The Key to Creation (62 page)

“I am glad you think so,” Ystya said, flushing with pleasure at the compliment.

“Shall we be off, then?” Ondun said.

Criston bowed. “The voyage is yours to command, my Lord.”

While the two crews had expected to spend days filling water barrels, harvesting fruit, digging fresh roots and plants, hunting game and preserving the meat for the return trip, Ondun insisted that such measures were unnecessary. “Don’t worry—we won’t be voyaging long.”

Though supplies and equipment had been lost during the recent storms, Criston left Javian and Mia with tools and materials to help them set up their new home in the ancient stone ruins. With the continent’s temperate climate and lush bounty, the two would have everything they required.
Pioneers.
Javian and Mia said their farewells to their comrades.

Criston embraced the young man as they stood at the edge of the golden ferns, looking out to sea. “You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely, Captain.”

Mia added, “We’ll be fine here, sir. It’s
Terravitae
.”

Criston was anxious to row back out to the marvelous new Arkship. “We’ve all had to place our faith and hope in what Ondun told us, and if He’s correct, He and Ystya will soon come back here, maybe with other ships. You two won’t be alone for long.” He smiled. “After all, we know the route now.”

Taking the last ship’s boat out of the lagoon, Criston looked back to see Javian and Mia waving goodbye, and he was sure they did not doubt their choice.

* * * 

The new Arkship was ready to sail. Ondun gazed out to sea, as if imagining the far horizon. “Now that Ystya has convinced and inspired me, I find myself in a hurry. I could summon the breezes, but that would not suffice. Let me call up some assistance.”

He extended his hands out over the ship’s bow and sent a strange call into the depths. Within moments large shapes appeared in the water—the scaly forms of golden sea serpents with heads like seahorses.

“These steeds will pull the Arkship across the world,” Ondun said. “They’ve been waiting a long time for a good run.” The golden seahorses let out shrill hoots from their blowholes and swam around the new Arkship, much to the delight of the mer-Saedrans in the water.

Ystya wore an overjoyed smile; her skin and hair glowed with dazzling light. She turned to Saan. “We are so happy we can help. You’ve done me a favor, and now I want to show
you
so many things.”

He was unable to find words. His deep affection for Ystya, possibly even love, had been overwhelmed by complete awe once he found out who she really was. He shook his head, still disbelieving. “You were such a shy and innocent girl when I took you under my wing. Now…I don’t know how to act with you.”

She found that funny. “I’m no different than I was before.”

Using his magic, Ondun uncurled long ropes from piles on the Arkship’s deck, and the braided strands gleamed like spun gold. Using the magical rope, Ondun harnessed the five golden serpents to the Arkship’s bow, as if they were horses drawing a chariot.

The mer-Saedrans swam astern of the Arkship. King Sonhir floated in the waves, gazing to the high decks. “We will try to keep up with you!”

Ondun called back down, “Easily managed. As this vessel sails, you’ll be swept along in her wake. I will pull you with us.” He seemed mischievous. “It will be a fast ride, though. We have much distance to cover.”

The two captains called for the anchors to be raised, and most of the crew eagerly went to the sides to watch the departure. Ondun’s voice boomed like thunder. “We are off!”

The seahorse-monsters lunged forward, pulling the Arkship. Criston turned to gaze one last time at Terravitae. Adjusting his spyglass, he could just make out two small figures—Javian and Mia—waving from the beach.

The land dwindled behind them in only a few minutes, and the hard breeze in Criston’s face told him how swiftly they were traveling.

The Arkship’s wake frothed and churned, and he saw numerous dolphins bounding in the water. King Sonhir, his daughters, and other mer-Saedrans swam alongside, Kjelnar among them. The big Iborian shipwright waved and shouted, “We’re still with you, Captain Vora!”

As they raced along, Ondun stood with Criston and Saan. Ystya’s father seemed twice the size of a normal man now, swelled with the power he was using, but when Criston looked more closely, they were about the same height. Ondun flashed a mysterious smile. “For you, Captain Vora, I have asked others to join us. It was a struggle to release them from that woman’s greedy clutches, and they’ll have to return to her in time. But she isn’t much of a fighter. Not this time.”

