She kept her voice quiet. “Is there something you’ve not told me about my brothers? Are they in danger?”
“Your brothers are as well as can be expected. They report to me as trained. Jorim is working hard at keeping his mind focused. Keles has always had that ability. I am learning much through them, which shall be to the benefit of all.”
“You’ve not answered my question.”
Qiro almost smiled. “No, I haven’t. Both of them try to keep things from me. It is not out of spite; that I would know. They keep it from me so I will keep it from you and your mother, but I know things. Keles, as expected, is encountering difficulties. He is ill—not seriously, child, have no fear. But he does not sleep well. At times he slips and I see things. The Wastes are stranger than I remembered. It is a challenge for Keles.
“As for your brother Jorim, he is excited about what he sees, but the journey is not progressing as planned. He has made wonderful discoveries, but there is also mystery. He seeks answers to questions that may not have answers.”
Nirati shivered. “You would know if something terrible happened, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, child, I would.” He stared her straight in the face. “But fear not. I shall let nothing befall a grandson of mine if it is in my power. Your brothers have resources they do not know exist. They will do well.”
She gave her grandfather’s hands another squeeze, for she knew not what to say. His voice, though distant as his stare, carried with it warmth and respect that she had never heard when Keles or Jorim were around.
“You love them, don’t you?”
Qiro shook himself, and his eyes refocused. “Of course. I drive them because I love them.” His voice began to rise and a strident tone entered into it. “The world is cruel and cold and hard. It resists the Anturasi attempt to define it, to tame it. It defies us, but it will lose. Their effort will help see to its defeat.”
He squeezed her hands, then let them drop to the coverlet as he stood. “But now you, my pet, are the heart of my concerns. I would not have your sleep troubled. Do you remember the game we used to play?”
Nirati smiled broadly in spite of herself. “Oh, yes. How could I forget?” When she was young and had shown no talent for cartography, she had been crushed. So during the times when Qiro gave Jorim and Keles little tasks to perform, he would sit and draw maps for her. They created the mythical land of Kunjiqui, and as she would describe it, Qiro would add symbols to the map, refining and defining the world of her creation.
Qiro had extended a hand to her and she had slipped from the bed. He led her to the wall and touched it. A section slid back silently, revealing a black corridor. “For you, Nirati, I have found a path to Kunjiqui. Come. It shall be your sanctuary from fear.”
She’d followed him down the corridor and into a sunlit meadow, which couldn’t possibly exist, since all the grass was silk and the birds singing in the trees were creatures of embroidery. The trees had limbs heavy with fruit, all mixed varieties, each huge and succulent. She smiled, seeing a pear with the rind of a lime, and knew that inside would be sweet flesh tasting of both.
Qiro released her hand and let her drift into the land they had created. “You are older now, so there are other things you may desire. The streams that now run with sweet tea may flow with wine. The stars will dance for your pleasure if you so desire. The fruit will be what you crave. The wind will always be gentle and warm. What rain falls will refresh. It will always be thus in Kunjiqui.”
His voice faded and she turned around to see him, but he had vanished like a ghost. That surprised her, but did not make her fear, for she did feel safe here in this land of her imagining. She sat down on the silk grasses and laid her head down, listening to the soft lullabies sung by the birds.
And she slept.
Fully awake now, Nirati summoned the strength to throw off her bedclothes and walked to the wall. She touched the cool stones, then pushed, hoping they would yield, but of course they did not. Not only was that an external wall, but it was three stories above the ground. I dreamed the whole thing. I dreamed his coming. I dreamed Kunjiqui.
Then she looked at her wrists again. The red marks remained, as did the bruises. Why and how they were there, she could not explain. She began to shiver. She turned and, pressing her back to the wall, slid to the floor.
Something was very wrong, but she could not identify it. She knew then that the only peace she would have would be that of an imaginary land created by a young girl.
“I hope,” she breathed, “that it will be enough.”
