The Key to Creation (66 page)

When the workers uncovered Kel Unwar’s body under the stone blocks, they called Soldan-Shah Omra. He tugged the end of his olba over his face and stood looking down at the corpse. Unwar had been a faithful servant who accomplished great things because his soldan-shah demanded it, and now it tore at Omra’s heart to think that the kel had died with the taste of failure on his lips. The last thing Unwar had seen was his wall crashing down and the enemy army surging into the holy city.

Omra stared down at the poor man, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, my friend. I am not disappointed in you. Your canal and this wall are worthy monuments that only history can measure. You proved that my people can indeed achieve anything.” He lowered his voice. “You give me hope that I can accomplish something even more difficult—keeping peace with the Aidenists. Now that I think about it, your job might have been easier than mine.”

The flames of the large funeral pyre rose high and bright as a signal to departing Ondun that both sides had agreed to do at least this one thing together. Fresh breezes blew the smoke and stench out to sea.

However, Omra did not consider the pyre appropriate for Kel Unwar. He stepped away and shouted an order to his uniformed men. “This was his wall. Bury him here and stack the stones high, so he will always be part of it.”

A soldier rushed up, his face ruddy and flushed. “Soldan-Shah, we found another body—you will want to see it.”

Omra had already seen enough bodies as he inspected the city, but something about the soldier’s expression made him decide to follow. Farther down the wall, he saw a dark-robed figure sprawled among the tumbled stone blocks, and he felt an instinctive chill of fear. “Is it…?”

The soldier moved the hood aside to reveal the polished but now dented silver mask that had struck terror into the hearts of so many
ra’vir
trainees. Omra knelt down.

The enigma of this frightening and mysterious man had filled his mind for two decades, ever since Unwar and the disguised stranger had approached him with the suggestion of turning impressionable Tierran children into saboteurs. Even Omra had never seen the Teacher’s face; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The silver mask was slightly askew on the corpse.

Not wishing the soldiers to notice his hesitation, Omra plucked off the silver mask and gazed into the dead face of a Uraban man with a cleft chin and a swollen lip; a mole stood out high on his left cheek, just below the eye. His shaggy hair needed to be cut.

Omra had no idea who he was.

He straightened. “Take away the mask and robe and destroy them, then add the body to the funeral pyre, just like any other soldier. The Teacher is no more. That is all we need to know.”

She entered the main church through the imposing open gates, passed into the worship chamber that had recently held representatives of all factions in the convocation where Ondun had imposed peace.

Alisi could not understand why He had not demanded retribution for the numerous crimes that had been committed upon Uraba. If Ondun was so powerful, if He watched over all humankind, why had He done nothing after she was kidnapped as a young girl, raped, and beaten?

When she fought the Aidenists, she had always known her place. When she unleashed her
ra’virs
to murder and destroy anything the Tierrans loved, she felt satisfied, confident that Ondun would approve. And now…

Alisi did not know how to be wrong, but she had given a promise to her brother as his life faded. She could think of only one thing to do.

She had carefully re-dressed the arrow wound in her chest, binding it so that it could heal. There were so many injured in Ishalem that her wounds would draw no attention. She posed as a middle-aged woman who had lost her husband—and Alisi
was
a widow, in the sense that everything she cared about had died. She needed something else.

So she entered the now-empty Urecari church. People would come back to the faith soon enough, searching for how to accept this new reality that redefined their beliefs. When she asked an acolyte if she could speak to Ur-Sikara Kuari, the willowy girl led her to the anteroom.

Alisi bowed for the leader of what remained of the church. “Ur-Sikara, thank you for seeing me. I have a request.”

Kuari studied her features and measured her up and down with an even gaze while Alisi averted her eyes out of respect. “All are welcome here in the church. How might I help you?”

“I am lost, and the path of Urec will guide me. I want to become a sikara.”

“It is no longer just the path of Urec.” Kuari pursed her lips. “Since so many priestesses left the church after Ondun came, I’d be happy to accept you among our recruits for the church of Ondun. But the Golden Fern is a spiral—are you so sure it will take you where you need to go?”

