A prophecy is fulfilled, and the story reaches its end.

So, here we are. This is the end of the novel, although not necessarily the end of the Clarion Adamant saga. I appreciate your support through all of this, and your patience with how long its taken. Enjoy, and have a good rest of the summer, all! Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

---

Terra Nova, by Rob Baird. Ch. 7: "Terra Nova"

“They say they’ll help us get home.”

Gethet had said it bluntly, almost as a challenge. “Do you believe them, sir?”

“I do. For what it’s worth, I do. I’m not sure they’d be able to follow through on the promise. What we call the Edge of the Known World, they call ‘the Shroud.’ It’s as mysterious to them as it is to us. But I do think they’d help. Karn? Cedda? Do you disagree?”

The first mate shook his head. “No,” the old fox said—and Sheshki felt that he, too, was keeping his true feelings in check. “They’d keep their end of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” Milus asked.

Gethet, instead of Cedda Fletcherson, answerd the chief engineer’s question. “They want our help, in return. Their towns are full of old machines, probably dating from before the Fall. Nobody understands how they work. Their concept of science and technology is entirely oriented around thaumaturgy. We could be giving them an opportunity to change that.”

Carefully—there was a reason their captain was so reserved—Sheshki prodded further. “What do they want to know, in particular?”

“How our steam engines work. Gunpowder. Steelmaking.”

“Easy enough to teach ‘em that, then,” Milus said. “T’basics, at least. Ain’t seen a bloody forge in this godsforsaken forest, but we could give ‘em a start, sure. Nowt t’keep us from that.”

“I know.” Again Gethet’s voice was blunt—stark, even. “But I don’t know if it’s a good idea. The balance of power is at stake. For the moment, towns like Osani and the desert mesas are more or less evenly matched.”

“They want to change that. They don’t like the forest folk. Not that I blame them, exactly,” Karn added; clearly, nothing of their time spent on the continent had changed his mind in that regard. “But the captain’s right. They’re not just looking to learn things because they’re interested. They have a plan in mind, even if they didn’t say it.”

And Gethet did: “They want to take over. We’d be letting them do that.”

The meeting was of the ship’s crew, and Sheshki hadn’t found Pærtha Kittaling’s absence conspicuous until Gethet kept going. Pærtha had been the one to volunteer what the Aernians knew. Pærtha had been the one to open his mouth about gunpowder. Pærtha, Gethet finished, thought the balance should be tipped.

But the tiger was not so sure. “This isn’t a decision I’d feel right making on my own. I want you to think about it. I asked you if you thought we should try to get home, and you agreed. And… and I agree. I just don’t know about the price. We’ll meet again tomorrow morning, and I’d like you to have an answer for me.”

When he dismissed them, Gethet ordered his officers to lead the regular watches on the palisade—and the ship’s bridge. And to report anything ‘suspicious’; it was the first time in weeks he’d felt the need to specify that. Karn Gebbenbech, who was taking the first shift on the watchtower, tapped Sheshki’s shoulder before leaving.

“A moment?”

“Of course. I’m just… I suppose I should take the opportunity to organize my thoughts…”

“Same. Confusing times, right?”

“Something like that, kachka. You were among the westerners—what did you think of them?”

“Closer to us than these ones are.” Karn pointed to the trees with a jerk of his muzzle. “Not like us, not exactly. But they speak the same language.”

“Aernian? Surely, you don’t mean…”

“No. That’s not what I meant. They know sailing, though, and how to ride the winds. They care about their machines. They don’t… don’t ramble all the time about their bloody tapestry. It makes more sense.”

“Do you not agree with Captain Issich, then?”

The wolf sighed. “I don’t know. I’d rather live with the Kallito. But… I’d rather live with neither of them. I don’t know what they’d do with the Nastrini. I say they’re like us, but… lots of people in the Old World are friendly enough when you grab a beer with ‘em, and like as not to steal your home for theirs if you can’t fight back.”

Not a bad point. After he left, she took a seat on the beach and mused by herself. Was she interested in picking a side? Not particularly. She liked Valisen, that was all. She could follow whatever Gethet wanted. Whatever…

The edge of a long shadow caught her attention, and she looked to see Pærtha Kittaling making his way over. Sheshki got up, dusting the sand from her trousers, and nodded to the fox in greeting. “Good evening.”

“Yes! Good evening. Are you… busy?”

“Not really. Heading over to the ship in an hour or so.”

“Ah… yes. Our ship. How are the repairs coming?”

Sheshki felt her hackles rise, though she tried to remain objective. “You’d have to ask the carpenter or one of the engineers. I think they’ve been busy working on the camp, though, to be honest.”

“It’s come a long way. Your help has been… invaluable.” Pærtha shook his head. “I know we don’t really talk. Obviously I have a reason for visiting.”

“What would that be?”

“You understand magic better than anyone on your ship’s crew who wasn’t brought up with it, as the ship’s mage was. I was… I was curious what you thought about the new world we’ve found ourselves in.”