Chapter Forty-six
27th day, Month of the Tiger, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Stormwolf, off the Forbidding Coast
The coastal survey of the Mountains of Ice had continued for two days when a storm boiled up from the west and blasted the fleet. The skies had darkened so quickly that even Jorim began to suspect that the gods hated them. Most sailors assumed they were close to the gate to the Underworld and that the storm was an effort to keep them away. That sort of idle speculation, however, only came in grumbles over cold meals. The shrieking winds and driving rains made thoughts of anything but survival a luxury.
For Jorim, the four days in which the ships were buffeted and blown eastward were times of sheer terror, relieved only by frustration. Having few skills that were of use in this situation, he was ordered to his cabin. Even his requests for data like speed and direction were rebuffed. He learned later that the device used to measure speed had been tossed into the sea once by a hapless young sailor. The knotted rope tied to it had been yanked so quickly from his hands that he had lost a finger.
The storm’s howl, the rattle of rain against the hull, and the creaking of every joint on the ship reminded him just how fragile the vessel was. Though the Stormwolf was the largest ship any man had ever built, the raging sea was enough to crush it like a paper lantern beneath a wagon wheel. The only thing which prevented that was the skill of the crew and the strength of those on the tiller. They kept the ship moving with the wind and through the towering waves.
Shimik had not taken well to the storm, and hid himself in a swaddling of blanket in the corner of Jorim’s cabin. The little creature mewed when thunder cracked close by and moaned in counterpoint to the ship’s groaning. Jorim wished he could have joined the Fenn in huddling safely away, but his pride and fury at the weather prevented him from doing so.
His mission, reinforced by Captain Gryst’s order, was to perform readings that would determine their position. He had the Gryst chronometer, which was keeping nearly perfect time—at least, by one clock measured against the other. He couldn’t determine noon, nor midnight, nor take readings from the stars, since the storm kept him in his cabin and the clouds hid the sun as well as the stars.
As annoying as the inability to take readings was, the storm prevented him from confirming a discovery he’d made during the survey. Just as the northern pole star was a useful point for navigation in the northern hemisphere, so his grandfather had charged him with selecting its equivalent to the south. He had decided that the Eye of the Cock would suit, and had intended to relay that information to Qiro as soon as he had confirmed it. While the Eye could not be seen from Moriande, the tail of the constellation could, and was known from old Viruk and Soth texts. Once south of the equator it would serve nicely, and was a discovery that would mitigate his error in measurements.
In some ways, being the keeper of the clocks became his only purpose on the ship. Captain Gryst would send sailors to ask him what time it was. And, as the storm wore on, those intervals degraded—as did the manners of everyone on board. Sailors had said a storm that intense could not last more than a day or two but, as it stretched into the third and fourth day, some came to think his timekeeping was mistaken.
After four days, the storm broke and the ocean becam
e as placid as they had ever seen it. Jorim peeked out of his cabin and took readings. He did the math as quickly as possible, then double-checked it. His whistle of surprise had awakened Shimik, who sat up, rubbed his eyes, and awaited an explanation.
“We go longa longa.” Jorim sat back and studied the line he’d drawn on his map. The storm had blown them east over a thousand miles, and a bit north. It had carried them right into the unknown quarter.
It took two days for the fleet to reunite. Two ships had gone down, and the fleet’s survivors were uncertain if they hoped the ships had smashed into the Mountains of Ice or had just been dragged to the bottom of the ocean. The latter would have been a quicker way to die. Promises were made that they would look for survivors on their return trip, but everyone knew those promises were hollow. Currents had carried them further northeast, away from the Mountains of Ice, and getting back down there would be all but impossible.
For another two days the currents and light breezes continued, taking them to the northeast over featureless stretches of ocean. Jorim was about to despair of finding any land when a lookout spotted a line of clouds on the eastern horizon. By the time the sun was setting they saw a dark line beneath them which meant mountains, and the rumor rushed through the fleet that they had found Aefret. Fair winds and calm seas contributed to the buoyant attitude, and Captain Gryst allowed some celebration before she told the crew, “It’s time you did some sailing instead of just waiting for a storm to push us along.”
