This is a fan translation of Envoy From the Heavens (Посланец небес) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the book in a series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна), which is a spin-off from the author's Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака) six-book series.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Chapter 17

Sho-Ing

Sho-Ing, stretching for nearly a thousand kilometers along the shore of the Shimmering Sea, did not look like the other nations of the continent. The sea was narrow but long, pressing deep into dry land, and its shape was that of a sickle with a multitude of peninsula nicks. The nations that lay on its shores and repeating the coastal outlines looked like torn ribbons, some wider, some narrower, but their length was invariably much greater than their width. In that Sho-Ing did not differ from Transstraight or, for example, Tora, whose people fished, raised cattle, worked the land, traded, and did other various work. But Sho-Ing's territory a day or even two days' travel from the seashore, to the very borders with Tilim and Pons, presented a picture of wilderness, desolation, and utter desertedness. There were no fields here, no pastures, no fruit groves, no honey meadows, no villages, and no aristocratic estates, nothing but a broad hilly landscape, pockmarked by ravines and occasionally overgrown with trees, giant canes, or even weeds as tall as a man. The people of Sho-Ing did not sow, plow, mine ore, or produce salt, and even fishing was seen as a task of little repute, which was very strange and surprising for a coastal nation. And yet Sho-Ing prospered. It had prospered back in the pre-Imperial times as well as under the hand of the Empire, whose authority, one had to admit, was ephemeral here, concentrated along the highways that led into Sho-Ing from Lower Pons and Tilim.

For the most part, this country was not unified, instead there were thirty-seven cities along the sea, whose ruling princes were related to one another, which was why all official matters were decided familiarly, without signing any pacts, without appealing to agreements and going by understandings rather than laws. Each city had a right to receive a certain amount of income, but the quota was strict, and exceeding it to the detriment of someone else's business was punished with incredible speed: the warships of neighbors, nephews, cousins, and uncles entered the harbor of the offender, and the guilty relative was fed to the sharks. Unlike in the East, there were no whales in the Shimmering Sea or the Western Ocean, but there were plenty of sharks, the same fierce and always hungry appa.

It was a Phoenician-type civilization, as the FDAC experts claimed. Just like in Earth's ancient Phoenicia, the cities of Sho-Ing, small in area but densely populated, were for the most part located on small coastal islands with two or three suitable harbors. Like in Phoenicia, they built excellent ships which was the only legal business of the Sho-Ing people. Like in Phoenicia, the majority of the population fed itself not so much by the gifts of the sea as by sea trade and piracy; the Ings, as the local natives were called, had always been seafarers and smugglers, and in the latter respect their monopoly was as firm as it had been ten and twenty centuries ago. Trade duties and taxes were an important income item for the Empire and the local rulers, but transportation was primarily done overland, using the roads that were controlled from the Eastern to the Western countries. The sea was a different matter; one couldn't post a soldier on every wave, couldn't build pylons and signal towers, couldn't dig a pole with a hook into water. The outer seas bordering the ocean weren't of particular interest to the Empire and had been given as ransom to its vassals. The vassals from the coastal nations did what they could and, as far as the West was concerned, believed that while Sho-Ing might be reaching into their coin purse, feuding with them was worse.

It was also possible that Bright House Fargu-Tana, whose armies had marched to the limits of the Western lands, showed great wisdom by leaving Sho-Ing alone instead of grinding it to dust. Sure, he could've done that, but what would he have gotten in return? Mountains of corpses, a deserted coast, the fear and hatred of the people of the West… So Fargu-Tana hadn't slaughtered the Ings or wiped out their cities, instead hinting to the brigand princes that moderation was useful and even necessary in any task. Smuggling, not piracy, and even if piracy, then without violence, bloodshed, or burned ships… To make sure his hint was clear, Fargu-Tana had the Imperial roads extended to three Sho-Ing cities, those that stood on the mainland, and fortresses with sizable garrisons built on the borders in Tilim and Lower Pons. So Sho-Ing seemed to have remained under the control of free princes, while at the same time under the watchful eye of the Empire.

The princes and their naval forces weren't bothered by that much. As before, they continued to sail to Tora, Udzeni, and the Island Kingdom with Tilimese wines, luxury items from Pons, Shia, and Sotara, fabrics, tapestries, and Peytakhan weapons, bringing back grains and furs, honey and lumber, sailcloth and rope. They also never missed a chance to take goods for free, especially if they encountered a ship from Transstraight, with whom they had a fierce competition. But all this lively activity was conducted at sea, in cities, and along roads that connected the coast to the outer world. The rest of Sho-Ing remained a wild and deserted wasteland.

