The Key to Creation (68 page)

Only one day after his return from Ishalem, Jenirod took an empty crate from one of the storehouses and stuffed the ribbon into it. Then he began pulling one trophy after another off his shelves and throwing them into the crate.

Not so long ago, he had planned to devote a separate room in Calay Castle to his trophies, when he was married to the queen. He had tried to impress Anjine with his supposed accomplishments, and she’d seen right through his façade and found him wanting. How little he had understood! Jenirod realized that he still had a lot of maturing to do before he was ready to become a destrar.

“Are you going to get rid of everything?” His father’s voice came from behind him, and Jenirod turned quickly, startled to see Destrar Unsul standing in the room, watching him.

He looked down at the ribbons in his hand. “At first I thought I should burn them, but that’s too extreme. I’ll keep some…but only some.”

Buried under several newer ribbons and accolades on a side table, he found a small rosette of hand-stitched ribbon. He picked it up and showed it to his father, who also smiled and said, “I remember that one.”

Jenirod’s mother had made it for him to wear at his very first show, a lead-line class, where his instructor led the boy securely on a lead rope at a walk. It was a fat sturdy pony, and three-year-old Jenirod’s chubby booted legs had stuck out ridiculously in stirrups run all the way up the saddle, barely able to curl over the top of the pony’s back. Even then, little Jenirod had done his best to sit tall and correct, to hold the bridle’s reins low as his instructor taught him. He hadn’t won that first class, but it didn’t matter, for his mother had made him the little rosette to wear on his hat.

There were precious few ribbons and awards that meant as much. As he sorted through the bric-a-brac, Jenirod kept the ones he remembered, the ones that mattered. The rest he simply threw into the box.

“Winning a prize won’t make me a better destrar. People need to work, to eat, to have homes. I watched them go through great hardships in the war. They suffered and died for their queen and their church. They sacrificed everything.” His voice cracked. “Would they do that for me—just because I won a horse show?”

Unsul was a thin man with large eyes, a scholarly figure who liked to experiment and tinker. Jenirod wasn’t even sure his father knew how to
ride
a horse, and horses were Erietta’s pride. “You’ll get no argument from me, son, and I am sorry for what you had to endure in the war.”

“No tutor could have taught me that course of lessons. I needed to learn for myself, I see that now. These silly shows are a waste of time, effort, and money better spent elsewhere in the reach.” He continued to pile his trophies into the crate, rambling aloud to himself. “We should declare a moratorium on cavalcades and pageants. Tierra has suffered a great blow, and now it’s time for us to grow up. We don’t have time for frivolous things.”

Unsul surprised him, though. “We can’t cancel all of them, Jenirod—that would not be wise.”

Jenirod lifted a tarnished silver cup with feathery handles. In the past, he had polished it and polished it, though he himself was the only person who ever looked at the trophy. “But what purpose do they serve?”

“The people need
something
, son. It’s Eriettan tradition, the foundations of our horse trade and livelihood. Our people are proud, and deservedly so. Forgetting who we are and who we were would be just as great a blow to our hearts as the Urabans dealt us. Our people need their shows, fairs, and festivals to lift their spirits, to give them a brief respite from their toils, to strengthen them as a community. You should ride again yourself. Let them cheer. A destrar must be loved and respected, and you’ve certainly earned that.” Unsul gestured to the remaining awards and ribbons. “We’ve got to celebrate our prowess, show the world what we do so well, but we need to keep such things in the proper perspective.”

“You’re a wise man, Father,” Jenirod said. “I will also keep this, and this.” He chose a large best-of-show trophy from his first cavalcade as a featured rider. “The rest are just hubris.”

His father let out a contented sigh. “I am glad to have you back home, Jenirod. I was worried about you—and not just on the battlefield.”

Jenirod smiled. “If you’ll give me a second chance, Father, I’d like you to teach me the harder parts about ruling. I need to know more than just the fun parts.”

A satisfied smile crossed Unsul’s face. “Then someday you will be a worthy destrar.”

