The Key to Creation (48 page)

Criston ached to hear that Adrea had become one of the soldan-shah’s wives, that she had given birth to a son—who was murdered—and two daughters, who were now young women. But so much time had passed, how could he have expected her to stay alone for her entire life? He had waited for Adrea, pined for her, blocked off so many chances to let himself be happy, clinging to a slender thread of hope that was as thin as a strand of golden hair. Marrying the Uraban soldan-shah had never been her choice.

Criston wistfully told Saan how he had courted Adrea, saved her from a broken family…how they had been wed by Prester Fennan in the old kirk on the hill above Windcatch, how they had lived with his old mother and her brother Ciarlo, a contented family. But he had followed his dreams by sailing off on the
Luminara
, leaving her behind, sure he would come home safe.

“I survived a shipwreck for her. When I had nothing else, not even a drop of water to drink, I clung to the thought of her, just to come home and see her again…” His voice hardened as his heart grew heavy. “But when I did find my way back to Windcatch, Soldan-Shah Omra and his raiders had burned the kirk, killed my mother, and taken Adrea with him.”

Saan looked stung, even though he knew the story. “He is not a bad man. He was my father for most of my life, kept us safe, gave me opportunities a slave would never have had. I understand how you feel—no, on second thought I really can’t imagine it. But Omra does care for her very much, and he relies on her for many of his decisions.”

Criston was not so quick to forgive, however. “Omra killed my mother. He took my wife.”

“And he raised me. I realize that you won’t simply forgive him, but please try to balance the good he has done with the bad.” Saan was clearly troubled. “I can’t just forget him because I’ve found you.”

“Then we’ll have to stand together,” Criston said. “Many things are going to change if we ever get back home.”

Ishalem Wall

The time had come. Queen Anjine marked the days on her calendar, issued orders to her field commanders, rallied the soldiers. She was ready—they all were. They had waited decades for this. The imminent attack would be a thousand times more furious than the recent hurricane that had struck the Tierran coast.

Every man in the army camp kept close watch for any potential
ra’vir
activity, which created unfortunate tension among soldiers who would have to fight shoulder to shoulder in the upcoming battle. Realistically, Anjine couldn’t imagine how
ra’virs
could remain undetected among these brave soldiers who trained together, ate together, worshiped the Fishhook, and attended dawn services each day. But she knew not to underestimate the Urecari.

For the past three months, each step of the operation had moved forward, unwavering, like the moon passing through its cycle of phases. Anjine had no way of knowing where Destrar Broeck was out in the Middlesea, but she counted on him to come with his ironclad warships. And if he didn’t arrive, they would crush the Urecari anyway.

She dispatched a messenger to row out to the naval ships blockading the harbor, telling Comdar Rief to be ready to move in. After restless weeks and months, the Tierran sailors were anxious to storm Ishalem; Rief had promised to light a victorious fire atop Aiden’s Lighthouse before the end of the day.

Destrar Shenro was agitated and eager, sleeping little, practicing on the sparring field, bragging to anyone in earshot about how many Curlies he intended to kill. He seemed intent on making up for his embarrassment after the raid on the wall.

On the day before the final march, Anjine ordered her army to increase the catapult bombardment, concentrating their missiles in a relentless and dizzying stone-storm that lasted from dawn until nearly midnight. Boulder after boulder smashed against the thick stone blocks, leaving white starbursts of powder. Some of the crenellations were chipped and battered, and a handful of enemy soldiers atop the wall were killed by well-placed strikes, but the wall remained strong.

When the Tierran army used up all the missiles they had harvested from the rocky countryside, the Curlies jeered from the wall.
Good
, she thought. Let them believe
that
was the major attack Tierra intended to mount.

She also had her men carry two immense battering rams and drop them out of bowshot from the wall. The intimidating rams would make the enemy nervous, though they would feel safe behind the reinforced wooden gate. Anjine knew the battering rams were merely decoys. The Urabans would expect the ineffective attack to continue, but Anjine had a secret weapon that would turn the great gates into splinters and sawdust. Let them feel confident.…

On the final morning, the queen rose in the cold darkness, ate a small breakfast (although anxiety, and her pregnancy, left her with little appetite), and then went to visit Mateo in the Saedran medical tent. After dragging himself through the camp several days ago, he had suffered a relapse, falling into a deep, restorative sleep. But he was strong, and Anjine had given him even more reason to live.

