A Secret Atlas

by Michael A. Stackpole

  That, or all will be done in haste and disaster will result.

  Cyron smothered the desire to shake his head. Had Pyrust been in his place, he’d have exploded off the throne and likely kicked the insolence out of Koir. Probably have to kick him to death to do that. While a kick or two would be gratifying, Cyron would have just as soon bribed Koir and his fellow ministers to do nothing. Unfortunately, they would have taken his gold, then used it to fund their plan, the whole time conspiring with his own ministers to keep the results of any disaster secret.

  Koir bowed, but not low enough for his head to touch the carpet. “The dragon’s wisdom and friendship is the greatest treasure of the Helosundian people. I shall withdraw and share it with my leaders. May the Strength of the Nine continue to enrich the Komyr House.”

  The Helosundian minister rose and backed from the room. Pelut watched him go. He then turned to Cyron and bowed. “He is where we desire him to be.”

  Cyron snorted. “Committed to doing nothing, or speeding forward on a course that will create more problems? Meleswin is a disaster in the offing. If they cannot see it is a Desei trap, they are stupid. I can only hope Koir leads the horde into the city.”

  “Unlikely, Highness.”

  “I know, which means their brave die and their idiots remain.” Cyron again snapped open his fan, cutting off any further discussion. “A dragon weeps, not of disgust, but pity for courage spent worthlessly.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  5th day, Month of the Rat, Year of the Dog

  9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  736th year since the Cataclysm

  Stormwolf, in the South Seas

  Only two-thirds of a week out of Archurko and Jorim realized he’d learned far more about the Fennych than any other source in the world—at least, any human source. He had no doubt the Viruk knew a lot about them, but he hardly expected their reports to be without bias. He watched the creature carefully, keeping it with him constantly for the first three days, then letting it wander from his side once Captain Gryst became convinced it would cause no mayhem.

  Jorim had encountered creatures, like the rainbow-lizard, which would shift color so it could fit in with its background. The Fenn seemed able to do so with his shape and even personality. Isolated from his species, the Fenn immediately began to adapt to life among humans. He took on more human proportions, though his head, eyes, and ears remained large. In fact, according to measurements Jorim took, his head, orbital cavities, and eyes actually grew larger.

  Jorim had explained it to Iesol rather simply. “He exhibits a marked degree of neoteny—he’s modeling himself after a human child because that’s what invokes our most protective instincts.”

  “But we have no children on board.”

  “That’s true, but the overlarge head and large eyes are common for infants of most species.” Jorim nodded as the Fenn leaped from a squat and swatted at a cable-end being dangled playfully by a sailor. “Likewise such play behavior is common. He’s slowly being socialized in the ways of Men, and being cute means he gets attention, avoids harm, and gets fed.”

  It came down to much more than simple imitative behavior, however, for fairly quickly the Fenn began to speak. He showed a preternatural ability for discerning and discriminating sounds—and Jorim thought this might have been one of the reasons his ears actually got bigger even though they were decidedly not human. Syntax seemed irrelevant to him, but he developed an insatiable desire to know the “nama” of everything and everyone. “Jrima nama,” followed by the sound of a paw patting something, became so common that Jorim found himself answering in his sleep.

  The learning of language clearly was an adaptive skill, and the fact that the Fenn was able to attach meaning to more conceptual words provided a big clue as to his level of intelligence. After several days, the Fenn provided his own “nama,” by patting his chest and announcing “Shimik.” Shimik often mumbled to himself in a melodious language, but resisted any of Jorim’s entreaties to share words.

  Shimik did learn very quickly what behavior was and was not allowed, such as waking folks from a sound sleep or interfering with people at work. He likewise picked up language from belowdecks and incorporated it into his vocabulary. Thus anything broken or bad became “dunga.” Being able to provoke laughter was quickly rewarded, so he became something of a clown, though he turned those antics off when he joined Jorim in his cabin and Jorim needed silence to take measurements, record data, or communicate with Qiro.

  Despite having had less than a week to study Shimik, Jorim drew conclusions about the creature that explained how it could be so docile away from others of its kind, so intelligent, and yet become bestial in a community. While alone, Shimik remained so compliant that Jorim could force his mouth open, study his teeth, or expose his claws without so much as a growl. The offensive weapons that made the Fenn capable of attacking and killing a Viruk warrior were still present, just not used.

  What he decided was that the Fenn were inordinately intelligent and creatures well suited to living in a society. When away from their own kind they felt extremely vulnerable, and with good cause, since a lone Fenn was unlikely to be able to defeat a lot of creatures—and certainly not a Viruk. In a Fennych mob, however, they had little to fear. Their numbers could overwhelm almost anything, and the chances of any one of them being singled out and killed dropped with each new Fenn added to the group. When a bunch of them came together, the need for intelligence fled and they just acted and reacted together.

