The Key to Creation (65 page)

“Captain Vora promised to wait for us at the end of the pier,” Saan said brightly, startling her tangled thoughts. As they walked along the scarred streets toward the waterfront, the young man spilled his adventures and his excitement about Ystya in a flood of words. He was pleased to accept both of his fathers, and now Omra, Criston, and Istar herself had to deal with that. Ondun had commanded them all to resolve their differences.

The new Arkship dominated the docks of Ishalem harbor, a tall vessel that looked as if it had been carved out of precious metal, far superior to anything a Uraban, Tierran, or Nunghal shipwright could construct.

Istar’s legs felt wobbly, and each step seemed mechanical, as if her body was moving of its own accord through a great wind that pulled her forward and pushed her back at the same time.

She looked up. There, at the end of the cobblestone street that ended at the docks, a man stood at the edge of a pier. Though she hadn’t seen Criston for more than twenty years, she recognized him instantly. He’d been a young and dream-filled man who sailed off aboard the
Luminara
—her husband, the love of her life, the man to whom she had given her heart so many years before.

Ciarlo told her that dear Criston had waited for her, never forgotten his love, refused to remarry, dutifully written her a letter once a year, cast each bottle into the sea in hopes that the merciful tides would deliver it.…

Oh, Criston!

She found herself running without even realizing it, pulling away from Saan, who stood back, grinning. At the dock, Criston perked up like a wilted flower revived by a quenching rain. “Criston!” she cried. “It
is
you!”

He opened his arms and swept her into a great hug. “Adrea, I never thought I’d see you again.”

Then they were talking in a rush of words, and she let the warmth of his voice blanket her. It was as if she had crossed over a bridge that led twenty years into the past, and she was barely nineteen again, recently married and madly in love. Because her sailor husband had been so passionate about exploring the world, Adrea had let him go away so that she could keep his heart. When he’d sailed from Calay, heading west, she never guessed it was a nearly permanent farewell. She never had a chance to tell Criston that he had a son. But he and Saan had found each other anyway.

Criston was telling her about the sinking of the
Luminara
and how he had clung to the wreckage, holding on to his memory of her and surviving just so he could get back to Windcatch…only to find it burned and devastated, his mother dead, his wife gone.

When Adrea thought back to the raid, nightmare memories returned with the pain and hate she had buried over the years. In those memories, Omra was a monster who killed her friends and relatives, a man who seized Adrea and wrenched her away from her happy life.

She felt the strength of Criston’s arms around her, inhaled deeply of the scent of his shirt, his hair. Behind the beard and the weathered skin of his face, she still recognized the young man she had married. The two of them had sworn their vows and linked symbolic fishhooks in the Aidenist kirk, with Prester Fennan blessing them.

That past was like a fireside tale, and she had lived it over and over again in her dreams. But this was no song or story. She had truly lived it—and all those things had indeed been taken from her. She’d been lost and off course for two decades. And now he had come back.

“I know you didn’t forget me, Criston,” she whispered. “I received one of your letters. It…saved me. And I’ve kept it all these years.”

He caught his breath. “One of them made it to you?”

“Yes, and—” She couldn’t talk anymore as tears streamed down her face.

Saan came up to them. “Are you two just going to stand there all day?” He glanced at Criston with a mischievous smile. “I thought I told you everything you needed to know about her?”

“Oh no, not by far.” He kept holding her. “We have more than twenty years to catch up on.”

“Twenty years…” she said. “You’ve met Saan, but I also have daughters. They’re here in Ishalem, they came aboard the sand coracles. And…” Istar braced herself. “And there is someone else I need you to meet.”

The provisional governor’s villa in Ishalem had been ransacked during the Tierran army’s invasion. Many of the silken hangings had been torn down, the curtains trampled, floor tiles cracked, marble pillars chipped, statues toppled. Soldiers and citizens, including a contingent of uneasy Aidenists that Queen Anjine had assigned to the duty, made quick work of the mess, sweeping away the debris and erasing the most prominent marks of the battle.

When Istar led Criston into the main chamber that the soldan-shah had claimed as his administration office, Omra set aside all of his business and fixed them with his dark eyes.

