The Grand Design (55 page)

“Hello there,” he said.

“Naren,” she declared knowingly. “You’re the Jackal.”

“No,” corrected Richius mildly. “Richius.” He pointed to himself to stress the name. “Call me Richius.”

“The Jackal!” said another child in the crowd. “The Jackal of Nar!”

Richius bristled. “All right,” he grumbled. “The Jackal.” He gave the girl’s hair another tousle and walked off, shaking his head. Marus was next to him, chuckling.

“Get used to it, Richius,” he advised. “That’s how they know you here.”

“Oh, really? And whose fault is that?”

“It’s just the stories people tell, that’s all,” said Marus. “It’s not meant as an insult. Just like the Triin calling you Kalak.”

“Yes, well, that’s not such a great name, either.”

Prakna led them to another vessel, one of the boats that were everywhere in the ubiquitous canal, this one green and gold with a striking figure of a two-headed fish. A collection of oars jutted from the sides of the vessel, centipede-like. Waiting for them on the dock were a pair of regally attired sailors. Their long coats also bore the same unusual crest, stitched over their breasts. Prakna approached the men, who bowed to him and smiled.

“Fleet Commander Prakna,” said one of them reverently. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Good to be home,” said Prakna. The commander was resplendent even in his threadbare uniform. “Permission to come aboard?”

The sailor stood aside. “Gladly granted, sir.”

“Where are we going?” Richius asked Marus.

“Those are the queen’s own,” said Marus. “They’ll take us to the palace, on Haran Island.”

“The queen?” blurted Richius. He looked down at his own filthy clothes. “I’m supposed to meet a queen like this?”

“Just like the rest of us. Look around, Richius. Trust me, the queen won’t be offended by your clothes.”

In the ruins of the shoreline the statement seemed plausible, but Richius tried to smooth down his wrinkled coat anyway. Prakna was notoriously tight-lipped, and hadn’t mentioned anything about meeting the Lissen ruler. He had thought they would rest awhile, maybe start to work in the morning. Obviously their mission was more desperate than he’d thought. And having already met Arkus of Nar, an audience with the
Queen of Liss only made him a little nervous. He followed Prakna and Marus onto the boat, careful not to slip on the snowy planks, and gave a final wave to the people on the dock. They were all staring at him, still. Being a hero was rather pleasant, he decided. If only Dyana and Shani could see him now.

Once they were on board, the little boat shoved off under the power of the oarsmen and bore them through the wide canal cutting through the island. On either side the old structures of Liss rose up over them, threatening to topple onto their heads. Richius noticed the unmistakable scars of blast marks, the telltale signs of flame cannons. Many of the buildings bore gaps in their masonry where the guns of dreadnoughts had drilled fiery holes. Rubble littered the ground, and everywhere the canal streets were polluted with debris that had tumbled into the water. While Prakna and Marus talked with the sailors, Richius went to the prow of the boat for a better view. Before him, all of Liss was leisurely unfolding. The spiraling towers in the distance beckoned with an inaudible voice, and the snowflakes on the waterways brought a hush to the world. Abandoned buildings rose over him, but in the canal were other boats like their own, ferrying people and goods between the structures. Teenaged boys and girls toiled in the rubble, busy with the back-breaking work of reconstruction, pausing just long enough to notice the royal boat and offer it a weary wave.

“This isn’t all of it,” said Marus suddenly. He had come up behind Richius and put a hand on his shoulder. “It gets better, don’t worry.”

“There’s so much destruction,” said Richius. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re a very brave people, Marus, to endure so much.”

“These have been our islands since the beginning of time. We’ll never give them up.” The Lissen pointed to a wide inlet in the distance, now surrounded by blown-up
buildings. “See that harbor? The
Fearless
was there. She opened fire with her guns before any schooners could get near enough to stop her. Over a thousand men and women attacked her, in boats just like this. It was hand-to-hand at times.” Marus’ expression dimmed. “Bloody as hell. The canal really did run red that day. That’s where all this rubble came from. After the
Fearless
stopped firing, the whole place was in flames. It’s taken a year just to rebuild this much.”

“What about inland?” asked Richius. “Not so much damage?”

“No, thank God. Most of the canals are too narrow for dreadnoughts. And there’s a whole system of locks and dams. Nicabar tried landing troops to invade, but they didn’t know their way and were always slaughtered. We don’t have any avenues to move heavy equipment, so none of the usual Naren tactics worked.”