Though the wind whipped in his face and stung his eyes, Criston saw the shadowy outlines of a fleet of spectral ships sailing after them, carried along by ghostly winds. He recognized the
Luminara
in the lead.

“It seemed fitting to bring your lost loved ones,” Ondun explained. “So they can see their homes one final time and say farewell.”

Criston felt a lump in his throat and he could barely whisper a thank-you. He had already lost Captain Shay and his fellow crewmen once. And he hoped that after he got home, he would be able to find Adrea again. He knew that Saan would help.

“How long will our voyage take, my Lord?” he asked.

Ondun leaned back with a placid look on his face. “Not long. The world is not such a big place, once you know all of it.”

Ishalem, Arkship Hill

With his hood thrown back, Holy Joron—the Traveler—towered like a giant over the armies of Urec and Aiden. After he revealed himself on the top of Arkship Hill, his figure gained stature like a swelling thunderhead, drawing magic out of the earth. Many soldiers dropped their weapons, fell to the trampled dirt, and abased themselves.

Even with the titanic figure looming over them, Anjine clung to Mateo’s body and moaned quietly, defeated by her own tragedy rather than the massed enemy army. Facing them, Omra—who had thought his city and world lost—stood tall, his back stiff, shoulders squared, ready to endure anything. He seemed more interested in the smear of fresh blood on the queen’s armor than in the return of the Traveler. Asaddan and Istar stayed by the ur-sikara, not daring to speak, waiting for Holy Joron to issue his commands.

While the others were mesmerized, however, Ciarlo was delighted. He tugged on his sister’s arm, trying to pull her to meet the towering figure. “This is the
Traveler
, Adrea. I shared my camp with him. He gave me a book of his tales, and he cured my leg. He can help us now.” He bowed, smiling. “I cannot thank you enough, sir…my Lord.”

Joron gave Ciarlo a warm greeting. “It is good to see you again. I enjoyed sharing stories by your campfire.”

“My Lord, meeting you changed my life forever. Whatever you wish, I will do.” Ciarlo fell to his knees and bowed low.

Joron looked at him with an impatient expression. “Please get up, Ciarlo.” Then he gestured to the gathered soldiers, who remained huddled and frightened. “Get up, all of you. If I wanted to be worshiped, would I have stayed
hidden
among you for so long?”

Uncertain, the others stumbled to their feet to stand before him.

Joron’s gaze swept across the two armies on the hilltop like a sharp scythe. “Though it seems few people listened to all the advice my brothers and I left you.”

Ciarlo got up and glanced at Kuari. “The ur-sikara and I are trying to reach an accord—we still have much to talk about.”

“But armies are not quick to consider compromises,” Kuari added. “There has been so much hatred and so much pain.”

Joron seemed twice as tall as any man now, and his voice had the power of waves crashing against a cliff. “For generations I told my stories. I wrote them down and gave them to your people in every Tierran reach and every Uraban soldanate, because they were meant to be lessons for everyone, not just one land or another. Yet over the years, I have watched you squabble over grassblades and ignore the whole forest.”

Listening to the words, Ciarlo didn’t think the Traveler was speaking either Uraban or Tierran; the ur-sikara and the soldan-shah’s troops seemed to understand him just as well. In the presence of Joron, they could somehow all communicate with one another.

The Traveler raised his voice and let his stern words flow. “How can you all be so passionate about your beliefs, yet understand them so little? The message has never been about trappings and rituals, but about your
humanity
. It is about love and compassion, cooperation and challenge. You must better yourselves by building up, not striking down…by exploring new horizons, not building walls and closing doors. Discover, not destroy.” Joron looked with great disappointment at the long spear protruding from Mateo’s chest. “And yet you persist in killing one another.”

While all the others had stood, Queen Anjine remained on the ground, cradling the lifeless body in her lap, her expression wracked with despair and fury. She looked down at Mateo’s face—the skin was pale, his eyes closed. She rocked him back and forth so that the protruding spear swayed like a metronome. Blood had stopped soaking into the shirt beneath his armor.

Even with the Traveler standing beside them, she regarded the soldan-shah with pure, raw hatred. Her voice was ragged with cauterizing sobs. “If you are indeed Holy Joron, then strike that man down! He committed countless crimes against God. He…he
murdered Mateo
!” The last words were wrenched from her throat.

