well,” Hersí said.
Munif noticed both men looked constantly up into the sky. Hersí pointed out over the sea. Munif heard him mention Tivisis, and then, amid the hushed jumble of words, the word duty . The shorter summoner listened intently; his nods appeared to placate Hersí.
Munif leaned forward, desperate to hear more, to understand better. He knew they were headed to Tivisis—this was certain. Beyond, however, remained unknown—thus he’d spent frustrating nights in his cabin, studying a map between bouts of nausea, unable to determine whether the city was the end of their journey or just one more stop along the way.
A shriek from the sky interrupted the discussion. All three turned as a scarlet-tailed tern landed on the rail not ten feet from Hersí and preened its feathers.
“Now that is a good sign,” said Hersí.
“Some signs… not to… trusted.” Bashír replied. Hersí spat over the rail, startling the seabird; it fluttered up for a moment and then came to rest again a few feet farther along the rail.
“Don’t be a fool. A few clouds… not prophesy doom.”
Bashír bowed his head and the two men moved toward the stern, continuing their conversation. Munif shook his head in frustration. It was impossible to follow them without rousing suspicion.
This was all he would get from them for now.
His quest for answers would have to continue.
6
“WE’RE CLOSE NOW.”
Munif listened to the squat old salt with scarred cheeks. The mariner held a rope in his right hand and was coiling it around his left arm, all the while staring out to sea.
“Can’t be more than five farsangs by my reckoning.”
In the distance, Munif could see that the cobalt hue of the deep sea was beginning to warm into the soft azure common to the waters off the coast. The dhow continued its course through a deep channel. Though the depth was more than fifty feet, the water remained so clear that Munif could see sand and silvery-hued weeds moving with the current on the sea floor. Beyond the channel to the southwest, long, dark ribbons of kelp waved in the current as if bidding him farewell, as the vessel neared the end of its voyage to Tivisis.
The mariner pointed toward a shallow arc of limestone that extended into the Emerald Sea southwest of the mainland.
“Calanar Islands. You won’t find them on most maps, though,” the mariner said.
“Why is that?” Munif asked as he observed the tiny islands that dotted the surface of the sea.
“Because those who have houses there don’t want to let anyone know ‘bout them,” the mariner replied. “Merchant lords and many a sheikh’s mistresses—with more gold than sense. Least I’ve heard tell.”
Grinning, Munif slapped the mariner’s shoulder. “Probably true.”
He knew the history of Tivisis well. The people here were justified in their pride. Warm, welcoming and vibrant—the city was unrivaled in its commerce, save perhaps for Riyyal.
As the dhow navigated between two of the smaller islands,
Tivisis came into view. The city appeared to be fashioned of silver and gold, with rooftops of sparkling gems: indeed, Pavanan Munif thought to himself, a crown fit for an empire.
Soon the ship found the harbor and Munif could see the marketplace beyond the crowded quays. The busy streets with long, wide walkways were alive with color and movement. Vendors hawked their wares, displaying rich, brightly hued cloth, mounds of ripe fruit, and birds of fabulous plumage from faraway lands. Even from this distance, Munif could see the glint of copper and brass. Everywhere he looked he saw myriad hues; and the scent of countless perfumes permeated the air. Maidens with veiled faces glided among the throngs of traders, sailors, and soldiers.
Munif watched as laborers on the docks unloaded vessels of every conceivable size and design. He could see longships from Khorbard, cogs from Ruinart, and caravels of the Rajani. Many of the ships bore scars from sailing treacherous
Munif noticed both men looked constantly up into the sky. Hersí pointed out over the sea. Munif heard him mention Tivisis, and then, amid the hushed jumble of words, the word duty . The shorter summoner listened intently; his nods appeared to placate Hersí.
Munif leaned forward, desperate to hear more, to understand better. He knew they were headed to Tivisis—this was certain. Beyond, however, remained unknown—thus he’d spent frustrating nights in his cabin, studying a map between bouts of nausea, unable to determine whether the city was the end of their journey or just one more stop along the way.
A shriek from the sky interrupted the discussion. All three turned as a scarlet-tailed tern landed on the rail not ten feet from Hersí and preened its feathers.
“Now that is a good sign,” said Hersí.
“Some signs… not to… trusted.” Bashír replied. Hersí spat over the rail, startling the seabird; it fluttered up for a moment and then came to rest again a few feet farther along the rail.
“Don’t be a fool. A few clouds… not prophesy doom.”
Bashír bowed his head and the two men moved toward the stern, continuing their conversation. Munif shook his head in frustration. It was impossible to follow them without rousing suspicion.
This was all he would get from them for now.
His quest for answers would have to continue.
6
“WE’RE CLOSE NOW.”
Munif listened to the squat old salt with scarred cheeks. The mariner held a rope in his right hand and was coiling it around his left arm, all the while staring out to sea.
“Can’t be more than five farsangs by my reckoning.”
In the distance, Munif could see that the cobalt hue of the deep sea was beginning to warm into the soft azure common to the waters off the coast. The dhow continued its course through a deep channel. Though the depth was more than fifty feet, the water remained so clear that Munif could see sand and silvery-hued weeds moving with the current on the sea floor. Beyond the channel to the southwest, long, dark ribbons of kelp waved in the current as if bidding him farewell, as the vessel neared the end of its voyage to Tivisis.
The mariner pointed toward a shallow arc of limestone that extended into the Emerald Sea southwest of the mainland.
“Calanar Islands. You won’t find them on most maps, though,” the mariner said.
“Why is that?” Munif asked as he observed the tiny islands that dotted the surface of the sea.
“Because those who have houses there don’t want to let anyone know ‘bout them,” the mariner replied. “Merchant lords and many a sheikh’s mistresses—with more gold than sense. Least I’ve heard tell.”
Grinning, Munif slapped the mariner’s shoulder. “Probably true.”
He knew the history of Tivisis well. The people here were justified in their pride. Warm, welcoming and vibrant—the city was unrivaled in its commerce, save perhaps for Riyyal.
As the dhow navigated between two of the smaller islands,
Tivisis came into view. The city appeared to be fashioned of silver and gold, with rooftops of sparkling gems: indeed, Pavanan Munif thought to himself, a crown fit for an empire.
Soon the ship found the harbor and Munif could see the marketplace beyond the crowded quays. The busy streets with long, wide walkways were alive with color and movement. Vendors hawked their wares, displaying rich, brightly hued cloth, mounds of ripe fruit, and birds of fabulous plumage from faraway lands. Even from this distance, Munif could see the glint of copper and brass. Everywhere he looked he saw myriad hues; and the scent of countless perfumes permeated the air. Maidens with veiled faces glided among the throngs of traders, sailors, and soldiers.
Munif watched as laborers on the docks unloaded vessels of every conceivable size and design. He could see longships from Khorbard, cogs from Ruinart, and caravels of the Rajani. Many of the ships bore scars from sailing treacherous
Similar Books