When Trevelyan crossed the border, the change was striking. To the east, on the other side of a ridge of small hills, stretched large Tilimese pastures, stood villages and cities, surrounded by vineyards, cattle and horses were grazing, and everything, from homes to wells, from courtyards to gardens, looked so well-groomed, so cared for, that the eye was pleased. Here, past the hills, the only sign of civilization was an Imperial fortress by the highway, a powerful stone structure with five bastions, atop which archers were keeping watch. Farther along stretched a virgin forest, an impassable thicket with gnarled trees, whose canopies intertwined with one another, turning the road into a grim semi-dark tunnel. He still encountered pylons with writing and signal towers, but only occasionally, and there were no inns and taverns at all. Hills alternated between rising on both sides of the road and giving way to deep ravines with dark forest streams, and here the Imperial road went across bridges and embankments, cutting into the thicket as if a steel blade, as inevitable, firm, and hard, as the will of the sovereign, who had created it.

The lack of people worked to Trevelyan's advantage. It seemed that a new dungeon was being prepared for him; he had no doubt that the Night Eye also had castles with secret prisons in Tilim, where restless rhapsods or other dissidents could expect a full board. But his mission was coming to an end, and he could defend himself actively, if not with the whip, then with the use of holographic visions. It was very likely that the self-styled rhapsod Ten-Urhi would be remembered as an evil sorcerer, a master of all manner of monsters and evil spirits, but it no longer bothered Trevelyan; his time on Osier was almost over.

After fleeing the Tilimese capital, he rode all night, and in the morning, at the first inn, he learned that he was almost at the Sho-Ing border, only a half-day's journey. But Daut needed rest, so he had to take a chance and stay until hallway through Midday. No one was pursuing him, either because the fast Daut had left the pursuers far behind, or out of fear, which Ten-Urhi had instilled into his captors. After all, they'd never before encountered a dire rat, and the sight of such a beast could raise the dead. A worthy payback for those bastards from the Night Eye! Although, on the other hand, what would he have done had his date with Ariena not been interrupted?

There was another benefit from his sleepless night and mad dash: the nervous tension had spurred on his thoughts, aiming them in the right direction and rewarding him with a guess about the mysterious island off the coast of Udzeni. It was still unclear whether it really existed, but Trevelyan had figured out the problem with the satellites and the orbital observation. He wasn't certain yet, but he planned to contact the Base computer and clarify the situation. Sho-Ing was perfect for that: a wild, secluded place, where one could lose one's pursuers and establish contact without worrying about unwanted witnesses.

Once more on his way, Trevelyan caught up to the caravan with whale bladder by Dusk. Seylad wasn't particularly surprised at his appearance; he merely scratched his long nose, tugged on his saggy earlobe, and stated that Ten-Urhi had a good horse, as fast as the wind. Seylad was planning on spending the night at the border fortress, which did not fit into Trevelyan's plans; he asked how to get to Kadmiamun's estate and said goodbye to the merchant. Less than two hours later, he crossed the Sho-Ing border, rode to the third post after the fortress, where Southern mercenaries were standing guard, and found an inconspicuous trail leading north. The path wasn't an easy one; it started to get dark, and the trail, with potholes from the wheels of heavy wagons, was not at all like the Imperial highway. But Trevelyan rode on stubbornly, until he got about twenty kilometers deep into the thick forest. Finding a suitable place at a clearing by a stream, he stopped, unharnessed the horse, started a fire, and ate some flatbread, splitting it with Gray. Then he drank some wine from a flask and took out his lute.

Besides the holoprojector, it also had a built-in tiny transmitter. The link was audio-only, as video required a lot of power, but Trevelyan was hoping that he would be fine without the need to transmit images. This device was meant for emergencies, if he needed to call a boat or an aircraft for a quick evacuation, but, naturally, by contacting the computer, he could query and receive certain information. The transmitter was activated the same way as the holoprojector, by an audio password, meaning with the use of a particular chord. Touching the strings in the required order, Trevelyan placed the instrument on his lap, bent over it, and heard a quiet even voice, "I greet you, Observer Ivar Trevelyan. I have information."

