The Key to Creation (47 page)

But now she wrote to tell him that the captain—the Aidenist sailor who had guided his vessel all the way around the world—was that man. Criston Vora. His father. It was impossible…but she would never lie to him.

Criston.
With a lurch in his chest, Saan felt the resonance. Though he hadn’t made the connection before, now he understood why his mother had chosen that name for her other baby boy…
Criston
, the son of the soldan-shah who was murdered by Cliaparia.

This was more unbelievable than learning that Ystya was the Key to Creation, more unbelievable than finding Ondun’s drowned body deep in a well on the island. The other captain, right there across the deck, was his father.

Saan stared at the handwritten page, afraid to tell anyone. Even though the sympathetic journal was nearly used up, Istar had devoted an entire sheet to explain everything in full detail. He took a long time to absorb the fact that his own quest had been on an unwitting collision course with his father’s. Criston Vora.

If Istar declared that the bearded man on the damaged Tierran vessel was truly his father, Saan would not dishonor his mother by refusing to accept it as fact. But he found it very difficult.

Saan pondered what to do, trying to loosen the knot in his stomach. He had not crossed over to the
Dyscovera
as yet, had not spoken directly with the other captain, the prester, or any of the Aidenist crew. Sen Sherufa and Aldo na-Curic had worked out the terms of cooperation.

How would the Tierran captain receive this news? Saan hoped he would be happy. Would he even believe it? Saan wasn’t sure how he felt about it himself.

On unsteady legs, he went to the door of his cabin where the lashed-together boards barely hung in place on one intact hinge. When he signaled for Sen Sherufa, she saw his troubled expression. “What is it, Captain?”

“Please ask the captain of the
Dyscovera
to come aboard. I would like to meet with him in my cabin. There is…something important I’ve got to tell him. A private matter, but I want you and the other chartsman here to act as translators—both of you, but no one else.”

Intrigued, she went off to find Sen Aldo and arrange the meeting. Saan withdrew into his cabin and sat down, wrestling with what he was going to say.

Before long, the other captain arrived, looking wary. When Criston Vora entered, Saan searched the man’s face, and could not deny the familiarity he saw there…the same features, the blue eyes, the Tierran nose and chin line. When Captain Vora saw Saan’s light complexion for the first time, he too was thrown off balance, and even more surprised when Saan unwrapped the olba from his head to reveal his blond hair.

Saan looked at the two Saedrans and held out the sympathetic journal that contained his mother’s words. He cleared his throat. “I have a story to tell you, Captain Criston Vora.” Saan spoke so quickly that Sen Sherufa and Aldo had difficulty keeping up with their translation.

Listening, the other captain sat back heavily in the chair, as if Saan had dealt him a hard blow to the chest. “I only just learned that my Adrea was still alive…and now this.”

Saan talked about the soldan-shah’s palace, Istar’s two daughters, even the baby boy she had named Criston. “Look at me, Tierran,” Saan said. “Look at my eyes and study my face, as I have studied yours. The truth is there. You know it now, just as I do. Your wife—my mother—is still alive. And I am your son.”

Desert Harbor

After months of constant labor, Arikara began to recover. The dead were buried, the wounded healed or healing, shelters rebuilt after the earthquake. By now, regular caravans went back and forth, businesses were reopened. Soldan Xivir even remarked that his people were thinking about normal lives again.

Many of the survivors in Arikara considered their new awnings and tents to be homes, not just emergency shelters. The people were not in any particular hurry to rebuild brick-and-wood structures again, especially after a sharp aftershock struck the city three weeks earlier.

Khan Jikaris and his Nunghal adventurers grew restless in the crowded city, even though it would still be months before the seasonal winds shifted and their sand coracles could cross the Great Desert again. At the khan’s insistence, Arikara now boasted a small Nunghal church, where the nomads could commemorate the two sailing brothers who had discovered their land. The place of worship was a matter of pride for Jikaris, though he wasn’t overly religious; he simply wanted to show the sikaras that his people’s beliefs were important, too.