  What he assumed happened on Ethgi was simple. Under normal circumstances, Fennych probably had their own separate ranges and remained relatively solitary. They obviously found members of the opposite sex for breeding, and he wondered a great deal about the size of litters and the like. The kits, when old enough, would spread out and find their own ranges, but as more of them grew up, the population expanded and forced them into closer company with each other. A mob would form and go rambling off, killing things and pushing into a new area where they could spread out again. The whole process would begin anew, with the time between mobbing determined by food supplies, local predators, and other factors that would limit population growth. On Ethgi there was no place to go save into the village, and no prey to be had but villagers, which resulted in the situation in which the Stormwolf had intervened.

  Studying Shimik and taking navigational readings provided Jorim with something to do. Had he not had the Fenn to watch, he likely would have gone mad, for there was little else for him to do. The Stormwolf sailed south, looking to catch a current running east. As they went, they looked for the islands in the chain, but had little success. This frustrated him because the Soth chart had seemed promising. They’d found Ethgi with it, after all.

  Captain Gryst was more inclined to dismiss the absence of islands. She stood with Jorim at the aft rail on the wheel deck, studying the faintly luminescent wake of the ship as the sun slowly set. “There are various explanations for why the islands aren’t here, Jorim. That map was over three thousand years old. What were indicated as islands may have been atolls exposed at a time when the sea was at a lower level. And we have no indication the Viruk understood more about longitude than we do, so they could be leagues away from where we expect to find them.”

  Jorim shook his head. “You might as well say some god reached down, scooped them up, and moved them somewhere else. They should be there. The arc was right on the map for a chain of islands. Maybe they were old volcanoes or something.”

  “Maybe they were just legends to the Viruk, much as the Mountains of Ice are legends to us.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Jorim cocked an eyebrow at her and turned to look south past the prow. “They’re there.”

  “How do you know, Master Anturasi?”

  “It stands to reason. If one goes north, through the Turca Wastes and beyond, you come to a land of ice. It makes sense that the same conditions
would exist south. That, coupled with the legends, indicate the Mountains of Ice will be there.”

  Shimik, whose fur had grown shorter and had taken on the honey-gold hue of the oak deck, loped over, then held his paws up to Jorim. “Jrima uppa uppa.” The little fingers twitched and Jorim lifted him up lest claws appear and he start to climb.

  Anaeda smiled as the Fenn waved a hand at her. “I find you quite curious, Master Anturasi. You are here taking measurements so we can define the world and know it better. You are studying this Fenn very carefully and recording what you learn. You similarly sketch the fish we catch, draw birds we see, map out the constellations that are not visible from Moriande, yet you allow yourself to believe in a land where the mountains are made of ice based on nothing more than fanciful stories from a time of heroes. How do you reconcile such things?”

  The sea breeze made his braids float and Shimik tried to catch one in his paws. “I’m not certain, Captain, that I need to reconcile those things. There are plenty of people who live in mountain valleys who are certain the world is flat and the sky a bowl over it. They are doubtlessly convinced that we’ve already sailed off the edge of the earth.

  “But I believe the mountains are there, and I know why. In part it’s the stories I’ve heard. All the ancient maps show them. As I said before, if we have a land of ice in the north, why not the south? And the measurements I’ve taken show it’s getting colder. Many of the birds and fish I’ve seen resemble those in the colder climes to the north. It stands to reason that the Mountains of Ice exist.”

  “I accept your reasoning, but where do you draw the line?” A smile twisted her lips. “There are those who believe that, beyond the mountains, there is a hole that is the entrance to the Underworld. If you venture in there, you can find all the wealth that is sacrificed and sent to our ancestors. You can bet that if we find the mountains, there will be those who want to make the trek beyond them.”

  Jorim shook his head. “I know the legend, but I put as much faith in that as I do the idea that Empress Cyrsa will return from the west when the Land of Nine Princes is threatened. The idea that she and her surviving heroes are just sleeping makes no sense. There’s no information to support it. When she didn’t come back, folks started that story to make themselves feel good. Times were so bad they wanted a little hope, so they made up a savior who would return if things got worse.”

  She nodded. “That very well could be what happened. Or, she is out there, waiting.”

  “Why, Captain, I’d not thought you would allow yourself to believe in such superstition.”

  Anaeda’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t limit yourself for the sake of making a point. You were quite clear in amassing the evidence that leads you to conclude that the Mountains of Ice exist. There is more to suggest that Empress Cyrsa existed and might yet exist. We both know that the jaecai are said to live longer lives. We know she and her warriors were present at the spawning of the Cataclysm, in which great amounts of magical energy were released. You’ve seen the changes it made in the world.

  “Think about it, Master Anturasi. Outside many villages there are circles in which swordsmen engage in their duels, and where two jaecai have met, magical energy is released. In some of those circles, the ravages of winter are never seen, and in others the snow that falls never melts even in the heat of the summer. Thus magic can clearly preserve as well as destroy, so why is it not acceptable to believe she is preserved as well?”

  “That’s a very good point, Captain.” Jorim looked at Shimik. “You are very heavy, and the evidence points to your needing exercise. Earn keepa, Shimik.”

  With a shriek of delight, the Fenn leaped from his arms and scampered off, leaping the rail to the main deck and disappearing down the nearest hatch, bound for the bowels of the ship. One of the few reasons Captain Gryst had allowed him to travel alone was because he took pleasure in ratting, and proved far better at it than any of the dogs brought on board for that purpose.