When Alisi straightened, the arrow wound gave her a jolt of pain, but she did not show the twinge. “I am completely convinced, Ur-Sikara. This is exactly what I need to do.”

Ishalem

Comdar Rief remained in Ishalem with strict instructions to help the Urabans repair the damage the armies had done. He turned his soldiers into engineers, and they labored with the materials at hand to reshape the holy city. The naval crews worked to fix both Tierran and Uraban ships in the harbor; some of the vessels battered by cannon fire had to be scuttled out in the Oceansea, but most were repaired for an eventual return to their home ports.

Across the city, the Aidenist army had pitched their tents and marked out neighborhoods, claiming part of Ishalem as their own. Soldan-Shah Omra had granted them an entire district where they could make their homes, and many freed Tierran prisoners from the work camps chose to stay there as settlers instead of slaves.…

At the western mouth of Kel Unwar’s great canal, Sherufa and Aldo met King Sonhir’s mer-Saedrans as they came ashore to see the city. Kjelnar stood with the undersea people, looking out of place, though the big Iborian would always be one of them.

“I’ve studied the blockage from underwater,” said Kjelnar. “It will take quite an effort to break apart the sunken ironclads and remove the wreckage so ships can sail through the canal again.”

“The mer-Saedrans can complete the work much more easily than land-dwellers would,” Sonhir said. “Ondun asked us all to work together.”

“We are grateful for your help,” Aldo said.

Sen Sherufa asked, “It will certainly facilitate trade from the soldanates to the Oceansea…but why would you be interested in that?”

Kjelnar laughed, glancing at King Sonhir. “It’s not trade we’re interested in. With the canal open, the mer-Saedrans can swim through and explore the whole Middlesea! An entirely new territory where they’ve—where
we’ve
never been.”

“We did hear the words of Ondun,” Sonhir added. “Our race has always been content with our sunken continent, but we should explore and discover, too. The Middlesea sounds intriguing.”

Sonhir’s daughters had been frolicking in the waters of the canal, and they came ashore, dripping, their diaphanous clothes clinging to lissome bodies. Giggling, they circled Aldo. “We showed you our city, Aldo—now you show us yours!”

He fidgeted. “You tried to drown me when you dragged me underwater.”

“But we kissed you, and then you were fine.” One of the girls startled him by darting forward to kiss him again.

Two more of the mer-king’s daughters embraced him, but he stepped back beside Sen Sherufa as if she could protect him. “No more of that! I am close to Calay now. I want to go home to see my wife and children again.”

“That’s still far away,” sniffed one of the young women. “They’ll never know.”

“Don’t spoil the fun!” said another. King Sonhir seemed amused by his daughters’ behavior.

Sherufa took pity on her fellow chartsman and said in a placating voice, “Now, I’m not familiar with Ishalem myself, but I can find out what we should see. We’ll all go together.”

As a group, they walked to the new Urecari church, up the Arkship Hill, along the stone wall of God’s Barricade, and to the Saedran District where they saw candlemakers, clock workers, physicians, architects, and scientists.

Sonhir’s daughters were at first excited by the exotic sights, but after a few hours they grew footsore and bored. Aldo and Sherufa led them back to the harbor’s edge, where the girls sprang into the water and swam about, teasing Aldo to join them, but he remained on the pier. “Thank you, but now that I have solid ground under my feet again, I intend to keep it that way.”

King Sonhir swam to meet his daughters, treading lightly on the surface. “Our invitation stands for you to rejoin the mer-Saedrans, and we would welcome you at any time. You two could be the first Saedrans to return where you belong.”

“I appreciate the gracious offer,” Aldo said, “but I belong here.”

After the long voyage aboard the
Al-Orizin
and landing in Ishalem, Sen Sherufa longed to be back in her familiar house in Olabar with her own furniture, her own kitchen, and her own sedentary activities. She wanted to sit and read Saedran books, write descriptions of her travels, jot down her thoughts, talk to her neighbors, go to her temple, and live a contented and fulfilled existence. She had never wanted adventures, yet she had more than enough to last her a lifetime. Exploring the world was for other people…and yet she had been forced into it.

