86 The Border of Uraba

After Prester Ciarlo had walked for days across untracked lands, he did not let the old pain in his leg slow his pace or diminish his determination. The pain merely reminded him that he was alive, and Ondun wanted everyone to experience both the good and bad things in this life. With prayers and resolve, Ciarlo kept going. In His mercy, Ondun could always take away the pain.

Ciarlo carried his abridged Book of Aiden, but he had already memorized all the inspirational parables he needed. He wanted to share the wonders of his beliefs with the people of Uraba—those who, in their innocence, had not yet heard the truth.

Leaving the Pilgrims' Road and crossing grassy hills to the east, he stayed with Tierran farmers or shepherds he encountered. As he traveled down the narrowing isthmus, the small cottages became harder to find. Living so close to the Uraban border, those who did offer hospitality were increasingly suspicious, but when they saw Ciarlo's fishhook pendant, they welcomed him and asked for his blessing. Later, he set off once more, limping toward Ishalem and beyond.

As soon as he saw the holy city shining under the sun like the contents of an open treasure chest, Ciarlo approached with more caution. He traveled only at night now, working his way through the hills, as he came toward the towering wall that extended to the edge of the land. The barrier was tall enough and the water deep enough to block any large army, but a lone man could find his way around it.

After midnight, when the moon had set, Ciarlo walked down to the white sand beach, secured his shoes and belongings in an oilskin pack, and waded out into the warm Middlesea. He had never touched the legendary waters before, but now he could think only of bypassing what the Urecari had named “God's Barricade,” as if Ondun would ever approve of separating faithful Aidenists from the holy city.

Ciarlo swam out into the deeper waters, beyond the stone wall. Having grown up in Windcatch, he was a strong swimmer. Though his leg hindered him on land, he could make good progress in the sea. Through the hours of darkness, he drifted and swam with the currents, gliding past the city and the boats docked there. His calling pulled him onward, to the heart of Uraba.

As a lone prester preaching the word of Aiden, Ciarlo decided that Ishalem itself would be too dangerous; instead, he would begin his work in outlying villages, talk to small groups, plant seeds so that the common folk would know Aiden and better understand the tribulations that Sapier had endured before founding the church.

For two more days he traveled along beaches and paths until his supplies ran out. His faith had sustained him thus far, but he would need food. Ciarlo's greatest barrier would be language. Having studied the most ancient scriptures of the Book of Aiden, he knew the old forms of the language, from which much of the foreign tongue was derived. Over the years, he'd taught himself a few important Uraban words and phrases, but he would have to become much more fluent in order to inspire these people.

He met a small family camped next to a beached fishing boat. Though they couldn't understand much of what Ciarlo said, they offered him some fresh fish, which he ate thankfully. After he was done, he showed them his fishhook and tried to communicate his important message. The family suddenly turned cold and scowled at him, and after the father made threatening gestures, Ciarlo got up and limped away.

The next morning, he reached a coastal village composed of drab huts and a small church built out of twisted chunks of driftwood. Most of the people were at work, but a few toiled near their homes. Ciarlo grasped his pendant, held his book in the crook of his right arm, and walked boldly among the curious villagers. He spoke with great sincerity, using his few Uraban words and expanding on them, telling familiar stories from the Book of Aiden. The Urabans quickly grasped who he was and what he was saying. When their mood turned dark and they shouted at him, he responded with a peaceful smile.

A plump, square-faced sikara emerged from the driftwood church and regarded him. Upon seeing their priestess, the townspeople grew more vociferous, throwing things at Ciarlo to drive him out of town, and he had no choice but to limp slowly toward the hills, discouraged.

Long after he left the outskirts of the village, in the middle of the afternoon, he spotted a figure riding up behind him on a small pony. He heard the plodding hoofbeats and stopped, knowing that he couldn't outrun mounted pursuit. But the pony was just a working beast, not a warhorse, and the rider appeared to be a woman. He soon recognized the sikara from the village he had just left, and he supposed she had rallied the people against him, to beat or perhaps murder him. Remembering what had happened to Prester-Marshall Baine and the martyrs in the ruins of Ishalem, Ciarlo feared they might string him up on a fishhook and leave him to die in the sun.

But the sikara's expression was kindly. When she drew up next to him, Ciarlo saw wonder and concern on her face. She shook her head. “Apologies. Bad welcome from people.” Her Tierran was as rudimentary as his Uraban.

Ciarlo held up the Book of Aiden. “I came to preach, to tell your villagers about Aiden.” After several attempts, he and the sikara understood each other well enough.

She shook her head. “Do not want this.” She extended her hand to touch his pendant, hesitating briefly, as though afraid it might burn her. She pushed the Book back against his chest, firmly shaking her head. “Go home. No fishhook here.” She untied a sack from her pony's saddle and offered it to him. It contained dried fish, dried fruits, and a small wineskin. “You brave. But be careful.”

“Why are you doing this? Everyone else afraid, angry.” He was frustrated that they could not communicate more freely.

The priestess turned her pony back toward the village. “Don't hate you,” she said, then gave him a very warm smile. “All are children of Ondun.”