The Map of All Things (27 page)

64
Fashia's Fountain

Three sturdy Soeland patrol ships anchored just off the rocky Uraban coastline, far below the Edict Line. The lookouts remained on high alert to make sure no Urecari vessels saw them. Up against the cliffs, a small pier and marker obelisks indicated a stony path that wound into the narrow gorge. Destrar Tavishel was sure that this was the right place.

Flushed with excitement, Jenirod watched the determined Soelanders take up their weapons and prepare to go ashore. “Are you sure we need all these men, Destrar? Fashia's Fountain isn't a military outpost, just one of their unholy shrines.”

Tavishel gave him a cool look. “Do you fault my thoroughness?”

Jenirod shook his head. “No, we both have too much riding on this operation. Let us do it in the name of Queen Anjine.”

The Soeland destrar barked gruff orders, but the men already knew what they were doing. Creaking ropes lowered the small boats over the side, and the men rowed to the lonely pier, disembarked, then sent the boats back for additional shore parties. Jenirod sat aboard the second boat, anxious to fight. Tavishel arrived with the very last group. The Soelanders, though eager, were professional warriors.

Years ago, after the heinous slaughter of Prester-Marshall Baine's pilgrims at Ishalem, Tavishel's ships had intercepted a Uraban diplomat en route to Calay. After killing the man and his crew, Tavishel had desecrated the proposed peace treaty and sent the corpse-filled ship into the Tenér docks. The Soeland destrar was not a braggart, but it had been too long since he'd done something significant.

Now Jenirod was only too glad to help him—and earn the respect and adoration of his bride-to-be. He grinned to think of how impressed the queen would be. Previously, Jenirod had fought in mock battles and tournaments, but he suspected this experience would feel different from a colorful equestrian cavalcade. He was anxious to see the color of Urecari blood; he had heard so many stories that questioned whether they were even human….

As the last boat tied up to the dock, Tavishel stepped off. He was a humorless man, but they had a grim task ahead, and it was good for grim men to do it. The bearded destrar strode to Jenirod. “Are you ready?”

Jenirod's eyes gleamed over his enthusiastic smile. “I've been waiting for this all my life.”

Unimpressed, Tavishel trudged up the steep path, holding his sword in a firm grip. The hardy Soelanders followed at a swift pace, and Jenirod found it difficult to keep up; he was a horseman, not a footsoldier. His own sword was heavy, but it would feel lighter once coated with Urecari blood.

During the mile-long climb into the gorge, the Soelanders spread out and paced themselves to save strength for the real attack. Along the way, they came upon two women who were astonished to see an armed Aidenist party heading toward the shrine. Tavishel did not bother to speak to them, since nobody understood the gibberish of Urecari language anyway. The pilgrims were too shocked even to raise an alarm before the first soldiers ran them through and pushed the bodies down the slope.

Jenirod stared, but the Soelanders pressed on with great vigor, now that first blood had been spilled. He furrowed his brow as he kept up with Tavishel. “Those were unarmed women. That wasn't sporting.”

Tavishel turned toward him in angry amazement. “This isn't sport—this is retribution in the name of Aiden! If you have no stomach for it, go back to the dock and wait while we strike. There'll be plenty more women killed before the day is out.”

Jenirod wavered, realizing that he had not thought through everything they would be doing. He had imagined great battlefield glories, a victory over the heinous enemy, not just a slaughter of helpless pilgrims and priestesses. And yet they were the enemy.

Jenirod squared his shoulders and pushed ahead. When the path leveled off near the hanging lake and its waterfall, the men raced forward, raising their swords and howling bloodcurdling cries. Fourteen pilgrims were at the sacred lake, eight in the water and the other six on the shore. More than twenty white-robed priestesses hurried out in sheer astonishment as the attack party burst upon them. The Urabans screamed and raised their hands, some pleading, some hurling curses. In the end, the result was the same.

Though he couldn't understand anything the people were saying, Jenirod was sure they invoked the protection of Urec, expecting lightning bolts to come down from the sky and incinerate the invaders. Apparently, Urec was not listening to the priestesses today.