Mateo rested while Sen Ola hovered over him, dispensing medicines, changing dressings, applying poultices, and feeding him nourishing food. At last, after two weeks, he rallied and began recovering his strength. Sen Ola had just rewrapped his bandages and reported that the injuries were healing nicely when the queen entered the tent.

Mateo sat up on his cot to greet Anjine. “I would stand and bow to you, but my physician says I am not allowed.”

“You need never bow to me in private, Mateo.” She looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Today we launch our attack against the Ishalem wall, and within days the holy city will be ours. I wish you could be at my side.”

“I am gaining strength, my Queen. Perhaps I could ride as an observer.” He looked at the Saedran doctor. “I’ll stay away from the fighting, I promise. I—”

“I forbid it!” Sen Ola interjected.

Anjine agreed. “And if the physician’s command is not sufficient, then your queen forbids it as well. You will stay here and rest.”

Mateo lay back on his cot with a sigh. “But I am feeling stronger.” His voice was petulant but defeated. “Stay safe, my Queen—for me.”

“I will stay safe for you…and for Tierra.” Anjine kissed him on the cheek and left to make preparations. She donned the armor Ammur Sonnen had made, took the sword that had been given to her originally as a ceremonial weapon, though she had since learned how to use it. The edge was so sharp that it would easily slice through Urecari flesh and bone.

As she emerged from the tent, she felt like a shining angel in the dawn light. She called her presters, assembled the archers, footsoldiers, and cavalrymen. Drumbeats rang out, calling the garrisons to order. The increased activity would attract the attention of Uraban sentries, but the Tierran army could no longer hide their intent.

The presters sang hymns: “Ishalem, Ishalem, Ishalem!” Joining the chant, soldiers formed ranks on what had once been the wide and well-traveled Pilgrims’ Road. Now the road was cut off by the stone barricade. The immense gates remained closed against them, and against Aiden. Queen Anjine could no longer stand for that. After today, the wall itself must fall. She had many surprises for the Curlies.

Anjine sat tall in the saddle on a gray Eriettan mare. Destrar Shenro rode back and forth on his antsy horse, shouting about their coming triumph and raising repeated cheers from the soldiers. Jenirod and Subcomdar Hist positioned their mounts at the front of the cavalry lines, behind which came the archers and footsoldiers. Loaded carts rolled along beside them.

The queen called in a strong voice that rang out above the shuffle and din of moving soldiers, “May the Compass guide us.”

A resounding response to the benediction roared from thousands of Tierran throats. “May the Compass guide us all!”

Anjine urged her mare forward to where she could see the Uraban watchers who rushed to the top of the barricade. Enemy archers were crowded shoulder to shoulder on the wall, anxious to massacre the Tierran footsoldiers. Anjine’s troops knew not to get too close, too soon.

Advancing toward the wall, her forces encountered row upon row of ivory skulls on the ground, empty eye sockets staring sightlessly into the brightening day. A thousand heads—
the
thousand heads.

For a moment, before she drove all thoughts away, she was glad Mateo wasn’t there to see the grim reminder of what she had ordered, what he had done. The Urecari had left the skulls there as vengeful sentinels, perhaps hoping to evoke guilt and shame from the Tierrans. But Anjine felt only a dark satisfaction; those victims had been a necessary and sufficient payment for the death of one young prince. And today Tierra’s enemies would pay a much heavier price.

Shenro rode up beside her and sneered at the skulls. “After today, Majesty, we’ll dump ten times as many here—for a start. We need to keep some of the Curlies alive, though, so they can scrub their filth from the streets.”

Anjine issued a challenge, and her soldiers bellowed a response loud enough to make the stones of the wall vibrate. They pushed forward, the horses’ hooves and soldiers’ boots crushing the dry skulls as they approached the gate. The queen raised her sword before her and vowed that by the end of the day she would see the steel covered with lovely Urecari blood.

