The Map of All Things (18 page)

41
Kiesh, Abilan

After six days of calm sailing, the
Al-Orizin
reached Kiesh, the easternmost Uraban outpost on the Middlesea. In the uncharted waters beyond, sand shoals, treacherous currents, and unpredictable storms discouraged all ships.

“This would be the end of most voyages,” Saan said to Sen Sherufa as the sailors threw down hawsers and Kiesh workers tied them up to the docks. “But we're just beginning. From here on out, we follow in the wake of Urec.”

Eager to visit the taverns and inns, not knowing when their next landfall might be, the crew rushed down the ramp. Grigovar paused, delaying the men behind him as he savored the moment. “I've made it, Captain—
from Lahjar to Kiesh.
”

Sikara Fyiri imperiously pushed her way around the reef diver. “Move aside. I have messages to deliver from Ur-Sikara Erima.” The isolated church in Kiesh would host a lengthy service, and the priestess wanted Saan to attend, but he made excuses, much to Fyiri's consternation. She promised to pray for him nevertheless.

Saan turned to the Saedran woman standing beside him. Sherufa had been drinking in the details of Kiesh, but he noted her uneasy demeanor. “You still look unhappy about our voyage.”

“Not because I don't want it to be done.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I'll go to the Saedran District and ask my colleagues. Maybe I'll find a chartsman who knows about the waters to the east. Any information will be helpful.”

While dockworkers reprovisioned the ship, adding fresh food and water, Saan joined the local soldan, Huref, for the midday meal, and as they shared hot sweet tea, the soldan spoke dire warnings. “Your ship will be grounded east of here on sand shoals if you aren't careful. Farther north, the storm patterns are the worst in all the Middlesea. Many ships have tried to fight their way past, but none has ever returned.” Huref shook his head.

Saan, though, did not change his mood. “Then we'll be the first. After all, we have Urec's Map.”

After the ship sailed from Kiesh into a deceptively bright sunrise, Fyiri called Saan to her quarters. In the first week she had already made the cabin into her own nest by tacking silken hangings on the walls and ceiling to make it look like a tent rather than a wooden-walled room. Symbolic ferns stood on stands.

As if he were a mere acolyte she had summoned, Fyiri said, “Now that we are on our way, let me show you how we can stay in contact with Olabar, wherever we go.” She placed a leather-bound book on her small writing desk, a volume that looked both new and ragged at the same time. She opened the cover to reveal that each page had been torn in half, but only the top half was bound into the book. The rest was gone.

“Through sympathetic magic, this book is linked to an identical one in the main church in Olabar. Each copy is bound with leather from the same calfskin. Every piece of paper was split in half—one bound into this volume, the other half into its counterpart. The journals are perfectly bonded.”

She pointed to a line of text on the first page, then another line below it in a distinctly different handwriting style. “On these pages, I will write reports of our voyage, and my words will appear on the journal within the Olabar church, where they can be read by Ur-Sikara Erima. When she writes on the pages of
her
journal, her words will instantly appear here.

“And she
will
share all of our messages with the soldan-shah?” Saan said pointedly. “Does my father know about this?”

“The sikaras will, of course, pass along all relevant news.”

“I wish you had thought to inform me of this earlier. I would like to write messages myself, to have direct contact with the soldan-shah.”

She shut the book with finality. “This is a very delicate matter of sympathetic magic, Captain. Only a highly attuned sikara, or someone adept in tugging the threads that bind all things, can write such messages.” She pulled the leather-bound book toward her. “You may rely on me.”

He didn't believe her for a moment.

42
The Dyscovera

Though Aldo stared through the crystalline cover of Aiden's Compass, the hovering golden needle did not twitch. Javian stood next to him, his face flushed. “I saw it move, I swear!”

The cabin boy had run up and down the deck, shouting. Both Captain Vora and Kjelnar hurried over to the station that held the three compasses, but neither man spotted anything.

“I did see it move!”

“I don't doubt you, Javian.” Captain Vora's smile was confident, but the boy didn't seem reassured.

As soon as he heard the young man's excited call, Aldo felt sure they had come close enough to Terravitae for the sympathetic magic to take hold. “Depending on the winds and the currents, and the orientation of our ship, it's possible we picked up a flicker of connection.”