Once she made her way back to Olabar, the Saedrans would cheer her return and listen to her stories. All that attention would be embarrassing, and with so much bustle going on all around, her home would not be nearly as quiet as even a cramped cabin aboard the sailing ship. But she would make do.

After her many experiences across the world, Sherufa most looked forward to sharing evenings with the former soldan-shah. Imir was always good company, and she sought him out now.

On her first adventure years ago, she had traveled with him down to Arikara, and flew in a sand coracle across the Great Desert to the Nunghal lands. Imir had kept her company and protected her, and he would be a good traveling companion along civilized roads back to Olabar.

When she reached the large settlement of the Uraban army, she was surprised to see all the tents erected near where the sand coracles had been tied down, their sacks deflated and stored. It reminded her of a Nunghal camp.

She asked other soldiers about the former soldan-shah, and followed their directions to one of the main tents. She called out, “Imir, are you in there?”

She heard movement in the tent, and the flap moved aside. The former soldan-shah stepped out, blinking in the bright light. In one hand he held a platter of pastries and cheese, as if she had caught him in the middle of snacking. When he saw her, he nearly dropped the platter onto the ground, caught it just in time. “Sherufa, my dear, you have returned!”

Standing in front of the tent, Sherufa mused, “I see you find ways to relax, Imir, even after a war and a disaster.”

“It’s not relaxing, my dear—it’s regaining my energy.” He looked around for a place to put the platter and finally just set it on the ground. “We’ve been working without rest for many weeks.”

She eyed him up and down. “I can see that. You look much more fit and trim than I remembered.”

Despite her teasing tone, Imir’s face was serious; his eyes even glistened with tears. “I’m so glad you’ve come safely back to Uraba.”

She embraced him with more warmth than she had intended. Behind Imir, three girls boiled out of the tent, Adreala, Istala, and Cithara. They had been playing a game during midday meal, and now they swarmed around her.

Moments later, Khan Jikaris shouldered them aside, smiling like a starstruck boy. He spoke in clumsy accented Uraban. “The lovely woman comes back to us!” As soon as Sherufa stepped away from the former soldan-shah to acknowledge him, Jikaris swept her into a bear hug and kissed her full on the lips. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered from when you were in my lands.”

A flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks, and Imir scowled. “Enough of that, Jikaris. Let the woman breathe.”

“Why should she breathe, when I am breathless?” Jikaris laughed at his wordplay. “You come to Ishalem, but I take you back across the Great Desert. We will fly away in sand coracles.” He grasped Sherufa’s hand and pulled her toward him, though she resisted. “You will join my wives.”

“I will do no such thing,” she said.

Imir was shocked by the khan’s boldness, but the Nunghal was persistent. “We have another month or two before the winds turn. And even then, we’re in no hurry.” He smiled at Sherufa. “We will go whenever you are ready.”

“I didn’t say I’d ever be ready.”

Imir felt obliged to defend her. He took Sherufa’s arm. “You have to wait your turn, Jikaris. I’ve wanted this fine woman as my wife for years. I have asked her to marry me again and again.”

The khan sniffed. “Then you already have your answer.”

Imir gazed at Sherufa with great passion. “Now that the khan has raised the question, my dear, why not put an end to this uncertainty once and for all? Choose me, and I will make you happy.”

Jikaris was indignant. “I own much more land than this retired old man. I have more buffalo than there are stars in the sky. I have all the plains that we could roam. You must choose me.”

Sherufa began to think she should have stayed in Terravitae. This wasn’t at all the discussion she had expected.

Imir opened his mouth to continue the argument, but she would tolerate no further questions. She extricated her arm from his grasp and stepped away from both men. “Why does everyone assume I must be married to be happy? I’ve done quite well all my life.” She glared at them both, then softened her voice. “I adore you, Imir. We can be happy together, but I refuse to be your wife, as much as I refuse to be the khan’s. Why can’t you just leave it at that?”

Imir was taken aback, speechless, and finally gave Sherufa a foolish smile of defeat and acquiescence, as if he had just lost a game of
xaries
. “All right, my dear. I’ll just leave it at that.”