The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  But it didn't matter how much he had prepared his heart--it could never be enough. Criston held poor Jerard, and the tears poured from his eyes like a sudden monsoon. Without conscious volition, he slid out of the chair to the floor beside the dog and held him all through the night until the fire went out, sometime before dawn.

  He buried Jerard under a towering cairn, tearing rocks from the wall of his cottage and stacking the heavy stones high and deep so that predators could not reach the dog's body. The task took him most of the day. With the partly dismantled cottage in a shambles, Criston slept out in the open that night, wrapped in a blanket next to the cairn.

  "You were a good dog, Jerard," he said before he slept. "Faithful and true. I hope Ondun has fields for you to run in and other dogs to play with." Criston stroked one of the smooth stones as though he were petting his friend one last time. "I hope I was as good a companion to you as you were to me."

  In the morning, he rose, stiff and sore in the chill of dawn. From inside the cottage he retrieved the few things he thought he might need, a few carvings, Captain Shay's old sea monster journal. On his trek, he would inform the mountain villagers that he had left his sheep and cottage behind; someone from the village could claim and care for the flock. With Jerard gone, that part of his life was over.

  He removed the fishhook pendant from his neck, the pendant Prester Jerard had given him so long ago, and draped it lovingly between the stones of the dog's cairn.

  Criston had had enough of the mountains, enough of solid ground beneath his feet. Feeling the call again for the first time in years, he set off on foot and left the Corag highlands behind him. At long last, Criston Vora headed back to the sea.

  119

  Uraba

  Many Urabans had seen the sand coracle as it flew over the southern edge of Missinia. Riders came out to greet the returning travelers, escorting Saan, Imir, and Sen Sherufa to the city of Arikara, where they were welcomed with excitement and disbelief. Soldan Xivir and his sister Lithio had, with heavy hearts, concluded that they were lost and would never come back from the Great Desert.

  Imir was happy to report the location of the desert bandit encampments, and explained how sand coracles could be used to hunt them down. Saan took two separate baths just to get all the grit from his pores and hair. The Nunghal clans traditionally scrubbed themselves in streams and lakes, or swam in the cold ocean; they had never heard of a heated and perfumed bath. Saan enjoyed returning to civilization.

  That evening, facing the banquet Xivir's kitchens had prepared for them, Saan realized how much he'd missed the taste of good Uraban food. They savored pies stuffed with minced pigeon, eggs, cinnamon, and walnuts, and he ate an entire bowl of salt-cured olives. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten meat other than buffalo or fish.

  Lithio had saved a seat at the table for the former soldan-shah, but he chose to sit next to Sen Sherufa. His wife seemed more amused than jealous. She made much of Imir's appearance now that his hair and beard had grown back; just to be contrary, she claimed that she had liked him better bald.

  After enjoying the hospitality of the Missinian soldan, the companions were anxious to return to Olabar. Sen Sherufa wanted to be back among her own people, and Saan longed to see his mother and sisters again, but he was most enthusiastic to tell all his adventures to Omra. His father would be proud of the things he had learned and experienced.

  K "That may have to wait, young man," Xivir answered. "The soldan-shah departed with his armies to recapture the isthmus of Ishalem, once and for all." Hearing this, Saan was crestfallen to have missed such a grand opportunity to fight with the Urecari armies on such an important conquest.

  I< The next day, Xivir provided a caravan to take them overland back to the capital. Swift riders were dispatched to carry the news of their imminent arrival to Olabar, and by the time

  Saan and the group reached the capital city, banners had been hung and ribbons fluttered on poles to welcome them.

  But Saan noticed a subdued mood, the remnants of black crepe and drooping flags that marked a time of mourning. Olabar was a confused mixture of extreme emotions. Kel Rovik and a group of uniformed guards came to greet them before the palace's main arch. The guard captain saluted formally to Imir, then showed respect to Saan, as Omra always ordered the guards to do.

  "Something is wrong," Saan blurted. "What's happened?"

  Rovik frowned, hesitant. "It is not my place to--"

  "Give us the news," Imir said, sounding once more like the soldan-shah, though he was nearly unrecognizable with his gray hair and beard. "I order you."

