The Key to Creation (57 page)

“Uncle, you’re alive!” Iaros cried.

“A few explosions and a sinking ship aren’t enough to stop me.” Though burned and blood-streaked, with a wild look in his eyes, Broeck laughed and fought with increasing frenzy. The destrar’s berserker energy turned the tide, and the Uraban guards scattered into the marketplace. A few Tierran soldiers laughed and tried to give chase, but Broeck and Iaros called them back.

Iaros gave his uncle a quick embrace. “I wasn’t ready to be destrar yet.”

“Are you ready to conquer Ishalem?”

The younger man gave a vigorous nod. “We’re heading up the hill!”

The two Iborians led the charge.

Terravitae

As the boats pulled away from the now-covered sea cave in the cliffs, Criston gazed toward the shore. The clouds had begun to clear, leaving a bright blue sky. “Both our crews endured months of difficult sailing to reach this place. We owe it to them to finish our quest.”

Saan agreed. “I am ready to set foot on Terravitae.”

“It seems impossible that we’re really here,” said Aldo with an undertone of awe in his voice.

“If the legends are true, Holy Joron is here as well,” Sen Sherufa said. “He can enforce peace.”

Guided by the mer-Saedrans, the boats moved along the coast in search of a spot where they could beach the three boats. After an hour, they came upon a sheltered cove and pulled up to the shore. By unspoken agreement, the two captains set foot simultaneously on the fabled continent.

As he planted his feet on the long-anticipated soil, Criston expected some magical response, a tingling through the soles of his boots, but this land felt like any other that was wild and unexplored by mere mortals.

Leaving the beach, the group filed up a narrow game path to a plateau above the ocean. When they reached the top of the headlands, Criston peered across an expanse of blue ocean down to where the two battered ships were anchored at a safe distance from the cliffs and rocks. Saan touched his arm, and instead of looking out to sea where they had been for so long, the men directed their gazes across the virgin plain with tufts of grasses, low cypress trees, and orange lilies in full bloom.

Caught up in the beauty of the land, the travelers explored—two captains, both chartsmen, Javian and Mia, Kjelnar and King Sonhir, Grigovar and Yal Dolicar…as well as Ystya, who traced her origin back to this land. They found bushes laden with sweet berries, bubbling streams of clear water. Rabbits and antelope bounded away, startled by the strangers.

Sen Sherufa said, “Every step we take is on untouched land that no one from Tierra or Uraba has ever seen.”

Sen Aldo’s dark eyes drank in the details. “This may be the final piece of the Mappa Mundi.”

“My people might still be here,” Ystya said, taking Saan’s hand. “Even if they aren’t, it’s
Terravitae
, and that’s enough for me.”

Still shaken by the act of violence he had committed, Javian leaned on Mia and drew on her solid support. “It feels so strange not to have Prester Hannes here with us,” he murmured.

Overhearing, Criston put a hand on Javian’s shoulder. “He made it to Terravitae. If Hannes couldn’t accept what we found in the cave, he might have murdered all of us to keep the secret.”

“The prester saw more of Terravitae than he deserved,” Ystya said. “He
rejected
it.”

Mia took Javian’s hand. “We’re
here
. We’re together. Hold on to that.”

Yal Dolicar looked around. “Somehow I was expecting Holy Joron to greet us as soon as we arrived.”

Ystya’s very presence seemed to have a magical effect on the already lush terrain. Wherever she passed, new blooms burst forth like applause. Streams seemed to swell, and waterfalls appeared, tumbling over bluffs that had been dry only moments before. The grasses grew thicker, as if Ystya’s arrival had reawakened the entire continent.

They walked for miles along the coastal cliffs. Eventually, the hills began descending toward an expanse of open beach where a line of reefs formed a calm lagoon. The group passed through a lush dell filled with shimmering ferns—
golden
ferns that stood tall, unfurling to display burnished fanlike fronds.

Laughing, Sherufa walked among the ferns, running her fingertips through the fronds. “According to legend, whoever finds a golden fern is supposed to be blessed.”

Grigovar chuckled. “It seems we’re all blessed, then.”

“Just like the fern I found when I was just a child.” Saan looked up with a smile of wonder. “I suppose I have accomplished great things—I’m in
Terravitae
. And I’m only just getting started.”

