92 The Al-Orizin
Drenched and shivering in the pouring rain, Saan held on to the mainmast. For two days now, the storm had increased in strength, battering the Al-Orizin, hurling them farther into unknown waters.
While Sikara Fyiri had locked herself inside her cabin to pray for safe passage, his crew had to work together on deck even in the worst wind and driving rain. Saan had chosen the men well. Though frightened, several sharp-eyed volunteers climbed the mast and lashed themselves into the lookout nest. They could see little through the clouds, spray, and rain, leaving the ship completely helpless should they encounter submerged rocks or the unknown shore of a rugged continent. But Saan trusted in the vastness of the sea.
“Urec went through worse than this on his voyage!” he bellowed over the howling wind, then he laughed at the storm.
Finally, when the weather abated and the skies cleared, Saan stood on the slick deck watching the sun rise through the clouds. Sikara Fyiri emerged from her cabin wearing a bright red robe. “My prayers were answered. Urec has guided us to safety.”
Saan rolled his eyes. Daily, in the privacy of his cabin, he read the sympathetic journal as the sly Villiki wrote more and more urgent comments to Fyiri, asking for a response, never suspecting that he might be reading them. He maintained his silence, not wanting to tip his hand.
From the lookout, Grigovar called out, “Land ho! Island ahead, just off the starboard bow!”
Amazed crewmen rushed to the side in such a crowd that Saan thought the ship might capsize. Overhead, he noticed two gulls wheeling in the air, the first birds they'd seen in a long time. Prominent in the now calm water was a rugged but verdant island covered with jungles. He didn't understand how this speck of solid ground could be out here in the middle of the open sea. Just as the question formed in his mind, Grigovar shouted again, this time in alarm: “Reefs! Reefs, Captain!”
Ahead, the water had a foamy look, indicating treacherous lines of rock just beneath the surface, jagged edges that could chew the Al-Orizin's hull like hungry mouths.
“Drop anchor!” Saan shouted immediately.
Yal Dolicar ran to the capstan and knocked out the block, letting the anchor drop. The chain rattled through its channel and struck bottom in only a few seconds. Saan's heart skipped a beat at this proof of how shallow the water must be.
The lush island seemed to call to him, offering much-needed fresh food—fruit, game, water. He didn't want to risk sailing closer, though; they would take longboats to shore.
“That could be Terravitae itself!” Yal Dolicar said. “I shall change into my best clothing. I want to look nice for Holy Joron.”
Sizing up the small island, Sen Sherufa said, “I expected Terravitae to be bigger.”
“I will accompany the first party.” Sikara Fyiri's sentence was not a request, invited no argument.
Saan chose Grigovar and Yal Dolicar to accompany him, as well as another pair of crewmen and the insistent sikara; Sen Sherufa remained behind, for now. With the men at the oars, the longboat plied its way through the reefs, and as they glided closer to the island, Saan saw what appeared to be branches sticking up out of the water. Looking more closely, he was astonished to discern the upthrust masts of sunken vessels that had wrecked upon the rocks. He counted at least five ships.
“We were lucky indeed, Captain.” Yal Dolicar leaned over the side to peer into the deceptively clear water. “If the storm had blown for another hour, we would have been shipwrecked as well.”
“You see, Ondun is watching over us,” Fyiri said. “As I requested.”
Dolicar spotted a wisp of smoke and the faint flames of a fire—a bonfire on the shore. “It's a signal, look!”
Grigovar pulled on the oars, not even out of breath. “If any of those ships wrecked recently, there might be survivors on the island, Captain.”
When the longboat approached the shore, Saan bounded overthe side and waded up to the sandy beach, where two figures waited for them, waving with joy. They were not haggard shipwrecked crewmen, however, but a pair of women: an old crone with wrinkled skin and clumpy gray hair, and a willowy young lady with a lovely face and innocent eyes. The girl's long, pale hair had a greenish-blue sheen and was plaited with strands of seaweed.
The old woman spoke perfect Uraban, though with an archaic accent and syntax. “Such a ship we have not seen in many a year. You are most welcome here, most welcome. My name is Iyomelka, and this is Ystya. Forgive my daughter's awkwardness. She has no experience with the company of others.”
