The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Up on the hill, Attar's ostentatious dwelling was an affair of domes, towers, gardens, hedges, fountains, and sandstone arches embraced by flowering vines. Because the celebratory feast was so extravagant, hundreds of workers had erected serving pavilions outside. In storehouse tents behind the brick-walled kitchens, servants unloaded delicacies stolen from the Tierran ships. Hannes managed to acquire a white bandanna and sash, so that he fit in with the similarly clothed workers. After so many years among the Urecari, he knew exactly how to be invisible, how to deflect suspicion and interest.

  He slipped under the canvas tarpaulins that covered stacked wine casks taken from the hold of one of the captured ships, and wrestled the barrels upright, one by one. Sheltered from view, he worked loose the thick cork of the first one, poured in some of the poison, then pushed the cork back into place. Before he could lift the next cask, a harried-looking server rushed into the tent,

  glanced at him, and said, "More wine--Soldan Attar demands wine!"

  Hannes pushed the tainted barrel at him. "I have already loosened the cork." The server gave him a look of gratitude, then hurried away, straining with his load. Hannes called after the man, "I'll loosen the other corks as well." "Bless you!" the servant called, then disappeared. Hannes went about his work, using all of his poison powder to prepare six kegs, which would be swiftly consumed. Ondun had performed a miracle, shown him the light, and opened the way for him to continue his work. Improving the world... Hannes darted behind the tents and outdoor warehouses and found a shadowed place in the hedge maze of the eastern courtyard. He relaxed on a cool stone bench where young couples might have met for assignations. From here, he could hear the raucous conversation, the singing and laughter--the gloating--of the celebrants within. He waited. In less than an hour he heard the sounds of revelry change to mirprise, to horror, then a succession of screams. And finally a long and satisfying silence.

  93

  King Korastine's Castle

  j A ft cr years of listening in council sessions, meeting with the treajui('r of Calay, and poring over trade ledgers to understand the Inriffs paid by all merchants, Anjine realized the magnitude of

  I lie project her father had undertaken. A whole new Arkship! It

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  would take several years for such a vessel to be designed, for the wood to be delivered and cured, for the work crews to be assembled, for the hull construction to commence. This was no patrol ship. Korastine's Arkship would be a craft unlike any other.

  And it might bankrupt Tierra. With the war expenditures, the constant destruction caused by Urecari raiders, and the curtailing of normal trade with half the world, the kingdom's coffers were already drained. And now this expensive and long-term project?

  Anjine sympathized with her father and knew why he longed to do such a thing. Yes, she too dreamed of one day being reunited with Ondun's children in the land of Terravitae. She yearned for a return to peaceful times, as did everyone. She understood her father's passion. Even so, Anjine couldn't be sure he was thinking clearly. Because Korastine was her father and he loved her, she hoped she could change his mind by talking with him.

  After putting Tomas to bed, she went quietly to the king's private chambers, where he sat by a tall candle that shed a pool of light across the book he was reading--a book written in the language of the northmen, a dialect he had vowed to learn, though he had not become fluent while Ilrida was with him. Now he seemed more determined than ever, though Anjine didn't know what he would gain from the obscure tongue now. He also kept the map-inscribed turtle shell on a precious shelf, so he could see it whenever he liked; a shelf nearby held the preserved, splintered fragments of the twinned Luminara model.

  After he greeted her, Anjine pulled an ottoman forward and sat before him, as she'd done when she was a little girl. Korastine closed his book and gazed at his daughter with such deep emotion that the words caught in his throat. "Anjine, when did you grow up? You're a full-grown woman now, old enough to be a

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  (ueen, a wife, a mother." He blinked. "Thank you for helping me with the burdens of leadership since Ilrida... in recent days."

  "I've learned a great deal from you, Father. You have taught me, and reality has taught me." She leaned forward on the padded seat. "And I hope you will hear me now. I speak to you out of love, and also concern."

  He stroked his beard. "You're worried about my plans for the Arkship."