For his own part, Imir was also anxious to move. Since his retirement, he felt footloose and didn’t like to stay in the same place for long. He had intended to sail across the dunes to see the Nunghal lands and the southern sea again, but the bandit raid had crushed those hopes for this year. Imir considered riding up to Kiesh, the easternmost city of all the Uraban soldanates, just to see it. He did not doubt that his granddaughters would want to come with him.

Khan Jikaris, though, wanted to ride south to the edge of the desert, “if only to look at the dunes, and to make certain our coracles are being taken care of at Desert Harbor.”

Imir offered to join them. “I’d like to see how repairs on our Uraban coracles are coming along. At least ten should be ready to take flight.”

Adreala, Cithara, and Istala rode their own horses for the journey down to Desert Harbor. By now, the three girls had learned how to catch, saddle, and bridle their mounts, and their Nunghal companions showed them tricks each night in camp. Adreala was particularly proficient with knots and ropes.

Upon reaching the outpost at the edge of the desert, Imir was glad to see that the buildings had been rebuilt after the bandit raid. The coracle baskets were repaired, the colorful silken balloon sacks carefully folded and protected from the weather. The five Nunghal coracles had also been patched and readied for the voyage home.

Jikaris shaded his eyes and gazed at the blistering sand dunes. “I would not want to walk across that. Asaddan did it once. That is enough.”

“I want to see the Nunghal lands someday, Grandfather,” Adreala said. “I won’t let you forget your promise to take me there.”

“I had a good excuse each time our plans changed,” Imir said, and tousled the girl’s hair. “If you can avoid being kidnapped by bandits, and if another severe earthquake doesn’t strike, maybe we’ll go when the time is right.”

A sweaty, dust-encrusted rider came pounding into Desert Harbor, letting out a shrill whistle for attention. The people in the camp closed in to hear the urgent news that had brought him here at such a breakneck pace. “Soldan Xivir commanded me to find the former soldan-shah with all due haste!”

Imir came forward. “I am here. What is it?”

“Olabar harbor has been attacked by Aidenists from Gremurr! Many ships burned, hundreds killed. I’ve been riding for more than a week.”

Imir felt as if a lead weight had dropped into the pit of his stomach. “Was the enemy driven off? Is the city safe?”

“The enemy retreated and the fires are put out, sir, but there are worse tidings. Even as the flames were raging, Soldan-Shah Omra received word that a massive Tierran army has laid siege to the Ishalem wall, and their navy has blockaded the harbor.”

Khan Jikaris, who had understood most of the report, flushed red. “Then we must go and help in the fight. You are our friend, Imir. We have heard your terrible stories about these Aidenists. Do you have any weapons?”

Imir felt cold inside. He had been away from that conflict for a long time. “I wish I could be there to support my son, but here I am, on the farthest edge of Uraba. There is no way I can go there.”

Jikaris snorted. “We will use the sand coracles. Fifteen of them are ready to depart as soon as we pack them.”

The former soldan-shah sadly shook his head. “The coracles go where the breezes blow, and Ishalem is west and then north.”

The khan scratched a few strands of gray hair that stuck up from his tanned bald scalp. “Have you not discovered how to change course by raising or lowering the balloon?”

“What are you saying?”

“Air currents flow in different directions, depending on altitude. They are like rivers, crisscrossing in the sky. Change your height until you find a stream blowing in the direction you want to go.” Jikaris looked to his companions to make certain he was explaining it correctly, and they nodded. “How can you not have discovered this in all your voyages?”

The former soldan-shah was taken aback. “We…simply caught the strongest current, and it blew us south, or north, depending on the time of year.”

“We have to go,” Adreala said, and her sisters agreed. “Bring archers and arrows, and anything else you used when you fought the bandits.”

“If it is possible,” Imir said, still unsettled, “then we are off to Ishalem.” He raised his voice and shouted to the people of Desert Harbor.

The
Dyscovera
and the
Al-Orizin

The two ships combined their materials and stretched swatches of repaired sail to catch the breeze. The currents of the sea drew them onward in the right direction, according to Aiden’s Compass. Prester Hannes wasn’t surprised: Ondun would want to bring them to Terravitae.

