The Edge of the World (11 page)

Criston did not immediately guide the
Cindon
to a public marina in the Merchants’ District, where he could rent a slip, tie up the boat, and unload his cargo of salted
fish. “I’ve got something else to show both of you first.”

He passed under the bridge that linked the Saedran District to the Royal District and entered the narrow Shipbuilders’ Bay.
Stripped logs floated against the shore, and up on land sawmills whined. Four different dry docks held the keels and ribs
of ships under construction. Many piers extended into the water, piled with lumber, ropes, barrels of caulk and tar, and wooden
derricks, blocks and tackle, cranes.

On his previous trip to Calay, Criston had learned of a great project begun by King Korastine and inspired by Prester-Marshall
Baine. To launch a golden age of exploration, ship designers had crafted a new type of vessel for long voyages, with three
square-rigged masts in contrast to the single masts used for sloops and fishing boats, or the two-masted cogs that were adequate
for coastal trade. The new ship was named the
Luminara,
“to shine light on the dark corners of the map.”

The
Luminara
’s charter was to voyage outward and return in a year, to explore the unknown and discover new lands for Tierra. Since the
Edict divided the world in half, King Korastine hoped to find uncharted islands, perhaps even new continents that lay above
the latitude of Ishalem. In the aftermath of the great fire, the need was even greater, the necessity for hope undiminished.

The king guaranteed high pay for all seamen aboard the
Luminara
—enough to make Criston a wealthy man when he returned to Windcatch. He had talked with Adrea, and though it pained them both
to be parted so soon after being married, Adrea was a wise and practical woman; she could read his dreams as easily as he
could read the currents in the sea.

“You can’t pass up this opportunity,” she said. “Let’s consider it an investment. Ciarlo will take care of me.”

“We’ll take care of each other,” her brother said.

“And I need you both to take care of my mother,” Criston said.

He loved Adrea all the more because she could see how much this meant to him. The
Luminara
was the first purely exploratory ship Tierra had ever launched. If this voyage proved successful and they did find rich new
territories, there would be other such expeditions… but there would be only one
first
voyage. And Criston wanted to be on it so badly that his heart ached.

As his small boat passed deeper into Shipbuilders’ Bay, Criston saw the breathtaking ship under construction. The
Luminara
looked like music on the water, a graceful sculpture of curved wood and soaring masts. Teams were laying the rigging and
stretching the shrouds like a delicate cat’s cradle of ropes, ratlines, and pulleys. Mountains of white sailcloth lay folded
on the decks as sailmakers cut and stitched large rectangles of fabric, adding eyelets, threading ropes. Though the three-masted
carrack was huge compared to the fishing boats Criston knew, the
Luminara
was also delicate, a ship poised to glide across the Oceansea.

“She’s beautiful,” Adrea breathed.

“We didn’t arrive any too soon.” He was amazed at how far the construction had come. “It looks like the
Luminara
will be ready to sail within a week.”

Two months after the burning of Ishalem, the last of the Uraban diplomats and merchants were evicted from Calay. A wave of
raucous jeers and threats came from the people crowding the wharves and docks of the city.

Feeling both angry and sad, King Korastine watched as royal guards escorted the foreigners from their holding barracks. Some
departing Uraban merchants already stood on the decks of the two ships ready to cast off. The soldan-shah’s diplomats ignored
Korastine’s escort, ignored the hurled insults from the crowd, and walked along the wooden pier to the waiting ships. They
looked happy to be leaving Calay.

“By my command and by the Grace of Aiden,” Korastine announced to the Urabans, “your lives have been spared.” The king stood
on the docks, wearing formal robes and his crown. “Tell your soldan-shah that we can neither forgive nor forget what the Urabans
have done, not the deaths of my people, not the burning of Ishalem.”