  "Soldan-Shah Omra has a new son by his third wife, Naori. But--" Rovik drew a deep breath, as though facing a battle. "His other son, the heir, died from the bite of a sand spider."

  Saan reeled. His baby brother was dead! "I have to see my ¦'mother." He ran past Kel Rovik and the guards into the famil¦iar

  halls. He found Istar in her quarters, kneeling in her best

  garments, scrubbing the floor cracks between the tiles with rags, polishing, as if she were once again a slave. She looked up at him with empty eyes and stared, as if he were a ghost or hallucination. Then she got to her feet. "You're back! Saan! Safe and alive."

  When she threw her arms around him, he hugged her tightly. "I came back to you, Mother. I promised I would. But..." He didn't know what else to say, how to speak to her.

  With a sob, Istar said, "Griston is dead."

  Saan could sense that a great darkness lived within her, a heavy shadow that had fallen on her heart. She pressed her

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  face against his shoulder, and her damp tears felt cool as they evaporated on his skin. "I love you, Mother," he said. Her body was racked with shudders. Istar cried and cried, and he tried to soothe her.

  Then, oddly, she just stopped, as if she had run out of grief, run out of tears. She released her hold on Saan and stood back, straightening her garments, squaring her shoulders, and wiping her face. He was afraid to ask what had caused this abrupt change in her.

  "You returned. You came home," his mother said quietly, as if she still couldn't believe it. "But I need to be alone for a while."

  She bent down and continued her frenetic cleaning.

  When Sen Sherufa returned to her home in the Saedran District of Olabar, she could barely contain her excitement. She still had the Nunghal map that showed the detailed coastline of the southern sea. Ever since looking upon the great unexplored waters and studying the charts in the mapmaker's stall, she had been planning how to disseminate the information to other Saedrans. Such a world-shaking revelation had to be added to the Mappa Mundi. It was the best information they had. The news needed to be shared, but privately.

  Aldo na-Guric had given her so much information about the Tierran continent that now she wanted to return the favor--if only she could find a way to deliver a copy of the new map to him.

  Alone in her home, with the doors and curtains closed in the vain hope that her neighbors would not interrupt her--not yet--she took out fresh sheets of paper and began to copy the map. Sooner or later, she would have to decide how to describe her exploits to her eager neighbors. She was accustomed to

  repeating tales of other heroes, but she'd never done anything herself that warranted retelling.

  A knock came at her door, the kindly clockmaker who lived across the street, pleased to see she had come home at last. But Sherufa deflected his questions. "I will talk to the entire congregation during the next temple meeting--I promise. But first I need to rest and think."

  She spent the night with oil lamps lit as she hunched over her papers, making copies of the Nunghal map and writing a letter. To Aldo na-Curic.

  The next day, she went to a clever Saedran engineer two streets away who, following her instructions, fabricated an ingenious double-locked cylinder as intricate as any Saedran navigation device. He engraved the combination and instructions right on the outside shell, using the coded Saedran langua
ge that no one else could read, so that only a Saedran would be able to open the cylinder.

  The craftsman demonstrated the finished device for her. Satisfied, Sherufa rolled up the map, sealed the ends of the container, and put out the word that she was looking for a man willing to travel swiftly and secretly away from Uraba, up to Calay.

  She finally found a wiry-looking man who looked eager and earnest, a man who claimed to have made the journey several times before. He swept off his hat, revealing dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile designed to set her off guard. With his nondescript features, he could pass for either Uraban or Tier ran--which was good.

  "It is a long and difficult journey, Lady Saedran," he cautioned. "My fee will not be small."

  "Your fee will be adequate. I'll pay you up front, but this sealed cylinder contains clear instructions to the recipient that you are to receive an even greater amount when you reach your

  destination and deliver the cylinder to a Saedran chartsman in Galay, preferably one named Aldo na-Curic." The man pursed his lips. "And how am 1 to find him?"

  "Go to the Saedran District and ask."