  “Again, you make a very good point. She could be out there.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why are you bringing this up?”

  She leaned against the railing and kept her voice low. “I read your reports and add bits and pieces of them to the log. I read the measurements you’re taking and compare them to my own. We agree, for the most part, on things. As much as I tell you our inability to find the islands means nothing, I find something disquieting about it.”

  “Meaning?”

  Anaeda exhaled slowly. “Islands don’t just vanish. We could have missed them—just sailed past in the night—but we’re not traveling so fast that we would have missed all signs of them. We’d see clouds over them, or bits of wood drifting. Something would be out here.”

  “So we have no empirical evidence for having missed them, but that means nothing.” Jorim kept his voice low. “It’s something else, isn’t it? Something that isn’t as substantial.”

  “I have been on a ship for over eighteen years, almost twenty-seven. I’ve seen a lot, and something odd is on the wind. There is something out there that isn’t right. It could be your Mountains of Ice, but it could be something else.”

  Jorim frowned. “Do you think we’ve sailed into an area, say, where some huge, prehistoric naval engagement was fought and magic lingers?”

  “I don’t know. That could be one explanation. Just as easy is that magic flows in currents just like water, and we are caught in a crosscurrent of it.” She shrugged. “It could be something else entirely. I am seeing no ill effects on the crew, and we have plenty of supplies, and our measurements indicate we are moving south steadily. It is just something I can’t explain, and, as such, it does pose a threat to the fleet. And I don’t like threats to my fleet.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Jorim thought for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t think my grandfather would be much help if I asked him about this. It’s too bad my brother isn’t here. He’s the one who remembers all the folklore of old. He’d know if something had happened.”

  “See what you can remember. I would appreciate any insights possible.” She straightened up and looked him in the eyes. “Needless to say, you speak to no one about this. Not even Iesol.”

  Jorim smiled. “You don’t want the benefits of Urmyr’s wisdom on this point?”

  “I’m not that desperate yet. We’ll see what we can come up with before widening the circle of people involved in this. Anything odd could upset the crew, and if we are looking at trouble, I want them with us.”

  Jorim smiled ever so slightly. “That’s why you’re letting Shimik run around? As a distraction?”

  “No, actually I like that he kills rats. And I like that the crew sees him as a good omen. They believe in these talismans of good luck and, before this journey is ended, that belief will be seriously tested.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  5th day, Month of the Rat, Year of the Dog

  9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  736th year since the Cataclysm

  Telarunde, Solaeth

  As they made their way up the mountainside to the shattered Fortress of Xoncyr, the irony that his brother would have gladly been trooping off to destroy this monster was not lost on Keles Anturasi. Jorim wouldn’t have needed anyone else to accompany him, and he’d come back having slain the creature as easily as a leaf falls from a tree. It would be another of his grand adventures, which would enrage Grandfather and earn him the admiration of the flower of the nobility.

  He smiled, trudging behind Ciras. That he was unsuited to such an adventure was a point Tyressa had made to Moraven Tolo earlier in the morning. She’d pointed to Keles and Borosan and said, “The two of them should remain here while we take care of the creature.”

  Borosan, who had spent most of the morning tinkering with a small metal ball that had been pieced together from bits and pieces in a big leather satchel, raised his head and blinked. “Under no circumstances.”

&n
bsp; The Keru had smiled and squatted. “I appreciate that you came out here to try to rid Telarunde of this creature, but your effort failed.”

  “No it didn’t.” Borosan set his handwork down and pointed to the ruins of what the locals called Dorunkun. “My thanaton is up there already. If it has not killed the creature yet, it is because it has not figured out how to do it.”

  Before anyone could ask what a thanaton was, Borosan took up his ball again, pushed one panel aside, twisted something inside, and tossed the ball underhanded toward the center of their hut’s dirt floor. It bounced once, then four metal legs popped out. It scuttled to the left, turned, then a circle irised open. A high-pitched thrum sounded, then a rat squealed, stuck to the wall with a finger-length metal dart impaling it.

  Ciras leaped up and half drew his sword. The small device retracted its legs and lay there, inert and unthreatening. Moraven studied the ball for a moment or two, exchanged glances with Tyressa, then bowed his head toward the gyanridin. “The thanaton you sent up there is larger?”

  “Much. I built it out of parts I had in my wagon. This mouser is just a model. The real one is up there studying the creature and figuring out how best to kill it.”

  The Keru slid a whetstone along the edge of a spear she’d appropriated from a local. “That certainly works well on a rodent, but that’s not what’s up there waiting for us.”

  Silence greeted her grim comment. Keles again felt his brother would have been better at determining what it was they faced. In an effort to get as much information as possible, Keles had interviewed everyone who had seen the creature or had ever been in the fortress. Far more of the latter existed than the former, and he didn’t believe but one or two of those who said they’d seen it. The best description made it out to be a giant serpent that could project a poisonous vapor. It had fur and a mane and had been able to drag off three strong men the night it attacked the village.