By dawn, the mountains had grown considerably—and everyone knew those mountains had to be very tall indeed. Jorim remembered Anaeda saying a wall of stone was as unlikely as open ocean in the unknown quarter, but for a day’s sailing it looked as if a wall was exactly what they were heading for. The mountains just kept growing, and none of the coastline looked the least bit inviting.
The fleet turned north and sailed up the coast. After several days, they had their first bit of luck. A gap in the mountains showed the outflow of a river, leading into a natural harbor. More important than the idea of safe anchorage and the prospect of freshwater, the Moondragon lay on the beach. It had been believed lost in the storm, and the sailors had felt that tragedy had just been part of the ship’s evident curse. It clearly had been brought up the beach for repairs. Its survival made many reconsider the curse.
But only as long as it took folks to realize that no people were actually on the ship. As the rest of the fleet came in, Jorim joined Captain Gryst on the wheel deck. He couldn’t see any signs of habitation—no fires or tents. Like everyone else, he assumed the worst—that the sea devils had taken the crew and were even now feasting on them.
“You’ll be thinking the sea devils mild compared to what I’ll do to the lot of you,” Captain Gryst barked. “Keep your eyes open for them and we won’t have another problem. Lieutenant Linor, get together two squads of soldiers to reconnoiter the beach and secure it.”
“Permission to join them, Captain.”
She turned and spitted Jorim with a sharp gaze. “Are you hoping to be eaten by sea devils, Master Anturasi, or to kill sea devils?”
“Neither. If there are sea devils about, we’ll find sign of them quickly. We know they use ships, so I’d imagine that if it were they, they’d be fixing the Moondragon. The reason I want to go is to take a look around. Exploring is exactly why you have me along.”
“I would prefer our soldiers to secure the beach first.”
“I don’t mean to argue with you, but I ask you to consider one thing before you make a final decision. Of everyone on this ship, I have the best chance of determining what is going on. I’ve been outside the Principalities in places that didn’t even have names.”
Her lips flattened into a line, then she nodded. “If you leave my sight, if you leave the beach, don’t come back. I’ll be leaving you here.”
“As ordered, Captain.” Jorim bowed to her, then retreated to his cabin. He strapped on his sword, then joined the soldiers as they descended into two of the ship’s boats. Captain Gryst watched from the wheel deck and Shimik peeked out from between her feet and the railings.
“Lieutenant Linor?”
The woman leading the soldiers looked up. “Yes, Captain?”
“Listen to Master Anturasi, but no one leaves the beach until I give the order.”
“Understood.”
Jorim took his customary place in the bow of the boat as the sailors rowed toward the shore. He studied the vegetation, which was lush, green, thick, and tall. The mountains, which jutted up into the clouds, surrendered less than a mile of land to the ocean, and trees had aggressively colonized that small crescent. He might have expected the ocean water to have killed everything off, but clearly storms dumped an incredible amount of water on the cliffs. That freshwater would have been enough to hydrate them.
And the river as well. The sailors cursed as they had to pull against its current. Jorim suspected the bay’s water was more fresh than salt, and wondered what sort of fish he’d find in it. Would they be riverine, marine, or some curious mix?
The boat rode a breaker into the beach and Jorim was out before oars had been shipped. He sank to a knee and let a handful of sand drift through his fingers. It felt normal, and the pieces of shell and strands of seaweed were recognizable. Even the calls of the birds he heard were vaguely familiar.
He got up and joined Lieutenant Linor as she walked the perimeter of the shore near the ship. “No tracks of the sea devils.”
She shook her head. “Nothing to show a fight.” As they walked along the beach she pointed to a path leading into the interior. “They off-loaded as much as they could and carried it inland. Maybe they found a cave or a hilltop where they could raise a structure to shield them.”