Captain Vora saw the sailors eagerly awaiting news. “Back to your duties! We haven't found Holy Joron yet.”

Returning to his private cabin, Aldo set out papers and charts, leaving the door open to the daylight and fresh breeze. Before sailing from Calay, the captain had given him all available navigation records, but the
Dyscovera
had sailed far beyond the usefulness of those charts. Propped in front of him was the crudely sketched map on the old sea-turtle shell. Though mysterious and amazing, Aldo could not guess how accurate the scratched map drawing might be. Nevertheless, it provided clues to an undiscovered part of the world.

Captain Vora entered the chartsman's cabin carrying a battered and waterstained old volume. Aldo knew what it was. “Come to add to your sea-monster book?”

“I still think of it as Captain Shay's book.” He opened to a blank page. “This morning one of the men sighted a sea serpent of unusual size off the starboard bow. I wanted to make an annotation.”

The
Luminara
's captain had recorded detailed observations of the creatures he encountered on his voyages. It had been Captain Shay's intention to publish a practical guide to sea serpents, but he'd never gotten the chance.

The captain flipped the pages, revealing detailed sketches made by the old captain and newer ones done in his own hand. “This volume reminds me how much there is still to discover out in the world. It reminds me of my friends and fellow crewmen—all destroyed by the Leviathan.” Across two adjoining sheets, he had drawn a terrifying picture of the monster, based on his own experience. He stared at it now, transfixed, lost in his own memories.

He looked up, met Aldo's gaze. “This is a long voyage, and though we've had smooth sailing so far, we will encounter perils sooner or later. Aboard the
Luminara
, we lost our Saedran chartsman and all the knowledge he had. A wave swept him overboard, and we never saw him again.” Captain Vora leaned closer. “I know chartsmen don't draw maps or write down observations, but I have good reasons, and you'll need to accept that. If we should lose you, I must have the means to bring my crew back to Tierra. The Captain's Compass may not be enough.”

Aldo was torn between his responsibilities to his captain and to the Saedran elders, who insisted that he keep all geographical knowledge inside his head and never commit it to paper. However, Aldo could not deny the need for a written document. “Iunderstand, Captain.”

He bent over the naval charts and began making diligent notations; as soon as the
Dyscovera
returned to Calay, he would have to destroy the records
,
or Sen Leo would be very disappointed in him. Aldo realized how much he missed the old scholar… which led to a pang of homesickness for Lanni and their two children, as well as his parents. He had been voyaging for thirty days now. Thirty days… “Captain, perhaps I should write a summary of our voyage and dispatch one of our
rea
pigeons? It's been a month.”

“Send your note, Chartsman. Even though we've made no great discoveries, we did promise to stay in close contact.”

The cage containing the ten bonded pigeons sat surrounded by sturdy supply crates and dirt-filled pots where the cook grew herbs and vegetables. Inside the wire coop, the pigeons contentedly pecked at the squirming weevils that sailors picked out of their biscuits and fed to the birds.

Mia, who preferred to work alone away from the scorn of the other sailors, nonetheless enjoyed the company of Aldo and Javian. “Time to feed them, Chartsman?” She was barely sixteen, but spunky enough to hold her own against the grumbling sailors. Since it was a solitary job, Mia liked tending the pigeons. As the lone Saedran on a ship full of Aidenists, Aldo also understood how it felt to be different.

“I'm going to set one free, send a message home. You can help me attach the note.” He grabbed the closest pigeon and held the wings close to the soft feathery body while Mia tied the small scroll to its leg. She secured it with a second string.

He set the bird free, casting it into the air. The pigeon spread its wings and flew off into the open sky.

Mia said, “Sooner or later, we'll have something exciting totell.”

They still had nine more chances to send messages back home.

43
Peliton, Erietta Reach

After three days' travel upriver, Anjine's riverboat docked at Peliton, the capital of Erietta Reach. As the queen and her royal party prepared to disembark, Destrar Unsul walked down the wooden wharf to greet her, accompanied by his three younger sons, the eldest of whom was only eight years old. “Peliton is honored to have you here, my Queen. These are my boys—Gart, Renny, and Pol.”