  He tapped the cylinder, looking at it curiously. "And what does this contain? Will I be considered a spy?" "You are not a spy, and the contents do not concern you. It is locked with a cipher you cannot defeat." Realizing that he needed more of an explanation, Sen Sherufa added with a sigh, "It is a Saedran religious matter. It would mean nothing to you, even if you did break open the device." "As you say, Lady Saedran." The man described how he had guided caravans of pilgrims across the Wahilir mountains to Ishalem. "You can count on me. Yal Dolicar is at your service." Sen Sherufa entrusted the map into his hands. He packed up the sealed cylinder, took the money she offered, and departed for Tierra.

  120

  Ishalem

  Destiny demanded it--Ishalem would be his.

  For the first time in history, the holy city that had held Urec's Arkship would belong entirely to the Urecari. The conquest would allow no further intrusion from Aidenists, Saedrans, charlatan merchants, sellers of fake relics, or heretics. Ishalem rightly belonged to the followers of Urec. Tomorrow, Omra and his armies would take it all back.

  As he made his preparations, the full moon shone down upon the ruins of the city. His scouts rode hard under the silver light,

  skirting the squalid pilgrim settlements that had sprung up in the ruins.

  Their long journey had taken the better part of two months. Omra and his mounted troops had ridden across Abilan, through Yuarej, and into Inner Wahilir. With Kel Unwar leading the cavalry, they rode up the Middlesea coast from where they had disembarked at Sioara until they reached Ishalem. Racing across the isthmus, they made contact with the captains of the waiting war galleys anchored down the western coast. Meanwhile, Kel Zarouk's fleet of armed ships had sailed up from Khenara and now lay at anchor out of sight, waiting for the appointed time.

  Omra spent the entire night pacing the fireless camp, thinking of the following dawn when the Aidenists would be at their sunrise services. That was when they would be most vulnerable.

  His scouts returned, bowing before the soldan-shah. "We found a dozen or so Aidenist encampments, Soldan-Shah. One holds a small group of Tier ran soldiers, but they do not seem 11well armed or well fortified. They are not prepared for our

  tassault."

  Omra nodded. The capture of Ishalem would be the first full scale battle in many years, and afterward neither side could ever go back to the previous level of tensions. Nor did he want to. Although he expected to encounter little resistance, the soldanshah was determined to make a spectacular mounted assault. Ishalem was an important spiritual victory, and conquering it must be an overwhelming affair, because the glory of Ondun demanded it.

  A second group of scouts reported that they had found eleven groups of Urecari pilgrims on the southern and eastern ends of the ruins. Omra frowned. "In the frenzy of battle, they might become unfortunate victims. Have our men move them to safety

  in the hills. Tell them to rejoice, for when this day is done, we can begin to rebuild Ishalem."

  In the blackest hour before dawn, he roused his men from their blankets on the hard ground, telling them to mount their horses. They cinched the saddles tight and drew their sharp scimitars, waiting for the sun to appear. On the opposite side of the isthmus, soldiers from Kel Zarouk's warships would be marching up the coast.

  When dawn spilled over the horizon, Omra raised his hand and brought it down in a chopping motion. A blaring horn played an abrupt call to arms. His horsemen charged forward with a thunder of hooves that stirred up the weathered old ash, as though the ground itself had begun to smoke.

  On the opposite side of Ishalem, foot soldiers charged into the Aidenist camps. A handful of astonished Tierran guards scrambled for their weapons and shouted a warning, but Omra's army cut them down and rode after the screaming, fleeing pilgrims. The well-coordinated Uraban military assault could have wiped out an entire garrison of Tierran soldiers; instead, it was merely a slaughter of pathetic mendicants, squatters, and pilgrims.

  Kel Zarouk's war galleys set sail and raced to the old Ishalem harbors, where several Aidenist ships had already cut their ropes and fled out to sea. Omra's warships pursued them, but managed to trap only two of the many Tierran vessels; the other ships slipped away into the morning fog. Undoubtedly, they would rush back to Calay and inform the king of what had happened here.

  But if all had gone according to plan in the Tierran capital, Korastine would have his own tragedy to deal with.

  The sun had been up for less than two hours when Omra declared his victory. He was the undisputed conqueror, and

  Ishalem had fallen without much of a fight. Before the Aidenists could respond, he would set up a fortress and mount patrols. His war galleys would remain in place to secure his hold on the holy city.