Yal Dolicar surreptitiously plucked some of the smaller fern fronds and tucked them inside his shirt.

From the fern grove they continued downward, following the sounds of seabirds crying and the whoosh of water. They came upon a stretch of beautiful white sand, and Saan stopped short. “Well, I never expected this. I thought we were done with the island witch.”

Cast up on the beach was an oblong crystal case, like a coffin. Knocked askew, the lid lay gleaming in the bright sunlight.

Saan explained to Criston, “That coffin held Ystya’s father, the man they say was Ondun.”

“But it’s empty,” Sen Aldo said.

A chill shivered up Criston’s spine, and his skin prickled, but he also felt a sense of wonder. “Whoever was inside the case must have been washed away in the storm.”

Ystya looked up with a bright smile. “Not washed away.” She turned from the beach and gazed toward the hills farther along the shore. “My father is here.”

Against the bright sky, they saw the silhouette of a man walking toward them. Light shone from the stranger’s white robes, white hair, and thick beard. Criston, Saan, and all of the shore party stared, awestruck. King Sonhir bowed his head to the man, averting his gaze.

As the man approached, Criston had to lean back because he was very tall. Despite the stranger’s age, the power that radiated from his form gave him the appearance of a giant.

“Terravitae has reawakened him.” Ystya smiled. “The land brought him back.” Letting go of Saan’s hand, she ran forward as the old man strode up to the group.

He regarded them all with kindness and recognition. “I am Ondun, and I am pleased that my children have returned to Terravitae.”

Ishalem Harbor

On the deck of
Sapier’s Glory
, Comdar Rief raised the colorful blue-and-green battle flag to the top of the mast. For weeks, the navy had waited for the signal that it was time to go to war, and now the Tierran ships sailed forward to take the piers and destroy or seize any vessel that remained in the harbor. His sailors whistled and cheered. He expected the holy city would fall within days.

As the Tierran warships closed on the harbor, the lookout on
Sapier’s Glory
shouted and pointed out to sea. Rief turned his spyglass to study the distant Uraban fleet that waited in open water far beyond the harbor.

The hodgepodge group of Uraban vessels kept station far away out to sea, obviously unwilling to come closer. The large collection of enemy vessels had arrived in the past weeks, but Rief judged that his own vessels could defeat them in a straight-up fight. The Uraban ships protected the mouth of the canal leading inland, concentrating their efforts there, rather than trying to repel the Aidenist fleet. Their commander must be very cautious, Rief decided.

“They’ve set sail and are racing in, sir,” said his first mate. “I think their commander is trying to stop us.”

Rief just smiled as he gazed through his spyglass. “He won’t be able to intercept us in time.” Strategically, the enemy might plan to bottle them up in the harbor, but the comdar didn’t particularly care: once the seventy-three ships reached the piers, his fighters would swarm onto the docks and race through the streets to join the Tierran army. They would hold the holy city, and Comdar Rief could deal with the enemy warships as part of routine mopping-up operations.

Tied up in the harbor, the blockaded Uraban ships were caught unawares by the sudden move after two months of waiting. The siege-weary Uraban sailors scrambled up onto the decks, and a ragtag group of Curly soldiers ran to the ends of the piers. But they wouldn’t get their ships ready in time, even if they had a place to go. This was going to be easier than he thought.

As the Tierran navy approached, sails swollen with wind, Fishhook banners and pennants flying, Rief noticed two pairs of black cylinders mounted in emplacements at either side of the harbor mouth. Soldiers wearing white olbas busied themselves at the tubes, fumbling with…kegs of firepowder? He saw a wisp of smoke. Before he could point them out to his first mate, loud explosions split the air, followed by a whizzing sound.

A black projectile hurtled toward them, smashed one of the spars, tore the rigging, and hammered into the deck of the adjacent ship. Rief was dumbfounded to see a gaping hole torn through his mainsail.

The second metal cylinder belched fire and smoke and hurled another iron projectile; the third and fourth weapons also fired. Monstrous and destructive firepowder weapons. With a sudden chill in his gut, Rief wondered if this was what had wrecked all of Destrar Tavishel’s ships.