“So, this is your sea captain—the one you never speak of.” Omra looked at her with a mixture of jealousy, sadness, and regret. She actually read
defeat
on his face. She had never seen the man so…lost.

Criston tensed, but she drew him along, facing Omra. “I have brought you together for a reason.”

“I never pretended that you had forgotten about him,” the soldan-shah said. “I’m not that naïve.” Not only had his whole world changed with the return of Ondun and the imposed cessation of hostilities between Tierra and Uraba, but now he seemed convinced that he would lose his First Wife as well.

Criston straightened as if drawing strength from the very ground beneath his feet. He had sailed around the world, fought storms and sea monsters, discovered Terravitae, and delivered Ondun to Ishalem. But this challenge seemed even more difficult for him. “You are the man who took Adrea from me. Your raiders burned my village. You killed my mother.”

Omra met his gaze and did not deny the accusation. “I did. And you, personally, did nothing to me. Now Ondun says we must all forgive…but I have no right to ask it of you.”

Criston faced the man, and Istar knew they were both thinking of the decades of life, and love, the soldan-shah had had with her that he didn’t deserve. “You also raised and protected my son. You gave him a chance, treated him as your own,” Criston said, his voice cracking. “You didn’t kill my wife when you could have. Because of what you did, Soldan-Shah Omra, they are alive before me now, however different they may be from what I expected.” Tears hung in his blue eyes. “That is far better than weeping by a grave marker on a hill.”

Omra rose, looking at Criston with tremendous respect. “I can see why you have loved this man, Istar. I can see that he truly meant all those words he wrote to you.”

Istar’s cheeks were wet, but she did not wipe the tears away. Suddenly she blinked, startled by what he had said. “You…know about the letter?”

Omra nodded. His voice was leaden. “You didn’t think I ever found it…but I read this man’s words years ago. For a long time, I have known who Criston Vora is.”

She felt as if the tiled floor had dropped out from beneath her feet. Omra had known all this time?

He lowered his head. “I understand how much you still love this man, and that you only tolerated me. I inflicted terrible harm on your village, and I took you away as a spoil of war. As soldan-shah, I had the power to hold you prisoner in Olabar, but I could never force you to love me.” He stepped forward, close to them, and rested a hand on Saan’s shoulder, squeezed it, then let go. “Even so, I hope I treated you well enough. I did my best, but how can I compete with your true husband and Saan’s true father?” He drew a deep breath and bowed. “Ondun commanded that I wipe the slate clean.”

Criston looked at her with surprise and hope, and Adrea—Istar—felt her heart swell. She looked at him, reeled for a moment…then turned toward the soldan-shah.

He had been her husband for two decades. Though he was not Saan’s biological father, Omra had raised the young man as his own and loved him as much as any father possibly could. And he was the father of Adreala and Istala. She couldn’t simply discard her daughters.

Criston was a distant, romantic dream she’d clung to, but Omra had been there for her, year after year. Though he was proud and powerful, he sought her advice, gave her a home and safety. Omra had been her reality, a solid anchor, a man who respected and revered her, even though it caused him many political difficulties.

She stood between the two men now, unconsciously stretching her arms out as if to hold on to both. “You are tearing me apart, both of you.”

“Adrea—” Criston began, then stopped, letting his eyes say everything that was in his heart.

She found herself weeping. “Criston, you will always be my first love, and I will always love you. We can imagine the perfect life we would have had.” She straightened. “But that didn’t happen. To be truly whole and alive, a woman must have dreams, but she must also have reality. Life is life, and it has been twenty years. I have moved on—though not of my own accord, that is the way the currents carried me.

“I spent years with Omra. He protected me, took care of me…and, yes, loved me. We have two beautiful daughters and an adopted one.” She felt dizzy, but forced herself to go on. “I did not choose this man, but fate gave me a life with him.”

She reached out to stroke Criston’s cheek. He seemed a mass of despair. “You’ve lived with the dream of me all this time, but I am more than a few strands of golden hair. Omra has lived with the reality, as have I.”

