2 Ishalem
The great wall across Ishalem blocked the isthmus from the Aidenist enemy. Behind God's Barricade, the holy city would at last be safe in Urecari hands, and on the other side Tierra would wither and die like a branch broken from a tree.
From the high hill where once had stood the ancient wreck of Urec's Arkship, Soldan-Shah Omra watched his construction workers and Tierran slaves continue their labors. The sweating men used log rollers lubricated with mud to pull blocks into place. In the western harbor, a barge rode low in the water, carrying heavy blocks hewn from cliffside quarries.
In charge of the project, Kel Unwar had nearly completed a towering barrier seven miles long, stone after stone after stone, now that the Uraban army had recaptured the blood- and ash-encrusted land. Though trained to be a military leader, Unwar was more gifted as an engineer and organizer, commanding work teams instead of armies. When Omra first challenged him to build the wall, Unwar had stared off into the distance, then slowly nodded. “No man has ever attempted such a task, Soldan-Shah. It will be magnificent.”
Over the years, the enemy had tried—and repeatedly failed—to breach the defenses, and Omra had no intention of ever allowing the 'Hooks to set foot on this sacred ground again. Wearing clean sashes and carrying bright scimitars, soldiers patrolled the rocky landscape north of the boundary line to watch for Aidenist forays. Warships patrolled the harbor and the coast. As the wall neared completion, the enemy grew increasingly desperate—and the soldan-shah felt increasingly secure.
Soon he would be able to go back home to the capital of Olabar, to his family and the palace. But not yet.
His goal was to restore the true glory of Ishalem. The pilgrim camps and the last ruins of burned homes had been replaced by new dwellings made of white and tan stone. Sturdy Uraban horses dredged the debris-choked canals so that water flowed again; small boats could travel inland from the harbors on both the Oceansea and Middlesea coasts. The air resonated with the noises of construction: the clink of hammers, the creak of ropes and rattle of pulleys, the grunting calls of hardworking men. It was a joyful sound, a satisfying racket.
Perhaps Ondun Himself would notice and decide that the people He had left behind were once again worthy….
Riding up next to Omra, Soldan Vishkar from Outer Wahilir slid down from his dapple-gray stallion and somehow managed to bow at the same time. The stallion's showy tack was made of ornately tooled leather, the bit cheekpieces stylized with plated golden ferns and deep purple tassels.
“A fine afternoon, Soldan-Shah.” Twenty years Omra's senior, the new soldan of Outer Wahilir had a square face and barrel chest. His delicately pointed noise and the quirk of his smile always brought a brief sadness to Omra: the man looked so much like his daughter Istar—Omra's first wife and first true love—who had died in childbirth long ago.
Vishkar extracted a long cylinder from his saddlebag, unrolled the paper, and looked around for a place to display the drawing. Finally, he used his horse's flank as a makeshift table; the stallion grazed on patches of grass, unconcerned. “And the day will be even finer once I show you these plans for my church. My Saedran architect has outdone himself. This building will be far more impressive than Huttan's.”
“I knew you were up to the challenge. Let me see your designs, even if they were drawn by a Saedran.” Vishkar often tried to coax forth details about his competitor's plans, but Omra would not say. “Wouldn't it be better to have a follower of Urec design the church of Urec?”
Instead of looking abashed, Vishkar shook his head. “No, Soldan-Shah. It is best to use the most talented architect, regardless of his beliefs. And Sen Bira na-Lanis is the best. I intend to win this contest.”
In the city's glory days, two churches had dominated Ishalem—an Aidenist kirk on the western side and the main Urecari church on the eastern side. After the great fire, the soldan-shah commanded that the two churches be rebuilt, but this time both would be raised to the glory of Urec, and both would display the unfurling fern symbol. The new Ishalem had no place for the Aidenist fishhook.
The neighboring soldanates of Outer and Inner Wahilir had always been rivals, and Omra had challenged each of the two soldans to rebuild one of the grand churches. Stodgy Huttan had complained, while Vishkar vowed to demonstrate his worthiness for such an important project. As the newly installed soldan, Vishkar felt he had much to prove.
Several years ago, after the former leader of Outer Wahilir and his entire family were poisoned by a heinous Aidenist assassin, Soldan-Shah Omra had caused an uproar among the nobles by installing Vishkar in the vacant ruling seat. An unexpected choice, but he was a wealthy and stable Olabar merchant—and, as the father of sweet Istar, he was a man Omra respected. Much to the consternation of old-guard noble families, Vishkar ruled the entire rich soldanate with its major coastal cities, its shipyards, and its trading ports.