The Tierran sailors were in a panic, but Comdar Rief could not change course now. “Straight ahead! Stay on course—and put out those fires!” The men rushed to follow their orders, and Rief wondered how long it would take the men at the emplacements to reload those monstrous weapons.

  * * *

Aboard his own ship, Soldan Vishkar was preoccupied in his cabin, writing a few more lines of poetry inspired by the fresh sunny day. Now he dropped his pen as the cabin boy hollered for him. “The ’Hooks are moving, Soldan!”

“Not the canal again?” His orders had been explicit, to guard the waterway at all costs. The Tierrans could blockade Ishalem harbor, but they must be prevented from sailing into the Middlesea. Vishkar simply did not have enough ships to break the blockade
and
guard the canal.

“No, Soldan—their ships are pressing Ishalem.”

Vishkar felt a surge of adrenaline. “Set our sails, then.” His breathing came faster, and he realized that all the planning in the world had not prepared him enough, now that the time had come. Fortunately, his captains had discussed numerous strategies and maneuvers at gatherings aboard his flagship. He hoped that his powerful fleet itself would be enough to do the job.

Vishkar had always been a merchant, and he preferred delivering exotic cargo to embarking on adventures himself. But Omra had put him in command of a defensive fleet that consisted of ships he had scrounged. He hoped his crew and the other captains knew what they were doing.

Several weeks ago, when he proudly brought his fleet to Ishalem harbor, Vishkar had been dismayed to find Aidenist warships already there. He was too late! His ragtag fleet might have looked intimidating, but the ships weren’t built for war. Even with his numerous vessels, he would be unable to crash through the Aidenist blockade (and he was sure that the Tierran commander must have far more naval experience than he did). For days, then weeks, Vishkar hoped that the size of his impressive fleet would intimidate the Tierrans and drive them away. Instead, the two fleets had remained at a standoff—until now.

Racing out on deck, he was half blinded by the sunshine. Antos, the captain of his flagship, watched the Tierran ships close in on the harbor. “It’ll be crowded in there, Soldan. Close quarters for fighting.”

Vishkar pursed his lips. “You are all seasoned swordfighters, aren’t you?”

Captain Antos patted the hilt of his scimitar. “We’ve had training, and we’ve had some experience. So has everyone. Never can tell when ’Hook raiders are going to strike one of our seaside towns.”

“Good, good. Tell everyone to prepare. We’re moving into the fray.” Yes, that was what the soldan-shah expected from him. The Uraban vessels sailed toward the ’Hooks.

His crew laughed and cheered when the four harbor cannons opened up. The Nunghal weapons took the enemy navy completely by surprise, belching fire. The hot projectiles pounded the foremost vessels, wrecked the sails and rigging, started fires.

“They didn’t expect that,” Antos said with a grin wide enough to show that one of his back teeth was missing.

“Too bad we have only four cannons. It’s enough to surprise them, but not enough to stop them.”

“
We’ll
be enough to stop them, Soldan.”

“Good, good. I hope you’re right.”

Soldan Vishkar carried a scimitar, though he wasn’t accustomed to using it. He supposed he was going to get some practice very soon. As the two fleets closed, the cannons fired again, smashing another Tierran ship.

This would be a very bloody day.

Ishalem

Omra watched the Aidenist army swarm through Ishalem like plague rats erupting from a sewer. For more than a day, thousands upon thousands of mounted cavalrymen and armed footsoldiers clashed with loyal Uraban fighters, who laid down their lives to stop the monsters from desecrating the holy city.

Years ago, Aidenists had started the fire that burned down Ishalem. Omra had reclaimed the barren land in the name of Urec, rebuilt the glorious city…and now these heretics fouled it with every footstep. Aidenists had massacred the innocent priestesses and pilgrims at Fashia’s Fountain, dumped a thousand severed heads at the Ishalem wall, invaded Gremurr, beheaded his brother Tukar, set fire to Olabar harbor. They had used firepowder to blast through the wall—
firepowder
, which his own father had brought back from the Nunghals. The Aidenists had stolen even that! The list of atrocities was endless. The most sophisticated Saedran instruments could not measure the level of hatred and contempt he held for them. Why didn’t Ondun just strike them down and rid the world of their stain? The Fishhook army cut down his brave defenders and trampled their bodies as they pushed into the city.