The Key to Creation (64 page)

Though the two armies had separated from each other to lick their wounds, catch their breath, and reconsider their hatreds, Ystya found Ondun atop the central hill. The bearded man beside him looked much younger, though he still had a weight of age and power about him.

Ondun waved them closer. “Ah, Ystya—come and meet your brother! Joron has been looking for you a long time.”

She brightened and ran forward, while the other man opened his arms to embrace her. Joron rested his chin on the top of Ystya’s head. “I was sent out to find you, little sister, and you found me instead.”

She looked up at him with her green eyes. “Aiden and Urec are gone, but I’m glad to meet my last brother. It’s been a long, hard time.”

She introduced Saan, who felt uncharacteristically shy and tongue-tied to be among such powerful beings. “So is the war over then, my Lord?” he asked Ondun.

Ondun wore a wry expression. “The fighting has stopped for a moment, and I’ve given both sides much to think about. As for the underlying conflict…we shall see. My powers of persuasion can do only so much.”

While Ystya spent time with her brother and father, Saan headed to the main Uraban army encampment, where he found not only Soldan-Shah Omra but his own mother. Istar saw him first and ran toward Saan, calling out his name. She threw her arms around him and kissed his forehead. “You’re back! You’re safe! Seeing you is such a bright light in the middle of all this violence and defeat.”

Omra looked haggard, but his genuine joy was evident. “The
Al-Orizin
has returned! After so many disappointments, I never expected such good news.”

Saan beamed. “I did find the Key to Creation, Father. I brought her here, along with Ondun Himself, although neither is what I anticipated.”

Accompanied by Asaddan, his grandfather Imir also trudged up to them, having landed his sand coracles so that his companions could join the camps. The gap-toothed Nunghal grabbed Saan in a bear hug.

“We each have tales enough to tell for years,” Imir told him. “There will be time. And…Sen Sherufa? Did she return with you?”

Saan laughed. “Yes, she’s here, back at the Arkship.” Before Saan could say more, his three sisters ran up to welcome him home.

Despite the happy greetings, Saan remained serious. “Both sides here still have much work to do. Our crew and the Tierrans aboard the
Dyscovera
learned to put aside our differences. We worked together, and survived. Uraba and Tierra could do the same. Please think about the future…it’s a way to save us all.”

“I don’t know how.” Omra looked deflated. So much of his rule of Uraba, and his very existence, had been based on a foundation of hatred against the Aidenists. Now that those props had been taken away, he had to find a new way to balance himself. Tears began to stream down the soldan-shah’s face, and he hugged Saan. “But if Ondun commands it, I will have to learn.”

When the young man stepped back, Istar was staring at him, intense emotions playing across her face. “And Criston…Captain Vora? I read in the journal that you found each other. Did you get my message? Do you know who he is?”

Saan smiled. “He’s my father. I know him well enough now, but there is much we still need to say to each other. He’s a good man. I can see why you loved him long ago.”

Omra turned away as if he could not survive another psychological blow.

“Did he come with you?” Istar asked. “Is he here?”

“Yes, he’s safe aboard the ship. Ondun said…” Saan paused and shook his head. “There’s too much to resolve here first. Don’t worry, Mother. You’ll see him, I promise.”

Ondun granted both sides a day to catch their breath, then He and Holy Joron summoned the leaders of Tierra and Uraba to the new church; the command left no room for argument.

For his entire life Omra had listened to sikaras talk about how Ondun would someday return…but it had always been just a story. His father Imir had been taught the same thing, and Soldan-Shah Shieltar before him, and Soldan-Shah Untra before him, all the way back to when Urec and his crew discovered Uraba.

After what he had suffered, after witnessing firsthand the scope of Aidenist barbarity, the soldan-shah had always assumed that when Ondun did come back, He would immediately throw His support to the virtuous side, the Urecari side, and denounce the enemy. Wasn’t it obvious that the followers of Urec were right?

And yet in the midst of the climactic battle, Omra had felt like a dog on a leash, bounding toward a hare only to be brought up short. He had watched Holy Joron raise a man from the dead, had watched the towering spectacle of Ondun’s return, the thunderclaps and shaking earth, the amazing Arkship that arrived in Ishalem harbor. The titanic figures of Holy Joron and Ondun were exactly as the stories described.