Omra remained stony, as if he didn’t care that the Traveler might strike him down. “You say this, after
you
destroyed the wall? Attacked my people? Soiled the holy streets of Ishalem?”

Before Anjine could escalate the retorts, Ciarlo dropped beside the queen and addressed Joron. “I hear your words, my Lord, and I am ashamed.” He touched the spear shaft in Mateo’s chest and gazed beseechingly at the Traveler. “Can this not be a time to heal? You fixed the old wound in my leg and let me walk like a young man again. You are the son of Ondun…is there anything you can do to save this one man?”

Joron reached out and, seemingly without effort, plucked the spear from Mateo’s body and cast it aside. “A difficult wound to be sure, but it can be repaired.”

Anjine’s voice fluttered with shock and hope. “I’ll do anything if you save him.”

“Will you?” Joron seemed skeptical. “That remains to be seen. This one life must save many, many more…but it can be done. His spark has not gone entirely cold, and Ishalem is a sacred place, a wellspring of magic.” He swept a warning gaze around the gathered soldiers. “All of
you
, on the other hand, have much more healing to do.”

The Traveler laid his hands across Mateo’s body and covered the gaping wound in his side. “He is a good and honorable man. Many like him have died today.” Mateo’s flesh shimmered as a lambent light built within. Joron closed his large brown eyes and
pushed
. A spark like a lightning bolt surged through him and into the bloody body. The Traveler rocked back and stepped away.

Mateo sucked in a huge breath, like a drowning man coming up for air, and the crowd let out a resounding gasp. Asaddan gave a whistle through the gap in his teeth; Ur-Sikara Kuari muttered an automatic prayer. Omra was rooted in place.

Mateo blinked and sat up, disoriented; he looked at Anjine as if he hadn’t seen her in some time. “I’ve been far…far away.” The queen wept and held him, swaying back and forth. She kissed his forehead.

But even faced with a miracle, Omra could barely contain his anger. “And now, my Lord, will you heal my soldiers that these Tierran barbarians have slain? Is her grief any greater than mine? You must be fair!”

With tears drying on her cheeks, Anjine was equally incensed. “And all my soldiers that
your
people killed as well! What of all our innocent villagers who died in your raids? All the slaves that died at Gremurr? And what of my little brother Tomas?”

“You are hardly innocent.” Omra grimaced and took a step closer. “My brother Tukar, the priestesses at Fashia’s Fountain, the thousand victims you beheaded at the wall—”

“Enough!”
Joron’s voice whipped across the hilltop like a tornado. The sound was a physical force that drove Omra back and sent the others reeling.

Ur-Sikara Kuari caught Ciarlo’s arm to keep her balance, and he steadied her. “We need to find a different way, Ur-Sikara,” Ciarlo said. “Joron is
here
—we cannot lose this opportunity.”

Kuari sounded disoriented. “When we first met, I thought you were naïve to suggest that we find common ground and forgive. But now…” She gave him a calm, pragmatic smile. “Keeping score of past wrongs cannot help our people—it can only lead to more death.”

Neither Queen Anjine nor the soldan-shah backed down. “Holy Joron will punish you,” Omra said, as if he could see no one but the queen. “He will stand on the side of the righteous.”

“Yes, He will,” Anjine said. “And He knows what you have done.”

The Traveler regarded the two armies. He sounded drained after healing Mateo, or maybe just discouraged. “Would it be enough if I simply told you all to lay down your arms and make peace?” He crossed his arms over his great chest. “Even now?” An unseen wind continued to blow the Traveler’s brown cloak and long hair. As if hearing a distant sound, he cocked his head, glanced up to the sky, and turned to the Oceansea. A genuinely happy smile lit up his face. “Ah, my father approaches! Perhaps you will listen to him.”

This announcement caused a great stir. Ciarlo said breathlessly, “
Ondun
is coming?”

Even Omra was taken aback. “He is returning to the world at last?”

Joron’s voice held a stern edge. “Yes. Your violence has called him.”

The New Arkship

With a smiling Ondun at the helm, the new Arkship flew across the world’s oceans faster than imagination, and the five seahorse-serpents charged forward day and night without rest. The winds of their passage made the rigging ropes hum like the plucked strings on a musical instrument. The Arkship’s prow cut a deep gouge in the water and left a wide wake behind them.