by Guy Antibes
The captain gripped a token in his hand, still unsure about the situation. The chief put his hand over the captain’s. “You keep this. I can’t repay you for what you are doing, but hopefully these tokens will help.” He put a ring of five more tokens in the captain’s hands.
The other pirate ship arrived, and Pol looked over at the pirate captain who had first captured their group. The man waved amiably once he saw Loa in his Chief’s arms. Pol wondered what the pirate captain would think about Koakai’s death. Perhaps he cared as little as Loa’s father.
Chief Holianai called Pol over. “I see you are wearing the appropriate attire for one of your capabilities. Loa said you saved her from a real Circle-swordsman in Wailua. I am indebted to you for saving my life just now.”
Pol bowed. “It’s the least I can do. Fadden and I are both pattern-masters.”
The Chief waved his hand in front of his face. “Whatever they are, but you rescued my girl from the fortress, as well. You will be a legend among the pirates.”
“I’d rather not be that well-known,” Pol said. “I’m only sixteen, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to live up to the legend. Just be happy your daughter is safe, and Fadden and the rest of us will work to keep her safe until we take her to the Empire.”
The Chief clapped Pol on his back, a little too hard in Pol’s opinion. “I respect that. You’ll be a legend in my town. Will that be all right?”
Pol nodded.
“Watch out for me on my way back.” Holianai winked at Pol and gave his daughter one last embrace. “You can write to me when you are able.”
Loa nodded. “I will.” Her eyes were red and still rimmed with tears.
The Chief nodded to the captain and made his way across the gangplank without Pol’s intervention. Pol didn’t know if he’d be successful another time, so soon after teleporting him to the deck. He was glad he wasn’t tested.
The pirates withdrew the gangplank, and the pirate ship circled behind Pol’s ship to join the other on the way west, back to The Shards.
Pol watched the pair of ships dwindle in the distance after Loa’s last wave to her father. He was surprised when she sought out Kell, who held her tight as she wept. Someone kicked him in the back of his knee, making his leg buckle.
“Privacy is a good thing,” Shira said from behind. She came to Pol’s side and took him to the rail, away from Kell and Loa.
“So it’s time for Sister to show me her clothes?” Pol said, knowing that would throw Shira off pace.
“None of that,” she said pulling on his ear. “Take that ridiculous hat off. You didn’t need it.”
Pol smiled. “I didn’t, and I’m glad for that, and even more glad that Loa was able to give a proper goodbye to her father. I wish her mother could do the same.”
“Not with that relationship,” Shira said, “I know.”
“You do?”
The Shinkyan colored. “Maybe something for another time. I think the captain wants you up on the poop deck. I’ll stay down here.”
Pol joined Fadden and the captain, now getting the ship underway.
“We didn’t need your sword, but your magic saved us,” the captain said. “I thought we’d be sandwiched between two ships after their Chief made the plunge. It’s nearly certain death, dropping between two ships.”
“If we weren’t here, they wouldn’t have tried to board,” Pol said.
The captain laughed, but he wasn’t amused. “Do you think they tarried in these waters and didn’t take advantage of the shipping?”
Pol took a moment to create a pattern and found a high probability that the captain was right. They were pirates after all.
“I didn’t think I’d have an actual pirate chief on my deck and live to tell the tale.”
“Something to tell the grandkiddies,” Fadden said.
“That would be the case if I knew where any of them were,” the captain said and then laughed.
Pol expected the captain had ladies in various ports. A life at sea could be cut short at any time, at least that’s what Koakai had told him when they came up with the cover story that he used on Takai, the meat carter. He shook his head at the magician’s memory. He had helped them until his utter betrayal, and it had cost the life of Akonai Haleaku’s mother. Loa’s rescue had come at some cost.
“You can change your clothes again. The sailors like it when passengers show themselves to be adept in the rigging. I do, too.”
Pol bowed to them both and accepted the dismissal. He reached the main deck and sought out Shira. “I’ve been asked to climb the ropes again. Do you want to join me?”