Calay

Aldo na-Curic’s homecoming was everything he had dreamed of. He came back to Calay with the third wave of soldiers, only to find the city abuzz with preparations for Queen Anjine’s impending marriage, due to take place on the upcoming Landing Day. Already banners and ribbons adorned the streets, and everyone seemed giddy with celebrating the end of the war.

After leaving the dusty road into Calay, Aldo crossed the bridge into the Saedran District, hurrying along familiar streets, amazed to see how much had changed. Every detail of the neighborhood was clear in his perfect memory: many of the shops and homes had a patchwork quality of newness, repaired or rebuilt after the recent hurricane; some of the damaged buildings had been torn down entirely. A bakery was gone, replaced by a clockmaker’s workshop. He smelled fresh wood and heard the rough huffing of a saw through lumber in a cabinetmaker’s shop. He saw two new apothecaries, and an open school in what had been the drafty warehouse of a grain seller.

For him, however, the most important sight was his own home. Aldo had sailed away on the
Dyscovera
nearly a year ago. The last time he’d been gone for so long was because the Urabans had captured him; he had only made it home again through Sen Sherufa’s help. He suspected his family would never let him go away again.

When he stood at the front door, though, his hand froze on the latch. Until now, he had thought only of coming home and seeing all the familiar faces…but a year was a long time. Children were born, couples got married, people died. The hurricane had obviously caused great damage. Mailes had reassured him, but what if something bad had happened to his family in the meantime? What if his parents were dead or—far worse—one of his children gone? The gray fever? An accident?

For an instant, Aldo clung to the idyllic reality preserved so perfectly in his head, knowing that once he opened the door it would never be the same again. But he could not avoid the truth—waiting like a fool on the doorstep changed nothing. He, Sen Aldo na-Curic had sailed to the edge of the world. He had set foot on Terravitae, spoken with Ondun himself. He could do this.

Aldo pushed open the door and stepped inside.

They were all there.

Because Queen Anjine and the first soldiers had returned weeks earlier, his family was expecting him. He felt like a man facing an unruly stampede as Lanni ran forward squealing with delight, throwing herself on him; then his son and daughter nearly tackled him. His brother, sister, and both his parents crowded around, hugging him, weeping, hurling a storm of questions. He didn’t have enough arms to embrace them all at once, but he tried. Tears streamed down his face.

Aldo blocked out the chatter for a minute just so he could hold his wife. Lanni was so beautiful. Her dark eyes sparkled, and the happiness on her face made his heart swell to the bursting point. King Sonhir’s daughters had absolutely nothing to compare with this!

Though he tried to be discreet, his arrival had not gone unnoticed in the Saedran District. Within moments, it seemed, people were pounding on the na-Curic door. Aldo wanted time alone with his family, but he had obligations to his fellow Saedrans as well. They would want to know everything. Soon the house was so crowded that there was little room to breathe or move. Neighbors brought food, and the impromptu feast expanded until they had to open the doors and set out tables in the streets.

Then, amid the joy, Aldo realized who was missing. Sen Leo na-Hadra. He looked around as person after person congratulated him. He finally asked Lanni, “Where is your father? I have so much to tell him. We’ve nearly completed the Mappa Mundi—we’ve discovered so much!”

But she fell silent and turned her head away. “He was killed, Aldo.
Ra’virs
murdered him and destroyed the model of the
Dyscovera
.”

Aldo felt as if he had received a great blow to the chest. “Oh, Lanni, I’m so sorry.” He hugged her tight.

“He tried to protect the ship model, but he couldn’t do it.”

Aldo felt cold as he thought of how the real
Dyscovera
had also been wrecked, nearly sunk by the Leviathan. The two events must have happened at the same time, inextricably connected.

Lanni took a long breath and clung to his arm, then she straightened. “My father was a great man, Aldo, and he will be remembered and loved. But right now, let us think of happier things. My husband is home, our children have their father again, and we all have a reason to celebrate.”

The following day, Aldo and his father entered the Saedran temple and descended to the underground vault. Sen Leo had first showed the young man this place on the day he’d been named a Saedran chartsman…so long ago.

Biento na-Curic looked both awed and pleased to hear his son’s descriptions. “This is a project that’s long needed to be done. You describe, and I will paint.”