Tavishel's fighters sloshed into the pool, wading up to their waists and swinging swords. The pilgrims tried to swim out of reach, but the lake was small and they were hindered by their sodden white robes. With grim ruthlessness, Destrar Tavishel sprinted along the rocky shore to catch two pilgrims seeking shelter behind the downpour of the falls. The spray ran red for a few moments before the blood was rinsed away.

His killing spirits high, Jenirod cut down a slow old woman—no doubt an evil priestess—then rushed onward in search of other victims. They were easy to find, since the people cowered and screamed. Momentum swept him along now, the adrenaline, the red haze that made him focus in the same way he concentrated on winning during a great tournament. He didn't view them as victims, or even humans. They were Urecari. They were the
enemy
. And he discovered that Urecari blood was red after all.

The slaughter lasted less than an hour. Tavishel and the Soelanders, streaked with blood and gore, surveyed the butchered bodies. One of their men strode to the lake's edge and urinated into the sacred water with exaggerated formality; the other men laughed, and many followed suit.

As one of the men bent to sew up a wound on Tavishel's arm, the destrar smiled with satisfaction. “Search everywhere. I doubt you'll find any more Curlies left alive, but there might be treasure. Take all of their gold or artifacts.”

“This is a shrine.” One of the Soelanders sounded superstitious. “Everything will be marked with the sign of the Fern.”

Tavishel's voice was heavy with scorn. “Does it look like Urec is protecting his people? We'll melt it down. Gold is gold.”

The men smashed open the doors of the priestesses' dwellings and gathered a pile of jewels, gold icons, and
cuar
coins, donations to the shrine. Finding stockpiles of food and sacramental wine, the men had a satisfying feast, throwing bones and refuse into the lake. They set fire to anything combustible, then headed down the trail to the ships before the sun began to set, each man carrying a portion of the spoils.

Tavishel's smile was genuine now. “Is this what you expected, Jenirod? Are you pleased with the outcome?”

“I accomplished exactly what I set out to.” Jenirod admired a ring he'd collected to prove his devotion to Anjine. This truly was a gift fit for a queen, a victory that would rock the Urecari to the core, and
he
had suggested it. If Anjine did not respect him after this, then there was just no pleasing the woman.

65
Ishalem

Every
ra'vir
learned how to blend in with the people he loathed most; the Teacher made certain of that. The kidnapped Tierran boys and girls who survived the training might look innocuous, but they were tough, tempered into hard steel.

During his escape from Windcatch, picking his way along the rugged unpopulated shores and highlands, Davic survived on grasses, a few berries, tiny fish he caught in tide pools, and a bird he snared. When there was no food, he did not eat; he made his way ever southward.

Finally, the determined boy reached the towering wall that cut across the isthmus from Oceansea to Middlesea, blocking any Aidenist incursion. God's Barricade. All alone, he gazed at the piled stones in awe. During his secret life with Prester Ciarlo, Davic had heard rumors of the great wall Soldan-Shah Omra was building. And though he had glanced at maps and knew the width of the isthmus, he had never imagined that the project could be so titanic. He tried to comprehend the amount of labor and raw materials that had gone into constructing this line of stone. Surely Ondun Himself would notice it.

Near regularly spaced guard towers, he saw Uraban soldiers in clean uniforms, colorful sashes, and olbas wrapped around their heads. Fern banners rose from the crenellations, rippling in the breeze. Davic smiled, feeling great relief. At last, he had returned to a place where he could feel at home.

He was just a boy and looked completely harmless. Men pointed at him; archers unslung their bows. The guards on patrol probably considered him a foolhardy Tierran pilgrim who had come to see the holy city, and he feared they would use him for target practice before he had a chance to report. Davic was willing to die in the service of Urec, but he refused to let himself be killed before he could deliver his news. He yelled out in clear Uraban, “I follow the Map!”

In the trampled dirt outside the wall, he took a stick and quickly sketched a crude spiral—the sign of the unfurling fern—on the ground where, not long ago, Aidenist invaders had been killed by other brave
ra'virs
like himself. He stepped back and held out his hands to show that he carried no weapon.