When Unsul nudged each son forward, the three young men bowed so deeply and stiffly that Anjine imagined their tutors must have made them practice again and again. She received them graciously. “And where is Jenirod?” Unsul's eldest son had been an adult when their mother was killed in a fall from a horse; these young boys had been raised by their father with more emphasis on studies than on horse shows.

“Majesty, he was so excited about the betrothal that he prepared a triumphal horse cavalcade in your honor. Tomorrow is Landing Day, and Peliton is ready to celebrate with our annual market fair, but Jenirod insists on marking both the holiday and your visit with a show that minstrels will sing about for generations. He has been riding and training since we received your offer of marriage.” Unsul seemed to be asking her indulgence. “This means a great deal to him. You'll certainly see his enthusiasm, if nothing else.”

“I am pleased to hear it, though I would rather have met him first.” She had seen horse shows before, had watched cavalry soldiers put their mounts through complex regimented maneuvers. Though impressive, the demonstrations usually went on far too long for her tastes.

The destrar gave a tolerant smile. “When Jenirod gets an idea stuck in his head, it's difficult to make him slow down. I'm sure he'll be disappointed you couldn't have seen all the classes, since the beginning.”

“I'm sorry too,” Anjine said, not meaning it for a moment. “But plenty of hours remain.”

Destrar Unsul led the queen's party into Peliton. The shops and homes were festooned with garlands and ribbons to symbolize the ropes with which Aiden had first tied his Arkship to the shore of this new land. Children ran through the streets, flailing their strings; several draped colorful yarn across lintels as a prank.

In trampled fields outside the city, fences enclosed a wide racetrack and performance arena. Open wooden seats were crowded with spectators, none of whom seemed to mind the dust-choked air, the baking sun, or the sharp smell of horses and manure. The people cheered and clapped as a heavy-boned warhorse cleared a final combination of difficult jumps as part of a course.

When Unsul led the queen and her party to seats shaded by a colorful awning, Anjine sat primly. Several horses thundered past on the track behind the pavilion, their riders waving streamers and whooping. The destrar raised both hands to signal a crier standing on a high observation platform. Taking his cue, a thin and small man with a huge voice shouted, “Erietta Reach is pleased to welcome Queen Anjine, who has come to observe our cavalcade and meet her betrothed—
Jenirod
!” The people in the stands cheered and whistled.

Launching through the arena in-gate, a man charged forth on a powerful bay mount and galloped in a wide circle to the accolades of the audience. The lines of Jenirod's mount clearly showed her distinctive Uraban bloodlines. Uraban horses, refined in physical build, were much swifter and more maneuverable in battle than the heavier Tierran animals. Over the course of the war, the Aidenist army had made a priority of capturing enemy horses—war mares in particular—to integrate into ambitious Eriettan breeding programs.

As to his own breeding, Jenirod was broad-shouldered and muscular, and his grin was an integral part of his square jaw. He raised one gloved hand, which acted like a lodestone to draw further cheers. Basking in the attention, he rode up to the stands where many women called his name. He swooped his hat into an overextended bow, then trotted proudly toward the destrar's pavilion, halting his spirited horse with a flourish.

The turnout of both horse and rider was painfully resplendent. Jenirod wore a broadcloth burgundy tunic sporting silver buttons that held a white plastron in place. A strip of embroidery ran down the outside leg of his black breeches, and his black boots gleamed from extra polish, despite the dust of the track. His gloves and hat were of the same fine leather, and a saucy feather stuck out of the brim. Scarlet and gold ribbons had been woven across the horse's browband and noseband. The thick mane was in an intricate continental braid, and a second braid finished its tail.

“I am pleased to meet my bride-to-be,” Jenirod called, a little too loudly.

“Thank you for holding the show in my honor,” Anjine said.

Taking that as permission to continue the performance, Jenirod wheeled his horse about with flair and cantered away. The show went on.

Anjine had attended many tedious court meetings and waited through high-holiday Aidenist services in the main kirk. She knew how to sit still and endure, even when she was bored; she had developed silent games to amuse herself, and now she pondered decisions of trade and taxes that would affect all five reaches. The interminable horse show lasted hours; even Destrar Unsul seemed to be daydreaming.

When the conclusion came at last, Anjine leaned close to him. “Excuse me, Destrar, but my party and I are weary from the long river voyage. Would it be possible to see our quarters in the city and rest a bit before tonight's banquet?”