“It’s not home, that’s for sure.”

He nodded, and she had the sense he was trying to feel out her sensibilities. “But they’re friendly, aren’t they? Valisen, the one you’ve been talking to—he’s friendly. I’m just struggling with my thoughts, after meeting the desert people. They look so much like you…”

“I guess that’s why Osani’s elders didn’t let me visit.”

“Do you imagine they might be related? The Kallito and the Dominion?”

“I have no idea.”

“Their cities were impressive. And they were friendly, too. They have so much knowledge, and such an inquisitive view of the world. I don’t find that unappealing.”

Where are you going with this, Pærtha? “Different ways of seeing things, I suppose. It makes sense we’d learn different things, also.”

“Yet I wonder what we might learn together.”

“With the desert towns?” After a moment, she pricked her ears up.

Pærtha caught that; his nod was faster. “Yes. Their records go back well beyond ours. Probably even beyond the Dominion’s! It would be a fantastic opportunity. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, you know? You, out of everyone, you’d understand.”

“I do suspect that Osani might not look kindly on it. Right?”

“True. But we’re not their allies, are we? We’re just… guests, for the moment. We could be guests somewhere else. If you agreed…”

“It’s not my place to,” she pointed out, choosing her words carefully. “It would be the captain’s decision, not mine.”

“But you do agree. If we worked together, the possibilities are… boundless! Captain Issich would listen to you.”

“He didn’t listen to you?”

The fox twitched his ears—a little, Sheshki thought, like a nervous schoolboy. “No. Well, I didn’t ask, exactly. He does seem skeptical, I think.”

“He has more experience. I can offer counsel, Mr. Kittaling, but in the end, it’s not up to me. Nor to you. When he makes his decision, it will be final.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Pærtha muttered. “I know that. It’s just… it’s such an opportunity, and…”

“Talk to him again, then. Be direct. He’ll listen.”

Pærtha didn’t promise to do that—indeed, he promised to do nothing. He simply thanked her for her time, and left her with a sense of lingering disquiet. By midnight, aboard the Clarion Adamant keeping watch, Sheshki decided she would tell their captain the pilgrims were not to be trusted.

What then? She didn’t know, but much as she liked Valisen, the politics of his culture were not for them to intervene in. They’d caused disruption enough without deliberately stoking more of it. Even for a chance of going home? she asked herself.

Even then. But it was easier to keep that question theoretical.

Her sensitive ears caught the sound of muffled oars, and she stared until she could perceive the outline of a small boat. It carried two figures: the one rowing, she thought, looked like Karn Gebbenbech. She made her way to the boat deck to meet them. “You’re not on watch for another hour, Karn. Who’s that with you?”

His passenger slipped the cloak from her head, revealing fur that glowed soft white in the gloom. “Hannu Kirayara,” Karn introduced her: one of the pilgrims. The weasel meteorologist who’d pointed them in the direction of the new world, as Sheshki understood it. “She said she wanted to talk to me, and then… then she said it would be good if you were present. Can we come aboard?”

She unrolled the ladder for them. “Why would I need to be present?”

Karn pulled himself up first, and helped Hannu onto the deck. “Apparently, it’s sensitive. We can talk privately, right? You have time?”

“Of course.” Sheshki looked around, but of course nothing required her attention on the Clarion Adamant. She led them to the bridge and ushered Karn and his companion inside. “Very well. What do you two want?”

Hannu clasped her paws together, looked between Sheshki and Karn, and spoke: “Ans va Tiurishkädi.”

Sheshki blinked. The weasel’s claim to be Tiurishkan was absurd, of course. But wherever she’d learned the language, her accent was remarkably good. “Tiurishkädi? Erkyr bizeshi solhaanü. ‘Hannu Kirayara’—”

“Shahanu Kira Oryara, Bashafal Bastavshan Bastekir. Shanal reshyrlït ibça neshkeghim üshba Yarahal aydïnic… aydïnic ä shahish um Esfyrish yir salik. Ä Ütu Gevyr shanish askozic yir fahezev ä geredeçlït.”

The jackal sighed heavily. “She says—”

Karn’s ears were back. “I know what she said.”

“Karn speaks Tiurishkan,” Sheshki explained. “Or didn’t the Ütu Gev know that, when they asked you to spy on us?”

“Not on you, Sheshki. On Pærtha Kittaling. The Ütu Gev learned of his group when they were trying to find another of the wailing stones, using Sanai as a guide. There was an… incident.”

I just bet there was, Sheshki thought darkly. “Do you know of the Gev, Karn?”

“No.”

“It means ‘the Net.’ The Subtle Net—the Quiet Net. The emperor in Esifyr casts it when he wants to learn things within his realm—things that ordinary investigations might not turn up.” With Hannu’s identity revealed, a dozen questions sprung to Sheshki’s mind.

Had she known about the storm? Had she guided them into it? Fuck—and finding this continent was her idea, too, wasn’t it? She could’ve strangled the weasel then and there, but forced herself to calm down.