But so much did not make sense. Ondun seemed just as supportive of the Aidenists. He and Holy Joron asked them all to forget the tragedies of the past. Even Ur-Sikara Kuari seemed to be cordial with the itinerant Aidenist prester Ciarlo—Istar’s
brother
!

How could the soldan-shah refuse what Ondun Himself requested? How could he not agree to change?

All the parties met in the huge worship hall of the main Urecari church. Soldan Vishkar now wore bandages beneath a clean new olba; he looked haggard after the recent naval battles, and at the other end of the table, his opponent, Comdar Torin Rief, looked just as battered.

The Aidenist military commander sat near a pale Queen Anjine; she seemed just as confused by the turn of events as he himself was. Next to the queen’s large chair sat military commander Mateo Bornan, the man she obviously loved—the man Omra had killed with a spear thrust.…The man Joron had raised from the dead.

Saan and Istar sat with the soldan-shah and Imir at one end of the long convocation table. Saan insisted on bringing two of his loyal sailors, a reef diver from Lahjar named Grigovar and the shrewd confidence man Yal Dolicar, whose hand Omra had ordered lopped off before sending him aboard the
Al-Orizin
. Asaddan and Khan Jikaris also joined them, representing the Nunghals, though they had remained at the fringes of this war. The Saedrans, including King Sonhir, also sat in the room, apart from either side.

Once all the parties had gathered, Ondun stood, flanked by Holy Joron and Ystya, the Key to Creation. Any one of those beings would have been sufficient to defeat whole armies, and together the three could reshape the world, if they wished. Cowed, Omra and Anjine would listen, knowing the fates of their lands would depend on how they reacted to Ondun’s commands.

To make such a change went against the grain of everything Omra had lived for decades…and yet he and the Tierran queen would have to do exactly that.

The old man’s voice boomed out with the potential to crack stone and bring down the whole church. “My sons Aiden and Urec sailed to these lands to find the Key to Creation, and a new hope. They founded your civilizations before they returned to Terravitae at the end of their lives. My son Joron also came here and spent centuries quietly instructing you through his stories.” He shot a lightning-bolt stare at Omra, then at Queen Anjine. “This is not how I expected to return to the world, but neither of your peoples understood the legacy I left. This has gone on long enough.”

Ciarlo said to Ur-Sikara Kuari, “If we truly believe, then we have to do as Ondun commands.”

Kuari nodded. “Yes, it must be so.”

But the soldan-shah was surprised by Ondun’s words. Where had He been during the earthquake that leveled Arikara and killed thousands? Why had He not stopped the slaughter of priestesses at Fashia’s Fountain? Or the inferno of Olabar harbor? He seemed so…innocent. “My Lord, festering wounds live within every Uraban’s heart. If you are Ondun, then you know
all
the crimes the Aidenists have committed.”

Anjine would not let the matter rest either. “How can I ask my people to ignore the Urecari raids on their villages? The kidnappings? The execution of Prester-Marshall Baine and the workers who came to rebuild Ishalem? And how am I to forgive the man who murdered my brother?”

Omra kept his gaze on Ondun’s. “And what about justice for
my
brother Tukar? And for the thousand innocents Tierrans beheaded outside the Ishalem wall?”

“You will both be silent! Are you so stubborn that even miracles won’t change your minds?” The whole church trembled, and Ondun’s presence swelled so that the chamber no longer seemed large enough to contain Him. He looked like a terrifying vengeful god. “After so much pain and hurt, no one knows how to calculate all the retribution owed to each side, and so I say the balance is paid in full.” He looked at them all, as if daring them to challenge Him.

“Both of your faiths know who I am.
I am Ondun
—I can turn your swords to dust. I can flatten your cities into rubble.” His eyes were fiery; his hair crackled with static electricity. The walls trembled, and candle flames flickered. “Remember your own stories! If I created the world, do you doubt that I can just as easily destroy it? If you don’t cease your fighting, I
will
wipe the slate clean and start again with children who do not disappoint me so much.”

When He stopped speaking, the echoing silence in the worship chamber sounded just as thunderous. All those present fell into a terrified awe. The soldan-shah looked at the Tierran queen. She returned his scrutiny, both of them wavering.