“So they just kept bombarding you,” sighed Richius. “Amazing.”

“For ten years,” Marus echoed. He shut his eyes in remembrance of the bloody days. “It’s over now, though. It’s time for Nar to pay for what they’ve done.”

“Tell me about Haran Island,” said Richius. “What’s that mean, Haran? Is that a Lissen word?”

“Sort of,” said Marus. He pointed to the boat’s figurehead, the remarkable, two-headed fish. “That’s a haran.”

“That? A fish?”

“Not just a fish,” said Marus. “A haran. The word means divine one, or something like that. Lissens used to believe the harans were Gods, because they were so intelligent. There are still some of them, but only a few. All of them live in the waters around the queen’s palace.”

“They’re incredible looking,” remarked Richius. “Are they big?”

“Sometimes. No bigger than a man, usually.”

“What?” Richius stepped back from the railing. “That big?”

“You’ll see them when you get to the palace, Richius. The queen has some in her water garden. I’m sure she’ll show them to you, if you ask.”

“Tell me about your queen. What’s she like?”

Marus beamed. “That’s a treat I’ll leave for you to imagine, my friend. Just trust me when I say that Queen Jelena is very special. You will be in awe of her, I know it.”

Richius returned his gaze to the snowy horizon. “I have no doubt.”

For nearly an hour the boat kept its slow pace through the canal, the oarsmen rowing with gentle ease. The waterway had narrowed some, branching off in places to link with other similar avenues, and all around them rose the weird structures of Liss. Overhead great bridges spanned, ancient constructs of sculpted stone, filled with folk going about their daily chores. They had left the ruins behind and were in the heart of Liss, where even the long-range guns of Naren dreadnoughts could not reach. The destruction had given way to marvelous architecture. Richius relaxed as they cruised leisurely along, astonished at the sights. The light snow fell in his hair and eyelashes, reminding him of Aramoor, and he thought of Dyana and Shani again, and how wonderful they too would find this place. Someday, he would bring them here and show them the marvels. When the world was at peace, there would be time for such pleasures.

Fleet Commander Prakna and Marus lingered in the back of the boat with the sailors, leaving Richius alone on the bow. Richius supposed it was their way of getting him acclimated to his new home, and he appreciated the privacy. Just days before, he had considered forming the Lissen army as something of a dream, but now he was here in Liss. What he had told Prakna in
Falindar still haunted him—he wasn’t really sure he was up to the task. But the people who waved to him from the bridges and balconies seemed to have no such doubts. Would they be disappointed?

At last the narrowness of the canal opened into a vast lake of crystal green water. Across the lake was a single island, detached from the others, without even a bridge connecting it. Green and gold sloops circled the island, and great hills rolled across it, studded with trees. At the center of the island was a simple structure of white limestone, a castle with three towers, the center spire taller than the others, and ringed with a river of sparkling water. Richius stood up and peered across the lake. The palace was lovely, perfect in its simplicity. Unlike the other buildings of Liss, this one seemed timeless, untouched by weather or war, gleaming in a thin sheen of snow. The river around it danced with sunlight and moved with life as flocks of gray waterfowl floated and flew across its surface. Beyond the river, near the central tower, was a gateway of cascading water, a giant waterfall that sprouted up from nowhere and fell against the rocks, feeding the river. Beneath the waterfall was a half-moon arch parting the cascade like a curtain and bidding visitors entrance. The arch was unimaginably tall, and the water that flanked it seemed to rise up as if by magic. Richius stared at it, amazed. He had already seen Nar with its stellar cathedral and foreboding Black Palace, and he had lived the last year in Falindar, a citadel whose beauty he had thought matchless. But the palace of Queen Jelena wasn’t like any of these. It was effortless, a designer’s inspired dream. If God had a home on earth, it would have been like this incomparable palace.

“I love this,” said Richius softly. He wasn’t quite out of earshot and didn’t care who heard him. The palace had stirred something in him, something that made him yearn for his own home and steeled his conviction to fight against Nar. Prakna, hearing his statement,
crossed the deck and stood beside him, sharing his admiration.

“That’s Haran Island,” said the commander. “Where the queen lives.”

“It’s magnificent,” said Richius. “Truly. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. How does the water rise like that?”

“Underground springs. The builders who made the palace wanted to make use of them, so they built the water gate.” The fleet commander sighed. “Every time I see this place, I feel like weeping. To a Lissen, this island is what we fight for. It’s the true heart of our homeland.”

