The Map of All Things (30 page)

71
Calay Castle

Anjine reached the castle angry, offended, and in no mood for courtesy. A messenger from Uraba would have made her wary under any circumstances, but because his demand to see her had interrupted such a special occasion, she had half a mind to let the man cool off for a few days in a squalid cell.

She hated leaving Mateo's wedding ceremony. Being there for him as a friend meant so much to her. But she was also the queen of Tierra. No one understood that better than Mateo.

Nevertheless, this had better be important.

The Uraban messenger claimed that his news had something to do with Tomas. Fortunately, a patrol captain out in the coastal waters, recognizing the importance of this man's message, had called Tierran warships to surround the strange vessel and escort it directly to Calay harbor. Anjine knew full well that if it had been Destrar Tavishel who intercepted the foreign ship, he would have sent the courier to a prisoner camp without bothering to interrogate him.

Anjine needed to hear what he had to say.

Flushed and annoyed, she took no time to compose herself; rather, she strode in front of her guards and retainers through the castle's grand foyer and directly into the throne room like an unexpected windstorm blowing in from the sea.

Her abrupt arrival startled the Uraban emissary, who turned. He did not seem to know whether to bow or abase himself. The foreigner wore baggy silken clothes of blue and brown, slightly faded; his odd-looking olba had been rewrapped tightly around his dark hair.

In short, he was not at all what Anjine expected—no haughty or supercilious man wearing the jewels and ornamental trappings of his office. Rather, he looked like a poor merchant or fisherman, completely unaccustomed to dealing with political leaders. He was nervous, and his dusky skin had a gray cast. His lips opened and closed like the mouth of a gigged fish, but no sound came out.

Anjine spoke curtly as she walked forward to take her place on the throne. “For years, the only communication we've received from your countrymen has been in the form of swords and schemes. Who are you? What is it you need to say to me, and how does it concern my brother?”

The man bowed, struggling to gather his wits. “My name is Khalig, and I have come directly from Ishalem. I am a sailor, a merchant.” He tugged at his Uraban tunic, which seemed clean enough, though not an expensive cut.

“And you are the best envoy Soldan-Shah Omra could send? What is it? Speak up, man!”

“I… I come here on behalf of Kel Unwar, who is the provisional governor of Ishalem in the soldan-shah's absence. I apologize that I am not a person of greater importance. I was chosen because I had the first available ship. I merely bring a message concerning Prince Tomas.” Again, he kept his eyes averted.

A lump of terror formed in Anjine's chest, but she refused to show any weakness, especially in front of this man. “What about my brother?”

Khalig could sense that his life hung in the balance. “Kel Unwar instructed me to inform you that the royal cog was captured on the open sea. In retribution for atrocities committed by Aidenists, Prince Tomas of Tierra is being held prisoner in the governor's residence in Ishalem, and the surviving members of his crew have been sent to Urecari work camps.”

Khalig continued to speak, even though an instant uproar drowned out his words. Anjine's eyes crackled as she rose from the throne. She was now a thunderstorm in feminine form. “How dare you accuse
Tierrans
of atrocities, after what the Urecari have done to us, year after year! How dare you take hostages! How dare you lay a hand on my brother!”

“I am just a messenger, Majesty. I-I was not present.”

All she could think of was how excited Tomas had been to embark on the voyage down the coast. Marshall Obertas had gone along to protect the boy, and she knew the royal guard would never have surrendered. “How do we know this isn't another instance of Urecari trickery? What proof do you offer?”

Khalig fumbled with a leather pouch tied to his belt, and the guards in the throne hall stiffened as he withdrew a dagger with an ornately carved handle of mammoth ivory. Tomas's dagger. Anjine's heart fell as she recognized it immediately. She did not need to see it more closely. The guards came forward now, hands on their own blades.

Khalig finally lost his resolve and collapsed to his elbows and knees, abasing himself. “It is but the message I was commanded to bring, Queen Anjine. Prince Tomas lives and is unharmed, but by the Eye of Urec, I had no prior knowledge of what Kel Unwar did. Please do not kill me!”

Anjine felt coldness seep through her veins now. “Your life is not forfeit, Khalig—not yet. Tierra is a
civilized
land, and that is not how we do things here. We are not monsters.”

Khalig looked up, his face a tangled mixture of disbelief and indignant anger. “You say that after what Tierrans have done to our innocent people?” He rose to his knees in defiance, ready for a noble execution.

Anjine ground her teeth. First and foremost, she had to get her brother back unharmed, whatever the cost. “And what ransom does your governor demand?”

“He… he did not say, Queen Anjine. He merely told me to inform you. I-I am certain other messages will be forthcoming.”

Anjine felt fury roiling up within her and feared it would outstrip her reason. If she faced this worthless man a moment longer, she might be provoked to actions she would later regret. That might even be part of the Urecari plan….

She spoke in a very low voice, heavy with threat. “You will take a message to Kel Unwar, or the soldan-shah, or whoever holds our prince: We demand to know what ransom he asks. Guards, please escort Khalig immediately back to his ship. No one is to harm him, but I want him gone with the outgoing tide.”