Ishalem, Main Urecari Church

Even using her personal and political leverage, it took Istar two days to arrange a meeting with the new ur-sikara, due to the turmoil in the besieged city. Just after daybreak, Kuari received her, the big Nunghal, and a cloaked man in her anteroom behind the vaulted primary worship chamber.

“This is my brother,” Istar said. “And as you can see, he is an Aidenist.”

Ciarlo shrugged back his hood to reveal the Fishhook symbol that hung at his throat.

Kuari’s eyes widened in surprise. Fortunately she did not respond with superstitious horror, but showed skepticism and dismay. “I didn’t think you were the type of woman to play a joke on me, Istar…” She shook her head. “The Tierran queen is pressing against God’s Barricade and the enemy navy has blockaded the western harbor. This is
not
a good time for a Fishhook worshiper to be in Ishalem.”

“On the contrary, Ur-Sikara, now may be the best time of all.” Istar still had hope, and possibly even faith.

Ciarlo stood beatifically before the head priestess. “I think that you and I should talk.” He laid two fingers on the fishhook pendant, all he needed in the world.

The ur-sikara paced around him, completing a full inspection as if he were some strange sort of animal. “If you think you can convert me, sir, you are sadly mistaken.” She seemed amused by the very idea.

“Not convert you, my Lady, but perhaps convince you to listen.”

Asaddan laughed. “I haven’t seen a lot of listening going on for quite some time. Neither Aidenists nor Urecari can claim to be the innocent ones.”

Kuari was surprised by the comment. “Haven’t you seen? Queen Anjine is outside our gates with the full Aidenist army!”

Istar stepped forward. “Yes, and what better time for the leader of the Urecari church to speak with her? What if I can convince the soldan-shah to do the same?”

Her heart had changed since learning that Saan and Criston had found each other. On the far side of the world, her son and his long-lost father had discovered a way to work together. Was it so impossible that the soldan-shah and the queen could
speak
? However, with Omra’s attention so focused on the enemy, Istar had not yet informed him of her arrival.

Istar began, “When I was a young woman, King Korastine and Soldan-Shah Imir came to Ishalem to sign the Edict, to forge a peace. But because of some careless spark and people too ready to cast blame, we were thrown into decades of war. We have been going in the same bloody spiral for more than twenty years.” Istar hadn’t realized how much this meant to her until she was reunited with Ciarlo; seeing her brother reawakened all those old memories. “Is that the course we want to set for ourselves, or should we take this opportunity to change? With your voice, and Ciarlo’s, and mine, maybe we can
stop this
.”

“We can look for common ground in the Book of Aiden and Urec’s Log, instead of battling over differences,” her brother suggested. “Aiden and Urec were both sons of Ondun, they both came from Terravitae, they both set off to explore the world, and they both landed on these shores. We are all their children, and Ondun created us all.”

Istar knew Kuari had a logical rather than fanatical mindset. That was why she liked the woman so much and had championed her as the new ur-sikara. But Kuari remained skeptical now. “Yes, and each side has inflicted bloody wounds on the other, year after year. Ships captured or sunk, villages raided and massacred, one murder in revenge for another, and then another one after that. Do you suggest we all take an apothecary’s potion to make us forget?”

“Perhaps to forgive,” Ciarlo said. “Ur-Sikara, you and I could spend the afternoon trading stories of atrocities, tit for tat, like colored marbles on a game board. Are we keeping score? Is
Ondun
keeping score?” He raised his eyebrows. “A better way, I think, would be to find verses in the scripture that tell us about forgiveness. I know there are many in the Book of Aiden.”

Kuari pondered for a moment. “And also in Urec’s Log. Lately, however, the sikaras do not include those lines in their homilies.” The head priestess ran a fingertip along her lips. “Despite what all the other sikaras say about our holy cause, I have not seen Ondun Himself showing any particular support for our side. Or yours.”

Istar clung to hope. Ciarlo smiled at the ur-sikara.

Just then alarms sounded throughout the city. After months of tension and troop buildup, the Aidenist army was marching toward the wall.

Ishalem Wall

Upon hearing that the Aidenists were on the move, Omra rushed to meet Kel Unwar on top of the wall near the gate. The rising sun had not yet driven away the morning dampness, and the air still smelled of rock dust from the previous day’s harrowing catapult bombardment.