A guard shouted out in Uraban, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Davic spread his arms, blinking in the bright sunlight, dazzled by the glory of Ishalem. “I have come from Tierra with news. Send for the Teacher—then you will know who I am.”

Invoking the name of the Teacher struck fear into the guards, and some of the men disappeared from the wall. Before long, the nearest wooden gate clanked and shuddered as the huge crossbolt was pulled aside. With a groan, the door opened, and two guards hurried out to grab Davic by the arms. He did not struggle or argue with them and let the men hustle him through the gate, which closed behind him with finality.

Suspicious that the boy's arrival might be a trick, the lookouts continued to scan the landscape beyond the wall. But Davic was alone. “I have important news for Soldan-Shah Omra.”

“The soldan-shah has returned to the Olabar palace,” said the lead guard.

“Then take me to the provisional governor. This news cannot wait. In the name of Urec, we must act quickly, or we won't be able to act at all.”

Kel Unwar rushed to the main governmental tower, still clad in dirty work clothes from the canal excavations. When Davic was brought before him, the kel shot an angry glare at the guards. “A boy? You made me cease work on the soldan-shah's canal because you found a
boy
?”

“Not a boy, Kel Unwar. A
ra'vir
.”

Davic straightened. “I am a student of the Teacher. I've been pretending to be an orphan in the 'Hook village known as Windcatch. I lived among them, but never lost my hold on the true faith. And now I bring urgent news. That is why I made the long journey.”

Unwar's brow furrowed, and he could barely force his words through his deepened scowl. “I've heard enough bad tidings recently.”

“No, I bring opportunity.” Davic could not hide his satisfied grin. “Tomas, the young prince of Tierra, is making a
celebratory procession down the coastline to announce Queen Anjine's impending marriage. I know when he is due to arrive at various villages and towns. I saw the schedule.” Davic narrowed his gaze. “I know how you can intercept him.”

Unwar's angry expression became one of calculation. His nod was slow and thoughtful as the variables coalesced in his mind. “Maybe it's time we took action of our own.”

66
The
Dyscovera

Under a sparkling veil of stars, the
Dyscovera
sailed on. Javian shared the midnight watch with Mia. They no longer had any worries about a rapist being abroad during the night hours; the two of them looked for outside threats.

Since revealing her identity, Mia had endured many surly comments from other sailors, but Javian accepted her, seeing the young woman as another outsider, someone who might share a common bond with him. She was a quiet person and rarely initiated conversation, but when they were all alone on the sleeping ship, with crewmen snoring belowdecks or out in the open, Javian and Mia fell into a tentative, comfortable companionship.

She stared up into the darkness where a shimmering blue-green aurora flickered and crackled across the sky. Javian had never seen such a thing before. “Maybe it's dust blowing free from the stars. What do you think it is?”

She shrugged. “Just another of Ondun's wonders. I don't have to understand it to admire it.”

Mia rested her elbows on the ship's rail, listening to the whisper of waves, the creaking of the lines, the rustle of sailcloth like a mother spreading a blanket for her children. While Javian considered her answer, two streaks of light shot across the sky, like fingernail scratches making sparks on the night.

“What if it
is
dust leaking through?” Mia looked over at him. “What if the heavens themselves are crumbling? I've heard Prester Hannes say that these are dangerous times, maybe the End Times. Do you believe that, Javian?”

“It doesn't matter if I believe it. We are all in Ondun's hands, and He will sort the evil from the righteous. Nothing we do can make a difference.”

“I don't believe that. If we find Holy Joron, that would change everything.”

In an awkward moment of silence, Javian asked the question that Mia had known he would raise sooner or later. Though at times he seemed naïve and starry-eyed, he had his own scars, like hers. “So what did you leave behind in Calay? Why did you really want to disguise yourself and be a sailor?”

“Can't I have dreams like anyone else?”

“Nobody's dreams are the same. Nobody's reasons are the same. I just wanted to know yours.” She turned away to stare at the dark waters, but Javian didn't back down. “I don't think you're here to visit exotic lands. I think you wanted to get away from Calay. I can see it in your eyes—you're hiding something.”