The young girl looked like a startled doe, but Saan came forward with a reassuring smile and a gallant bow. He experienced a surprising, almost magnetic attraction for the girl. “And I am quite inexperienced with such beauty. I am Captain Saan of the Al-Orizin. These are my crewmen: Grigovar, Yal Dolicar—”
The priestess pushed her way forward. “I am Sikara Fyiri.”
Leaving the beached longboat, Iyomelka led them up the shore, through a line of palm trees, and into a beautiful glade where stood a house made of piled stones, driftwood, and dried palm fronds. Though ancient and withered, with a bent back, the crone appeared strong and spry.
Yal Dolicar looked around, curious, but saw no one else. “Are you two all alone? How did you ladies get here? And how long ago?”
Ystya opened her mouth to answer, but the old woman cut her off. “That time is long past, and we have lost track of the days. Many a ship is blown off course and smashed on the reefs, but only we survive here.”
“It's a miracle we weren't wrecked ourselves,” Saan said.
“Yes, truly a miracle,” Iyomelka said.
“We're searching for the land of Terravitae,” he continued. “We have voyaged across the world to find it. Do you have any charts—any knowledge that might help us find the land of Joron?”
The crone seemed both startled and amused. “The shores of Terravitae are far from here, and we cannot help you find them. Alas, we have no maps, nor do we have any use for them. We came here to escape such things.”
“And yet they found us, Mother,” Ystya said.
Sikara Fyiri interrupted, pressing her own priorities. “Do you know Urec? Have you read his log?”
Iyomelka offered a mysterious smile. “Oh, yes, we knew Urec very well.”
Wandering around the fringe of the clearing near the hut, Dolicar yelped with excitement and ran back to join the others, interrupting them. “Captain, look at this! Whether or not they can give us maps, this island is more than worth our while. I've never seen the like!”
Outside the glade stood a gleaming mound of treasure: piles of gold coins, carved goblets, jewel-encrusted plates, strands of pearls, rings. Astounded and laughing, Dolicar used his good hand to poke through the breathtaking objects.
Iyomelka explained in an aloof voice, “This island is like a lodestone. Currents, winds, and storms draw ships toward it, and their cargo washes up on our shores.”
Dolicar laughed. “I think I like this place.”
Ystya spoke in her shy, ethereal voice. “It's all pretty, but not very useful.”
Intent on his mission, Saan said, “I'd trade all this wealth for a good set of charts to show where we are and where we need to go.”
Iyomelka gave a curt reply. “The treasure isn't yours to trade.”
“We did not come seeking treasure,” Fyiri interjected. “We are in search of knowledge. We wish to find the Key to Creation and the land of Terravitae.”
“The Key to Creation?” Ystya asked, looking at her mother.
Saan was embarrassed to admit that he didn't exactly know what it was he sought. He flashed a smile at the beautiful young woman. “In a larger sense, we were given a quest to explore the world. If we can find the Key to Creation, we hope it will prove useful in helping us defeat the followers of Aiden.”
“But Aiden and Urec were brothers,” Ystya said. “And Joron.”
“We follow the teachings of Urec,” Fyiri said. “Not the corruptions of Aiden.”
Saan couldn't tell whether Iyomelka was amused or annoyed by the priestess. She said, “It appears that a great deal has changed in the outside world.”
With a spring in her step, Ystya led them away from the treasure pile and back to the hut. “We will share a fresh meal with you, if you like.” She seemed giddy from the company.
Hanging back, Dolicar whispered quickly to Saan, “Captain, as overjoyed as I am to see that treasure, something is not right here. I know when a person isn't telling the truth. I would not advise trusting that old woman.”
“That's one of the reasons I brought you along.” But Saan chuckled as they approached the small stone house, from which the two women carried fresh fruit they had gathered from the trees. “However, many people have told me I shouldn't trust you either, Yal Dolicar—and that girl is a lot more attractive than you are.”
Dolicar snorted. “You'll get no argument from me on that point.”