A Secret Atlas (36 page)

wolves.”

“Yes, Highness. I have also had word of Keles Anturasi. He reached Asath and is bound

for Gria. His party is quite visible and moving slowly.”

“A deception.”

“Unquestionably. At the same time he arrived, the local authorities lost a dozen or so men

in a midnight battle. Four passengers did not continue to travel with the others from their

riverboat. Two pairs. Keles and a Keru traveling as Helosundians, or Keles and

a
xidantzu
traveling as a priest and his dowager aunt. We have lost track of them, but

should find them again in Gria.”

Pyrust nodded. “If Keles slipped away from his decoy, then he has no way to

communicate with Moriande, save through his grandfather.”

“And transmission of information that way is limited, and there is no telling how much Qiro

will pass to the Prince. Were Keles to pass messages through agents on the river, we

would know, Highness. He has not done this so far.”

“Good. This means Cyron does not know precisely what his circumstance is, so cannot

send support. That he is placing so valuable a person in jeopardy is curious, which means

the gain he perceives is worth the risk.”

The Desei Prince turned. “Dispatch a group of your finest operatives. I want Keles

Anturasi alive and here in Felarati within the year.”

“This is not what you wished for before.”

“I know, but I need to have him more than just beholden to me. I wish him in my grasp. If

the
Stormwolf
is successful in its mission and Keles can be ransomed for those charts, it will mean more to us than his willing cooperation. Moreover, the longer he spends with us,

the more he will come to like us. He may never wish to leave.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Her voice lightened slightly. “Do you wish me to conduct a survey

of the comeliest daughters of your nobility and find a half dozen to tend him and steal his

heart?”

“That will do nicely, but only as a fallback plan.” Pyrust smiled slowly. “Once I have him

here I will show him that he can do more for us than his grandfather can do for Nalenyr.

His grandfather is great, but I shall make him greater. Flattery, greed, and lust are the

three weapons we shall use, and he
will
be won to our cause. That, or there will be one less Anturasi to plague me.”

36th day, Month of the Dog, Year of the Dog

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

736th year since the Cataclysm

Stormwolf,
Archurko

Ethgi

Jorim Anturasi watched as sailors in one of the
Stormwolf
’s boats pulled hard for the ship.

As seen from the ship, the landing party and villagers met peacefully. However, the

urgency with which the sailors returned suggested something unusual. The same breeze

coming in from the ocean had prevented him from hearing anything said on the island,

and would likewise have stolen the sailors’ words, so they just rowed strongly.

The day after he’d been shown the copied chart at Nysant, he had been taken out to the

site where the original drawing had appeared. His guide knew the way through the verdant

rain forest intimately, and Jorim had a sneaking suspicion the fellow made his living

searching out and looting old Viruk ruins. Several hundred years back there had been a

strong market for such things in Erumvirine, but tastes had shifted away more recently.

Still, the odd pieces often had magical powers attributed to them, despite all evidence to

the contrary.

The last leg of the trek involved slithering through ruins until he came to a chamber that

had survived the eons relatively intact. His guide, a slender, swarthy fellow with a nose

which was much too large for his face, held a torch as Jorim studied the wall map. The

chart he’d seen had just been an outline of the drawing, and not rendered terribly

accurately, whereas the original had been painted as a mural in rich blues. Mildew had

eaten away at the edges, but something in the white paint used to depict the Mountains of

Ice resisted it. The chain of islands, likewise rendered in white, stood out against the blue

of the ocean.

Jorim studied it carefully, then made a detailed drawing. He affected mild disinterest to

counter his guide’s growing enthusiasm. Retaining his composure was not easy, however,

as things that had been poorly rendered on the chart still retained their clarity on the wall,

and he had worked hard to re-create them accurately on his drawing. What the other chart

maker had taken as lines to indicate mountains or squiggles that were rivers were in fact

Soth symbols for Viruk words, and Jorim knew them well.

The island of Ethgi, off which they were anchored, had been the largest in the chain on the

original chart and the only one to have indications of a settlement. On that chart it

appeared to have mountains that ringed a bay. The mural showed something different—a

flat atoll with a circular reef. The Soth symbol that had been taken for hastily drawn

mountains really represented the old Viruk word
eshjii
. For the Viruk it meant the island was home to demons and a place to be avoided at all costs.

Sailing down to it had been relatively uneventful, save that breezes came only lightly.

Captain Gryst exercised her crew endlessly, drilling them on raising and lowering sails,

clearing the decks for battle, and conducting a host of minor repairs. She forbade Jorim

from even using the word “demon” and from trying to explain to the sailors what they might

face at Ethgi—no matter that the name they were using for it was the more recent

pronunciation of the Viruk word.

What
eshjii
truly meant in the Viruk tongue was Fennych. In all his travels Jorim had never seen more than one or two, and that was good. Singly or in pairs, the Fennych could be

intelligent, amusing, even charming—displaying skills at games, singing, dancing, and

even small contests of strength or dexterity. They often featured as comical characters in

the stories of heroes, and Men tended to look upon their appearance as a good sign.

For the Viruk, the Fenn were not comical. Though the tallest reached no more than three

feet in height, their burly bodies boasted disproportionate strength. In their most humanoid

form they had sharp teeth, keen-bladed retractable claws, acute vision and hearing, and a

short bristle of hair on their heads, usually grey, with dark black stripes or spots running

through it. The Fenn had the ability, however, to change shape into a variety of small and

medium-sized animals—never quite looking like a dog, wolf, mountain cat, bear, or

badger, but a mongrel mix of any two. More importantly to the Viruk, they had an

insatiable taste for Viruk flesh, a hardiness that made killing them very difficult, and when

in a pack they became feral, vicious, and all but unstoppable. While they would gladly

burrow into graves to eat the dead, they were not beyond coursing and killing live prey—

and it mattered not to them if it were male, female, adult, or child.