“How would you know?”

He shrugged. “Some people can tell.”

She glared at him, expecting Javian to keep pestering her, but he held his silence, waiting her out. Finally, she said in a quiet voice, “I came because I had no good choices, and this was the best of the bad ones.” Her words were nearly drowned out by the wash of waves against the
Dyscovera
's hull.

“My father was a woodcutter, but he injured himself, lost his hand and lamed his leg. He couldn't work anymore, so he brought me and my little brother to Calay, hoping to find someone to take mercy on us. But our situation just got worse. Even as a beggar, he could barely get enough coins to keep us from starving.

“My brother was too young, but I tried to find work to help us. I tried my hand at being a seamstress, but I had no skill. I volunteered to empty offal buckets in the Butchers' District, but they laughed at me and said a girl couldn't do that work. They said they had Urecari slaves to do the worst jobs and they'd rather see
them
covered with blood, guts, and slime.” She gazed out at the horizon with an angry, troubled stare. “Oh, they had plenty of
other
ideas for me. My father told me it was perfectly acceptable for me to be a whore, if that was the only way to keep my family fed.”

Javian stared at her, amazed. “There had to be some way to earn money. I ran around doing little jobs, and I always managed to find something. That's how I survived after I ran away from home.” He seemed to be accusing her for not having tried hard enough.

She whipped around on him with fury. “You're a boy. You don't know me, you can't know my situation.”

He held up his hands, backing away in surrender. “Sorry!”

“But I refused to become a whore, and my father beat me. I refused again, and when he tried to strike me, I hit him back. I ran away.” Her voice hitched. “That's why I decided to dress as a young man and come aboard the ship. This was my only chance. It's no surprise that a
boy
wants to be a sailor, and I didn't want to risk being turned down for a stupid reason.” She looked at him with clear eyes and a defiant smile. “I'm glad I don't have to hide anymore.”

The cabin boy was surprised by this. “But I see how badly they treat you. They taunt you mercilessly.”

Mia chuckled harshly. “I don't care. At least I can be myself.”

The door to the captain's cabin opened, shedding a sudden pool of lamplight on the dark deck. Criston Vora emerged, not seeing them standing together in the shadows. The captain walked to the opposite rail, carrying a bottle in his hand. A wine bottle? Javian wondered. Perhaps the captain drank from the ship's stores in order to ease his troubled dreams.

But no. Captain Vora held the bottle with a kind of reverence. He pressed the cork in tighter, then threw the bottle as far as he could out into the water. It tumbled and splashed into the unknown sea.

Javian knew exactly what he was doing.

Mia startled him. “Captain, are you all right?”

Captain Vora turned to see them in the gloom. “I was just…
adding a letter to the others I've sent. It's an old habit of mine.” He rested his elbows on the rail. “Long ago I lost my wife. While I was on the
Luminara
, I promised Adrea I'd write letters and put them in bottles, hoping that the currents would bring them to her.”

From his pocket, he withdrew a soft calfskin pouch, which held a very small clump of golden hairs; Javian saw that only a few strands remained. “She gave me this lock of hair before we set sail from Calay. I place a strand with each letter, hoping that the sympathetic magic will bind them. So far, though, I've no reason to believe she's received any of them… if she's even alive.” He shrugged and looked away. “It's quite likely Adrea's already dead. When the Urecari raiders came to my village, they killed so many.” He seemed embarrassed to admit such a sentimental thing. “Nobody knows for sure. I do it now because of my promise, not out of any actual hope, but I am still devoted to Adrea. I know it's silly to believe.”

Javian lashed out with a fervent retort. “Don't talk like that, Captain! No truly held belief is silly. Ondun knows your heart. Don't ever doubt what you believe.”

When Criston looked at him, tears added starlight to his eyes. He swept his arm around Javian's shoulders, hugging him. “Thank you for that, boy.”

Together, the three of them looked over the side of the
Dyscovera
. Under the pale eerie glow of the aurora, they watched the sealed bottle drift away.