The Map of All Things (42 page)

101
Olabar, Main Urecari Church

A breathless acolyte interrupted Villiki in her underground rooms. She had waited all night for the delicious news, not even attempting to sleep. At any moment, her pet Cithara was due to strike.

As soon as she saw the distraught face of the acolyte in the bobbing lamplight, however, Villiki knew that something had gone wrong. “Soldiers broke into the church, my Lady! They are desecrating the halls—searching for
you
! They know!”

Villiki quickly pulled on a robe. “Istar has to be dead, but how could they know about me?” They must have tortured poor Cithara, forced her to reveal Villiki's involvement. Her mind was already spinning, making emergency plans. She still had time. “Stall them. They can't possibly find me down here.”

The acolyte vigorously shook her head. “They will find you, my Lady—Cithara is leading them here!”

Villiki froze, her hand on the sash of her robe. “Are they forcing her?”

“No, her mother is with them. The girl
cooperates
.”

“Her mother is
dead
, you fool!”

The acolyte fell back, groveling. “I mean the Lady Istar—and the former soldan-shah Imir is here as well. They are coming for you!”

Villiki could not get past the first revelation.
Istar was still alive!
Now a real rage flashed through her mind as she grabbed a few belongings and shoved them into a bag. “They have all been corrupted by that Tierran witch!”

The acolyte's eyes were as wide as saucers. “Only Urec can protect us now.”

Villiki rounded on her. “Urec commands us to protect ourselves!” She rummaged through her baskets, pulled out the drab clothing that she wore as a disguise whenever she ventured out on her nighttime prowls. She knew the catacombs and the chambers throughout the vast church, and now she had to slip away quickly. Her old husband Imir would never allow her to live this time.

Before she fled, however, there was one last task to perform. Villiki grabbed the sack of innat seeds that she kept securely locked away. One more diversion… “Come, we must go to the ur-sikara,
now
, so that I can give her instructions before these soldiers try to arrest her.”

The acolyte rushed along, her bare feet whispering across the cold stone tiles. Villiki followed her with great determination, pulling on the drab robes.

In her central suite, Ur-Sikara Erima was dressing herself in formal church garments, as though preparing for a ceremonial reception. She draped a heavy fern amulet around her neck. She seemed in a daze, terrified and unable to move faster. Her face lit up when Villiki arrived. “There are soldiers in the church, my Lady. Tell me what I should do.”

“They are coming for me, and you must stop them. This is
your
church, Erima. You are the ur-sikara. Urec has presented
you
with this trial. The responsibility is
yours
, all blame falls on
your
shoulders.”

The other woman was staggered by the weight of this. “But you must give me your counsel. You are the one who—”

“You are the ur-sikara! No one commands you.” Villiki couldn't believe that she still had to coach this woman. “I've assisted you and the church as much as I can, but now I fear for my life. The former soldan-shah wants to execute me, and now
you
have to stop him. You must command him to leave.”

Erima wobbled, clearly afraid.

Villiki advanced on her. “No one but
you
. I need to go now, but this is my gift to you.” She extended the sack of innat seeds, jiggled it, and Erima snatched it from her. “These are the last I have. These are the very, very last innat seeds you will ever find. There are no more. After these, they are gone forever. You have served Urec well, and this is your reward.”

“The last… gone forever.” The ur-sikara's dark brown eyes widened in a desperately hungry look. She yanked open the sack and stared at the precious seeds.

Given Erima's lack of restraint, Villiki knew what she was likely to do, and didn't care. In fact, she encouraged it, for it would throw the whole church into even more of an uproar. “Ration them carefully. You will never have any more, ever again. Take only what you need for strength.”

“Never any more.” Erima seemed not to notice when Villiki spun and hurried out of the suite.

Shouting voices rang up and down the stone corridors of the vast church. Few men were ever allowed into the main sanctuaries, only occasional male lovers brought in under blindfolds to service the priestesses. The soldiers should have been hopelessly lost in the maze, but the traitorous Cithara could—and apparently would—lead them directly to her underground rooms.

Villiki didn't have time to go into the central chapel to break open the collection boxes and steal
cuars
, but she had her own stash of money, jewels, and secreted artifacts. She had a secondary plan, a desperate gamble she had never wanted to consider, but now that the soldan-shah's guards were rushing through the church, she had very few options left.

Down stone steps and twisting halls, she made her way through the shadows, ducking along corridors that had no torches or candles, until she reached a locked beggar's door that had not been opened to the public in decades. Villiki unsealed the door, slipped out, and closed it behind her to find herself in a dim alley that smelled of garbage and excrement and rustled with rats. In the streets nearby, she could hear awakened townspeople wondering about the hubbub.