Jorim had little doubt, given the animosity between Men and Viruk, why Fennych were

seen favorably by Men. When they got into a pack and changed to their more bestial

forms, any affection they might have had for humanity also vanished. They just became

part of a voracious horde that could chew a swath through a forest, devouring anything

that couldn’t get out of their way, be it plant, animal, or anything else.

The boat reached the
Stormwolf
and Lieutenant Geressa Toron came up on to the wheel

deck to report to Captain Gryst. Though Anaeda’s opposite in size and coloration, the two

of them shared a devotion to the ship and the sea that made them seem more alike than

not. Geressa glanced at Jorim as if she expected him to leave, but Anaeda shook her

head.

“Report, Lieutenant. Master Anturasi has an interest in this.”

The slender woman nodded, the sunlight flashing gold highlights into her light brown hair.

“We were greeted warmly by the people, who are all half-starved. Most of them are

fisherfolk who cast their nets outside the bay, but never beyond sight of the island. Others

raise some crops at the edge of the jungle. They clear an area, farm until it produces no

more, then clear another. They offer food and fish to the forest spirits. The last several

years, the island and seas have produced a bounty, but this year they did not. Their

fishing grounds yielded nothing, and the gardens did not get enough rain. And now they

say the forest spirits are angry and have killed people who have tried to clear more land.

“We were greeted warmly because the last time this cycle took place—I can’t tell how long

ago, but the oldest person there claimed to be a hundred and three, and it was before she

was born—a priest prophesied that in the next time of terror, a ship would arrive to carry

them away. They believe the
Stormwolf
is that ship.”

Anaeda walked to the rail and stared at the island. “How many did they say they were?”

“Five hundred, but I think they were lying. I saw few children and fewer women of

childbearing age.”

Anaeda looked at Jorim. “What do you think?”

“I suspect the good years meant the Fennych population grew swiftly. If this is a cycle,

they’ve been through it before. If the Fenn attack in a pack, the settlement could be wiped

out.” Jorim sighed. “Even if their reported numbers are correct, it’s not a group the fleet

can absorb. Malnourished, and not having any education or abilities beyond basic survival

skills, means their chances elsewhere in the world would be small.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting we just let them die?”

“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort, but we can’t let a mythical prophecy create an

obligation. If you think about it, Captain, the people there had to have sailed here—either

by themselves or in the holds of Viruk ships. They know they can sail away, but they’ve

not tried it. We’re a week and a half out of Nysant under calm winds. They could have

saved themselves already if they wanted to. Instead, they are waiting to be saved, and

had we not chanced on this voyage and that chart, we’d never have come here.”

Anaeda smiled slowly. “Your point is well-taken, but it does not solve the problem they

face. We can’t take them with us, nor can we send them north to Nysant on one of our

tenders. If we did take them aboard, the crew would view them as bad omens. Worse yet,

they might have diseases and, at the very least, would eat far more than we can spare. To

leave them behind, however, would have the crew blaming any evil that befell us on their

spirits. I need something I can do to help them. Have you a suggestion?”

Jorim nodded. “I do. I’ve never seen a Fenn pack in full rampage, but villages in

Ummummorar tell stories of how they manage to keep the Fenn at bay. We’ll use up some

of our supplies, but I think the crew will understand.”

He glanced at the sky. “We have enough time before dusk to make the plan work.

Captain, if you’ll order the
Seawolf
in to Ethgi’s harbor, we’ll have the problem solved in no time.”

Jorim waited with a contingent of soldiers from the
Stormwolf
at the inland edges of

Archurko. The settlement was little more than a collection of mud huts and longhouses

built from native bamboo. The town had dug a trench and raised a breastwork long in the

past, though new slivers of sharpened bamboo had been set in place. It would not have

been enough to even slow the Fennych, since many could leap to the top of the mound

with ease, but the wall’s fierce appearance gave people heart.

He’d been overjoyed when Captain Gryst gave him leave to accompany the expeditionary

force onto the island. While the soldiers and sailors went about their duty, he spoke with

the village elders to learn more about the settlement’s history. It did not surprise him that

the headman also served as a priest of Quun, the Bear. Followers of that god valued

steadfastness and continuity above all else, so would easily see themselves bound by

traditions and as part of cycles.

Several things
did
surprise him, however. He asked for and was given samples of the fish they caught. He easily recognized them, but there were far fewer species than he would

have expected. The total of varieties he saw available were a third of those sold in Nysant

and when he asked why other fish were not eaten, his questions were answered with a

simple, “It is against our way.”

As he spoke to more people he discovered many things that were counter to their “way.”

Sailing beyond sight of the island was a violation of religious law. The manufacture and

consumption of alcoholic beverages was similarly banned. Religious laws proscribed

many things, narrowly focusing their lives on things that were important and would allow

them to survive.

Jorim slowly began to form a picture in his mind of what must have happened down

through the eons. The small settlement looked to its religious leaders for direction during

times of crises. A priest, or a series of them, outlawed one thing and another. It could have

been that during a particularly poor year for grain, he forbade brewing. Conversely a

celebration where men drank to excess and started fighting might have resulted in the