While his Inner Wahilir rival Soldan Huttan grumbled about the expense of building a new church, Vishkar enthusiastically set to work. Now, pointing to the parchment spread on the grazing stallion's flank, he indicated the turrets and minarets, the vaulted worship chamber with a spiraling walkway. Numerous windows would admit a flood of light. From the highest balconies, sikara priestesses would shout out the scriptures or burn prayer ribbons in braziers. Although this plan was far more ambitious than anything Soldan Huttan had suggested, Omra allowed no hint of reaction to show.
Suddenly, the stallion's head jerked up, ears pricked, as a thin man ran up the Pilgrim's Path toward the top of the sentinel hill, as if a host of demons were on his heels. Covered with dust, dirt, and powder, he carried a rolled object in his hand. Guards raced behind him, in shared excitement rather than pursuit. Panting and gasping, the man reached the hilltop, bent over, and coughed, resting his weight on his knees.
Vishkar blinked in surprise. “Sen Bira? I hardly recognized you! Sire, this is my Saedran architect.”
Bira shook dust out of his tangled hair and tried in vain to neaten his appearance. He gulped a breath of air. “I… I should have taken a horse.”
The guards arrived quickly beside the Saedran, embarrassed that he had outrun them. “Soldan-Shah! This man has made a discovery—”
“He was about to explain himself.” Omra nodded to the man once more. “Go on—my curiosity is piqued.”
With an effort, Sen Bira na-Lanis caught his breath and composed himself. “We have been excavating the ruins of the old Aidenist kirk that burned to the ground in the great fire. Today, we broke through a stone wall deep in the catacomb levels and discovered a vault that has remained untouched for centuries.” He raised the cylinder—an ancient letter container made of varnished leather.
Vishkar snatched the leather tube and, without opening it, passed it to Omra. The soldan-shah withdrew a well-preserved sheet of parchment, unrolling it with painstaking care, and saw glorious illuminated text. The chart was of a land he had never seen before: islands and reefs along a strange coastline, floating mountains of ice, along with fanciful illustrations of sea serpents and tentacled things. The writing was so ornate and archaic that Omra had trouble deciphering the letters.
With surprising reverence, Sen Bira said, “It's the Map, Soldan-Shah—the original Map. The information it contains, the wonders…” He pointed a dirty finger at the coastline but took care not to touch the parchment. “See here, it says TERRAVITAE.”
Omra looked at Vishkar, then back at the Saedran. “Urec's original Map? The one given to him by Ondun Himself before the two brothers sailed away? The one Urec used in his search for the Key to Creation?”
Sen Bira nodded. “I believe so, Soldan-Shah. It has been sealed in a catacomb, undisturbed, for an impossible amount of time.”
“But Urec supposedly lost his map,” Vishkar argued. “We know all the stories. That's why he could never find his way back home.”
Sen Bira's eyes traveled over the document. “The legends are so old, who can say what is true and what is not? Tales change over the years.”
“The truth doesn't change,” Vishkar said.
Omra marveled at the map, breathing quickly as his suspicions grew, his sense of wonder shifting to anger. “If this is indeed Urec's original Map, then why was it hidden beneath an Aidenist kirk?”
In the city below, war horns sounded from the wall, a fanfare that made the workers pause in their labors. Omra looked up from the ancient relic in his hands, instantly on edge. Vishkar slid a spyglass out of its loop on his stallion's saddle and extended the embossed brass cylinder to the soldan-shah.
Omra passed the newly discovered Map back to the Saedran. “Take this to my residence for safekeeping, but tell no one until I have had time to contemplate it.” Without waiting to hear the architect's answer, he pressed the spyglass to his eye, focused, and saw a scout rider on the other side of God's Barricade, galloping along the rough and overgrown old road that had once carried Aidenist pilgrims to Ishalem. The rider raised a fern banner so that archers from the top of the barricade would not shoot at him.
“It's one of our scouts returning, riding hard.” Omra swiftly mounted his horse while the guards and Sen Bira milled around in alarm. With an effort, Vishkar climbed back into his own saddle, and the two men kicked their mounts into a trot, making their way down the steep path, whistling and shouting for others to move out of the way.
They reached the uncompleted gap in the tall stone wall, where more Uraban soldiers converged to meet the scout. “Make way for the soldan-shah!” Vishkar bellowed, and the uniformed men shifted aside.
As he pulled up his horse, the scout was flushed, his eyes shining with excitement. Seeing Omra, he sketched a quick bow from his saddle, but wasted no time on formalities. “It's the Tierran army, Soldan-Shah! Ten thousand strong—cavalry and footsoldiers, the largest force they have ever sent against us.”
Omra received the news without surprise. “They must be serious this time. When will they arrive?”
“Within days, Sire. Three at the most.” A ripple of excitement spread through the people gathered at the wall.
Omra stroked his dark beard. “Then we will be ready for them.”