“What do you mean by ‘an incident’? Privileged information, I suppose? For the Lapis Emperor’s ears only?”

Hannu gave a short, quiet, dismal laugh. “We’ll never see him again. What does it matter? Another such artifact was discovered a few years ago, in an ancient tomb northeast of Körlyda. Probably, it was lost during the Hakasi exodus, and forgotten.”

“What became of it?”

“The details weren’t provided to me, but I think it’s at the college in Izkadi. Dominion scholars have been working on… will you believe me? No matter, I suppose—it’s the truth, anyway. They’ve been working on finding ways to hide it, not to use it. The Emperor knows it’s a threat to his reign. Anyone wielding something like that would be impossible to defeat.”

Her explanation didn’t seem implausible, at least. The Dominion did not desire expansion, per se. It desired wealth, and there weren’t many territories to seize that could make it worth the cost of seizing them. Körlyda, perhaps, but… there’d always been rumors about something strange and powerful at the city’s heart, too.

Another wailing stone? Even as Sheshki mused, Karn was trying to piece Hannu’s story together on his own. “Kittaling’s pilgrims were looking for this ‘artifact,’ and you stopped them?”

“Acquired it first, and chased them from our territory. We also informed your…” Hannu laughed again. “None of us are Aernian, are we? We informed the government in Tabisthalia, through their own guild of secret-keepers. The Iron Kingdom is slow to act, though. By the time they were willing to do anything, the pilgrims were already planning an escape.”

“When did you join?”

“In Körlyda. My family is from our north, but I can pass for Aernian. I’ve been doing so for years, when the Gev wants it, or the Hasköyal—the merchant’s guild,” she added, for Karn’s benefit.

“I knew that,” he muttered.

“I hadn’t received orders one way or the other, so I thought it best to follow Pærtha to the Meteor Islands. He was hoping to find chaos storms there: sources of magic he and his followers could investigate, far away from any observation by the Aernian authorities. Their experiments are… impressive.”

Sheshki didn’t like how much they were just now learning. “They’re conducting experiments?”

“With magic-using machines. Adapted from simple devices made by our kind, or the Otonichi, but meant to do real work. Their sect is of the opinion that they can build a sort of… thaumaturgically enhanced telegraph, one that will let them contact the Aernian gods. But their dreams are boundless.”

“There was nothing in the manifest.” Nothing she’d seen, anyhow, and Sheshki had no doubt if the boatswain noticed anything amiss he’d have told Gethet Issich at once. “Nothing but cattle and books.”

“Indeed. Everything was destroyed before we left. Pærtha intended to recreate them again once he’d reached the relative safety of the Meteor Islands.”

“But when we met the coyotes, and their machines, it created an opportunity to start here instead.” Karn growled, but he’d recovered enough from his shock that his ears were back up and it was only anger in his tone. “Pærtha sees them as natural allies.”

“That’s what he told us,” Hannu confirmed. “And part of why I’m coming to you. I hid my past because I didn’t think it mattered, not anymore. I assumed that distance had rendered my mission obsolete. I don’t have an emperor to be loyal to, do I? But I think you should know that Pærtha intends to help the desert towns. Their beliefs are kin to one another—only their ultimate aims differ, and I don’t think he cares much about that.”

“And Captain Issich, in turn, doesn’t care what he thinks. If we decide not to help them, there’s nothing Pærtha can do to change that.”

“But he told them about your ship. Given a chance, I think he’ll promise it to them. He said the machines in their town were broken; missing pieces. The Clarion Adamant is not. What would they be able to learn, if they seized it intact?”

The way she asked that unnerved Sheshki slightly; the way Karn’s ears lowered concerned her even more. “It… depends,” the wolf said. “The Kallito are inquisitive, but their technology is incredibly primitive.”

“Not the Kallito—the pilgrims. His alliance with the desert is only part of my concern. Pærtha told us, his followers, that he sees them as allies. But I think he believes they can be… coopted. Even with Irim Kurma dead, Pærtha has scholars who know more about magic than the coyotes know about science. He doesn’t intend to barter with them for your benefit, if the Kallito can bring him closer to his gods.”

Sheshki felt her stomach tighten further. “We need to tell the captain.”

“Aye.” Karn took both of Hannu’s paws. “Thank you. I… forgive you, I guess. I don’t know what we’re going to do, but—”

“Later. Sheshki Anariska is right. Time is of the essence—Pærtha called us to a meeting. He’ll have guessed at my betrayal by now, and there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

She liked the wolf—mostly; his judgment could be questionable—but Sheshki herself would not have been as quick to offer such forgiveness to the ermine. That would have to be an argument for later: right then, they had other work to do. She and Karn avoided any attempt at quiet, working the oars as briskly as possible on the journey back to shore.

Worryingly, one of the ship’s crew was there to meet them. “Captain Issich wants to see both of you immediately. I’ll take the rest of your watch, ma’am.”

