally, Asaddan grew frustrated and lashed out in his own tongue sprinkled with new words, resulting in a mix that made no sense at all. As the weeks went on and the two began to understand each other better, the pieces started to fit together li>r Sherufa. Asaddan learned to convey increasingly complex concepts. When he couldn't express himself well enough, he snatched a piece of paper and drew a line to mark the Middle sea, then circled Olabar. He drew his finger vaguely down in the direction of Missinia and made another mark. Then he sketched n< iiiggly lines that Sherufa realized were meant to represent sand dimes.

  "The Great Desert," she said.

  "Desert," Asaddan agreed. He drew more lines to symbolize iInnes that extended southward in a seemingly endless expanse.

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  But on the other side of the wasteland he drew hills, marked villages and more villages. He sketched strange animals that must have been herd beasts.

  Sherufa couldn't believe what she was seeing. "There are no habitable lands beyond the Great Desert." He merely grunted. Near the bottom of the paper and far from the desert, Asaddan added a line meant to signify a southern coast. A new coast. An entirely new sea.

  The very idea rocked Sherufa's concept of the world. The Great Desert was an endless and unbroken barrier of sand, the edge of the world, a barrier beyond which no one could go. According to Asaddan, though, the arid wasteland was just an obstruction. Once past the hot sea of dunes, new vistas opened up--whole new lands. Perhaps half of the Uraban continent remained to be explored!

  In halting words, Asaddan told her that his people, a hitherto unknown race called Nunghals, populated those southern lands beyond the desert. None of the books in her library-- even the tales of the Traveler--suggested such a thing! Excited, she and Asaddan worked far into the night to unlock further secrets of language so Sherufa could understand what he was saying.

  Over the next few days, the Nunghal castaway described his people, who were mainly nomadic tribes that lived in the vast grasslands. The Nunghal clans herded buffalo, drank the milk, ate the meat, used the hides. Far to the south, another branch of the race--the Nunghal-Su--were seafarers who lived their lives on ships and met with their landbound brothers, the NunghalAri, only once a year at large market encampments, where they exchanged goods, stories, and breeding stock.

  One morning, Asaddan came to her at breakfast with weary but bright eyes. Sherufa realized that he must have stayed up

  all night, practicing his words. The Nunghal sat down, drank morning tea with her, then announced: "I tell story now." He grinned, and his pink tongue flicked into the space of his missing looth.

  She caught her breath. "By all means."

  "I am caravan leader... in hills, villages. Storm wind." He gesticulated and blew through his lips. "Drives pack animals nvvay.. .supplies, water, food, deep in desert. Winds make I hem..." He mimicked galloping movements with his hands. "Run. I cannot escape. Animals run into dunes, run and run."

  He let out a long sigh, hanging his head. "After storm... lost. Not know where. Follow winds, travel at night. Stay with animals. Some animals die, so I eat meat. Need water... drink blood of animals. Then sand dervishes." He gesticulated more, but she didn't know what he was talking about. Sand dervishes?

  "I find water...a well bandits use. I see bandits come and hide. Follow them at night to edge of desert. Your land. I walk more. I walk and walk. Then--out of desert!"

  Clearly pleased at having conveyed such an epic adventure, Asaddan wolfed down his breakfast, then went into his room and collapsed into a deep sleep to make up for his restless night.

  Calling one of her neighbors and handing him a note written in Uraban letters, Sherufa dispatched a message to the palace, requesting to speak with the soldan-shah, also suggesting (hat Imir might want to be present. He would love Asaddan's till:.

  Then, after closing the door and making sure Asaddan was Nonnd asleep, Sen Sherufa went to the back of her cupboard, re moved the false panel, and looked at the expanded Mappa Mundi that Aldo na-Curic had helped her develop. She studied the known boundaries of
the Great Desert and extended her

  imagination to encompass what she had just learned from her guest. Her finger quickly ran off the edge of the paper.

  If Asaddan's story was true, then the Saedrans would need a much larger map.

  90

  Olabar

  After the Festival of the Golden Fern, Saan emerged from the forest scratched and dirty, his blond hair mussed, his shirt gone, his remaining clothes torn. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, and many families were already streaming back into the city by the time Istar saw him and came forward to greet him, smiling. Other parents greeted their children with laughter and presented them with false ferns made of golden feathers. She thought little of her son's unkempt appearance at first, since the energetic boy had spent the day running through the forested hills.

  Then Istar sensed that something was wrong. Saan's eyes were unusually bright, his jaw set with determination. He seemed breathless and eager to leave. "We have to get back to the palace and the soldan-shah. I have news, Mother--important news. We're all in great danger."

  Instantly on her guard, she grabbed his shoulders, looking for injuries. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

  He spoke in a low voice. "No, I'm safe now, but I'm worried about my father. There is a plot, and someone tried to kill me. We have to talk with him right away." Saan pulled his mother along.

  Istar, painfully familiar with convoluted plots and assassination schemes in the soldan-shah's court, looked over her shoulder

  for some unnamed threat until they were back at the palace. She found one of the palace guards, who ran to find Kel Rovik, who in turn informed the soldan-shah that they were coming.

  When the two of them stood before Omra at his low writing table, he pushed the papers aside. Before the soldan-shah could speak, Saan blurted, "You're in danger, Father. Maybe we all are."

  He rose abruptly to his feet. "What happened? Are you harmed?"

  "I survived. Someone wants to hurt you, and I believe that's why I was a target." Saan went on to describe the assassins who had pursued him through the forest and how he had narrowly escaped.