  "I am worried that it's a fool's quest, when the money and resources could better be spent to conquer the port cities of Outer Wahilir, to push back the Urecari, to rebuild Ishalem and keep our own lands safe."

  Korastine nodded slowly. "That could be done, yes, although I'm not confident that we wouldn't fail, even so. This is more important."

  "Think of Tomas. Think of all the soldiers, think of the villagers who are repeatedly preyed upon by Urecari raiders. Think of Mateo!"

  "I always think of those things... yes, and Mateo, too." Korastine gestured toward the turtle shell. "But how can you question this map? Do you doubt the existence of Terravitae?"

  She wrapped her hands around her knees. A crock of warm mulled wine sat on the table, but he had not yet poured himself a goblet. Anjine served her father and took a smaller cup lor herself. "I believe in the Book of Aiden as much as anyone, Father... but I see some of the stories as parables, legends told to entertain listeners. Can all of the tales of the Traveler be true? No one believes that. Before we spend so much of our treasury on this new quest, can we be absolutely certain that the land of 1 erravitae isn't just one of those parables?"

  "It is the truth."

  She got up and went to the sea-turtle shell. "How do we know

  that this map is correct? Who drew it? Some sailor washed up on an unknown shore?"

  "Saedran chartsmen have verified it," Korastine said. "The known details match up perfectly. That can't be an accident."

  Though he was being stubborn, Anjine didn't give up. "Then, if you must launch this ship, I beg you to remain here. Tierra needs its king. Tomas needs his father. / need my father. This mission is a diversion we cannot afford right now."

  Korastine sipped his wine and looked at his daughter with a beatific expression. She didn't understand why he was smiling. "There are things you don't know, my daughter."

  Levering himself out of the tall chair, he stood straight. He seemed very old when he reached out to take her hand. "It is time you saw for yourself. Follow me." Taking a candle, he led her out of the royal chamber and down the corridor to a hanging tapestry, which he pushed aside to reveal stone blocks of a slightly different color. A hidden door.

  Korastine took a heavy set of keys, thrust one into a crack in the stones, a cleverly concealed lock, and turned it until she heard the tumblers align with a clack. He pulled the low door open. "This way." He held the candle ahead of him as they climbed an upward-spiraling staircase to a small, isolated tower room inset with thin windows of clear glass panes.

  "What is this place?"

  Breathing heavily, Korastine seemed excited. "Remember the story of Aiden and Urec? Remember how Ondun sent them on their separate voyages, and how He gave each man a gift?"

  Every Tierran child heard the story again and again, told by the presters in their kirks. Ondun had given Urec a special map to show him the secret pathways of the world, but the prideful man had discarded the chart, claiming he didn't need it. Aiden had received a Captain's Compass, its needle twinned

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  to a special counterpart in Terravitae, so it would always point the course home, but that compass had been broken. When they were younger, she and Mateo had searched for the relic in obscure market stalls run by dealers of oddities.

  Korastine lit a taper on the wall from his candle flame, then touched it to the wicks of oil lamps set in sconces in the stone blocks. The room was like a vault, with only a small table and one chair.

  On the
table lay an intricate compass, an ancient device that radiated age and power. A special compass... its crystal cover cracked, its needle bent out of alignment.

  "This is Aiden's Compass, broken long ago by a spy from the ship of Urec," Korastine said. "So far from Terravitae, the sympathetic magic is weak, and the needle can barely find its way. But if we can journey to the right part of the world, if the Ark ship can get close enough to Terravitae, the needle will point the way. I know it. How can Aiden's Compass not lead us home?"

  Anjine cautiously leaned forward to inspect the object. She had not experienced such awe and wonder since she was a little girl. Aiden's Compass! The actual compass! It was one of the most miraculous artifacts in history, and her father had known of its existence all along. When he had announced his mission, his intention to build the new Arkship, he already knew the compass was here, and that it could be used to find the lost holy land.

  Despite her doubts and concerns, Anjine now realized that her father was not deluded. Given the potential glories of rediscovering the land ofjoron, perhaps he was thinking as clearly as ever a ruler had.