The rest of his senior crew had already been gathered. “Pærtha’s gone,” Gethet said. “With a few other pilgrims. And at least one musket—they incapacitated the guard; he’s not sure what went missing.” Their captain did not seem surprised to hear that Kirayara had come to warn Karn Gebbenbech—another of Kittaling’s followers, shocked by the fox’s actions, had similarly brought word to Issich himself.

The officers listened carefully while Hannu explained everything she knew about their work in Körlyda, and the pilgrims’ plans for the future. And, more importantly, how they could be disrupted. “And they must be,” she insisted.

Sheshki finally tired of biting her tongue. “You say that now, after you brought us here. We were following your course, after all.”

“No! Or… yes. But… this wasn’t my aim. I was trying to keep you safe. I knew that if the Royal Navy intercepted you, Pærtha wouldn’t hesitate to turn Sanai against them. I hoped to keep that blood off my hands. And yours,” she added, belatedly. “I still hoped to complete my mission without being discovered.”

“And the Edge of the Known World was a mere… coincidence.”

“Nobody could’ve predicted that. I did not. When… when we landed here, I didn’t see the point in revealing who I was. Strife without reward, that was all I saw—as long as he didn’t have access to the materials he needed for his ambitions.”

“But he does now. And he’s gone,” Gethet reminded them. “Probably armed. I know I don’t trust him. The rest can come later. What does he need for those… ‘ambitions,’ Miss Kirayara?”

“Pærtha knows little by himself. The rest of the pilgrims are mostly farmers, or academic thaumaturgists. He needs engineers, and technology to experiment with. He needs the ship, in other words.”

“Can we escape?”

“We’ve offloaded most of the food, and we can’t bring it back aboard without arousing suspicion.” Cedda Fletcherson shrugged, despair heavy in the fox’s shoulders. “And where would we escape to? We can’t cross the Edge of the Known World—not without help.”

“Maybe not even with help,” Karn pointed out. “Prince Katano promised he’d do his best, but that bloody ‘Shroud’ is every bit as mysterious to them as it is to us. It wouldn’t be guaranteed, and I’m guessing they wouldn’t be as happy to lend aid if they weren’t getting anything out of it.”

“Have you told anyone from Osani yet?” Sheshki asked.

Gethet shook his head firmly. “No, and I’d rather not. Not that I don’t trust them, but it isn’t really their problem to deal with. It’s ours. When I say what I’m about to, I need you to tell me that I’m wrong. Give me your counsel.”

“Captain?” Cedda prompted cautiously.

“We need to scuttle the ship.”

Karn’s eyes darkened. “It’s our only way of getting home.”

“If we can. You just said it yourself. What if this is the only way we can make sure we have a home to return to? If the pilgrims are as dedicated as they seem, they… I don’t even want to think of what they might be able to accomplish.”

“They’ve started moving their books and things from the ship to the camp. But only started.” Cedda Fletcherson spoke slowly, as if his mind had yet to be made up. “There’s plenty of personal effects and… gods alone know what kind of… knowledge they have hidden away.” He spat the word. “Could deny them that, too.”

“They’d be upset.” But, the more she thought about it, the more Sheshki thought that even if the pilgrims decided to cause trouble, Gethet and his crew would have aid. “And Osani might not be happy that we’re staying longer than we planned. But they’d know what the alternative would’ve been. They’d help, if we asked.”

“When it comes to that. Milus…”

The old bear avoided eye contact for a long spell. Finally he swallowed thickly, and raised his head to look at the captain. “Fuckin’ magic. But if y’want t’do it, captain, we gorra start ‘er soon. ‘Fore anyone notices.”

“I’m sorry,” Gethet said. “I promised I’d get you home.”

“We still will, sir. Once we’re done.”

Gethet stared at Karn, and laughed bitterly. “I appreciate you. Karn, put together a small crew. Row Milus and Sennechia out to the ship with whoever they need—get the engines ready, and come back here as soon as you can to pick me up. Cedda, you’ll stay here to maintain order. Sheshki, why don’t you see if you can find your friend from Osani? Let him know what’s about to happen, if you can.”

She could not find Valisen, of course—none of them knew where Osani actually was, in relationship to the easterners’ encampment. Two hours of fruitless searching brought only word from one of the other pilgrims that Pærtha was on his way back. Gethet ordered the crew mustered as a militia, and for Kittaling to be taken prisoner—if it could be managed.

Ræder Sennechia, the carpenter, returned alone in the launch. “Ready to go? What’s going on—is it the pilgrims?”

“They’re coming this way. Armed, apparently. I’ll help the captain.”

The badger shook his head quickly. “Karn said you should stay. You’re our best link to the locals.”

“And you’re a better shot than I am, aren’t you? Karn will understand—you’re better here. Captain?” Gethet had joined them, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting company to arrive at any moment.

Issich nodded. “Agreed.”

“Fine. Fine. Hurry back, though, please,” Sennechia insisted. “If it comes to fighting, we’re liable to be outnumbered.”