Shira laughed. “I may be capable, but that’s something I don’t want to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
She giggled. “Show you my Sister’s clothes, but that’s out of the question now. You have other things to do.”
~~~
Fistyra
Chapter Twenty
~
After a month at sea, the Bossomian ship entered the port of Bastiz. Pol had expected a larger wharf. The Bastiz docks were half the size of Wailua.
“The city is large, but why are the docks so few?” Pol asked the captain as they began their approach.
“Their treaty with Bossom dictates it. Most of Fistyra’s produce is shipped overland, some to Botarra, but most to Bossom. So they don’t have a need for docks, or so the story goes.”
“And Bossom has a large navy?” Fadden said, asking the question Pol was about to pose.
“Not as large as you might think, since the capital, Missibes, is so far inland. The situation is complicated by the treaty with Duchary.”
Pol thought he had it figured out. “Duchary is a trading nation and ships Bossomian products to Eastril. That would mean Duchary’s agriculture isn’t as sophisticated, and Fistyrans supply their staples to Bossom at lower prices. Fistyran produce goes to Bossom, Bossom produce is shipped out of Ducharl’s ports.”
The captain raised his eyebrows. “You are a smart lad to have seen right through the Bossomian strategy. It is no secret. Both Duchary and Fistyra have smaller armies, and Bossom has successfully fought both countries before. We have no desire to rule the other countries, since we consider ourselves to be above it all.”
The pattern fit perfectly. Pol understood how it all worked. “And Gekelmar is too far north and offers nothing to Bossom?”
“Nothing. The land is not productive, and Fassin is too far away from Missibes, so the Gekelmarans are disregarded. They trade as much with the Terilanders as they do with Bossom and Duchary.” The ship approached the dock. “Excuse me. You may get your things. We will dock soon, and once the portmaster clears our cargo for transshipment, you’ll be free to disembark.”
Fadden thanked the captain and they said their goodbyes. It had been an easy trip with relatively calm seas, and other than Chief Holianai’s exciting visit, unremarkable. Pol thought he could get used to unremarkable.
~
Bastiz didn’t offer anything exotic or new. The city was busy, and they found the food to be mediocre, rather than bland. The market wasn’t outstanding like the excitement Pol had felt in Wailua, but they didn’t worry about black-hatted magicians.
They stayed in their rooms for a few days as they gained their land legs, hard at work practicing the Fistyran language. Fadden said it was similar in structure to Bossomian, but most of the words were different.
Pol and Shira ventured out after a morning of language lessons where they were, as usual, ahead of the others, giving Fadden a chance to work more with Paki, Loa, and Kell.
They held hands as they walked on a pavement of small, square-cut stones, each about the size of Pol’s palm. They turned a corner and stopped, looking at a massive squat cathedral of some kind, built out of a rose-colored stone.
“Do you think we can go inside?” Shira asked.
Pol wondered. “They can always just say no.”
She squeezed his hand. “Let’s go
in.”
The building was the most interesting structure Pol had seen in the city. They walked across an empty square. The city planted trees in breaks in the pavement, but the branches only showed the swelling of buds. Spring hadn’t quite arrived to Fistyra.
No one stopped them at the door as they entered. Pol had expected a dark interior, but they were bathed in light. He marveled at the high, arched ceilings and the full-length windows reaching upward.
“It’s different inside that it looks outside,” Shira said. Her words echoed throughout the empty space.
They heard footsteps. “Is this your first time to Bastiz?” A shaven-headed man dressed in a simple dark red robe padded across the floor to them. He looked closely at Shira.
“You are a Shinkyan?”
Shira nodded. “Is that bad?”
The man, middle-aged, but vigorous-looking, clucked his tongue. “No, no, no, no. I’ve actually been to Shinkya once, and then only at a port. I forget its name. Your tongue is so foreign to my ears. We only stopped for supplies. We had blown off course. A different place, to be sure.”