“But, my Queen, the banquet is here.” Unsul gestured to a large area of tents under which long tables had been erected. Busy servants were setting out trenchers and preparing food.

Jenirod rode up again to the pavilion. Covered with dust and dirt, he dismounted, handing the reins to a page. He waved toward the stands, invoking another round of cheers, then strode to Anjine and his father. “I trust you were impressed, Queen Anjine!” He extended his hand in a manly gesture to clasp hers. He smelled strongly of horse, sweat, and leather oil.

“You didn't need to make such an effort on my behalf.” She didn't know what else to add. “I assume you'd like to clean up, so we can sit together at the banquet?”

“I'll just wipe off the worst of it. My father can show you to the banquet tent. I'll be along in a few minutes.” He strolled away, followed by the page and his horse.

At the banquet table, a fine roast of beef was served, large hunks carved off and presented alongside cheese and fresh bread. Jenirod served himself, then handed a full plate to Anjine. “There's a nice rare piece. Eriettan beef is the best in all of Tierra.” He joked with the others at the table and often yelled back and forth with friends.

Destrar Unsul sat on the other end of the table with his three younger sons, as if he felt the need to isolate them from their older brother. Anjine picked up more subtle details now, reading shades of meaning in their family interactions. She could only imagine what Unsul's wife must have been like—vivacious, athletic, thrilled to perform—and Jenirod had followed her example much more than his father's. Unsul seemed intent on raising his three younger boys more in his own mold.

During the banquet, when Jenirod spoke to Anjine, he didn't really
converse
with her, nor did he show any real intent to get to know her. He talked about the tack on his horses, breeding stock in the stables, a hunting trip he'd taken. He told an embarrassing story about one of his fellow riders who had fallen headfirst into a mud puddle, and she laughed politely, though she had little interest. Jenirod was the center of attention, at least in his own mind. Anjine had seen other young women practically swooning over him, but though he smiled and flirted, she wondered if Jenirod ever actually talked
with
the well-dressed ladies, rather than
to
them. Maybe he didn't consider it necessary.

The thought only hammered home how much she appreciated Mateo. With a pang, she wished her friend had come along on this procession. Right now, during this banquet, he would have been a savior.

“I hope you enjoyed the day, my Queen. Once we're married, we'll have many such pageants. Think of what we can do for our wedding celebration!” Jenirod hit his fist on the table with a loud bang that rattled silverware, goblets, and plates. He glanced over at Unsul with a poorly disguised expression of scorn. “Erietta is known for its fine horsemanship—not windmills and irrigation ditches.”

“But I haven't shown her my windmills yet,” Unsul said. “A good queen understands the need for increased agricultural production in order to feed the land and the army.”

“The army needs cavalry soldiers even more than it needs pretty flowers.” Jenirod laughed at his own cleverness. He reached over to squeeze Anjine's shoulder, and she gritted her teeth, suddenly wondering if her father had ever
met
Jenirod. She began to fear that she had made a mistake.

But the queen of Tierra had to abide by her decisions. Anjine considered that she might need to break and train Jenirod, the same way he trained a wild and unruly horse. She didn't look forward to the prospect.

Jenirod kept talking, without regard to whether he had her attention. “Erietta's cavalry continues to train. Our soldiers will form the backbone of the Tierran army, so we can make overland assaults. We've relied too much on the navy, and the Curlies turn all their defenses toward the sea. I think Subcomdar Hist should run the army with as much strength as Ardan runs the navy. In fact, I have many ideas in the matter.” Jenirod leaned closer to her. “When I am king, things will change. The war will finally—”

Anjine cut him off with words sharper than the carving knife used on the roast. “You misunderstand, Jenirod. I haven't asked you to be
king
. You will be the consort of the
queen
. Nothing more.”

Jenirod's mouth snapped shut, and the conversations around them died quickly. Destrar Unsul put a palm to his face in shame. Jenirod paused for a long moment, befuddled, then laughed, as if Anjine had told a joke.

But she kept staring at him, and he realized that
everyone
was looking at him with decidedly icy expressions.

Anjine continued, “I shall have to assign protocol ministers to spend time with you, Jenirod. You have much to learn before our wedding in Calay.”