They paused at the river’s edge. Silvery fish swam in the current and birds waded in to knife sharp beaks at them. Jorim crouched and scooped up a handful of the water. He sniffed it, then poured it out. He rubbed a bit against his lips, but felt no tingle there or on his hand. “I don’t think there is anything wrong with the water. Save for the blue plumage, that bird could be an Emperor stork. If it’s drinking and eating, this place is probably safe.”
He stood and looked back at the beached ship. “They made it into this harbor four or five days ago. They off-loaded the ship, dragged it in, began to make repairs. Let’s say that took two days. Then something happened. Something that stopped them working and prevented the lot of them from returning. What could that be?”
Lieutenant Linor looked past him and her face drained of blood. Jorim spun and had the answer to his question.
A copper-skinned man stood at the entrance to the path. He was impossibly tall, and muscled as thickly as anyone Jorim had ever seen. He wore upper body armor woven from thick fibers, and a loincloth of finer weaving. Both had been decorated with geometric designs rendered in bright yellows, greens, and blues. Beaten copper greaves and bracers protected his shins and forearms. He had a small round shield in his left hand and an odd war club in his right. As near as Jorim could tell from a quick glance, black stone blades had been set in the club.
He made a mental note to study the weapon later, but that was only because the giant’s mask demanded immediate attention. It did nothing to restrain the man’s long black hair, which fell over his shoulders. The mask was made of gold, and had been inset with jade over all; jet likewise surrounded the open mouth and the eyes. A trio of long, gaudy green feathers with yellow eyes rose another three feet above his head, making him a full ten feet tall.
Jorim held a hand out, freezing Lieutenant Linor’s attempt to draw her sword. Realizing he might be committing the final and most foolish act of his life, Jorim bowed and held it, then tugged on her arm to draw her down, too. Straightening up, he smiled with far more serenity than he felt.
“Peace of the gods be upon you.”
The giant bowed his head, then his voice echoed from the mask. “May their smiles grace your life.”
Jorim blin
ked. “You have a Naleni accent.”
The man nodded. “Come. Your friends await.”
Chapter Forty-seven
27th day, Month of the Tiger, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Opaslynoti, Dolosan
On the road to Opaslynoti, Keles Anturasi decided the place’s name was sufficient to be the foundation for any number of romantic poems. It was far enough from Moriande that poets didn’t need to care about the reality of it. The wild magics that raged through the area could have allowed it to be anything, and the name itself was a blend of Viruk and Imperial terminology that hinted at a grand history buried beneath layers of mystery.
But any romantic notions began to wither with the realization that there really was no road to Opaslynoti. A trade route did run from the seaport of Sylumak north-northwest to the city, but the shifting landscape of Dolosan’s western reaches meant the route seldom appeared the same twice. Whole hillsides might melt beneath black rain, turning valleys into plains on which would grow forests of thorn trees. The branches would sweep flocks of birds from the sky and the plants would devour them. Those who chose to enter such places on foot fared no better, and Borosan’s thanaton bore bright scars on its carapace from an aborted survey of such a thicket.
Travelers in the land remained few, with most coming up from Sylumak or overland from Dolosan, as they themselves had. To the south lay Irusviruk, but the Viruk wanted little to do with Men, especially those mad enough to dwell in Dolosan. If anyone came out of Ixyll, none of the scroungers talked about it, suggesting that way was as closed today as it had been when his grandfather had tried to visit years ago.
Rekarafi watched the scroungers carefully, not trusting them at all. They preferred to be known as thaumstoners or thaumstoneers—a generational split, it appeared—but he referred to them as talkiegio. He said it meant scroungers, but he seemed to inflect it the way Keles would lice, and the thaumstoners didn’t like it. They shot back that he must have been an outlaw, since outlaws were the only Viruk found in Dolosan.
A Secret Atlas Page 37
