raid, and Criston could never be sure if his wife had lived long enough to give birth. If she’d had the baby, the child would be twenty years old now, a grown man or woman.
Oh yes, he looked forward to another opportunity to destroy the monster. He wanted a second chance for many things. The bones of the creature embedded in the cliffside symbolized the loss of those possibilities.
Hannes wrestled with the indisputable sight before him, trying to find an answer that fit with his inflexible beliefs. Watching the prester struggle with the irreconcilable, Criston could not forget that Hannes had turned part of the crew against their own captain. On the other hand, he could not forget how he himself had lived as a hermit for so many years, and how he had saved a starving and frostbitten Hannes. Wasn’t that a sure sign from Aiden? The experience of nursing the prester back to health and returning him to Calay had also wakened the lost soul, Criston, from his years of haunted isolation.
If his life had been different, if he had chosen a new path, if he had seized a second chance…
Turning away from the cliff, he spoke before he could change his mind. “Aiden advises that even the worst person can change, that a repentant man should be given a second chance.”
“Yes, and in doing so, the giver is also blessed,” Hannes said. “You know your Book of Aiden, Captain—but have you learned from it?”
Criston continued, “Rather than marooning you here, I will take you back aboard the Dyscovera . And when we reach the shores of Terravitae, I’ll let Holy Joron decide your fates.”
The mutineers caught their breath. “Yes, Captain! We promise to cause no trouble!”
“But first, you must swear your loyalty to me, all of you—on the Fishhook. When I give a command, you must obey it.”
Hannes held up the Fishhook that hung around his neck, and Criston did not doubt his sincerity. “My destiny is to travel to Terravitae, where I can gaze upon the face of Joron. Therefore, I swear to follow your orders, even when I disagree with them.” He wrapped his hands around the pendant and squeezed so tightly that his fingers bled. “I vow this to you, in the name of Aiden.”
The Moray , Middlesea Coast
His palms were rubbed raw, his blisters bled, and his weary muscles screamed with pain, but Ciarlo continued to pull the oar to the ponderous drumbeat of the oarmaster. The shaft had been polished smooth by the sweat of countless hands.
Though the morning sky was bright and the breezes brisk, the air belowdecks was nearly unbreathable. Porthole coverings had been knocked open, yet the crosswinds did little to cool the slaves chained shoulder to shoulder on their benches.
Above on the deck, Captain Belluc stood at the open hatch, talking with the handful of travelers who had come aboard at various ports as the Moray worked its way toward Olabar. The passengers relaxed in comfort under private awnings, played games of chance, or picked out tunes on musical instruments without a thought for the galley slaves below.
The men did not groan or beg for mercy; they had learned to save their words. Despite his exhaustion, Ciarlo talked to them, whispering when he had no other breath. He saw a chance to tell his fellow wretches about better things, about hope. They were Urabans convicted of various crimes, and they had been taught nothing other than Urec’s Log. Ciarlo knew that was why he’d been sent here.
“I met the Traveler in person,” he said to no one in particular. “I spoke with him. He told me a story of the three brothers when they were back in Terravitae—Aiden, Urec, and Joron. He left me a new book of tales, but the people in that last town burned it.”
The men clenched their jaws or squeezed their eyes shut as they pulled the oars against the water, then lifted, pushed forward, and dropped again. Upon hearing Ciarlo’s fantastic claim, several slaves made scornful sounds, but they all listened.
“The
Oh yes, he looked forward to another opportunity to destroy the monster. He wanted a second chance for many things. The bones of the creature embedded in the cliffside symbolized the loss of those possibilities.
Hannes wrestled with the indisputable sight before him, trying to find an answer that fit with his inflexible beliefs. Watching the prester struggle with the irreconcilable, Criston could not forget that Hannes had turned part of the crew against their own captain. On the other hand, he could not forget how he himself had lived as a hermit for so many years, and how he had saved a starving and frostbitten Hannes. Wasn’t that a sure sign from Aiden? The experience of nursing the prester back to health and returning him to Calay had also wakened the lost soul, Criston, from his years of haunted isolation.
If his life had been different, if he had chosen a new path, if he had seized a second chance…
Turning away from the cliff, he spoke before he could change his mind. “Aiden advises that even the worst person can change, that a repentant man should be given a second chance.”
“Yes, and in doing so, the giver is also blessed,” Hannes said. “You know your Book of Aiden, Captain—but have you learned from it?”
Criston continued, “Rather than marooning you here, I will take you back aboard the Dyscovera . And when we reach the shores of Terravitae, I’ll let Holy Joron decide your fates.”
The mutineers caught their breath. “Yes, Captain! We promise to cause no trouble!”
“But first, you must swear your loyalty to me, all of you—on the Fishhook. When I give a command, you must obey it.”
Hannes held up the Fishhook that hung around his neck, and Criston did not doubt his sincerity. “My destiny is to travel to Terravitae, where I can gaze upon the face of Joron. Therefore, I swear to follow your orders, even when I disagree with them.” He wrapped his hands around the pendant and squeezed so tightly that his fingers bled. “I vow this to you, in the name of Aiden.”
The Moray , Middlesea Coast
His palms were rubbed raw, his blisters bled, and his weary muscles screamed with pain, but Ciarlo continued to pull the oar to the ponderous drumbeat of the oarmaster. The shaft had been polished smooth by the sweat of countless hands.
Though the morning sky was bright and the breezes brisk, the air belowdecks was nearly unbreathable. Porthole coverings had been knocked open, yet the crosswinds did little to cool the slaves chained shoulder to shoulder on their benches.
Above on the deck, Captain Belluc stood at the open hatch, talking with the handful of travelers who had come aboard at various ports as the Moray worked its way toward Olabar. The passengers relaxed in comfort under private awnings, played games of chance, or picked out tunes on musical instruments without a thought for the galley slaves below.
The men did not groan or beg for mercy; they had learned to save their words. Despite his exhaustion, Ciarlo talked to them, whispering when he had no other breath. He saw a chance to tell his fellow wretches about better things, about hope. They were Urabans convicted of various crimes, and they had been taught nothing other than Urec’s Log. Ciarlo knew that was why he’d been sent here.
“I met the Traveler in person,” he said to no one in particular. “I spoke with him. He told me a story of the three brothers when they were back in Terravitae—Aiden, Urec, and Joron. He left me a new book of tales, but the people in that last town burned it.”
The men clenched their jaws or squeezed their eyes shut as they pulled the oars against the water, then lifted, pushed forward, and dropped again. Upon hearing Ciarlo’s fantastic claim, several slaves made scornful sounds, but they all listened.
“The
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