"Go ahead, pal. I'm listening."

"The Pilgrim can arrive to Osier's system in thirty-six standard days. If you wish, of course. There are other options: the Columbus will be prepared to pick you up in approximately fifty days and the Ringing Rhapsody in ninety. Which of the three ships should I signal?"

"The Pilgrim," Trevelyan commanded. "I'm not going to be here for longer than a month."

"May I be of further assistance? Do you require transportation?"

"No. I need certain information."

"I am prepared to provide it."

"Tell me, pal, how many orbital satellites did you use to map the planet? What state are they in currently?"

"The mapping was accomplished using three orbital systems," the holocomp reported. "One on a latitudinal orbit over the equator and two on meridional orbits. All systems are operational. They are monitoring the near-planetary space and are acting as interstellar relays."

"Did you take pictures only in the visual spectrum?"

"As a rule, Observer Trevelyan. A typical procedure for a planet without advanced technology. Its surface was recorded at the wavelengths visible to the human eye, excluding the polar regions with a constant cloud cover. Other sensors were used there: infrared, ultraviolet, and—"

"That's enough. I don't need the details. Was the ocean west of the coast of Udzeni mapped only using visual sensors?"

"One moment. Checking." A second's pause. "Affirmative, Observer Trevelyan."

"I believe a geographical object was missed. Probably a small island."

"That is impossible. The resolution of the equipment on the satellites allows—"

"Don't argue with me!" Trevelyan barked. "When will the area I specified be available for direct orbital observation?"

"In six hours fifty-six minutes seventeen seconds," the compute reported dispassionately. "From the second meridional satellite."

"I'm ordering you to repeat the scanning on all the bands of the sensor equipment. Your first task is to find the island, determine its shape, size, and track its position relative to noticeable coastal reference points. Your second task is to study the island's surface and approaches to it in detail. Landscape, vegetation, water sources, artificial objects, reefs by the shores, et cetera. I'll re-establish contact… let's say in seven hours and ten minutes. Clear?"

"Affirmative, Observer Trevelyan."

"Get to it!"

Shutting off the transmitter, he looked around, then threw a glance up at the sky. Tree trunks were looming as gray shadows in the dim glow of the fire, the stars could be seen through a clear spot between the tree canopies, but Trevelyan could see neither the Near nor the Far stars, as the majority of the night sky was blocked by the forest. In the far end of the clearing, on the road, stood his chariot, and Daut was snorting and munching on grass next to it. He could hear nothing else but these sounds and the rustling of the foliage; Gray, who was flying somewhere nearby, was protecting their camp from unwanted visitors. Trevelyan stretched, yawned, and informed the Commodore, Now I can get some rest. Soon we're going to learn everything, Grandpa.

You want to go to the ocean?

Definitely. Why not? We'll find a ship, sail to the island, establish contact… I told you of the sort of glory one gets for discovering a new race. And I'm a vain man!

For such a trip I'd bring something a little stronger than your whip. Call the Base, have the computer send you a dozen combat robots.

There aren't any such robots here.

Well, then at least get a plasma thrower! Preferably a wide focus one, with a pulse power in the megaton range.

There isn't a weapon of such po… Trevelyan began and then froze with his mouth agape. Something dark had blotted out the stars, and he initially thought that Gray was coming back, but then realized that it wasn't his critter; the object was flying slowly, smoothly, and quite high. The darkness prevented him from making out its shape, but based on the stars that were vanishing on one side of the mysterious flyer and reappearing on the other, it was large, large enough not to be confused for a living creature soaring over the forest on thirty-meter wings. Actually, it didn't seem to have any wings, but Trevelyan couldn't confirm that, as there wasn't enough light from the Near Star for that.

"What the hell…" he muttered. Gray silently lowered onto his shoulder. "Whose tricks do you think these are, boy? Our friend's on the island? As soon as we decided to look for him, he decided to show up?"

Gray rubbed his soft side against Trevelyan's ear, emitting waves of friendliness and loyalty, while the Commodore muttered, That thing is big… Whose, I wonder? Now if you had a thrower, we'd be able to figure it out right here, without even going anywhere!

"We'll figure it out without a thrower," Trevelyan said, waited for the strange object to disappear behind the trees, lay down onto his back, and closed his eyes. In his dreams, he saw the beautiful Ariena dancing among the blue silk, on a rug that was as blue as the sea.

