The Key to Creation (59 page)

“The ur-sikara and I will be pleased to assist in your discussions, Queen Anjine,” said the prester. “But if you have truly read the Book, you know that neither Aiden nor Ondun would want you to slaughter these people.”

The Tierran woman next to him spoke up. “I can help you end this war, Majesty. But I won’t help you to destroy Omra or the Uraban people.”

Anjine was taken aback. “You are clearly Tierrans. This is a day of victory for Aiden! I am your queen.”

“And Omra is my husband. My name was Adrea, from Windcatch, but I have lived half of my life in Uraba. If a prester and the ur-sikara can find common ground and discuss peace, then so can the queen and the soldan-shah.”

Behind them, a clamor arose from the Pilgrim’s Path that led up the opposite side of Arkship Hill. Soot-stained, blood-spattered, and wild-eyed, another group of Tierran soldiers charged to the top of the hill: Destrar Broeck and his nephew Iaros, leading a weary squad they had brought from the Gremurr mines. Anjine felt her heart swell. “There will be no need for negotiation.”

The Iborian destrar and his armed fighters saw the queen’s banner and rushed forward, cheering. The Uraban defenders, hemmed in by Aidenists now, responded with a ragged, defiant shout for their soldan-shah.

Omra looked trapped and desperate, obviously realizing that all was lost. Anjine waited for him to drop to his knees before her.

But the shaggy black-haired foreigner let out a bellow of laughter and pointed to the sky. Anjine glanced up as a gasp of amazement rippled through her fighters.

Drifting in over the hilltop came fifteen bright balloons attached to sturdy wicker baskets. The baskets were filled with archers—Uraban archers.

Anjine caught her breath, turned her attention away for only a moment, stunned by these incredible reinforcements from the sky. In that instant, Soldan-Shah Omra saw his chance. He lunged toward the exposed queen with his spear, all the years of anger adding momentum to his thrust.

Without a flicker of hesitation, Mateo dove in front of Anjine. Omra rammed the jagged spearpoint with all his might through the gap in Mateo’s loosened cuirass, between his ribs, and deep into his chest.

Anjine screamed. The Tierran woman and the prester both cried out in dismay.

With the spear buried in him, Mateo fell to the ground.

Destrar Broeck’s roar was louder than a firepowder explosion. “Kill them! Kill them all!” Howling, his warriors hurtled into the Uraban soldiers with redoubled fury, hacking and stabbing.

Even as the unrestrained storm of blades and blood raged around her, Anjine somehow dismounted and dropped to her knees beside Mateo. He lay bleeding…dying. With a sob, she pulled off his helm and cradled his head. “No!” She no longer heard the sword clashes that rang across the hilltop.

Destrar Broeck threw himself on the soldan-shah, who fought with equal abandon. Overhead, the shadows of the sand coracles fell over them, and arrows began to rain down from the sky.

Mateo choked, and blood poured out of his mouth. He tried to say something to Anjine, but he died within seconds.

She felt a hurricane of blood gather around her. With ruthless conviction, she decided to have Omra captured, not killed, so that she could have him flayed alive. But even then, she knew in her heart that the violence would not stop there.

She didn’t think it would ever stop.

Terravitae

The towering figure of Ondun, large for a man but with the presence and power of a god, stood before them with a congenial smile.

Criston had seen many astounding things in his life—from Captain Shay and the ghost ships to the terrible Leviathan and the Lighthouse at the End of the World. He had experienced the more personal shocks of discovering his long-lost son and learning that Adrea was still alive. But
this
rendered him speechless.

Ystya gazed at Ondun with a smile. “It’s been so long, Father, but we’re here at last in Terravitae.”

“How you have changed, my daughter! You were a little girl for too long, but your mother simply would not let go.” He gave her a wistful smile as though he were any normal man greeting a child after coming home from a long journey. He folded her into a hug and spoke with his face pressed against her shoulder. “You were just an innocent child when I…drowned?” His brow furrowed, and a cloudy expression crossed his face. “It was Iyomelka, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Ystya, swallowing hard.

Ondun gave a sigh. “I always feared she would do something rash. She never could control her passions.”