  "You're right, Father," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "The Compass will guide us. We have to build the Arkship."

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  The Coast ofTierra

  Waves rolled in and crashed against the black rocks on the rugged coast south of Calay. Tides pushed and pulled the currents like watery pendulums. Floating objects followed a drunkard's path, drifting close to shore before being swept far out to sea again, only to return to a different part of the coast.

  As the moon waxed and waned and the tides completed the next movement of their dance, driftwood piled high on the beach, caught amongst strands of seaweed and moss.

  A glass bottle, its mouth firmly sealed by a cork, rode the perilous crests and valleys, rolling forward on a whitecap's peak, then floating gently back once more as if to catch its breath. The bottle contained rolled-up sheets of paper covered with handwriting. And a single strand of golden hair.

  A surging wave caught the bottle and carried it forward. The foamy crest finally toppled over, and the wave smashed against the uninhabited coast, shattering the bottle on a jagged boulder.

  Sodden, the letter's pages spread apart, the ink running like dark tears. The golden hair washed away, lost in the currents.

  The combers came in again, spread the glass fragments, and erased all sign of the bottle and of the note.

  I PartV

  Two Years Later

  Thirteen Years After the Burning oflshalem

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  Olabar

  ()nce the lost Nunghal wanderer became fluent enough in the Uraban language, he worked hard to convince Soldan-Shah ()mra to mount an expedition that would send him home.

  In two years, Asaddan had become a court sensation in OlaI >ar, a large foreign-looking man with a wide, tanned face, thick I ilack hair, and a gap-toothed smile. At first, he had worn familiar clothing provided by the palace, but he soon showed court lailors how to make traditional Nunghal clothing. Though he learned about Uraban culture and religion, Asaddan chose not lo blend in, leveraging his strange individuality to his advantage. The people found him amusing and intriguing.

  From her perspective as a similar foreigner in this land, Istar understood exactly how he felt. She had lived more than a dozen years in the Olabar palace, five as a slave and seven as a wife (>f the soldan-shah. Even though she wore the appropriate silks, and even though the soldan-shah had made it quite clear that she was his wife and must be respected, Istar did not fit in. After I he attempt on Saan's life during the hunt for the Golden Fern, her quarters had been moved close to the center of the palace, hut it still did not seem like home. Despite her changed name, she could never forget that she came from Tierra; she did not i enounce her faith in Aiden, though she could no longer practice it. But she had survived, and her son had survived. She had done what was necessary. And now she had a different life, a different husband, and two daughters as well.

  In Omra's throne room, Istar sat cross-legged on a turquoise

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  cushion, her hair bound in four braids now, staring at the inlaid map of soldanates on the floor. She had chosen her place next to an open window where a cool breeze drifted in, carrying with it the faint cacophony of Olabar's streets. She would offer Omra her opinions about the morning's business later, if he asked for them.

  On the far side of the chamber sat dark-haired Gliaparia, who devoted most of her attention to resenting Istar rather than listening to the cases that supplicants brought before the soldanshah. Omra rarely talked with her about political matters.

  As expected, Asaddan's request provided the main reason for the session. The big Nunghal, who now spoke nearly flawless Uraban, stood at the base of the soldan-shah's dais. "Soldan-Shah, I have described the hills and the herds of my homeland. I have told you of the fertile grasslands and vast plains that lie beyond the Great Desert. I beg you to send your representatives on a great and perilous journey that offers many rewards." He had learned to speak eloquently, and his passion was not feigned, though his missing tooth gave him something of a whistle when he talked. He tapped the center of his broad chest. "I can lead you there. I will be your ambassador to the khan. I long to see my homeland again." Asaddan tossed his mane of ebony hair, and the listeners muttered to one another, obviously feeling sorry for him.

  Old Imir entered then, causing quite a stir, since he rarely showed any interest in the business of Uraba anymore. Omra's father had gained weight since his retirement; though he still shaved his head and chin, his features were saturnine, and he perspired more heavily. He grinned as he walked in, sandaled feet clicking on the tiled floor. "I beg you to heed this man, my son. The rest of the world awaits! Great adventures beckon!" He lowered his voice. "I will offer my personal fortune to fund this expedition, on one condition--that I accompany him."

