A Secret Atlas (68 page)

“No. I’ve tried. Not to tell him about the Amentzutl; we agreed I would not do that. But I

tried to reach him to convey some basic weather information. I got nothing.”

“How do you mean ‘nothing’?”

He looked over at her, completely at a loss for words. He had always been able to find his

grandfather and convey information. He’d largely been unable to stop his grandfather from

plundering whatever else he desired—though the reverse had never been true. Parts of

his grandfather had always been untouchable, and Jorim had learned to armor his private

memories in layers of mundane trivia that his grandfather hated.

With distance had come a weakening of the contact, but always there had

been
something
. Yet since the battle there was nothing. His attempts to reach his

grandfather had fallen into a void, and when he sought his brother, things were no

better—though he still could feel Keles out there somewhere.

“It is as if my grandfather has fallen off the edge of the world.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is he dead?”

“No, I think I would know that.” He snorted. “There are times I have wanted it so badly that

I know parts of me would rejoice in his death. Now I just feel isolated. Keles is still out

there but not looking for me, so we are not communicating.”

Anaeda stood and began to pace, her boots rasping on the stone. “If we accept that there

is a danger, we have an obligation to warn Nalenyr.”

“We also have an obligation to help the Amentzutl.”

The ship’s captain smiled down at him. “Spoken like a god taking responsibility for his

people.”

“That’s not funny.” Jorim clambered to his feet as Shimik came bounding up the pyramid’s

steps.

The Fenn leaped into Anaeda’s arms, then pointed back down the steps. “Nauana

comma.”

Nauana was indeed coming, and at the head of a procession a dozen people long. Each

of them wore feather cloaks and gold headdresses with long feathers rising from their

brows. Each of them looked older than Nauana by at least a dozen years, and they

ascended in age. The wizened man bringing up the rear could easily have been over a

hundred and might have even been around when Tetcomchoa last walked among the

Amentzutl.

The procession reached the top of the pyramid and spread out in a line. Nauana stood in

front of them and bowed in the Naleni fashion. “These, Lord Tetcomchoa, are the Elders

of the
maicana
.”

The Elders bowed together and straightened up after a respectful time.

Jorim bowed to them and held it equally as long. Iesol and Anaeda likewise bowed, but

remained down longer. These gestures brought smiles to the
maicana
faces—probably

because they were happy to have mastered this new custom.

Nauana came up last of all, but smiled carefully. “This morning is a time for many

momentous decisions.” She gestured toward the north and moons glowing from within

constellations. “We have much to tell you.”

Jorim nodded. “As do we to tell you.”

Nauana bowed her head. “Please, my Lord Tetcomchoa, tell us your will.”

“We come from the west, where Mozoloa will present his threat. We must warn our people

of it, and summon help to defend the Amentzutl from him.” He glanced at Captain Gryst

and she nodded. “Toward this end, we will be taking our fleet back west.”

The young
maicana
woman solemnly translated his words for her elders, but they did not

have the effect Jorim would have anticipated. He expected they would be upset that he

was leaving, but instead his words seemed to elicit smiles and positive murmurs. Even

Nauana smiled as she looked back at him.

“This is, of course, how it should be, Lord Tetcomchoa.”

He frowned. “You know I will be going with them?”

“As we expected.”

“And we’ll be leaving inside a week.”

Nauana frowned. “We do not think that is possible.”

“There is no choice in the matter, Nauana.”

“My Lord’s resolve makes that apparent. We will work very hard, then.” She nodded

solemnly. “We shall begin now, shall we, my Lord?”

Jorim watched her face for any sign of deception, but found none. “Perhaps, Nauana, you

need tell me what you all came here to say.”

She nodded. “When you were here last, my Lord, and you took your leave, you shared

your power with us. You created the
maicana
. You told us to hold your power and your art sacred. We were to learn and refine, create new things and make what you gave us as

strong as we could. You said this was because one day you would return and we would

have to show you our work, returning to you the vestiges of your power.”

Nauana opened her arms, her cloak slipped back behind her shoulders. “When you came,

I was certain you were Lord Tetcomchoa and worthy of your teachings to be returned to

you. Others were not. The miracles you wrought on the battlefield have left no doubt. The

Elders have confirmed it and have agreed to return to you what is your right.”

“My right?”

“Yes, Lord Tetcomchoa. Though you give us only a week, we shall train you in the ways of

the
maicana
.” Nauana’s face took on the expression of confidence that made his heart

pound faster. “You came to us a god with the powers of a man. You shall face Mozoloa

with the powers of a god. When we have returned to you what you lent us, nothing in

heaven or on earth will be able to stand against you.”

7th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Ixyll

Keles woke with a tightness on his forehead and pain throbbing in his head. Though he

could remember nothing of what he’d dreamed while unconscious, bits of terror floated in

a sense of contentment. It all had something to do with his sister, but the fading fragments

made no sense. Pain chased thought from his mind and oblivion beckoned again, but he

fought it.

He opened his eyes and it took a moment for him to remember where he was. Borosan’s

two lanterns illuminated only a tiny bit of the vast chamber. In the glow of one he could

see Moraven and Ciras resting quietly, with the
thanaton
standing sentinel nearby, and the Viruk sleeping up against the wall.

Tyressa smiled at him. “He said you would be waking up now.”

“He?” Keles tried to sit up, but his head began to swim. As he lay back down he realized

he was stretched out on one of the biers, and that sent a shiver through him.

Tyressa pointed to where the Soth Gloon squatted beside Borosan. “His name is

Urardsa.”

Keles nodded once, then stopped. “How long have I been out?”