The young woman seemed to be bursting with things she needed to say. “Even after you drowned, the magic from your body infused the spring, and that preserved my mother and me.” Criston and the others hardly breathed as they listened.

“It wasn’t only my powers, Ystya—it was
you
,” Ondun said. “You are the Key to Creation. When your mother was pregnant with you and fled, our entire race grew weaker in Terravitae. There were so few left. That’s why I sent Aiden and Urec to find you, and to find another place for our surviving people. We knew of weaker races on distant continents, much like us, and compatible.” He shook his head. “That’s why I departed on my own quest. I was the strongest of us, but even I was fading. So many had died off…”

Spreading his arms, he leaned his bearded head back and drew a deep breath of the fresh air. “When I found Iyomelka’s island and we were reunited, my strength was renewed. I feel it in me now.” He raised a large hand and flexed his fingers. “It’s very hard to explain. Iyomelka and I had been together for so many centuries in Terravitae. Then, after centuries more on the island…” He shook his head. “I suppose it’s as much my fault as hers.” Ondun looked around, his eyes bright, his expression hopeful as he scanned the awestruck group on the beach. “Your mother—is she here with you? I awoke all alone on the shore.”

“She is dead.” Ystya lowered her head. “After Saan rescued me from the island, my mother pursued us, wanting to take me back to the island or kill us all.” She cast a meaningful, appreciative glance at Saan. “But she was no match for the Leviathan, and it destroyed her.”

Ondun was solemn, and he turned away, at a loss for words for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice sounded bleak. “Century after century, that woman put me through the full range of emotions. She loved me, betrayed me, fled from me, even killed me…but she also gave me a daughter the whole world needed. And now she is dead.” He lowered his gaze. “Is there any hope for our race?”

Ystya said, “Up the shore not far from here, we passed a ruined Arkship, and we found the frozen tomb of Aiden and Urec. They must have returned to Terravitae in their last days, but maybe they or their crews had descendants that still live here.”

“I always knew Aiden and Urec would come back home.” He stroked his thick gray beard, then brought himself back to the group of explorers who stood on the beach. “What has happened to the world in all this time? For many, many years after I sent my sons on their voyage, I was able to track them from Iyomelka’s island, but the world is so vast—too vast even for me to watch the whole thing. I suspect you have a lot to tell me.”

Hearing the broad question, Criston realized that every person there had a different set of answers. His mind was filled with so many questions he could barely sort through them all. “We each have our stories to tell, my Lord. We are honored to be in your presence, but I hardly know where to start.”

“I know where it ends.” Ondun looked at the two captains, the representative sailors from both crews, King Sonhir, the Saedran chartsmen. His face had a knowing expression, as if he recognized them. “You are all here, and I am here. So…I take it I was rescued from the well on the island?”

“We retrieved you,” Saan explained, “Grigovar and I. But then Iyomelka turned on us and chased my ship across the wide oceans, until we were all nearly destroyed by that sea monster.”

Criston said, “The Leviathan is also dead, my Lord.”

Ondun looked weary. “Destruction attracts destruction—it is fitting in a way that the Leviathan and Iyomelka were called to each other.” He heaved a sigh, then his expression changed. Brightening, swelling large, he spread his arms to welcome them. “But the most important thing is that Ystya survived! And you have brought your friends, from the continents that my sons discovered. We are all returned to the land where we belong—and I feel strong again. A new day has dawned for the world.”

Ystya reached out to take Saan’s hand, startling him. Her gesture of affection surprised Ondun, but he gave his daughter an indulgent smile. With a respectful bow, Saan said, “Now that we are here, my Lord, we hope to learn the answers to many mysteries. We’ve read history, from both the descendants of Aiden and Urec, but much doesn’t fit with what we know—or what we think we know. I was taught to believe the teachings of Urec’s Log, while my father and his sailors from Tierra follow the Book of Aiden. The two accounts are at odds with each other, and much blood has been shed over the differences.”

“From what we’ve seen, neither version is completely accurate,” Criston said. He felt hope rise within him. “We’ve made discoveries on our voyages that simply don’t fit with what the presters and sikaras say.”

Ondun nodded. “As time passes, stories tend to diverge from the original truth.”