She waded into the surf, pulling herself into the boat with Gethet and grabbing the second set of oars. As they pulled away she began to hear activity. A tumult, and then shouting from the trees along the waterline. “Captain Issich!”

“Pærtha,” Gethet muttered, pulling hard on the oars. “It’s Pærtha. Keep moving.”

“I can’t let you do anything to jeopardize our agreement, captain!” the fox shouted. “Come back!”

“Keep moving,” Gethet repeated.

Water kicked up next to the launch, and a second later she heard the echo of a gunshot. Sheshki swore, putting everything she had into the oars. She couldn’t tell where the shot had come from. The trees, now nearly a hundred yards away; Pærtha and his men hadn’t risked making it all the way back to camp.

Gethet suddenly grunted and went slack. A second report echoed over the bay, and she saw the tiger hold his paw to his side, bringing it back abruptly damp and red with blood. “Ah, cargal’th,” he muttered dismally. “Sheshki…”

“We’ll get to the ship,” she managed to pant, new urgency in her rowing. “Find something there.”

Gethet’s paw went to the oar, then fell away. “Sorry. I don’t think—”

“It’s fine, captain. We’re making progress. Ship’s almost there. Just—just—fighting the tide, that’s all.”

“Water’s running backwards…”

“I guess so.” She heard another shot, but this one had gone wild, and the bulk of the Clarion Adamant was now between them and the forest. Karn tossed her the rope for the launch’s hoist, and she tied it off quickly. “The captain’s hurt,” she shouted up at him.

“Fuck! Let’s hurry,” the wolf growled. “Sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can get him patched up.”

“Bit… bit worse than that, I’m afraid,” Issich said. He was dangerously unsteady on his feet, but with Karn’s help they were able to help the tiger on deck, and through the short distance aft to the ship’s bridge. “I’ll steer her. And make… and I’ll make sure she goes down.”

“We’ll be here with you,” Karn promised. “Bring you back to camp.”

The tiger gave a weak, uneven shake of his head. “Get the seacocks open and take the launch when we have enough distance. Don’t—don’t argue, I’m still your captain. For now. Steam?”

Karn left Sheshki supporting the captain as he reclined on the binnacle, and took the speaking tube. “Engine room, bridge. Are the boilers lit?” A muffled, indistinct reply—but enough of one, because Karn grabbed the engine telegraph and pushed it forward. “Anchor’s raised, captain. We’re ready.”

“Starboard helm, then.”

The ship had begun to move, and as Karn spun the wheel Sheshki saw trees give way gradually to open horizon. “Hard over, sir,” the wolf reported. “Let’s get you to the doctor’s room. Sheshki, can you—”

“It’s fine.” Gethet’s voice was still faltering, but he’d forced a bit of strength back into his words. “Fine enough. When you go back to camp… Fletcherson will need help. He’ll need everything you can give him.”

“He’ll have it from all of us.”

The tiger tried to turn and face her; gave up, flinching. “Not all of you, Sheshki. The pilgrims… some of the crew. You have to keep… have to keep them together.”

“And find a way back.” It was the right thing for Karn to have said; the tiger nodded shakily, and while Gethet fought to catch his breath the second mate gripped his paw firmly. “They’ll know what happened here, captain. We’ll make sure of it. I’ll…”

If she’d ever seen the wolf so subdued, the memory was distant enough that Sheshki couldn’t call it up at short notice. “Kachka?”

“I’ll make sure your wife knows, captain. And… that she’s taken care of.”

Their captain managed a wan smile, and with a great effort straightened himself up, leaning most of his weight on the binnacle. “Our speed, Mr. Gebbenbech?”

“One moment, sir.” The wolf’s nod was so crisp it bordered on being a salute. He spun on his heel and departed, leaving Gethet and Sheshki alone on the bridge.

“The omens weren’t… good. When we left, I had them scry for us, and the omens weren’t good. I should’ve paid more attention, I suppose.”

“Captain, it would seem that we’re the first people to have crossed the Edge of the Known World in thousands of years. I doubt any omen foresaw that. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can, and I will. The ship and crew is always my responsibility, no matter what. But I hope… I hope it ends here. I hope it can.” His eyes closed for a few slow, shaky breaths. When they opened, she saw that none of the resolve had left him. “Karn won’t give up trying to get home. Will you?”

“We don’t belong. He’s right not to give up, sir.”

“I know. But will you?”

“The crew will become our responsibility, captain. We’ll do what’s best for them.”

Karn returned, coming to attention before the tiger. “Six knots, sir, according to the line. The tide’s easing a bit.”

“And the wind?”

“Steady and from the west.”

Gethet looked forward from the bridge, at the deck, and then to his officers. “If you can manage it…”

They unfurled the mainsails in silence, working as quickly as they could without the help of a full crew. When Sheshki started on the topgallants, Karn grasped her shoulder; shook his head. “Should get back.”

Captain Issich was still standing, though his tail was motionless and it took him visible effort to direct his attention at them. “You should leave now. Before you get too far. I’ll give you a few minutes and have Milus open the cocks.”