He contacted the Base first thing in the morning. The computer's voice sounded dispassionate, with no signs of guilt, but his report was complete.

"An island has been located. The shape is that of an irregular ellipse, stretching from southwest to northeast. The size is one kilometer two hundred and forty meters along its major axis, eight hundred and thirty-five meters on its minor. A coastal reference point is the lighthouse in a harbor of Petassa in the direction of three degrees from the northern meridian, the distance is eight hundred and nine-point-three kilometers. The island is flat, without any detectable elevations, the highest altitude above sea level is twenty-two meters. Covered in vegetation, likely palm trees, sandy beaches along the shores. No reefs. There are shallows on its eastern side and a bay on the west, suitable for shallow-draft vessels. Next to the bay is an artificial structure. A house, likely wooden. Small, hidden under trees, only a section of its palm leaf roof is detectable."

"A hut?" Trevelyan asked.

"More likely a bungalow."

"What else?"

After a brief pause, the holocomp informed him, "The island is not detectable using optics, Observer Trevelyan. It has been detected via scanning in the thermal and ultraviolet bands."

Trevelyan could guess the reason for this invisibility, but decided not to neglect the computer's opinion, "Your conclusions?"

"No force shield or fields deflecting light have been detected. The likeliest explanation of the phenomenon is a holographic veil. The optics are showing the sea surface at the island's location."

"Got it." After thinking for a moment, he asked, "Any means of transportation? Cleared areas for aircraft? A pier for ships? Communications of any kind? Defenses?"

"None detected, Observer Trevelyan."

"Then I'm signing off."

He spent ten minutes staring at his knees and trying to imagine that island, so similar in shape and size to Nyork, Hugo Tasman's personal paradise. A piece of dry land in the ocean, palm trees, sands, a small bay, and a small leaf-covered house on its shore… A bungalow. A shack. And from it someone was controlling this world. Well, not quite controlling, more like influencing. And doing it very successfully! Far more successfully than the Foundation for the Development of Alien Cultures.

Shaking his head, Trevelyan rose, threw a glance up at the sky, then looked at Daut and his chariot. The sky was clear and innocent, as if there hadn't been any strange objects flying in it the previous night, while Daut looked full and fresh. Deciding not to torture himself in the chariot anymore, Trevelyan saddled the stallion, left the chariot behind, and continued on horseback. No one would see him in this thick forest, except for, perhaps, Kadmiamun, and he would likely survive such a shock. A strange fellow, Trevelyan mused, swaying in the saddle; a wealthy nobleman and a scholar, if Seylad were to be believed, but instead of a city, he lived deep in a forest, and one so inhospitable and gloomy at that. Perhaps there were reasons for it, ones no less important than those of the highland brigands in Oninda-Ro. Humanoids were social creatures and wouldn't become hermits for naught…

The ravines and tracks on the road were deep; clearly multiple caravans had been passing here for decades. The twisted trees grew smaller, but there were now growths of a tall reed that was reminiscent of bamboo but with straight and smooth rather than segmented trunks. Birds fluttered over the forest, small critters were seen dashing about, but he couldn't spot any large animals. Trevelyan did make out the distant roar of fangers and screeching of patses several times but saw no tracks or droppings on the road; it seemed that the local forest animals weren't the brave sort.

He rode to halfway through Midday, until the trees and the reeds parted, revealing a large space with trampled ground stretching along both sides of the road. It seemed that it was here, on this clearing taken from the forest, that the noble Kadmiamun lived, but what Trevelyan saw did not look like the mansion of an aristocrat. To the left he could see awnings and barns and heard various industrial noises: the striking of hammers on metal, the shrill song of saws digging into wood, crackling and squeaking, clanging and pounding. Forges were smoking there, masters were working, and the wind brought smells of fresh wood, burning coals, and something else that was foul, rotten, like old fish. The view to the right was nicer: it was a settlement meant, based on the number of huts, for about two hundred people, and a little farther stood a large two-story log cabin and beyond it was a huge barn ten meters taller than then house. Old and young women were bustling near open flames in the settlement, kids were playing in the dust, while older children were herding goats and domestic fowl on the outskirts. In front of what looked like the lord's home, there as a flowering bush, the only decoration on this territory, and to the right of it was a hitching post. Trevelyan headed to it.