Villiki hurried toward a main street, and once she passed out of sight of the church, she slowed her pace to that of a limping beggar. After being exiled from the palace years ago, she had spent a long time eking out a living, stealing, keeping to the shadows. Now she fit uncomfortably in her rags, and she knew how to hide. She made her way toward the harbor

With the church in the distance behind her, Villiki reached the docks, where she found a dirty barge tied up to the moorings, due to sail the next morning. It was an ore-carrying barge, and she knew it could only be destined for the Gremurr mines, where her son lived.

She would go there—and Tukar would have to take her in.

With Imir close behind him, Kel Rovic ordered his men to break through the crude barricade that blocked the ur-sikara's main suite. The other priestesses had already been driven into their chambers and left to curse ineffectually at the men, but their shrill complaints fell on deaf ears. Cithara had already led them to Villiki's spider hole, and even the most uneasy soldiers saw proof that the sikaras themselves had harbored the banished woman. Their guilt was obvious.

Lady Istar shouted, “Search the acolytes' chambers and find my daughter. I want Istala brought before me now, and
safe
!”

Given the commotion, Imir was not surprised that Villiki had managed to escape. She was a slippery one, willing to sacrifice any person to the hunters following her, just to keep herself safe. The vile woman had used Cithara, his granddaughter, as a tool… just as she had tried to use Cliaparia years ago as a scapegoat in her plan to poison Omra.

Now she had used Ur-Sikara Erima, too.

The ur-sikara had to be aware of what occurred within her church. She must have known and approved of the plot to hide Villiki. Such things could not possibly be kept from the leader of the church. Erima needed to be held accountable, just as Ur-Sikara Lukai had been, years ago.

Inside the church leader's suite, though, they found the statuesque woman dressed in formal clothes, looking pristine and beautiful, sitting at her main desk. A sheen of perspiration coated her skin. She was barely breathing.

Rovic strode forward, his scimitar drawn. “Ur-Sikara Erima, you are to be taken into custody for crimes against the soldan-shah.”

But the dark-skinned woman simply sat in a stupor, staring. A slow rattle came from her throat, and she slumped onto the desk. In front of her, an empty pouch and a few dark seeds lay on her writing surface. Kel Rovic picked one up and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Cithara came in to stand next to Adreala and Istar. “The ur-sikara likes to consume innat seeds. Villiki provides them to her.”

“She has consumed a huge amount.” Rovic held up the empty sack and looked down at the heavily perspiring woman. “Too many.”

Imir shook Erima by the shoulders, but she was unresponsive.

“She ate them all,” Lady Istar said quietly. “Rather than face you, she killed herself.”

Cithara looked deeply saddened. “The ur-sikara was a great woman, but I think Villiki broke her.”

“Villiki
poisoned
her,” Imir corrected in a black and impotent fury. He turned on Kel Rovic, his voice deadly. “Everywhere. Search
everywhere
. Tear the church down to stones if you must. Find Villiki.”

Ur-Sikara Erima died of her overdose within the hour, without ever speaking another word. She lay dead in her suite by the time Kel Rovic and his soldiers delivered young Istala to her relieved mother.

The soldiers ransacked the church, searched every chamber and corridor, overturned every bed, opened every cupboard and closet. They uncovered many things that the priestesses would have preferred to remain hidden—but they did not find Villiki. The woman had vanished.

102
Corag Foothills

With the vivid memory of dead Urecari eyes haunting his thoughts, Mateo left the military ship when it docked in Windcatch harbor. A terrible storm was bearing down on them from the northwest, and the Oceansea had become an angry mass of whitecaps and churning gray water. The captains didn't want to sail farther north into the black clouds and blowing wind; all ships were rapidly grounded or tied up to moorings, hoping to ride out the weather.

While the soldiers and crew took refuge in Windcatch until they could sail north, Mateo left. He did not want to go back to Calay yet. He could not bear to look into Anjine's face after doing as she asked.

After receiving a formal report, he made up his mind to join Destrar Broeck's ambitious operation that used mammoths from Iboria for an invasion over the Corag mountains. Though Mateo felt sickened and soiled from slaughtering the Urecari prisoners, his hatred toward the enemy had not altered. He wanted a
real
fight; he wanted to face the Curlies in battle at a real military outpost, not kill helpless civilians. Then he could go home to his wife, and to his queen.

Under a sky that spat raindrops from the storm he intended to outrun, Mateo used the Tierran army's letter of credit to purchase a farmer's horse and some supplies. He rode away from Windcatch and up into the hills toward Corag, hoping to meet up with Broeck and his mammoth army before they swept down and captured the Gremurr mines. The Iborian destrar in command of the operation would not turn down another seasoned fighter, especially not Mateo.