The waters were gray and the temperatures cool, but he felt warm anticipation. Before long, he would stand before Holy Joron. He braced himself with a preaching staff, which was tipped with a hard bronze fishhook. The emblem made him feel strong enough to deflect Sikara Fyiri’s questions. She understood so little! He looked forward to seeing the last son of Ondun smite the obnoxious Urecari priestess and scoff at her silly beliefs.

Javian stood with him at Aiden’s Compass, looking out at the water in search of a misty horizon. The young man had been an excellent addition to the crew, and he’d been spending more and more time asking insightful questions. Since the beginning of their voyage, Hannes had secretly hoped to convert the cabin boy into one of his devotees. Javian had not yet embraced Aidenism with ardent faith. Still, the prester maintained hope. Some evenings, the two would read the Book of Aiden together, and Javian listened with apparent interest when Hannes pointed out the foolish contradictions in Urec’s Log.

Hannes still wasn’t sure he liked Javian’s easy friendship with the female sailor, and it appeared that his romantic interest was reciprocated. Though Mia had deceived them by hiding her gender, at least she did not speak out against Aiden or openly question the church’s teachings. The Uraban sikara was a far more worrisome enemy.

Though they tended to stay aboard their respective ships, the crews could cross back and forth at will via a plank bridge that had been laid over the intact portions of the ships’ rails. Hannes looked for an appropriate chance to lecture the crew of the
Al-Orizin
, to point out the errors of their beliefs. After all, he spoke the language perfectly, having lived in Uraba for so many years.

That time had been a special and important part of his life. Prester-Marshall Baine had sent him to Ishalem in disguise to learn Urecari ways, and Hannes had undertaken the assignment with great fervor, living a double life. He acted like one of them, infiltrated their church services, understood their weaknesses. When Ishalem had caught fire, however, he had been burned trying to steal the sacred Amulet of Urec from their main church. After recovering in Olabar, and murdering the soldan-shah’s wife, he had spent years wreaking as much havoc as possible. A warrior for Aiden. He was proud of his success.…

But Sikara Fyiri refused to let her people listen. Instead, the red-robed priestess delighted in debating Hannes face-to-face, challenging him and twisting his words. Now she walked across the deck of the
Dyscovera
as if claiming the ship in the name of Urec. “Are you filling this boy’s head with more lies, Prester Hannes?”

“Javian’s mind and heart are filled with the truth of Aiden,” Hannes said. “There is no room left for lies.”

Fyiri pouted at the prester’s rebuff, but she enjoyed the debate and challenge, mocking every point Hannes brought up. Though impressed by his intimate knowledge of Urecari scriptures, she offered only glib responses when Hannes pointed out irreconcilable contradictions in her beliefs. The woman’s inflexibility was maddening.

Incensed by her, he had spent hours in his cabin over the past several days, annotating his copy of Urec’s Log, highlighting discordant verses, falsehoods, impossibilities. He intended to show petulant Fyiri, line by line, everything that was wrong with her holy text. On the other hand, he thought, it might be more effective if he simply burned the volume in front of her.…

As the two ships sailed on, Criston allowed wistful personal thoughts to overshadow his larger worries. He still didn’t know if the two ships would ever make it home, or even reach Terravitae. But he was here, with a young man whom he now knew was his son.

Neither he nor Saan had revealed the secret to their crews, although many aboard the
Dyscovera
marveled to see that the captain of the Uraban ship had blond hair and blue eyes, like a Tierran, like Captain Vora. If anyone noticed a resemblance in their features—and it was definitely there—they had not remarked on it aloud.

But it was undeniable that he and Saan were already close and spent a great deal of time together. They exchanged stories of their voyages, but Criston was most interested in hearing about Adrea. Mailes had revealed that she was alive, but gave him no details.

The longing was plain in his voice when he asked Saan to tell him more about his mother. The young man smiled, struggling to use the rusty Tierran language that she had taught him long ago. “If you’ll tell me about her as well. All my life, I didn’t want to hear about her early years in Tierra. I was embarrassed by the color of my hair and eyes. I tried to hide my Aidenist heritage…and still the priestesses wanted to kill me for who I was.”