“Most of the night. You slept peacefully, as did Borosan. The storm has passed, but Ciras

is exhausted. Moraven is unresponsive and Rekarafi says he needs more rest.”

“How about you? Have you slept?”

She shook her head. “But I’m doing perfectly well.”

He touched the stitches on his forehead. “Your handiwork?”

Tyressa nodded. “You’ll have a scar on your front to match the ones on your back.”

“Thanks.”

The Gloon rose, leaving Borosan to tinker with his
gyanrigot
. “Your wits should be about you now.”

“They’re returning.” Keles forced himself up on his elbows. “I thank you for saving us.”

“What makes you think I did?” The pale creature cocked his head to the right.

“The signal light in the storm. You led us to sanctuary.”

Urardsa opened his arms and spun around, displaying himself and the dirty rag of a

loincloth he wore. “What do you see on me that would cause that glinting?”

“Nothing.” Keles started to rub at his forehead, but Tyressa caught his wrist. “You’re

denying you saved us?”

“Have you any proof I did?”

“No.” The cartographer lowered his hand. “Are you going to answer all my questions with

questions?”

“Are you going to ask any questions for which there are answers?”

Keles looked at Tyressa. “You endured this for how long before you decided to let me

wake up?”

She smiled. “How long do you imagine?”

He groaned and she laughed. Keles looked from her to the Soth Gloon again. “How is it

that you are here?”

“I was entombed here with the others.” He hopped up on the bier and squatted at Keles’

feet. He pointed high up on one of the chamber’s walls. “You can barely make out where

they placed me.”

A dozen questions immediately came to Keles, but he thought before speaking. If the Soth

had been entombed, he clearly had been believed dead. Since the graves outside dated

from the time of Empress Cyrsa, it would be logical to assume he had gone out from the

Empire with the expedition.
And if he has not left here since he was entombed, he’s been

here for over seven hundred years.

“You were taken for dead. Who did that?”

Urardsa shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I was beyond thinking at that point. I am now

Gloon, but before that I was the life stage known as Myrkal. I was larger then than I am

now, though not as large as when I was Anbor. As Anbor I had come to know some of the

Empire’s great fighters, and though I had become Myrkal, they invited me to join them. I

could yet fight, but this was not demanded of me.”

“Yet you were believed dead and entombed with warriors. What transpired to cause all

these deaths?”

The Gloon smiled and his four small gold eyes tightened. “I find this fascinating, Keles

Anturasi. I am able to see the future, not the past, so I do not know the details of how I

came to be here. I do know the circumstances that led to it, and I shall share them with

you, but first . . .”

Urardsa reached a thick-fingered hand out and passed it in front of Keles’ face, over his

head, down along his shoulders, never quite touching him. It was almost as if the Gloon

were trying to catch an elusive insect. The expression on his face as he did this did not

change, but the four gold eyes flicked quickly, often darting in different directions.

The Gloon lowered his hand. “When first I saw you, your future had dimmed. When you

fell and struck your head, you should have been dead, but you did not die.” He looked up

toward the top of the chamber. “Perhaps the wild magic had something to do with it. It

matters not. Now, though, you have a number of life-lines ahead of you.”

“You see my future directly?”

The Gloon closed all of his eyes and shook his head. “You are a pearl on a chain. Your

past forms links that are easily seen. For most, there is one chain into the future, and the

length of it corresponds to their life. There are an infinite number of possible futures, but

finite is the number in which anyone can participate. Your being here opened more futures

to you when there should have been none—some great, some trivial. Unlike the others

here, you may live a long time.”

Keles frowned as much as he could, given the stitches in his forehead. “You were wrong

about me. You’re wrong about them. But you were telling us how you came to be here.”

The Gloon smiled easily and broadly, almost as a child might. “You don’t wish to know

your future?”

Keles returned the smile. “You’ve already admitted that your vision is flawed, so why

should I?”

The Gloon reopened his eyes. “It has been a long time since I have sparred with

someone. My companions and their ghosts are not very inventive. Yes, my circumstances;

I recall. I do not know what you have been told of the war against the Turasynd.

Skirmishes raged across Deseirion, Solaeth, and Dolosan. The Empress kept drawing the

enemy west, hoping that if the grand confrontation unleashed a wave of magic, it would be

triggered far enough away from the Empire that her people would survive. Your presence

suggests she was successful.”

Tyressa nodded. “The Time of Black Ice was not easy, but we survived. It has been over

seven hundred years.”

The Gloon considered that quietly, then nodded. “Ghosts only discuss the past and do not

mark the passing of time. The Empress—who is not here, nor has her ghost visited—

wanted to be certain the Turasynd would not return to the Empire. She divided her force,

leaving a third of it in Dolosan, hidden away. The plan was that when the Turasynd

followed her onto the Spice Route, this force would come behind and catch them

unawares. The barbarians would be crushed between both forces.”

Keles looked at Tyressa, who nodded. “I understand her reasoning.”

“Good, Master Anturasi. You are not alone, for all of us did, and applauded it. She was

advised to put Prince Nelesquin in command of that force. What she did not realize was

this: as a Prince of Imperial blood, Nelesquin resented her presence on the throne. To him

and his branch of the family, she was naught but a concubine who had murdered her

husband and usurped his place. That her husband was incompetent and paralyzed with

fear was never believed by those with Imperial blood.”

Keles nodded. The history of that era had emphasized how decisive and brave the

Empress was. While it was known that she had killed her husband and met his

bodyguards with a bloody dagger in hand, this was not dwelt upon. Moreover, because

she had formed each of the Nine Principalities and some were still led by the fami-lies she