“You’re staying, sir?”

“It’s my ship, Karn. I have to.”

The wolf did not protest. “It’s been an honor, captain. This whole fuckin’ mess don’t change that. It’s been an honor, and it always was.”

“Always,” Gethet agreed.

Sheshki remained, trying to find words. “Thank you, sir.”

He held his paw out. She was surprised at the strength in his grip, and the brief resurgence of energy in his eyes. “You, too. Give the crew my regards. And… safe journeys, Sheshki, no matter where they take you.”

“To you as well, captain. Safe journeys.”

She turned before either would have to see the tears in each other’s eyes. Karn, too, was studiously focused on the launch, winching it downwards with his back turned to her. “Get in,” he ordered. “Ready the oars.”

Sheshki felt the boat sway for a few seconds before it touched the water. “Ready,” she called up to him. “The others?”

“Coming now.”

It was Milus and two of his engineers, the skeleton crew they’d needed to fire up the boilers and get the ship underway for its last voyage. Karn clambered down last, and they untied the knots that bound them to the Clarion Adamant.

“Hour or a bit t’flood completely,” the chief engineer said. “But it’s done.”

“Hopefully done enough,” Sheshki said.

“Can’t change it now. Oars,” Karn ordered, and they began to pull away.

The Clarion Adamant was low in the water by the time she reached the horizon, sailing out of sight. They would, Sheshki realized, never actually know for certain. She could tell herself that Gethet was still out there—that the ship was bound for yet another shore. That, as her masts disappeared, it was only distance that separated them.

“Captain Issich…” Cedda Fletcherson said, when the launch grounded. It was not a question: the fox looked like he didn’t know what question to ask.

“He was shot—by Pærtha Kittaling,” Sheshki added, curling her muzzle. “The captain insisted on staying with the ship to make sure the job was done.”

Karn and Milus hauled the boat further in, and the wolf joined them, his breathing heavy with the exertion and his growl coarse. “It’s not. Where is that fucking bastard?”

“Gone. I don’t think he’ll come back, either.” Cedda explained that he’d never even returned to the camp; a headcount revealed a dozen of his closest followers were also missing. “They left hastily, with only a few muskets and a few pounds of food—if that.”

“Who’s in charge now?”

The fox turned his paws up, shrugging. “Nobody, or nobody who’ll admit to it.”

“Cowards.” Karn spat the word, kicking the sand hard in impotent frustration. “You rounded them up, right?”

“That’s why they won’t admit anything, kachka.” He shot her a glare. “I’m sure they’re worried about reprisals. Wouldn’t you be, Karn?”

“With good reason.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But we can’t cast them out. We need their help and… like it or not, we’ll need to stay together. We have to find a way to make that work.”

“Speak for your own bloody self,” the second mate snarled back. “They can rot.”

Cedda stepped forward, just into the wolf’s personal space, until Karn remembered enough of their chain of command to settle down. “They can’t. She’s right, lad. Do you know how to farm? How to keep their cattle healthy? I don’t. We can figure out the rest later—as the captain said—but we’ll have to be reconciled.”

“Hannu,” Sheshki suggested, hoping that might pacify Karn. “If you trust her, see if she can tell us who should stay in irons until we can talk. And then you and I can interrogate them. Right, sir?” she asked Cedda. “You’re the old man, now. You should stay above it.”

The weasel gave them a handful of names: fewer than Sheshki had expected, but perhaps the leadership had gone with Kittaling. Those that remained swore they had no idea where he’d gone. And, despite her pointed questions, they swore they’d been unaware of his plans.

“Completely in the dark?” Contempt dripped from Sheshki’s fangs. “Totally clueless about what Pærtha wanted?”

Dr. Siron Barnard’s scowl reflected it right back. “No. You asked if I knew his plans. I didn’t. Not this alliance with the desert, not betraying your captain... not anything about the Edge of the Known World…”

“But you experimented. You had plans of your own.”

Her eyes narrowed: “None of them involved murder.”

“But they did involve… what was I told? Building a machine to contact the gods?”

The white wolf’s scowl deepened—although, with her wrists bound, she could do little more than scowl. “Have you ever been to Kessea, Ms. Anariska?”

“No. I can’t say that I have.”

“Few do. The deserts are… trying. I studied the ruins there. They call it a ‘temple,’ but… but we don’t know for sure. I’ve never felt that more strongly than when I was standing amongst the ruins. It could be a temple… or a foundry… a warehouse for vegetables. Or nothing at all.”

“What point are you trying to make?”

“I need to know, Ms. Anariska. I need to know what happened to the World Before. I need to know what’s going to happen to this world. Pærtha promised me that I’d be able to pursue that search.”

“He tells many people many things.” The jackal saw no point in holding back her growl. “Pærtha told my captain that he’d been persecuted. Gethet was too trusting to ask why you were being chased, or what you wanted a new home for.”

“Nothing like this.”

“Nothing innocent, either.”