“I live in the capital city and have never been to any of our ports,” Shira said.
“I understand there aren’t that many.”
Shira nodded. “Not many.”
“And you? I can see Terilander blood in you, but you’re not Terilander. I’m pleased that you have acquired a smattering of our language.”
Pol smiled. “We just got started. I am from the Baccusol Empire, and we are touring Volia. I’ve been told I have relatives in northern Volia, so we are headed for Fassin.”
“Don’t miss visiting the Cathedral of the Sleeping God. There is a sleeping god, you know. I’ve been there myself. Demron, they call him. He sits in a curious metal and glass capsule. The workmanship can only be heavenly.”
Pol wanted to know more, but he hadn’t understood all of the priest’s words as it was, so he had to ask the priest to say it again.
“You aren’t of that religion?”
The man shook his head. “We have our own god in Fistyra. She is Mother Phairoon, who brings the sun, the water, and the earth all together to provide us with the sustenance in our lives.” The priest brought his hands together, closed his eyes and raised his head as if to look up into the heavens.
“Is that why there are so many windows?” Shira asked.
The priest smiled. “Of course. There are seven edifices like this in Fistyra. Our brothers, the Bossomians, designed our buildings centuries ago. They are unique in the world.”
“Unique in my experience,” Pol said. He looked around at the walls and the columns perceiving the building’s pattern. “I think I can see what works here. The ceiling spreads the weight through the arches. Even though there are many arches, most of the load still lands on the walls. The columns act to reduce the downward weight. The walls are thicker surrounding the windows, which don’t bear any weight. If you built a model, there wouldn’t be anything between the walls. The cathedral isn’t as squat as it looks, since the walls between the windows have to be thick, or they’d bow out.”
The priest had to help Pol with a few of the words.
“Amazing that a youth could discern the secrets of the architecture.”
“I’ve been trained to recognize patterns.”
The priest gave Pol a dubious look. “You are a magician?”
Pol nodded. “In the Empire, magicians are taught that there are more patterns outside of magic than within.”
“Philosopher-magicians,” the priest said. “I would have never thought.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Pol said.
A side-door opened, and ten or twelve priests entered the cathedral. “Prelate, the Ruling Council is waiting.”
“Where are you staying? I would like to talk further,” the priest said.
Pol couldn’t detect any animosity, so he gave them the name of their inn.
“I must leave you. Feel free to wander,” he said as the other priests hustled him out of the cathedral.
A few more people entered and wandered around much like they had.
“I’ve seen enough, and I’d like to know what a ‘prelate’ is. Didn’t the others mention a Ruling Council?” Shira said. “I think you impressed him.” She squeezed his hand.
Pol shook his head. They left the cathedral and didn’t see anything else that compared, so they returned to their inn. Fadden was still talking to the other three when they walked in.
“Did you learn anything?” Fadden asked. He looked at the others. “Class dismissed.”
“What is a prelate? We met one today at the cathedral.”
“Are you sure he was the Prelate?”
Shira shrugged. “He wore a dark red robe. He was middle-aged but looked very fit.”
“We talked about architecture,” Pol said, “and he’s even been to Fassin.”
“Excuse me,” Fadden said. He walked to the bar and talked to the female bartender a bit. She looked at Pol and Shira and back at Fadden while the two conversed.
“I was right. You met the Prelate. That is the title of the leader of the Fistyran religion. He frequents the cathedral every few days to speak with the common people who wander in.”
“Pounces, is a better term,” Shira said. “We were minding our own business when he came over to us.”
“He identified Shira as a Shinkyan. He landed at a Shinkyan port once,” Pol said.
“It has to be him. Was he civil? He is well-liked in Bastiz.”
“He said he would like to talk further, but I’m sure he was being polite. I’ve been given the same excuse often enough. Young princes are often given that line by nobles who are ready to move on to an actually interesting person at a reception.”
