When the final section of blasting was complete in the canal, water flowed freely across the isthmus like lifeblood, connecting the Middlesea and Oceansea for the first time since the creation of the world.
Standing at the western mouth of the new waterway, Kel Unwar admired the culmination of his work, and tears streaked his cheeks. This was a moment of unparalleled triumph for his soldan-shah, for Ondun, and (far less important) for himself. The feeling of joy—instead of hatred toward the Aidenist animals—seemed unnatural. Perhaps he could make improvements later, but for now, no one could deny the breathtaking accomplishment.
Unwar raised a shout to the crowd that had gathered to celebrate the inauguration of the waterway. “With this magnificent canal our ships can now sail from one end of Uraba to the other—from Lahjar to Kiesh.” He meant to continue, but the cheers drowned him out.
Soldans Huttan and Vishkar were in attendance, for this canal was a symbolic joining of their two soldanates—Inner and Outer Wahilir—though the men had no great fondness for each other. The soldans had been commanded to build two giant churches on either side of Ishalem, as a contest. Huttan and Vishkar had brought their own engineers, workers, and resources to Ishalem. Huttan had vowed to finish first, and his church already towered higher than its counterpart; Soldan Vishkar, meanwhile, devoted himself to the details, planning meticulously, double-checking the work.
No matter how magnificent the two new churches might be, though, Unwar’s accomplishments overshadowed both: the towering wall across the isthmus that kept out the Aidenists, and now this seven-mile-long canal that connected all of Uraba for trade and naval protection.
“It’s a shame Soldan-Shah Omra could not be here in person for the celebration,” Vishkar said with a wistful sigh. He was a pleasant and reliable man, the father of Omra’s original First Wife.
“He would not have wanted us to wait,” Huttan added sourly.
Unwar didn’t want to hear the two men argue. “Uraban ships can now sail to all parts of the land, and I have completed my work ahead of schedule. The soldan-shah will be pleased, whether or not he is here.”
As provisional governor of Ishalem, Unwar ordered casks of wine to be opened and a feast served to launch the day’s celebration. Feeling generous, he even granted extra rations and a day of rest for the Aidenist slaves who had dug the channel. Then, while the people of Ishalem reveled, Kel Unwar slipped away from the noise and crowds.
Though the honor was rightfully the soldan-shah’s, Unwar had decided to take the first boat through the canal. It was the only reward he wanted—he had no interest in greeting nobles or returning toasts that were made in his honor. He hurried down to the pier and chose a slender boat that he could row from west to east, from Oceansea to Middlesea, along the placid waters. He climbed into the boat, loosed the rope, and took up the oars.
As he paddled along the channel, the water was so peaceful, so smooth. Passing the city’s bright new buildings, tiled roofs, silken awnings, and numerous churches brought both an ache and a warmth to his heart. Soon ships could sail through in both directions: cargo vessels carrying supplies for the city’s defenses, war galleys filled with soldiers.
For now, though, Kel Unwar had the canal—his canal—all to himself. His mind was as placid as the water, and he let his thoughts wander, watching the landscape and skyline pass. He crossed the seven miles much more quickly than he’d expected.
People were also celebrating on the Middlesea terminus of the canal. Bustling crowds stood on the docks, though he had told no one of his plan to make the solo passage. When his boat approached, the people applauded. Most of them didn’t even recognize him until they spotted his governor’s sash and olba.
Unwar pulled up to the small pier and tossed the painter rope to a young man in the crowd, who grabbed it and tied up the boat. He climbed onto the pier, and suddenly Unwar’s knees went weak as he realized what he had just accomplished. He had done the impossible. His canal had changed the world. Commerce throughout Uraba, and naval warfare against the Tierrans, would never be the same again. And now the Urecari could win the war and eradicate every living follower of the Fishhook.
Despite the applause and smiling faces, he felt a bittersweet emptiness instead of overwhelming triumph. He had dug the canal and been the first man ever to traverse it. He had also built the great wall, God’s Barricade.
Unwar’s smile faltered as he walked past a group of merchants who seemed delirious with the new opportunities before them. What more could he do in his life to compare to that? What else was left? He could retire, retreat to a private estate where he could relax and live well for his remaining years. It would drive him mad.
A hush fell across the joyous chatter, a creeping shadow of silence. Unwar spotted the Teacher walking through the crowd. People backed away from the ominous silver mask, the black-gloved hands. But Unwar knew who the dark figure was and what had driven her to become this enigmatic person. Aidenist barbarians.
Unwar stepped close to the mask, while everyone else moved away. The people must think him particularly brave as he extended his hand and grasped the Teacher’s gloved one. He spoke in the barest of whispers. “It’s done, Alisi—and now what am I supposed to do?”
Her voice was muffled through the small slit in the mask. “You will do whatever Ondun calls you to do. Defend Ishalem against the heretics. There is still much killing to be done.” Though her body was concealed by voluminous dark robes, Unwar could tell she wanted to embrace him. That in itself was an odd thing, because after the crushing abuse she had suffered from Tierran sailors, his sister rarely wanted to touch anyone.
“I am proud of you, brother,” she said. “Very proud.”