He hadn't even dismounted his horse, when the owner ran out onto the porch. He was a short, swarthy, and fair-haired Ing, a little bow-legged, stocky, with long arms, which was expected of someone whose ancestors had been standing on unsteady decks and pulling ropes. He was dressed in the local fashion: pants ending slightly below the knees and a canvas shirt; only the gold bracelets on his bare arms suggested that this was a wealthy and noble aristocrat.

"Incredible!" the man said, staring wide-eyed at Trevelyan. "Incredible, by the mercy of all the Three Gods! I've heard about a craftsman who made such a harness but haven't seen it until now! And on a rhapsod's horse, no less! And not just any rhapsod, but one with a sherr on his shoulder…"

"I share your breath, noble Kadmiamun," Trevelyan said and dismounted.

Getting a handle on his amazement, the man on the porch bowed his head, and Trevelyan saw that his hair wasn't just fair, it was gray. He was in his fifties, a venerable age for someone of the Western race.

"Since you're a rhapsod, you should greet me properly," he said, drawing a circle over his heart. "Your blood is my blood!"

Now it was Trevelyan's turn to be surprised, "My name is Ten-Urhi, and I really am a rhapsod, but you, you… I was told that you're a scholar and a high noble, the brother of Kadmidaus himself, and I was also told that you trade with the Eastern nations instead of sailing the sea. But—"

Kadmiamun interrupted him with an impatient gesture.

"All that is true, but I'm also a Brotherhood magister, well, probably ex-magister now. A magister, who has departed into the shadows, and yet you've found me…" His eyes suddenly grew alarmed. "Were… were you sent to deliver a message?"

"No, I came myself with a request for aid." Holding Gray with one hand, Trevelyan reached for the scrolls with seals in the sack. "I came and brought letters of recommendation. Here they are… from the ruler of Tilim and—"

The Magister waved him off again.

"So you don't have a box with you? Excellent! I don't need those letters. That," he pointed his finger at the saddled Daut, "is the best recommendation! Did you invent it? Did you teach the horse yourself?"

It seems we've found a kindred spirit, the Commodore noted. A lucky coincidence?

No. Seek and ye shall find, Trevelyan replied, and aloud he said, "I didn't invent the harness and did not train the horse. This, Magister, is a gift from a friend, whose name I shall leave unspoken."

"I agree, Ten-Urhi. The less you know, the longer you'll live… especially in our Brotherhood." Kadmiamun winked and now looked more like a typical Ing pirate. "But you're been traveling. Hungry? Would you like to wash up?"

"I am hungry and would like to wash up," Trevelyan confirmed. "But first I need to feed the horse. Take a look, my lord, at how this harness is removed. You unstrap this belt, then grab the protrusions on the saddle with both hands and…"

They spoke of much by nightfall. Of Master Tsalpa of Ringvar, who was making paper, of the steam engines of Suvanuva and Kummukh, Rdias-Dag and Tarkodaus, the one from the Island Kingdom, of the poor inventor of kerosene, of the glazier who had put together a spyglass, of the new methods of steel hardening and paint made of rosewood bark. Kadmiamun's knowledge was impressive; of some of the inventions and the people related to them he knew almost first-hand, while the knowledge of others he'd collected bit-by-bit, but in all the cases he knew definitively what had happened to the masters, mechanics, and blacksmiths, who had invented this and that, only to be fined, exiled, or hanged on a hook. And, naturally, being a prudent and sensible man, he took that information into account. Why else would he be hiding in the middle of nowhere? Why would he be spreading the rumors that he had become a merchant?

But the disgraced magister didn't wish to speak on those subjects. Perhaps he wasn't disgraced at all, having quietly left the Brotherhood and disappeared in the deep forest after discovering a task that was not compatible with his former work and his title of magister. Maybe he thought about the sad fates of the inventors, but, being a medieval man, couldn't even imagine the true nature of their tragedies. He knew no more of that than of the worlds at the tiny distant stars and their enlightened inhabitants. There hadn't been a Giordano Bruno on Osier yet.

So they didn't talk about the Brotherhood and the Great Mentor Ahhi-Sek, as well as of the boxes of which Kadmiamun had to have heard, given his fear of such a gift. When the skies darkened and the Near Star appeared in them, the Magister rose, motioned for Trevelyan to follow him, and left the house.