Dr. Barnard’s eyes shut tight. “Knowledge, Ms. Anariska. I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe—that I didn’t believe until I was there! The chance for a glimpse of what led to this world was… I couldn’t pass it up. The gods? I don’t care about the gods, Ms. Anariska. I just wanted to see… more.”

“Perhaps you’ll get your chance here,” Sheshki spat. “We can’t very well keep you all imprisoned. Some of you are actually farmers, not… conspirators. Why didn’t you go with him, anyway?”

“I wasn’t asked.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. The ones who accompanied Pærtha are the true believers. Some of them are mages, trained by saman Kurma over the years. Some are just… loyal. He might’ve been right about me.”

“What do you mean?”

Siron looked away from the jackal and the fiery expression that had not yet dimmed. “Pærtha Kittaling asked me to search for things, and to let him know if I found them. Anything out of the ordinary. I didn’t have the chance to, though, and… honestly—you don’t have to believe me, but honestly—knowing what I do now, I’m glad he left before it came up.”

“You’re saying that you’ll tell me? What is it?”

“I don’t know. We just came across it the other day. It was another thaumaturgic eddy—what I think the natives would see as a blank spot in their ‘tapestry.’ To my eyes, it’s just a ruin.”

Sheshki crossed her arms. “And you’ll show us?”

“Do you expect me to bargain? You have me tied up, Ms. Anariska. You could beat it from me, if you wanted—but yes. I’ll show you. Milus Elerring should come with us, though, or someone like him.”

The track to whatever the wolf had ‘found’ led along no paths: a few stream banks, and a short game trail, but beyond that only the trees. Sheshki had to untie the wolf, but the jackal kept her paw on the holster to a pistol, just in case. Karn Gebbenbech had another, and he hung back to keep an eye on the party.

They came to a clearing, at the end of a cape with the ocean a solid hundred feet below. At first Sheshki saw nothing out of the ordinary, but as her eyes wandered they followed the outline of something rigid, rust just barely lighter in color than the ground.

“Much of it is below ground,” the wolf explained. “I sketched what I could divine with my instruments. I thought it might be a ship. It’s sort of wedge-shaped, you see? This would be its bow.” She held her papers out for Milus and Sheshki to look at.

“Like a Tiurishkan barge?” the jackal suggested. “Sort of.”

“No.” Milus took the wolf’s diagram without asking, holding it up to compare what lay above ground to what she’d drawn. “T’bracin’s all wrong, tranverse-wise. Sure about this, duck?”

“As sure as I can be,” Siron said.

“These can’t be bulkheads. Do bloody fuck-all for torsion, they would. But ‘er lateral strength… cor, nowt I’ve seen what’d take compression better nor tha’ there.” His accent was all but impenetrable to Sheshki, even as long as she’d sailed with the bear. To help them, he held his paws apart, framing the wreck, and slowly brought them towards one another.

Finally she understood. “And no sailing vessel is compressed that way. They twist, or sag, or hog, but…”

“Aye.”

Karn had rejoined them; he gestured at some densely scribbled notes towards the ‘ship’s’ bow. “What’s that?”

“I’m not sure. It resonates oddly. Quartz, perhaps. Cargo?”

“A lens,” the black wolf said. “This was a lighthouse.”

Sheshki looked incredulously from Dr. Barnard’s drawings to the wreck. “It’d be… what, three hundred feet tall, kachka?”

“Four hundred, from stem to… from the foundation to the tip,” Siron corrected her phrasing. “Who knows what was possible, though? It’s not simple iron—something like iron, but…”

“Brascea.” Milus had started wandering forward, and the others followed. The bear dropped to his knees, digging dirt away to reveal more of the metal. “Brascea iron, like ’s not. Iron an’ carbon. An’ Steri’s White.”

“Uh. Yes, actually,” Siron stammered. “How did you guess?”

“Truth, duck?” He turned towards them, his grin as wide as it was humorless. “It’s t’most advanced I know of. Weren’t but ten year back they invented it. An’ this, too. What’re called ‘Cesh beams’ in Aernia.”

“Cesh beams?”

He used a claw to draw a capital ‘I’ in the dirt. “Tha’ shape, see? Lengthwise. Summat I ain’t seen bu’ in books, so…” He snorted. “Why not find ‘em ‘ere?”

“Osani didn’t do this,” Sheshki said. “Not the Kallito either, I imagine.”

None of us, Valisen confirmed, when she told him the next day. The cape, he went on, was a forbidden place to everyone, and for exactly the reason Siron Barnard conjectured: it was disconnected from the tapestry of the world, and subject to its own laws.

And, for that reason, he was not bothered that the easterners had visited. They, too, were out of place. Osani’s elders took the loss of the Clarion Adamant in stride, for it had prevented anything worse coming from the desert.

“They say that you can stay,” as Valisen put it. “For as long as this world will have you.”

“How long will that be?”

But he had no answer.