Mateo placed a hand on Anjine’s arm. “They brought me back for you, Anjine. One miracle should have been enough to change your mind, and they’ve provided many miracles. You are a strong queen, and you’ve endured much. But are you strong enough to forgive?”

“It’s so much to ask,” Anjine rasped.

“Is forgiveness harder than continuing this war? Harder than seeing so many others die needlessly? Do you want this conflict to continue and continue until our child takes the crown? Or would you rather have peace?” Mateo leaned close, and his sad words were for Anjine alone, but in the crystal silence of the great chamber everyone could hear him. “Remember the hurt you felt when I died, Anjine. Remember the pain when you learned of Tomas’s death. Each man who died on the battlefield—Tierran or Uraban—left behind someone who hurt as much as you did. Repeated cuts don’t make the pain go away.”

Unexpectedly, Istar grabbed the ceremonial sword from the soldan-shah’s side and threw it to the floor of the church with a great clatter. “It’s the decision you know you have to make, Omra.”

Anjine closed her eyes, and defeated tears squeezed out as she lifted her own sword and let it fall to the floor as well. “I promised I would do anything to have you back, Mateo.”

Watching this, Ondun said, “Good! Now I can return to Terravitae.”

Saan had witnessed the proceedings with more fascination than fear. He thought he knew Ondun’s character; he had even (though he could barely believe it) engaged in genuine conversations with Him. Knowing what he did, the convocation in the main church had seemed like nothing more than a theatrical show. While Ondun delivered a terrifying performance—as he had proved when he quashed the hostilities in Ishalem—Saan couldn’t believe that He would carry through on the grave threat of total destruction. It didn’t match what the old man had told them, or what Ystya would allow.

Leaving the flurry of confused and intimidated people inside the church, Saan stepped outside. Grigovar and Yal Dolicar joined him under a tall arched entryway above the stone steps.

While in the crowded church, Dolicar had kept his expression studiously unreadable, but when they were alone, a grin spread across his face. “Ondun told us in Terravitae that He
didn’t
actually create the world, as the legend says. He said that He doesn’t have such tremendous powers, that He believes in a creator far more powerful than Himself—He’s just a great sorcerer.”

Grigovar was troubled. “Now He claims otherwise. How do we know which is true?”

With a bright smile, Saan looked at his friends. “Ondun used their own beliefs against them. Until now, the absolute certainty of both Aidenists and Urecari drove them to kill each other. Ondun turned their faith into His own weapon and used it to make peace.”

Grigovar scratched his dark hair, wrestling with what he now understood. “So Ondun was just…bluffing?” He kept his voice low and glanced around, afraid someone had heard him.

Yal Dolicar let out a guffaw. “A wholesale bluff, and He didn’t blink once! I recognize a great scheme when I see one.”

Saan, however, downplayed the joke. “It doesn’t matter whether the threat was real or not. Ondun succeeded in what He needed to do. It’s still all about faith. If the followers of Aiden and Urec truly
believe
, then they’ll have to find common ground.”

Ishalem Harbor

She longed to see Criston, and she had to face him. He was alive after all these years, yet he seemed to be a ghost in her memory, a wisp of a pleasant dream from long, long ago. Her husband…her true husband, in the eyes of Aiden, as she had always believed. Though her heart was torn, Istar quickened her step. She had not told Omra where she was going, but she didn’t have to.

The ground had shifted beneath them all, Tierrans and Urabans alike. Istar had seen Queen Anjine struggle with similar shackles of hatred. Over the past day, she had watched Omra reel from so much loss, with the fall of God’s Barricade and the defeat of his armies. But worse than any defeat was the obligation to forgive. He was like a man with broken legs learning how to walk again.

The soldan-shah had a land to rule, a people to command, but Istar sensed he was as worried about this Tierran sea captain as about the crises across Uraba. When he saw her depart for the harbor with Saan, he
knew
. She could see it in his eyes: one more crushing loss for him.

But she could not simply toss him aside. Omra was part of her life now, and he had been
most
of her life. Nevertheless, she had to go to the ship. She needed to have a private reunion with Criston Vora; they deserved that chance. Istar swallowed, but her throat remained dry. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.