"There was much you haven't asked me about, Ten-Urhi, even though the questions were fluttering on your lips." Kadmiamun slowly headed towards the huge barn, but suddenly paused and inhaled with his nose. "Do you smell the odor coming from my workshops?"

"I do. Forgive me, my lord, but the stink is awful. Is that fish offal rotting in there?"

The Magister grinned, "It's the smell of glue, the same glue the people of the Archipelago use to make clothes from whale bladder. I've modified the composition a little… we know a few things in Sho-Ing too… If you soak the bladder in this liquid and make a sack out of it—a large sack, do you understand?—it will contain water, steam, and even that invisible thing that we breathe." Kadmiamun raised his hand and blew into his palm. "I'll show you what can be done with it. But first tell me, Ten-Urhi, do you want to stay here with me? I need people, reliable, skilled people, and I've been gathering them from all over the place: East, West, and the Seven Provinces. Your mind is inquisitive… You're a rhapsod and a warrior, which means that you're brave… I need brave men!"

"Thank you for your trust, but I can't stay," Trevelyan said, lowering his head. "My path lies to Sho-Ing and farther on, across the Shimmering Sea, to the shores of Udzeni. I wanted to ask you… maybe you could put in a word with your radiant brother so he gives me a ship. A small ship with three-four sailors."

The Magister's eyes flashed, "What do you plan to do at the shores of Udzeni?"

"I will find an island, a piece of land that is hidden from the eye. But I know how and where to look for it. I will find it and ask the questions I didn't ask you."

"An island hidden from the eye…" Kadmiamun repeated slowly. "You, Ten-Urhi, are braver than I thought! Or more reckless… Of course I'll help you, rhapsod, but first you must see what you're refusing. Come on!"

They walked to the barn, to artisans working there, to burning torches and lamps, to a large forge with a raging flame, to pipes that were stretching along the ground to something enormous, shapeless, lazily shifting over a large elongated basket woven from reeds. A balloon, Trevelyan thought, my god, a hot air balloon! Without any FDAC interference, without ideas suggested from outside, with no hints! Go Kadmiamun, a magister from a family of pirates! You've done it on your own!

"You might be surprised," Kadmiamun said, stopping at a distance and staring at the swelling dark mass, "but remember, Ten-Urhi, all the amazing things we've talked about today. The tube that makes what is distant close, the furious burning liquid, the arrow that always points in one direction… And this large sack, when inflated with warm air, can float up into the sky. And not just float but move with the wind and carry a load: ten men in the basket and several stones." He turned his head sharply. "Do you believe me? Or do you think that this old magister has completely lost his mind?"

"I believe you, my lord, and I'm amazed. How can I not believe you? Last night I saw something huge blotting out the stars… Was it your flying sack?"

"It was. My assistants and I go up into the sky at night."

"To keep Tavan-Gez from seeing you with his sunny eye?"

Kadmiamun laughed, "Believe me, Ten-Urhi, the god can see equally well with either his sunny or starry eye! If he really was angry at me, he would have struck me down with lightning seventeen years ago, when I first inflated four small sacks and lifted off from the ground. But he didn't do that, which means that man is permitted to fly! For now I'm doing it at night so that no one sees me, gets scared, or reports it… You see, people aren't as smart and merciful as the gods."

Seventeen years! came the Commodore's voice. He's been flying for seventeen years! A daring lad!

Unfortunately, not so much a lad as almost an old man. The people of his race don't live long, Trevelyan replied sadly. As if hearing his thoughts, Kadmiamun said, "I have good masters, a hundred of them, but none of them will sit next to me in the basket, as their fear is greater than their curiosity. I have brave assistants, only a few of them, and they are the ones who fly with me. I don't have many years left, and I will be leaving my wealth and my work to the best of them. Would you like to be that person, Ten-Urhi?"

"I would, my lord, but each of us, you and me both, has his own path. If I return from that island…" Trevelyan bowed his head respectively and changed the subject, "You said that your sack flies with the wind? But last night I saw it over the forest, and now it's here. How is that possible?"

"Winds change, but in the sky, just like at sea, there are currents, they can be found when you fly higher or lower. The end of the sack is open, and there's a brazier under it. Put coal in it, light it up, toss the stones from the basket, and the sack will rise, and if it gets cold, it will descend. I already know which winds blow over the sea, over Sho-Ing and Tilim at different altitudes and how to catch the needed wind."

