36 The Al-Orizin

The soldan-shah decreed a day of rejoicing and prayer for the Al-Orizin before their departure. Plumes of colored smoke wafted from every Urecari church as sikaras burned prayer strips begging Ondun to keep His watchful eye on the ship; some even remembered to include Captain Saan in their words.

Under bright sunshine on the day of sailing, Saan stood at the prow wearing a golden fern pendant that little Omirr had given him; his sisters had made a hand-painted silk Eye of Urec pennant, which now flew from the top of the mainmast. The crew gathered on the deck waving at the audience, blowing kisses. Sikara Fyiri stood at the ship's stern resplendent in scarlet robes, as if demanding to be the center of attention, but the other sailors crowded in with their exuberance, particularly the muscular reef diver Grigovar.

The shackled but grinning prisoner Yal Dolicar was released from the hold below, and a blacksmith came aboard. With a loud clang, he struck the bolt from the shackles and freed the man, then carried the chains back off the Al-Orizin. Dolicar rubbed his sore ankles with his one hand, then straightened and waved as vigorously as any other crewman, holding up his beautifully carved wooden hand.

Old Imir strode up the boarding ramp, walked straight to brown-robed Sen Sherufa, and swept her into his arms for a wet, enthusiastic kiss. The crowds whistled and cheered. Saan couldn't tell if the Saedran woman was startled more by Imir's unexpected act or by the catcalls that erupted from the hundreds of observers. Sherufa blushed furiously but didn't pull away too quickly. Imir laughed as she extricated herself and still managed to pat her rear before he bounded back to the docks.

Soldan-Shah Omra stood on the dock with his two wives, three daughters, and two young sons. Saan waved to his mother with such confidence that some of the worry actually faded from Istar's expression. He had already said goodbye to his family, taking special care to speak earnestly with Omirr. “You are the zarif, brother. Help our father take care of Uraba until I come back.”

Raising his hands, Omra shouted above the crowd noise, “Urec will guide you! Let his eye on your sail see only untroubled waters and brisk winds to carry you to your destination. Follow the Map and find what all men are meant to find. Find the Key to Creation!”

When Omra finished his speech, two sailors withdrew the boarding ramp, and dockworkers loosed the ropes. Saan and his crew threw long rolls of ribbon toward the crowd, keeping hold of one end as the ship drifted away from the main dock. The colored streamers shot out like the tails of falling stars, and the gathered people ran forward to catch them. They held the ribbons that grew tighter and tighter as the Al-Orizin moved off, until finally the ribbons snapped. One young man held on even when his ribbon didn't break, and he was pulled off the dock into the water, to uproarious laughter.

As the ship began to sail away, Saan stared at the broken fabric strands, then looked up and waved farewell to his family again.

The crowds diminished on the docks as the Al-Orizin headed out into the deep Middlesea, her colorful sails dwindling in the distance. And Istar was left behind again. She remained on the lonely dock long after most people had dispersed, keeping her three daughters close. None of the girls spoke now, having yelled themselves hoarse as the ship launched.

Istar felt herself crumbling inside, shaking. She had prepared for this, but she had not expected how the emotions would overwhelm her. She had thought those feelings long buried, but she had been fooling herself. They were not forgotten.

First Criston… and now Saan.

For the past five years, she had carefully kept her secret from the soldan-shah, an old waterstained letter written in the familiar hand of her first love, her true husband in the eyes of Ondun and Aiden. Though she had long ago surrendered to affection and appreciation for Omra, she had always reserved a special part of her heart and her dreams for Criston. That letter had saved her in more ways than one; she read and cherished it whenever she needed to. Even when Omra was away, Istar was never truly alone.

On that last day in Calay, when Criston and his fellow crewmen had waved from the decks of the Luminara, she had given him a lock of her hair… golden strands that symbolized the bonds of sympathetic magic, and of their love. He had vowed to write her letters and seal them in bottles along with strands of hair so that they would be drawn back to her. And he had done exactly as he promised.

But she had been taken from him, thrown unwillingly into a different life, a life that she had accepted. But Istar—Adrea—had never forgotten.

Each time she studied the already memorized words Criston had written aboard the Luminara, so long ago, she felt as if she were cheating on Omra. But Criston didn't know where she was—or whether she was even alive—just as she had no idea if he had been lost at sea like his father… or if he had found someone else to love.

Now Istar barely recognized her own life. Once she had made her desperate bargain and married Omra to protect her young son, the soldan-shah had treated Saan as his own and accepted Istar as a true First Wife. But she had never forgotten about her fishing village of Windcatch… or that horrific day when Omra and his Urecari raiders had ended her world. The letter anchored her to those other days….

Once, she had carelessly left the door to her palace chambers unattended, considering herself alone as she pored over the letter. Cithara had come in to ask her to play a game with the girls. Istar had tried to hide the brittle, waterstained pages, but not before the quiet girl had seen the Aidenist writing. Cithara had stared, wide-eyed, her expression full of questions. When Istar was clumsy in making excuses, Cithara had merely said, “Don't worry, Mother Istar, I didn't see anything.”

Since that bloody day in the souks down by the docks, Istar had made it known to all Saedran merchants and arriving traders that she was interested in seeing any letters found in bottles. Twice, men had brought her possibilities, but they were obvious forgeries and certainly not written by Criston. She had no further word from him.

After long consideration, she had shown the letter to Saan and again told him the full story of her past life. Having been raised in the Olabar palace and taught only the religion of Urec, her son had difficulty understanding her wistful memories of Tierra. He knew the facts, realized that his mother had been taken against her will, but saw only that her life had been much improved from what it would have been as a poor fisherman's wife. Omra was agood husband and a good father, and she could not argue withthat.

Now that the Al-Orizin had sailed away, however, she regretted not telling Saan more about what his real father had done, how their son was unwittingly following in Criston's wake. How similar they were! Young Saan was so brave, happy, incredibly handsome and strong, chasing after a true dream in his heart. Just as Criston had.

She understood perfectly well the political reasons why Omra had sent the young man away; not only did it make pragmatic sense, it was something that needed to be done… and something Saan longed to do.

But as she stood on the dock and looked toward the horizon, no longer able to see the ship, Istar couldn't help thinking about the day that her brave young Criston Vora had sailed away in the Luminara, leaving her behind.