Criston closed his eyes against her words and remained silent for a long moment. “I was…ready for this. I understand. I’ll always have a part of you in my heart and my imagination—and I still have a few strands of your hair left.”

Saan, who had watched his mother struggle with her decision, lifted his chin and spoke loudly. “Well,
I
don’t have to choose between you. You’ve each been my father in your own way, and I accept you both.”

Ishalem

The ghost ships felt the eerie and irresistible call to return to their seaweed purgatory far out at sea. The crews had said their farewells to their former lives. Even Ondun was not keen to arouse anger in the ancient underwater titan, and so Captain Shay took his last leave of Criston. The shadowy ships cruised away from Ishalem harbor, accompanied by clouds and storm winds.…

When Ondun was ready to return to Terravitae, crowds gathered on the piers. The followers of both Urec and Aiden had all been chastised into good behavior (for the time being). Before He climbed aboard the huge Arkship, He summoned His golden seahorse-serpents and harnessed the majestic gold-scaled creatures to the vessel. They hooted from their blowholes, restless to be off.

Joron the Traveler walked to the end of the pier where his bearded father stood with the ethereal beauty of Ystya. Joron said, “Though I miss Terravitae, I will remain here, Father. Tierra and Uraba are my home now—and have been for centuries. I don’t know if anyone is left back there.”

“That is why Ystya and I must search,” Ondun said. “Watch over these people, my son. I don’t envy you the task.”

Joron simply shook his head. “They will take care of themselves. I’ll just become a wandering hermit again and slip quietly among them.”

Much to Saan’s disappointment, Ystya had decided to return with her father so that she could explore the continent that had been the home of her people. “It’s Terravitae, and it’s where I belong, Saan. I need to go back…just as I understand why you need to stay here, at least for now.” Her eyes were filled with longing and difficult decisions.

“I’ll miss you, and I want to be with you,” Saan said. “You’ve shown me so much magic that I believe anything is possible now. But there’s so much damage that needs to be healed in Uraba…and the land of Tierra is also part of me. I can’t just sail away again. Not yet.”

“I know.” Her face shone with contentment now that she had reached her decision. “But it’s all right. I’ll be around for a long time. I hope you will come to me. The whole world waits for you.”

“I’ll find a way to return to Terravitae—I promise. Somebody has to lead other ships there.”

Beside them, Criston reached out to clap his son on the shoulder. “
We
will. Now that the war is over, think of how much time, energy, and money our two lands can use for exploration.”

Saan embraced Ystya, but withdrew awkwardly as he noted Ondun looming over them. Self-conscious, he tried to give her a chaste hug, but Ystya threw her arms around Saan and gave him a passionate kiss. Her lips sparkled, and he felt that she had just placed an entire season of springtime inside his heart. He swayed and almost begged to go with her after all, but he stepped back to stand with his father.

“We know the way now,” Criston said. “The Saedrans have their Mappa Mundi, but I kept my own charts. When our lands begin to recover, we can set our course.”

“I will see you again, Ystya,” Saan said.

Ondun addressed the people who had gathered on the waterfront. “There is much work to do here. Put your own house in order. Once Tierrans and Urabans learn to cooperate and support one another, you will be welcome anywhere in the unexplored world.” He lowered his voice, looked directly at Saan and Criston. “I expect to see you soon, Captains.”

Ondun strode up the ramp to board the new Arkship, and Ystya blew Saan a kiss before running to join her father.

The seahorse-serpents strained at their filigreed harnesses and pulled the vessel away from the dock and out to sea. The magnificent Arkship sailed away toward the horizon.

Ishalem

Dust-smeared work teams cleared the rubble at God’s Barricade. They dragged splintered timbers from the gate, used levers and ropes to load the debris into carts that were hauled away by weary-looking ponies. Grim volunteers, including Tierrans, retrieved the bodies of those killed in the explosion or slain by the long-range Alamont bows. Every worker wrapped a cloth around his nose and mouth as a meager defense against the increasing stench.

After much discussion and argument, followed by grudging acquiescence, the men did not separate the corpses into Aidenist or Urecari piles. One large funeral pyre would suffice for all the dead.