Shira laughed. “It’s not like that in Shinkya.”
Pol resisted asking her what it was like. He didn’t need another bruise. “He asked where we stayed.”
“You told him?” Fadden asked.
“We aren’t being pursued in Fistyra, and I didn’t sense any malice from the man.”
Fadden shook his head. “You’re probably right. The King of Fistyra relies on the Ruling Council to advise him. Magicians are not particularly esteemed in Fistyra and have a guild. Think of it as a Magicians Circle without the drive to dominate. Magicians of any real ability are generally sent away to Bossom, anyway.”
Fadden did a quick lesson with Shira and Pol and decided that they just needed to learn more words. “Now learn how to write. From Fistyra north, the countries use mostly the same alphabet. That includes Teriland. In fact, Teriland and Gekelmar’s languages are very close to Eastrilian.” He scribbled on a piece of paper and tossed it to Shira. The bartender said there is a book merchant four doors down or so. He should carry this book or something like it. Hurry, the shops close a bit earlier in Bastiz.”
Shira and Pol left Fadden chatting with the bartender. The late afternoon had turned a bit chilly, so Pol put his arm around Shira as much to stay warm himself as to lend her a little warmth of his own.
“Are you being nice to me?” Shira said, looking up at Pol.
It always shocked him that he had grown taller since they first met at the Tesnan monastery three seasons ago. “I have the ability,” Pol said.
That got him a pinch through his coat. “Maintain that talent, Brother.”
“Brother?”
Shira stopped. “You keep calling for Sister. Can’t I call you Brother?”
Pol snorted. “I’m not your brother.”
“Maintain that talent,” Shira said.
She put her arm around his waist again before they found the bookseller shop. Shira sneezed as she entered the dusty shop, and Pol could smell old leather and paper in the air.
Pol noticed that he could puzzle out a few words by seeking out the pattern of the letters. They were like a stylized version of the alphabet they used in the Empire. He inquired about the lesson book. The shopkeeper left him to go searching
.
“What is the alphabet like in Shinkya?” Pol said.
Shira looked at him out of the side of her eye as she continued to examine the pages of a book. “We use something entirely different. Our writing represents thoughts and pictures, not sounds that are spoken.”
“You’d have to have something to describe new things.”
“We do, but they are patterned, so we use patterns in our writing, too.”
“You’ll have to show me a word when we get back to the inn,” Pol said.
She smiled at him. “One word and one word only.”
“I found them!” the shopkeeper said. “I don’t get too many requests for language books in Bastiz. The church runs schools, and they provide free materials.”
The man put four books on the counter. “This is a primer on writing. Here are two storybooks, always good for reading, and this is a more advanced grammar book. They are all I have, I’m afraid. I don’t even have multiples of these.”
“Good enough,” Pol said. “How much?”
He quickly learned that negotiation was as important in Fistyra as it was in South Parsimol.
When they reached the inn, four uniformed men stood at the inn’s entrance. Pol checked his body for weapons. He took to carrying a small bundle of skewer splinters, along with a few throwing knives, on his person. Their chainmail and other weapons were upstairs in their rooms.
Pol took a deep breath and walked through the door of the inn. Shira carried the books, since she had nothing to defend her, and a book was better than nothing.
Fadden still sat at the same table as he had when Pol and Shira returned from their walk. Loa, Kell, and Paki had joined Fadden, along with a man in a fancy uniform.
“We will be changing locations,” Fadden said. “The King of Fistyra and the Prelate would like to have us join them for dinner tonight, and that includes rooms at the palace.”
The Fistyran stood. “Let me introduce myself. I am Captain Deaz of the King’s Service. Master Loria has accepted on your behalf.” He bowed to Pol and to Shira.
“No low profile in Bastiz,” Pol said to Fadden Loria.
“Not when you have a meaningful conversation with the Prelate of Fistyra.” Fadden smiled at the bartender, who looked with interest on the gathering. “Better food in the palace, I would imagine?”