After two days of riding inland, he sat in a makeshift camp in the rain, taking shelter under a tree, and tried to nudge more life out of a smoky fire of damp wood. He saw another rider coming—a big-shouldered man hunched over a black horse, leading four pack horses behind him. He rode directly toward Mateo's campfire and called out as he approached, “Are you Subcomdar Bornan? The people of Windcatch told me I'd find you along this road.”

“It's not much of a road.” Mateo stood, brushed damp leaves from his trousers. His horse snorted a welcome to the arriving mounts. The rain began to pick up. “Yes, that's me. There's enough shelter under here, but I won't promise it's dry.”

The newcomer's horses were fine Eriettan war chargers, thick-boned and draft-bred, yet light enough that they could be easily maneuvered in battle. The rider dismounted and meticulously hobbled all the mounts beneath the shelter of some adjacent trees. Stooping over as he ran against the downpour, he came to the campfire, removed his leather hat, and shook the water droplets away.

Mateo recognized Jenirod, the son of the Eriettan destrar—the man Anjine had chosen to marry. “I know you,” he said simply.

Jenirod hunkered down and held his hands over the fire. “And I know you. There are enough stories about both of us, we should have met before now.” The destrar's son hung his head and looked grief-stricken. “Because you were such a dear childhood companion to Anjine, I'd hoped we might become friends, but none of that matters anymore. I doubt I'll ever see the queen again.”

This was news to Mateo. “But you are betrothed.”

“She tore up the document and threw the scraps in my face. Now she hates me. She thinks that my actions caused the retaliation—the
murder
of her brother. And she's probably right.” He looked up with large, heavy eyes. He shook his head, his jaw trembling. Mateo thought the man might burst into tears. “I acted with brawn and bravery, but I didn't think. I didn't know that the Urecari would take their revenge on poor Tomas!”

Mateo's voice was quiet, but heavy with threat. “You'd better explain yourself.”

Jenirod took food out of his sodden pack, chewed on strips of tough beef jerky. Barely able to force his words out, he explained what he and Destrar Tavishel had done, hoping to achieve a triumph they could show off to Queen Anjine. “I was so pleased when I told her of our victory at Fashia's Fountain. I thought I was doing a good thing by eradicating a nest of heretics. But after what they did to poor Tomas, I see that the Urecari aren't just enemies—they are truly evil! I don't understand why Ondun doesn't just wipe that blight from His creation.” Mateo didn't know how to respond. Jenirod sat in silence; his eyes were red-rimmed. “I wanted to impress Anjine with my bravery. I wanted her to think I'd be a good husband.”

“If you are a good man, Anjine would have recognized it. You should have trusted her. The queen is wise and good—” Mateo cut himself off as longing swelled within his chest. Here was Jenirod, who—for a while at least—had been given something Mateo had always wanted, but could never have: Anjine had accepted the big oaf to be her husband. Jenirod had thrown away all the blessings a man could ever want. Mateo would never get that chance, so how could he not resent the Eriettan man for being chosen in the first place and for hurting Anjine, not to mention causing the death of poor Tomas?

“I heard about all those Urecari prisoners. It must have been horrible for you,” Jenirod said, then his face paled. “Me, I can't stop thinking of the priestesses at Fashia's Fountain, how they looked when Tavishel and his men—all of us—fell upon them with our swords. We hacked those poor misguided pilgrims to pieces.”

Mateo poked at the smoky fire with a green stick, looking away from Jenirod. A weight of guilt descended upon him too, and he made himself remember his own beautiful Vicka, who awaited him back in Calay. Vicka still ran the blacksmith shop with her father. She kept herself busy, but Mateo knew she worried about him when he went off to war.

In Windcatch, he had given a letter for her to the captain of the next ship bound for Calay, but with the strengthening hurricane, no vessels would be sailing for some time. He should have taken his horse and headed home on the overland route. Instead he had ridden into Corag.

“Why did you come
here
?” he asked Jenirod.

The other man shrugged woefully. He raised his head again. “Now I want to join the fight, I want to follow Broeck and his army over the mountain pass. That's why I brought all these horses, to join the charge. It's all I have left to offer, to pay for my mistakes. I thought maybe you and I could ride together.”

Looking through the rain, Mateo saw the strong horses and knew they could be useful to the Tierran military force heading down to the Gremurr mines. “Have they been trained for battle?”

Jenirod's chest swelled with pride. “These are Eriettan horses, the champions of five different cavalcades.”

Mateo looked at his companion and came to a difficult conclusion. The rain had begun to peter out, but the air remained cold and damp. A breeze rustled the trees, catching misty cloud remnants and blowing them away.

“I'm happy to have your company, Jenirod. Let's hope that we each find what we seek.”