*

Assuming time passed the same everywhere, it would now be fall in the Iron Kingdom. Their ship was months overdue; in the taverns of Harradon, the nature of the curiosity would be changing. Sheshki knew those conversations. She’d heard them before, joined them before…

A storm, probably, somebody would say. An older mariner, used to the coast trade, paws calloused from their time on the rigging. And, doing his part, the bartender would shake his head. Wasn’t a sounder ship than that, he’d say. Nor a better captain. Couldn’t have been a storm.

Pirates?

Or a rogue wave, or a waterspout. They’d swap theories for a few months, and the ship would join a list of so many others. She was famous enough that perhaps, in a year or so, the more superstitious would talk of seeing her silhouette, late at night, far on the horizon. And some of their listeners would nod knowingly.

She’d told Gethet Issich that Karn would never abandon hope for their return, and she heard the tiger’s strained voice: but will you? The jackal did her best—even confirmed with their machinist that the iron wreck could be salvaged—but as the days wore on, and on…

The settlement was more work than the Clarion Adamant had been—a full-time job for Cedda, whose weariness was plain when the fall harvest brought the fox a brief respite. Sheshki stepped in to help, but afterwards it was a week at a time before she thought of the Dominion.

Then two.

Over a mild winter, she kept practicing her connection to the tapestry. Day by day the jackal found she could follow its threads further, past the blank emptiness of the cape to the edges of Osani territory. And east, out into open ocean. The silt of dark sea floor stretched away before her.

And, once, a glimpse of something sharp.

Nothing alive; nothing born of the water. Metal, she thought. Iron, and wood shaped by fine craftsmen. It was the effort they’d poured into it she sensed, and decades of stories bounded by a form that caught the edge of her mind like shattered glass. If she focused—and for the briefest instant she could not help but focus—the sharp thing spoke to her in familiar echoes.

Sheshki did not look that way again.

Karn did. He took slow, deliberate walks on the beach, his muzzle always turned towards the bay and the open sea beyond it. She caught up to him on a crisp evening, just as the fog was beginning to roll in, before it hid the clear skies above them.

“Are you looking for something, kachka?”

He stopped. “No. Thinking.”

“About?”

“Tarl’s Cask.”

“The… tavern? You can’t miss the swill they try to pass off for ale. Right?”

“Tarl’s brother was on the Redbeak. Simple grain run from Tammervest, in the early summer, perfect weather… never made it to Harradon, though. The captain of the Vetanian said he’d seen her under full sail, making north, and… well. That’s it.”

She didn’t know the ship in question. “Did they find anything?”

“A year later, a piece of wood washed up. I hear—didn’t see it. Half of the letter ‘R’ on one end. Could’ve been from a boat. Could’ve been from… well, fuck knows, Sheshki. I don’t. Tarl didn’t.”

“I knew somebody on the Peshennic.”

The wolf nodded, just a shadow in the moonless night. “Good ship, the Peshennic. A northern voyage, though? Shrouded Rocks in the winter—you’d have to be crazy.”

“We did it,” she pointed out. “Gethet knew what he was doing.”

“I suppose.”

“You think… back at Tarl’s, they’re talking about us?”

“No,” he said. “I think they’ve stopped.”

“I do, too. I had the same thought. I suppose… I suppose many of us have, kachka.”

“You got over it? Like they did at the pub?”

“Trying not to dwell.”

His muzzle curled. “No. Somebody has to keep wondering what happened to us, Sheshki. I do. I keep wondering. I’m not going to be a splinter of wood my friends try to… talk themselves into making a story from. I’m not going to be a toast we don’t even get to hear…”

“Then what, kachka? What should we do?”

“You tell me. Become a farmer? And when Osani tires of us messing up their bloody tapestry and they tell us to move underground, will you do that gladly? Of course not. ‘Trying not to dwell’—dwell on not living with the sea beneath you again. One of these days I’m going to forget what it feels like to have the wheel in my paws, and I can’t carry on that way. I’m going back. Are you?”

There was an edge in his voice, a certainty that served to ward off thoughts of conversations in harbor bars. “I’d love to, Karn. But home is…” She looked up, trying to orient herself to the constellations she’d started to memorize.

Karn’s paw rested on her shoulder. “No. Home’s that way.” He turned her from the water and nodded at the forest’s edge. “Carpenter says those trees are strong and sturdy as anything he’s ever seen.”

“Not supposed to cut them down…”

“They’ll deal with it, if it means getting rid of us. We don’t belong.”

“And there’s that wreck, too,” she mused. “Good iron, for nails if nothing else.”

“Exactly.”

“It’d be a lot of work,” the jackal said. She took his paw—felt warmth, but nothing else. None of the wolf’s story, unraveling under her focus. He was right: they didn’t belong. While he stayed quiet, waiting to see where her thoughts led, she let him go and searched again along the seabed. At last, she found the sharp edge of memory.

This time she lingered—let it cut her, scrape away the scales that had built over the months of deliberate blindness. And prodded, tenderly, at what remained, until the pain had ebbed. Until she could see clearly.

“I’ll get the engineers,” she told him. “And we can start.”