Criston bowed. “You are all-seeing and omnipotent, Ondun, and we will trust the answers you provide.”

The old man looked embarrassed. “Now, I admit that I am powerful indeed, the strongest of my ancient race, and I could access much of the world’s magic, but I never meant to be portrayed as omnipotent.”

“You are the creator of all things. We have seen your powers,” said Sen Sherufa. “And we’ve all seen what Ystya can do. You are not merely human.”

“Oh no, not human. Simply a member of an elder, more powerful race. Those of us from Terravitae possessed abilities that you would consider incredible, even godlike, I suppose. We could, and did, help shape the world by using our control of the magic that binds all things. But it’s quite an exaggeration to say that I single-handedly created everything!”

He stroked his beard again, apparently flustered. “In fact, when my race populated this continent, we had our own beliefs about the deities who fashioned the universe before us, beings that made us look like mice by comparison. They exhibited powers far beyond my own—frost giants, undersea goddesses, wind harpies, lightning sorcerers, the great serpent Bouras. But those titans were mostly extinct before my own race rose to prominence in Terravitae.”

Criston thought of the incredible woman with seaweed hair who gathered the ghost ships, and Saan had told him of the ancient ice-locked ship with its frozen crew…victims of frost giants? “The titans aren’t extinct,” he said.

“I believe we’ve had a brush with them as well,” Saan added.

“And you survived? They tend to cause a great deal of trouble.” Ondun raised his eyebrows, impressed. “I suppose even they had creation myths and their own gods. We look up to beings who are more powerful than we. It gives us something toward which to strive.”

Criston wondered if Prester Hannes or Sikara Fyiri would have debated religion with Ondun Himself.

They stood together on the sun-drenched beach, listening to the waves curl against the black rock outcroppings scattered in the water. The bearded figure seemed to enjoy the beauty of the world around him with a childlike sense of wonder.

He looked out to where the
Dyscovera
and the
Al-Orizin
lay at anchor, far from the rocky shore. Addressing both captains, Ondun said, “Your crews have sailed far across the ocean, with nothing more than rigging and sails and wind. It’s remarkable you made it all the way here. Your courage amazes me.” He laughed. “There’s no need to keep your crews crowded aboard those battered old vessels. Bring them ashore so we can all celebrate.”

Criston inhaled a deep breath of the fresh,
new
air that seemed to explode with life and energy. “They would like nothing better, my Lord.”

Ondun glanced down at the crystal coffin that had held his body. “I fear Terravitae is empty, but we must search for survivors, settlements.” He gave Ystya a warm smile. “Some of our people may yet be alive.”

Ishalem

The sand coracles appeared like dragons in the sky over Ishalem. Imir and his granddaughters rode in the foremost coracle, along with Khan Jikaris. The other fourteen flying craft were crowded with broad-shouldered Nunghals and all the Missinian archers they had been able to conscript immediately from Desert Harbor. Imir had refused to waste time sending riders back to Arikara.

Each coracle held a large brazier and a generous store of hot-burning coal that could be dampened or stoked to keep the coracles at the best altitude. It took some experimentation, but they discovered an air current that blew west across Missinia, and another northerly current that carried them over Yuarej, Inner Wahilir, and finally to the narrow isthmus that connected the two continents.

The battle for Ishalem was in full swing when they arrived, and Imir saw the collapsed rubble where the Aidenist army had blasted through God’s Barricade, smoke rising from burning neighborhoods, and armed enemy soldiers running through the streets, bringing chaos and destruction to the holy city. Blue-and-green Tierran flags now outnumbered the crimson Uraban banners.

To his dismay, Imir saw a large contingent of Tierran soldiers swarming around the base of Arkship Hill, while armed men streamed up the Pilgrim’s Path. Another group of Aidenist warriors had ascended the opposite side of the hill to join a furious pitched battle on the broad summit. Tierran and Uraban fighters were locked in mortal combat, hand-to-hand, sword against sword.

Imir felt an ache in his heart, guessing that Omra would be there, making a last stand. The Aidenists looked victorious, about to overwhelm the Urabans.

Adreala turned her sharp eyes toward the flurry of activity on top of the hill. “I think I see Father! How can we save him?”