The diplomats shouted a response in their own language, which no one bothered to translate. Korastine didn’t care to know
what they were saying; the meaning was clear enough. He had hoped for such an entirely different outcome when he and Imir
had signed the Edict. But after what he had seen that night, there could be no turning back…

His ship had sailed back to the capital, while to the south the smoke remained like a giant pillar in the sky for days afterward.
On the voyage, Korastine had begun to form plans to fortify his defenses. Sitting on the deck for hours, he talked with Anjine,
telling her ideas as they formed in his mind. Though she was still young, he considered it imperative that she understand
the difficult decisions a leader must face.

His advisers, the people, the presters, the traders, all of them made the same demands. As king, he should have been able
to make the choices
he
wanted, not the choices that circumstances pushed him into. Korastine could no longer abide trade with Uraban merchants,
and the five reaches of Tierra would have to look to their own mines, farms, rivers, and grazing lands in order to produce
what the people needed.

Immediately upon reaching Calay, Korastine issued orders for his guards to round up all Uraban diplomats in the Royal District.
The news of the fire had not yet spread throughout the city, but from that day forward, every follower of Urec had to be considered
an enemy and a potential spy.

City guards isolated indignant and confused Uraban merchants, herding them to a separate area in the Merchants’ District.
Korastine ordered their goods “temporarily” confiscated, their ships impounded until he could make his decision. He did not
want to keep these men in Calay, but he feared he might need hostages. Soldan-Shah Imir was sure to do the same—or worse—as
soon as he got back to Olabar.

The stuffy veteran leader of the Tierran military, Comdar Delnas, dispatched the available warships to turn back any vessels
showing distinctive Uraban sails. Many such merchants had been sailing for weeks from ports in Outer Wahilir, working their
way northward from one stop to the next, unaware of the destruction of Ishalem. When their ships were boarded and King Korastine’s
proclamation was read to them, the Uraban merchants expressed disbelief and outrage, sure that the Aidenists were to blame.

Their cargoes could just as easily have been taken as prizes, but the king issued orders that the men were to be sent home,
unharmed, in hopes that the soldan-shah would follow the same rule. He feared, though, that any Aidenist trader who pulled
into a Uraban port city would suffer a harsher fate.

In the following weeks, Korastine dispatched scouts down to Ishalem, and they reported news as grave as he had expected: The
out-of-control fires had burned Ishalem virtually to the ground, eradicating the shrines, the main Aidenist kirk, the merchant
districts, the royal residence. Nothing but charred fragments remained of the Arkship. The Urecari side of the city was also
destroyed.

Now, on the day of the final eviction from Calay, when the last foreigners had boarded their ships, Korastine gave orders
for the exotic-looking vessels to cast off. Hooting crowds followed the drifting boats, throwing horse dung and rotten fruits
at the decks. Though they were clearly furious, the departing Urabans held on to their dignity as their ships headed toward
the mouth of the harbor, closely escorted by Tierran military vessels until they were out in the open sea.

Korastine had hoped to feel relief now that the decision had been made and implemented. But his heart remained heavy and unsettled.

Returning to the castle, Korastine passed through the gauntlet of courtiers, functionaries, and servants, and headed to his
withdrawing room. Through long habit, he wanted some time in private after his public appearance and prior to his afternoon
meetings.

For the rest of the day he would sit with representatives of the destrars, the leaders of each of the five reaches, all of
whom brought their local problems and complaints—none of which could match the far greater crisis that faced their entire
world. Unable to see the potential wealth that exploration could yield, the destrars complained about the increased taxes
Korastine had levied to pay for constructing the
Luminara.
They also complained when he built houses for the healers and shelters for poor dockworkers. In some things, he could impose
his will.

Construction of the exploratory ship had begun well before the signing of the Edict. Some might have said that after the burning
of Ishalem, the terms of the Edict were no longer in force, but Korastine refused to think that way. He and Soldan-Shah Imir
had sworn an oath. They had pressed their
blood
into the helm of the Arkship. Their promise was sacred before God and binding upon their souls.

Prester-Marshall Baine had preached a “new revelation” from the Book of Aiden to the hundreds who gathered for services in
Calay’s large Aidenist church. Holding up Aiden’s command that all people should “learn and remember Ondun’s glory,” Baine
interpreted the Law of Laws to mean that humans should engage in
discovery
rather than rote memorization.

