The Dyscovera and the Al-Orizin

The two ships combined their materials and stretched swatches of repaired sail to catch the breeze. The currents of the sea drew them onward in the right direction, according to Aiden’s Compass. Prester Hannes wasn’t surprised: Ondun would want to bring them to Terravitae.

The waters were gray and the temperatures cool, but he felt warm anticipation. Before long, he would stand before Holy Joron. He braced himself with a preaching staff, which was tipped with a hard bronze fishhook. The emblem made him feel strong enough to deflect Sikara Fyiri’s questions. She understood so little! He looked forward to seeing the last son of Ondun smite the obnoxious Urecari priestess and scoff at her silly beliefs.

Javian stood with him at Aiden’s Compass, looking out at the water in search of a misty horizon. The young man had been an excellent addition to the crew, and he’d been spending more and more time asking insightful questions. Since the beginning of their voyage, Hannes had secretly hoped to convert the cabin boy into one of his devotees. Javian had not yet embraced Aidenism with ardent faith. Still, the prester maintained hope. Some evenings, the two would read the Book of Aiden together, and Javian listened with apparent interest when Hannes pointed out the foolish contradictions in Urec’s Log.

Hannes still wasn’t sure he liked Javian’s easy friendship with the female sailor, and it appeared that his romantic interest was reciprocated. Though Mia had deceived them by hiding her gender, at least she did not speak out against Aiden or openly question the church’s teachings. The Uraban sikara was a far more worrisome enemy.

Though they tended to stay aboard their respective ships, the crews could cross back and forth at will via a plank bridge that had been laid over the intact portions of the ships’ rails. Hannes looked for an appropriate chance to lecture the crew of the Al-Orizin, to point out the errors of their beliefs. After all, he spoke the language perfectly, having lived in Uraba for so many years.

That time had been a special and important part of his life. Prester-Marshall Baine had sent him to Ishalem in disguise to learn Urecari ways, and Hannes had undertaken the assignment with great fervor, living a double life. He acted like one of them, infiltrated their church services, understood their weaknesses. When Ishalem had caught fire, however, he had been burned trying to steal the sacred Amulet of Urec from their main church. After recovering in Olabar, and murdering the soldan-shah’s wife, he had spent years wreaking as much havoc as possible. A warrior for Aiden. He was proud of his success.…

But Sikara Fyiri refused to let her people listen. Instead, the red-robed priestess delighted in debating Hannes face-to-face, challenging him and twisting his words. Now she walked across the deck of the Dyscovera as if claiming the ship in the name of Urec. “Are you filling this boy’s head with more lies, Prester Hannes?”

“Javian’s mind and heart are filled with the truth of Aiden,” Hannes said. “There is no room left for lies.”

Fyiri pouted at the prester’s rebuff, but she enjoyed the debate and challenge, mocking every point Hannes brought up. Though impressed by his intimate knowledge of Urecari scriptures, she offered only glib responses when Hannes pointed out irreconcilable contradictions in her beliefs. The woman’s inflexibility was maddening.

Incensed by her, he had spent hours in his cabin over the past several days, annotating his copy of Urec’s Log, highlighting discordant verses, falsehoods, impossibilities. He intended to show petulant Fyiri, line by line, everything that was wrong with her holy text. On the other hand, he thought, it might be more effective if he simply burned the volume in front of her.…

As the two ships sailed on, Criston allowed wistful personal thoughts to overshadow his larger worries. He still didn’t know if the two ships would ever make it home, or even reach Terravitae. But he was here, with a young man whom he now knew was his son.

Neither he nor Saan had revealed the secret to their crews, although many aboard the Dyscovera marveled to see that the captain of the Uraban ship had blond hair and blue eyes, like a Tierran, like Captain Vora. If anyone noticed a resemblance in their features—and it was definitely there—they had not remarked on it aloud.

But it was undeniable that he and Saan were already close and spent a great deal of time together. They exchanged stories of their voyages, but Criston was most interested in hearing about Adrea. Mailes had revealed that she was alive, but gave him no details.

The longing was plain in his voice when he asked Saan to tell him more about his mother. The young man smiled, struggling to use the rusty Tierran language that she had taught him long ago. “If you’ll tell me about her as well. All my life, I didn’t want to hear about her early years in Tierra. I was embarrassed by the color of my hair and eyes. I tried to hide my Aidenist heritage…and still the priestesses wanted to kill me for who I was.”

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.”