Aldo let his eyes fall half closed. “I can tell you about the oceans and islands. Thanks to Sen Sherufa na-Oa, now I can give you the Great Desert, the Nunghal lands, the southern sea, even the Middlesea. And we have sailed across the world, seen wondrous islands, set foot on Terravitae. But given what Ondun said, that is still not all of it.”

The Map of All Things had been painted in exquisite detail on the vaulted ceiling and smooth walls of the temple chamber, but many blank spots remained on sections of wall and ceiling. And now Aldo helped fill them in—a broad and colorful panorama of the whole world, including the sunken continent of the original Saedran colony.

Over the hours, while he and his father worked, Saedran elders gathered to observe them. As Biento painted, Aldo marveled to remember all the things he had seen with his own eyes. The whole world…or just a small part of it.

He knew that even when his father finished the last brushstroke here, the Mappa Mundi was not yet complete. In a way, Aldo was glad.

Calay

After the end of the war and the shift in the world’s religions, Queen Anjine had many loose ends to tie up while she and her functionaries also planned for her grand wedding to Mateo Bornan.

Criston Vora insisted that the queen need not trouble herself with the formalities of rewarding him, but she insisted. She sent a royal summons to him and the thirty remaining members of his crew, and they dutifully gathered at Calay Castle, whose turrets had been bedecked with ribbons and streamers. Well-dressed merchants, destrars and representatives from all the five reaches were arriving for the wedding. Even so, Queen Anjine found time to bring Criston and the
Dyscovera
sailors into the throne room.

City guard captain Vorannen had already given each sailor a large purse of coins, twice the payment they were originally promised. In addition, Anjine sent her tailors to see that each crewman had a new set of clothes for the occasion.

The fidgeting and nervous seamen now stood behind their captain, looking up at the throne. Criston bowed to the queen. He had come here many years ago with ship models and plans, proposing to build the
Dyscovera
so he could continue his voyages of exploration. That seemed so long ago, in a different world, and he had been a different person.

“Captain Criston Vora, we welcome you and your crew back to Tierra and give you your gratitude for all the discoveries you have made. This is a most unexpected joy.”

He bowed farther. “Thank you, Majesty.”

She signaled him to rise. “King Korastine sent you on a quest to find Terravitae. That was his longtime dream, and you accomplished it. I wish he could have lived to see this day.” Anjine gave him a bittersweet smile. “You have done everything we asked of you. Name your reward, Captain, and as queen of Tierra I will grant it. What do you desire most—a chest full of gold coins? Lands? A title?”

Criston had not considered any reward beyond the generous payment she had already given him. In a very real sense, the
Dyscovera
and his quest had brought him back to life, saved him from the emptiness that had smothered him for years. He straightened, though, as the answer occurred to him. “What would please me most, Majesty, is another ship.”

During the weeks of the queen’s wedding preparations, Soldan-Shah Omra dispatched emissaries from Ishalem, whom Anjine welcomed. Ur-Sikara Kuari herself accompanied Prester Ciarlo to the great city of Calay. Ciarlo had already been designated the next prester-marshall—after all, the Traveler himself had befriended him.

He and Kuari preached in the square before the main Aidenist kirk, then walked through the streets of Calay in a great procession, spreading the word. By order of the soldan-shah, and following the wishes of Urec as spoken by the ur-sikara herself, they addressed any remaining
ra’virs
who still hid among the Tierrans. Kuari raised her voice and spoke to all the Tierran faces in the crowds, telling them to put aside their training, relinquish their missions, and plan no more harm to Calay or any other Tierran city.

“That time is past,” Kuari shouted in the main square. “The Teacher is no more. You served Urec in the best way you thought possible, but Ondun Himself has given you a new mission. Live your lives as who you are, with no more secrets, no more retribution.”

When she delivered the message, Ciarlo didn’t expect indoctrinated young men and women to appear out of the crowd and reveal themselves as
ra’virs
who had lived in Calay all this time. He hoped, at least, that the hidden saboteurs would quietly go about their true lives, and no one need be the wiser.