  Istar was pleased to see the courage of the plump old soldanshah. Though this man had been the leader of the Urabans at the beginning of the war, she had never considered him her personal enemy. The old man had never really wanted war with Tierra, but the sikaras had pushed for the conflict and given him no alternative, just as many parties were now doing to Omra.

  Twelve-year-old Saan sat next to his mother, fidgeting but attentive. At the mention of trekking to lands never before seen by any Uraban, his blue eyes shone. He whispered to her now, "May I join my grandfather? Please let me accompany him. Nobody has ever gone as far!"

  "Asaddan has certainly gone there," she said patiently. "And all of his people live there."

  "I meant Urabans, Mother!"

  Istar's initial reaction was to insist it was too dangerous, but she knew that it was also dangerous for him to remain here in Olabar. Saan had survived too many "accidents" for them to be coincidences, and Istar had no reason to believe the threats would ever stop, short of the young man's murder. Though she had still found no proof of Cliaparia's involvement, she never let < lown her guard.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Istar saw the other woman shoot a glance at them. Cliaparia, married to Omra for thirteen years, ;ind just past the age of thirty, had given her husband only one daughter in all that time. She had not managed to bear the son I hat the soldan-shah--that Cliaparia--so desperately needed.

  But Istar had, at last.

  The baby boy, her fourth child, had been born only a month earlier, thus becoming the true firstborn son of the soldan-shah. ()mra's young third wife, Naori, was also pregnant, but that didn't matter. Now that he had his heir, the line of succession was clear. Cliaparia was not part of that line.

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  As old Imir stood alongside the burly Nunghal, Istar acknowledged that Saan might be safer if he left Olabar, if he had his own adventure. Her son's enthusiasm reminded her of when Criston had felt the call of the sea, so passionate to serve aboard the Luminara, wanting to sail off to lands unknown....

  Let Saan go beyond the most distant soldan
ate, she decided. He got along well with his surrogate grandfather, a man who liked to talk about his own amazing (and possibly fictitious) experiences as much as he enjoyed hearing new tales. Though it hurt her to say the words aloud, just as it had been difficult to say goodbye to Criston that last night in Calay, she spoke warmly. "You will go on the expedition, Saan, if it is in my power to allow it."

  Inside her comfortable home, Sen Sherufa na-Oa spread out her drawings and charts, sketching in the information that Asaddan had provided. The big Nunghal sat beside Imir, his brown eyes bright with interest, while the former soldan-shah seemed particularly delighted just to be in Sherufa's presence. "And what have you found for us, my dear?"

  "I am not your 'dear,' " she said teasingly, then pointed down at one of the sketches, as well as records from previous Missinia soldans. "We already knew, and Asaddan has verified, that there are strong prevailing winds over this section of the continent. They blow consistently southward for several months of the year, then reverse themselves and blow northward."

  Imir frowned, his plump face florid. "Now, that might be interesting if we had sailing ships, but this is a desert--not a drop of water to be found."

  "Therefore we need new kinds of ships," Sherufa said. "In perusing all the volumes in my library, I've discovered concepts developed by the greatest Saedran minds. One involves a large sack filled with heated air, which can lift heavy things. The

  inventor conceived this design as a sort of detached crane, a way to raise extremely large loads. I propose that if such a thing could be used to raise the framework of a ship above the ground, then you could set sail high above the dunes, as if they were water and your vessel were a sailing ship."

  Imir looked down at the drawings. "A balloon? We would ride a balloon?"

  "You would ride a ship" Sherufa gently corrected. "The balloon would simply lift it. Several layers of Yuarej silk, waterproofed and lined, should be adequate. And if the boat itself were constructed of a lightweight material--woven reeds, wicker work--it would weigh virtually nothing. The expedition could cruise across the Great Desert, riding the prevailing winds until you reach the land of the Nunghals. Half a year later, you ride the breezes back northward. The crossing should be simple."