The men shoved and hauled the Uraban roughly from the throne room.

Anjine returned to her seat and sat back, lacing her fingers together.
This is not the way we do things in Tierra
. She wondered if the very nature of the war had changed.

72
Ishalem, Governor's Residence

Inside the high sandstone tower, a ring of narrow windows let in strips of sunlight that traveled around the round room every hour of the day like the hands on a Saedran clock.

Tomas pressed his face against an open window. He'd always wanted to visit Ishalem, but not like this. He had seen paintings of the city's glory before the terrible fire destroyed everything. Ishalem was sacred to both faiths, but now the followers of Urec had taken over the entire site—built a wall to block out Aiden's faithful, filled the Aidenist district with foreign-looking buildings.

Outside the tower, a rumbling boom heralded an explosion near the canal construction site. Looking out one of the window slits, Tomas saw a plume of smoke and dust rising into the air. He had heard repeated explosions since his capture.

The boy had been left alone for eight days now. Everyone here spoke only Uraban, and he could not understand them. When he made hand gestures and used expressions to communicate with the guards, he was sure they knew what he meant, but the men refused to respond.

Each day he received plain food—bread, rice, fish—and water to drink, probably the same rations given to the labor crews at the numerous construction sites around Ishalem. From the high tower, Tomas could see the work on two giant churches being erected on the sites of the original Aidenist kirk and Urecari church.

With a rattle of keys and the creak of hinges, the wooden door to his tower room opened. Tomas marshaled his anger to glare at the man who had led the raid and captured the royal cog.
Kel Unwar
. Remembering that he was the prince of Tierra, the only son of King Korastine, Tomas drew a deep breath and said, “I don't recognize your authority. You're just an acting governor of a city. I wish to speak to Soldan-Shah Omra.”

The kel replied in heavily accented Tierran, “Not his decision. I lead Ishalem.
I
captured you. Soldan-shah does not know.”

Tomas's nostrils flared as he demanded, “Where are the other members of my crew? Did you murder them?” He still felt sick at having seen the bodies of Obertas and so many brave Aidenist sailors on the deck.

Kel Unwar spoke Tierran surprisingly well, despite his accent. “They are slaves for Uraba. They work. They build.”

Tomas reddened. The very idea made him angry. “They are prisoners of war! You have no right to treat them so.”

Unwar merely gave him a sour look. “You have slave camps too. Uraban prisoners.”

Tomas bristled. “We didn't start this war. It's only right that Urecari prisoners work to make up for the damage they have done.”

The man gave the prince a withering, hate-filled glare. “I do not argue with a child. You are only a pawn. I send a message to your queen—but she does not know how much I hate Aidenists.”

“You have no reason to hate Aidenists. We are good people.”

His words ignited a genuine fury in the man's dark eyes. “All Aidenists lie. But since you are a child, I will teach you about ‘good people' who follow Aiden.” Unwar stalked farther into the room, looming over Tomas.

“My home city is Ouroussa, a shipbuilding port. I was happy there when I was young… before I knew Aidenists. My sister, Alisi, was a kind, cheerful girl, twelve years old, almost a woman. She was beautiful. Boys paid attention to her. Merchants and noble families considered her a good marriage prospect. She had a bright future. This was before the war, before Ishalem burned.

“One night Alisi went to the docks to find a merchant ship from Yuarej. Our mother gave her money to buy a bolt of scarlet cloth. But a Tierran ship was in port, and Aidenists stole Alisi. She fought, but they took her on their ship.

“I followed my sister to make sure she bought the right cloth, and I saw the men take her. They laughed when I tried to save her. They threw me back to the docks and sailed away.” Unwar's hands clenched and unclenched. He looked at Tomas as if he resembled one of the men who had kidnapped his sister.

“I called for help, but no one believed me until too late.” He shook his head. “My parents were not powerful, not wealthy. We demanded action, but City Leader Fillok would not risk insult to Tierran merchants for only one girl.” He drew a deep breath and straightened.

Tomas was incensed. “Aidenists would never do something like that!”

“And yet they did.” Kel Unwar scowled at the prince, his body trembling with barely contained violence.

The boy remained silent, sensing that the slightest provocation would unleash Unwar's misplaced vengeance. The provisional governor backed toward the door, visibly struggling to calm himself. He paused at the threshold. “And that is why I hate your people.”

73
Olabar, Main Urecari Church

As the swollen orange sun set to the west of the capital city, Istar accompanied Kuari, the newly designated emissary from Inner Wahilir, to the main church of Urec. The First Wife of Soldan Huttan was a pragmatic woman, and Istar enjoyed her company.

The two high-ranking women attended sunset services accompanied by guards and attendants. Despite their status, though, they moved through the crowds like any other supplicants, inching their way around the processional spiral, pressed close to everyone else.

Traditionally, the soldan-shah's retinue had a special right-of-way and separate passages and balconies inside the church, but Ur-Sikara Erima had recently decreed that Ondun considered all of His people equal, that no one should receive special privileges. Such a pronouncement was enforced only when Istar attended services, however.