  Ishalem would never again fall into enemy hands.

  His soldiers rejoiced, riding their mounts up and down familiar streets that were now little more than burn scars among the collapsed remnants of buildings. Scrub grass, weeds, and thorny shrubs had grown in the cracks, leaving an appearance of overgrown bleakness.

  The men unfurled their banners and planted the fern symbol of Urec to mark their territory. Some took great joy in thrusting their pennant poles through the dead bodies of Aidenist pilgrims, leaving the colors to flutter defiantly; others pitched their tents and claimed land for themselves, already planning to build homes and become new noblemen in a new city. The Urecari pilgrims, frightened by the carnage they had just witnessed, emerged from their hiding places with trepidation rather than triumph.

  Omra, though, stood among the ashes and felt the burning dust sting his eyes. Alone, he ascended the hill in the center of the city, where the ruins of Urec's Arkship had rested. From here, he could survey the shadowed remnants of what had once been the greatest, holiest city in the world.

  Instead of grandeur and blessings, this scabbed ghost of Ishalem spoke only of disappointment and loss.

  Omra took a deep breath. The air had fallen eerily silent. He rubbed the soot and blood from his hands onto his tunic, feeling troubled. This was victory?

  121

  Calay

  When King Korastine retired for the night, he felt a contentment and anticipation that had been absent from his life ever since the death of Ilrida. The Arkship was finished. Within weeks, after supplies were loaded in the hold and the last members of the crew were chosen, she would be ready to set sail.

  Kissing his young son good night, Korastine felt both an overwhelming joy and longing. "I will see you in the morning, Tomas." At times, the king was sure he could see Ilrida's spirit moving behind the boy's pale face. Tomas had a quiet, loving innocence, and Korastine hoped the boy wouldn't lose it as he grew older. Tomas threw his arms around his father's neck. "Will I watch you sail away in the big ship soon? Can I go, too?"

  "You can watch me, but you have to stay here. Anjine will take car
e of you. She'll be Tierra's queen, and you will be the little prince. Our land needs you."

  He had already let Anjine step into the role as much as possible, knowing that she would make a formidable queen. The Urabans would rue the fact that they had continued their war.

  Though it was a warm night, servants had built a fire in his bedroom hearth. The gout in his knee bothered him more and more, especially in damp weather, but he struggled not to let it show, fearing that someone--Anjine, probably--would try to talk him out of taking the Arkship voyage. He had waited years for this, and he wasn't going to let a sore leg deter him.

  By candlelight, he turned his attention to the precious relics he kept here in his private rooms. With the upcoming voyage in

  mind, Korastine looked at the sea-turtle shell with its mysterious carved map that hinted at the wonders of the unknown and all the open sea that the new Arkship would need to cross.

  The Saedrans were supplying a talented chartsman for the voyage, a man who would not only interpret the turtle-shell map, but decide how best to take advantage of currents and prevailing winds. Sen Leo had highly recommended Sen Aldo na-Curic. The rest of the Arkship's crew had already been selected, including the captain, a prester, and many competent seamen, as well as Korastine and Destrar Broeck. This would be a voyage unlike any in history.

  Considering the loss of the Luminara, Korastine had feared he might have trouble obtaining volunteers, but he couldn't have been more wrong. The Arkship's very size promoted great confidence; if such a design had been good enough for Aiden and his crew, it would protect the men of Tierra as well.

  Craftsmen in the main Aidenist kirk had meticulously etched verses and prayers into the glittery surface of the ice dragon's horn, and Kjelnar would install the imposing shaft before the ship's departure, to confer magical safeguards onto the vessel.

  Next to the turtle shell on the shelf, Korastine looked at the lustrous icon of Holyjoron, the image Ilrida had loved so well. He closed his eyes and longed to be transported to that mysterious land of Terravitae. Would she be waiting there for him? If the Arkship ever did reach its destination, he knew with bittersweet sadness that he would not be returning to Calay. Korastine would stay with Holyjoron and perhaps find peace there. That was what he really wanted.