“Marus won’t tell me about Queen Jelena,” said Richius. “Will you?”

Prakna shook his head.

“I thought Liss had a king. What happened?”

“King Tyri died. I’ll let the queen explain it to you.”

“What does she want me for?” Richius pressed. “Do you know?”

“I think I do,” replied Prakna, but didn’t elaborate. He glanced up at the silver clouds and let the snowflakes speckle his beard. “She’s an extraordinary woman. You should be honored.”

“I am,” said Richius. “I just want to know what to expect.”

“Enough, Vantran, please. I’m sure Jelena has her reasons for wanting to meet you. Why should I guess at them when you’ll find out soon enough? I’ve spoken to her guardians onboard. They will take you to her, alone. I am not even to be there when she greets you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because it is her will, that’s why,” said the commander. “Now, no more questions. Enjoy the moment. In the morning things will be different. We will set to work, you and I. But today is yours. This moment is yours. Today you are a hero, Richius Vantran.”

The words were so final Richius couldn’t reply. The
royal boat drifted closer to the island. It took long minutes for the little vessel to reach its destination, and when it did the guardians of Queen Jelena who had piloted the boat took care of all the dock work. Neither Prakna nor Marus offered assistance. True to their high stations, they simply watched the others work, and when the vessel was secured to the dock Prakna gestured to Richius to disembark first.

“She wants to see you, not me,” said the commander. “Go ahead.”

Richius puzzled over his next move. “You’re not coming at all?”

“I’ll see the queen later,” said Prakna. “For now, her business is with the Jackal of Nar. Don’t worry. These men will take you to her.” Prakna gave him an encouraging wink. “Go on, boy. She’s waiting.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” said Richius to his friends, and stepped off the rocking boat onto the snow-covered dock. The palace of the queen gleamed in front of him. He could hear the roar of the amazing waterfall, feel the spray of it on his face. Guardians like the ones that had ferried him here studded the grounds. Two of them came forward and bowed.

“King Vantran,” said one of them. “My lady, Queen Jelena, begs an audience with you. She has already been told of your arrival and awaits you. Would you come with us, please?”

“Lead on,” directed Richius.

It was a long walk to the palace, along an avenue of smooth cobblestones laid carefully in golden mortar. There were no children here, just the handful of young men guarding their queen. None of them appeared older than Richius, and so many youthful faces made him feel oddly ancient. When they reached the water gate, Richius paused to marvel at it, looking up at the great arch and letting the roar of water surround him. His guides made no attempt to rush him, allowing him time to ponder the fantastic gate. After a minute, though,
Richius was satisfied, and crossed the threshold to enter the palace.

All at once the palace enveloped him in a near soundless chamber. The waterfall outside was only feet away, but the thick walls of stone swallowed the noise. Inside, the simplicity of the exterior had been carried over into the interior design. The walls were bare but for beautiful tapestries that hung loosely from the mouths of gilded haran heads, the same compelling creature Richius had seen on the figurehead. He studied the tapestries, noticing strange depictions in the embroidery, pictures of heroic sailing ships and ancient, godlike fish-men rising from the sea. Naked mermaids played on some, while hateful, armored Narens strode on others, their black weapons reflecting their wild faces. All of Liss’ bloody history appeared on the tapestries, and there were dozens of them in the chamber, draping across the plain white walls, a gallery of sad and astonishing portraits. Richius let out an amazed whistle, which promptly echoed through the vaulted ceiling.

“We’re to take you to the water garden,” said the guardian. “Queen Jelena will meet you there.”

The water garden lay just outside the grand room of tapestries, at the end of a domed corridor that terminated in a pair of wrought-iron doors. The doors were flung open wide. Both guides stood aside for Richius to pass and shooed him through the portal. Richius stepped out of the palace and into a vast plain of falling water and gentle hills, encircled by a curved row of tall, white columns. Tiny streams and rivulets wound through the garden, and rose vines climbed up the columns, dormant from winter. Snowflakes fell onto the heads of statues—young, nude women with serene expressions or mischievous smiles. At the left of the garden was a sloping hill with a stairway of slate that disappeared into a thickness of bushes. But most remarkable of all was a giant glass enclosure rising up
out of a lake, filled with green water that splashed out over its rim. Gigantic in circumference, the enclosure anchored the garden, drawing Richius inexorably toward it. Behind him, the royal guardians closed the iron doors, sealing him off, but Richius hardly noticed at all, so taken was he by the enclosure and its unusual contents.