She refused to take offense at the obvious insult. She might wear gowns and jewels, but she had been born in a small fishing village in Tierra. She never forgot where she came from. She thought wistfully about walking up the dirt path to the small kirk on the hill above Windcatch, listening to Prester Fennan read from the Book of Aiden. Being snubbed by these officious priestesses in the huge church of Urec meant little to her.

Entering the main worship chamber, Kuari walked beside her, shoulders back, chin held high. She wore a gown of maroon silk and a gold chain belt around her waist. “Never before have I had to wait with the crowds. It seems you have few friends in the church, my Lady.”

Istar was surprised by her own sharp retort. “The sikaras consider themselves more important than they really are. Much of their arrogant attitude is to keep the people from looking at them too closely.”

Kuari responded with a scandalized chuckle. “You are very perceptive, my Lady! I was trained among the sikaras for years before I realized
that.
”

“I've had to be perceptive, in order to survive all these years among enemies.”

Though she had been in Uraba for two decades and did what was expected of her, Istar had never wholeheartedly embraced the rival faith. She had seen enough zealous violence to taint her view of the followers of Urec.

True to his word, Soldan-Shah Omra had genuinely cared for Saan, kept him safe, given him a good life… but Omra also condoned and committed atrocities that she found unforgivable. Nevertheless, she could not deny her appreciation, her respect, even her affection for him. Her heart was like a boat in heavy seas, rocking back and forth, always in danger of being capsized. Was there such a thing as a beloved enemy?

This was her life now.

She glanced around the chamber, hoping for a glimpse of her two acolyte daughters, but apparently Istala and Cithara did not participate in the major services. Or perhaps, knowing that Istar herself would be attending the ceremony, the stern sikaras had kept the girls away out of petty spite….

When the two women completed their spiral journey, they moved to a front row, from which they would be able to hear the ur-sikara speak. Before the service started, Istar leaned over and whispered to Kuari, “So you were raised as a sikara, but you became a soldan's wife?”

The other woman was not terribly interested in the ceremony. “I can't say which was the greater ordeal, or the most eye-opening experience.” She smiled. “I do know, however, that anyone who truly follows the path of goodness described in Urec's Log is at a distinct disadvantage among the priestesses.”

“How did you discover that?”

“Early in my training, I saw two of my friends, the most devout acolytes in our entire group, ignored in favor of far more ambitious young women. When I saw what was happening, it was like a bright lamp being lit in a dark room. That was the beginning of understanding for me.” Kuari raised her eyebrows. “Once I grasped the politics, I realized I could have made quite a career in the church for myself—if I played that game.”

“But you didn't.”

Kuari shrugged. “I found it tedious. After I finished my training, I was a good marriage prospect. My father was a wealthy merchant, and he arranged for me to marry a soldan.” She smiled. “But that hasn't been so glorious either.”

“Maybe you've found your true calling as emissary to the Olabar court,” Istar said. “You're certainly preferable to Ambassador Ualfor.”

Kuari made a moue of displeasure. “You place me on a high pedestal indeed!”

Istar wanted to laugh but stopped herself. Still, Kuari's words worried her. Just what were her daughters learning behind these impenetrable stone walls? Maybe it was a good thing that Adreala had not entered the church after all.

Walking with a slow, ponderous tread, Ur-Sikara Erima emerged from the gilded doors behind the altar. The woman from Lahjar appeared to have been carved from dark wood. She stood, haughty, imposing, shielded from all distractions, the center of the universe—and the attendants in the church treated her as such.

Erima carried a heavy, ornate amulet cast from gold. It had age-softened edges, details blurred from exposure to tremendous heat in the burning of the main church in Ishalem so many years before. The ur-sikara lifted the Amulet of Urec, kissed its back, and placed the sacred relic on the altar behind her.

When Erima finished a brief homily, she lifted a large tome and set it upon the podium from which she preached. Istar's attention centered on the book, knowing what it was.
This
was why she endured the demeaning behavior of the sikaras.

“We have received another message written by Sikara Fyiri aboard the
Al-Orizin
. Hear now what she tells us.” Erima opened the book, flipped past several of the torn pages, then read aloud, “As Urec watches over us, we have had continued smooth sailing. Each sunset, I lead the crew in prayers and I keep them on the proper path. We voyage for the glory of Ondun. We shall find the Key to Creation. I have faith in the crew. Pray with me.”

Fyiri's log entry described weather patterns and strange fish, even a glimpse of sea serpents far away, but the distant sikara's message was bland and said little. Although Istar hung on every word, she felt empty and disappointed when the ur-sikara finished reading. “She does not mention my son,” she muttered, “not once.”

Kuari touched her arm. “And that surprises you? It is very intentional. Fyiri would only mention Saan by name if she had worked some victory or found some complaint. Take heart that she has found no way to use him.”

Istar considered this. As the rest of the congregation began a shared prayer of benediction, she smiled as she mouthed the words, content with the subtle inference that Saan was all right.