"You fly even over the sea and Tilim?" This time Trevelyan really was amazed.

"With Pan-Tik and Sorad, my assistants, I've reached the borders of Shia," Kadmiamun said proudly. "Only half a night's journey there and just as long back. And over the sea the winds blow even faster. Sometimes it seems to me that, just a little more, and I can fly to the very Rim itself…"

Trevelyan took in a deep breath. He once again heard Tasman's voice in his ears, "Seek the dissatisfied! The truly dissatisfied, who feel a sense of anxiety for no obvious reason and desire something that has no place in daily life… Something unusual… sublime…"

"My lord, you will never reach the Rim, because it simply doesn't exist. It doesn't exist!" he said. "There, beyond the Shimmering Sea, lies the ocean, then land that no one has ever seen before, and then another ocean, and if you keep going farther and farther west, you will fly over the Archipelago and find yourself at the shores of Hai-Ta or Gzor."

Kadmiamun frowned in confusion, "So by moving west, I will arrive in the East… But how is that possible, Ten-Urhi? Is that world enclosed like a circle?"

"Yes, in a way, but it's not a circle, it's a sphere. An enormous sphere, which floats in emptiness and revolves around the sun at the center. We live on the surface of that sphere, but it's so large that any section we lay eyes on seems to be flat. Does the name Dartakh the High-browed of Etland tell you anything? It's his theory. Have you heard of it?"

"I've only heard that this Dartakh was a madman and died in exile." The light of the torches fell on the Magister's face, and Trevelyan saw how excited he was. "But what you've just said… There were times, when I was returning from a flight early morning and looked at the world in the light of day… From a great, very great height it really does seem to be bulging a little, but when you descend, it becomes flat again." Kadmiamun raised his head sharply. "I'd like to know more about the works of this Dartakh! Tell me, was anything left after his death? A manuscript, notes of some kind?"

"Indeed. There's a book that's being kept in the palace of Rabban, the ruler of North Etland, who lives near the city of Pomo. I saw it myself. Rabban has no need of it, and if you send your people to him with rich gifts, I'm sure he'll give it to you."

The balloon, inflated by warm air, was no longer lying on the basket, instead floating over it, held in place by thick ropes. It looked like an airship, a giant cucumber fifty meters long, wrapped in a net with a gondola suspended from it. Several men were loading rocks and sacks of coal into it.

"You were saying something about land that lies beyond the ocean?" the Magister asked. "Is that island large?"

"It's not an island, an entire continent, although not as large as ours. It stretches from south to north, so you can't miss it. It's about as far as from Sho-Ing to Peytakh and the Day Province."

"A long way. But…" Kadmiamun stared at the ground, making some calculations. "If we make a bigger flying sack and bring a supply of coal, we could probably get there and take a look at those lands… But who would go with me so far away?"

"You'll find willing people," Trevelyan said with a smile. "You're looking for brave people, right? Well, there's an entire tribe in Oninda-Ro, known as brigands in those parts, Chief Lacassa's people, there aren't very many of them, but at least two hundred. They really don't like living in the wild and barren mountains. If you can find and bring them here… probably not all at once, in small groupds, twenty-thirty men and women with each of the caravans that come to you from the East… They will be good companions to you. They are highlanders and descendants of warriors, so they have no fear of heights."

Kadmiamun gave him a sharp look, "How do you know all this, Ten-Urhi? Of the lands beyond the ocean and the distance to them, of the world being like a sphere, of that Dartakh and the highlanders in Oninda-Ro, and even of the book at the palace of the ruler of North Etland?"

"I found the book by accident and read it. And the rest…" Trevelyan shrugged. "I'm a wandering rhapsod! When you travel the world, you learn many things, especially if you keep your ears and eyes open."

"I envy your eyes and ears," Kadmiamun said, turning to the balloon floating over the basket. "Today I'm going to the Shimmering Sea, Ten-Urhi. We will fly over the coast and my brother Kadmidaus's city, and we can set down somewhere nearby to drop you off. You can throw away those letters from Tilim, I'll give you a new one, and my brother will find you a ship. So, will you come with me?"

"With pleasure! But first I'd like to make you a gift, honored magister. My stallion… I don't need him anymore. You will be a good owner to him."

"Until you return, Ten-Urhi, until you return."

"That's unlikely, my lord."