Many presters were uneasy with this shift in focus, wanting to stay in their small village kirks and preach what had always
been preached, what they themselves had memorized. But Baine’s enthusiasm was infectious. “For the longest time, we believed
that Aiden’s arrival at Ishalem was the end of our journey. But what if this is only the beginning? What if our whole continent
is merely a stopping point on the great voyage of destiny?”

With his forceful personality, he excited a sense of wonder in his listeners. He made people dream again. And he had the ear
of the king…

Korastine removed his crown and set it on his writing-desk, then pulled off his heavy embroidered robe, though an army of
servants would have liked to assist him with the dressing and undressing chores. His ruffled linen shirt was formal enough
for the rest of the day.

His bedchamber had seemed quiet and empty since the death of Queen Sena. Now, hearing a rustle in the library alcove, he called
out, “I am ready for you, Sen Leo. Advise me before the destrars come and harry me like birds fighting over a sunflower head.”

The Saedran scholar emerged from the alcove, absently carrying one of Korastine’s books. Though Sen Leo had thousands of volumes
of his own, he was always engrossed in Korastine’s books when he came to visit. The king enjoyed speaking with the Saedran
scholar both before and after difficult meetings. He was one of the wisest men Korastine knew.

“The
Luminara
is nearly ready to launch, but the destrars will resent their share of the cost until they actually see gold come back into
their treasuries,” the king said. “It’ll be a year before the ship is due to return.”

“Destrars complain—it is a fact of life,” Sen Leo said with a snort. “They look at their crude maps, and because they see
no islands or coastlines, they assume nothing is there, just the edge of the world.”

Korastine slumped into his high-backed chair. “Don’t belittle their concerns. Because of the Ishalem fire, we’ll have to build
up our military, construct a more powerful navy, recruit many more soldiers. Perhaps they are right that we can ill afford
such an expensive discretionary venture now.”

Sen Leo was alarmed. “We can ill afford to forsake it, Majesty! As you say, the ship is nearly done. Further expenditures
will be minimal.” He shook his head and extended a large-knuckled finger, as if scolding imaginary listeners. “Besides, their
investment paid for barely half of the expedition. Without the help of my people, you would never have begun the project in
the first place.”

Private Saedran treasuries had secretly funded a large share of the
Luminara.
Though quiet and unobtrusive, the Saedrans had amassed huge fortunes, and Korastine was amazed at how easily Sen Leo delivered
chests of gold for the project.

Now he leaned forward and met the old scholar’s eyes. “Why are your people so interested in a voyage of exploration? You cannot
hope to recoup your investment. You aren’t a merchant.”

“Ah, but we will profit in knowledge. Who can place a price on the new things we might learn?”

Korastine frowned. “Now you sound like Prester-Marshall Baine.”

The scholar gave him a mysterious smile. “Where do you think Prester-Marshall Baine got the idea in the first place?”

The next morning, freshly shaved and wearing the best clothes he had brought from Windcatch, Criston made his way to Shipbuilders’
Bay and the construction dock that held the
Luminara.
The spicy fragrance of fresh Iborian pine clashed with the bitter lacquer and caulking tar. Once aboard, he made his way
to the stern and knocked at the door of the captain’s cabin. He heard a man’s voice call for him to enter.

Captain Shay sat at a small writing desk crowded with books and charts, a measuring stick, an ink pot, and several quills.
The cabin walls held numerous sketches, detailed anatomical drawings of dissected fish, plump aquatic worms, unusual undersea
plants. One intricately drawn picture showed a seagull’s wing with its feathers splayed, each type labeled. A collection of
unusual sea-shells lined one of the narrow shelves, tacked down with wax.

He stacked his papers and turned to look at Criston, smiling in surprise. “Ah, Mr. Vora! You’ve come back.” Ink stains covered
his fingers.

“I would like to sail aboard the
Luminara,
sir.” He stood ramrod straight. “I’m glad you remember me from the
Fishhook.
”