World's End (36 page)

Eventually, Alfonso discovered a series of tiny steps carved into the rock. Shouting over the wind, he showed them what he had found and then carefully began to climb. After about thirty steps up the sheer cliff, Alfonso emerged onto a flat, rocky surface. He looked around and saw that they were on a tiny rock-strewn island no more than two hundred feet in diameter.

Alfonso peered into the gray light of day and stared at the waves advancing on the island from every direction. Farther out, slabs of ice floated heavily, barely visible above the crashing water. A heavy layer of clouds hung so low in the sky, it seemed to Alfonso that he could climb through them with a short ladder. And on the horizon, they saw what appeared to be land or other islands. It was too distant to tell.

"I'm freeeeeezin'!" yelled Bilblox, who had just emerged from the narrow stairway. Josephus was still slung over his shoulder and Kõrgu followed behind. "Where in the name of Ivan Magrewski are we?"

"I assume we're in the Sea of Clouds," said Hill, who was the next to emerge. "Now we just have to find a big island. Supposedly Jasber is on a mountainous island in the middle of this sea. It can't be that far away. Of course that map would've helped." He looked back at the stairway, from which Resuza, Clink, and Misty emerged. The stairway was nearly impossible to see unless you were standing right next to it.

"How's Josephus?" asked Alfonso.

"Still out like a busted light," replied Bilblox. "But he's breathin' steadily."

It began to snow lightly and Bilblox began to mutter. Alfonso scanned the horizon, but saw no indication of where to go, or any possible way to get off the island. It looked as if they were marooned in the middle of a vast icy sea. Alfonso's spirits were beginning to plummet until he heard Misty cry out, "Well, look-e-here!"

The old miner had found another set of steps on the other side of the island. It led to a small cave also at water level. Just like the other cave, the entrance to this one was well hidden. Inside they found a row of six sturdy wooden rowboats. The wood was oddly translucent so that you could almost see through it. The boats were provisioned with oars, tarps, and old navigation devices known as sextants. The ground had been recently disturbed and there was obviously room for one more boat. Alfonso and Hill exchanged glances—Kiril had likely found this cache and taken a boat.

"I bet these boats are Dormian-made," said Hill as he ran his fingers over the gunnels. "Look at how light they are! And they haven't decayed at all. I'd wager they were made with wood from the
Arboris pierratus
tree."

"Which way do you suppose we're meant to go?" asked Resuza.

"Probably toward that light," Clink said confidently.

"What light?"

"That one," said Clink, pointing off into the distance.

Clink was right. Flickering on the horizon directly in front of them was an orange light that glowed like a faint torch. It looked to be two or three miles away, but it was impossible to know for sure.

"Let's go," said Clink. "Finally, some adventure in the open sky!"

"Yer crazy!" exclaimed Misty. "Jus' think of it—bobbin' around in that ocean like a buncha frozen ice cubes."

Ten minutes later, they were all piled into a single boat, moving steadily in the direction of the orange light. Bilblox and an ashen-faced Misty were working the oars and Alfonso was navigating. The others, including Kõrgu, sat on the floor of the boat shivering and watching the freezing water pass ghostlike underneath the boat's translucent bottom. On several occasions they collided with giant slabs of ice and almost tipped, but Bilblox and Misty's strength with the oars kept them afloat. As they drew nearer to the light, it became increasingly obvious what it was they were approaching—a towering stone lighthouse. A dozen or so cannons poked out of battlements along the walls. Hundreds of gargoyles glared stonily from ledges along the tower.

They maneuvered closer and saw that two torches burned in front of a portcullis that blocked any entrance into the lighthouse. It seemed to be the only way in. The rest of the stone base was filled with thousands of steel spikes, which made the tower look like an evil porcupine.

"Who wants to knock on the front door?" Alfonso joked.

To everyone's astonishment Clink immediately volunteered. "I'll do it," he said. "Anything this well protected has a lot to hide.
Treasures,
if you catch my drift."

Misty and Bilblox paddled the boat onto the lighthouse island, to an area out of sight of the entrance. From the untouched look of the area, no one had set foot there in recent days, perhaps months. Clink was the first ashore. He splashed through the ankle-height water and onto the pebbly ground. It was covered with great masses of frozen sea kelp. He cursed to himself as he trudged through and sank several feet down.

"This is a fine mess to be stuck in!" he snapped. Suddenly, he stood up straight and stared at a pile of sea kelp in front of him. "Hullo, what's this?" He leaned closer and then began to shout. "Huzzah!" he yelled. "Happy days!"

"What's he carryin' on about?" asked Bilblox.

"I don't know," said Hill. "But we better have a look."

They clambered out of the boat and made their way toward Clink. There, nestled amid the frozen kelp, was the object of Clink's happiness. It was the unmistakable skeleton of a man clad in a leather overcoat, and frayed ropes of cloth. Thick black hair still clung to his skull. Given the man's exposure to the weather, he might have died anywhere from months to years ago.

"Clink, show some respect," said Resuza.

"Oh, I respect this fine man," replied Clink happily. "Just look at what he is about to give me!" Clink knelt down to the skeleton, took hold of an arm bone, and pried off a glittering bracelet that appeared untouched by the passage of time. It was a band of thick silver. Delicate lines of gold and sparkling inset diamonds ran along the length of the band. It had to be worth a fortune.

"Now this is worth the whole adventure," Clink proclaimed. "Can you imagine me walking the streets of Somnos with this bauble! There won't be a woman who'll be able to take her eyes off me!"

"Put it back," said Hill. "It's not yours."

"True enough," replied Clink. He looked at the skeleton lying before him. "But this poor sap can't use it. Tell you what—if he wakes up and demands it back, I'll return it. Otherwise, I'll keep it for a while." With that, Clink set off whistling through the sea kelp, toward the lighthouse.

"Where are you going?" demanded Hill.

"Why into the tower, of course," replied Clink. "I can just imagine what goodies might be inside."

"Wait a minute!" said Hill. "You can't go in alone."

"Of course I can!" replied Clink with a laugh. "You forget, this is my business. I am a thief, a pickpocket, a purse-snatcher, a kleptomaniac, a burglar, a purloiner, a pilferer. You get the idea—I break into places! And I'm always successful because I'm so clever! However, I always work alone. Let me go inside. I'll check it out, secure the premises, and then we'll all have a nice rest."

Clink walked up to the portcullis and knocked loudly on its iron latticework. After a minute of knocking, the portcullis opened with a loud clanking noise. Clink waved a friendly goodbye and disappeared into the darkness of the entranceway.

T
HE ROUGHNESS
of the Sea of Clouds didn't bother Kiril in the least—he simply rowed right through the waves, deftly avoiding the ice as he went. One of the many advantages of being over six hundred years old was that he had centuries' worth of experience to draw upon. Kiril had spent entire lifetimes of normal humans dedicated to the pursuit of various skills. This was part of the reason that he was so good with a sword—he had been wielding one since the Renaissance. The same was true of boating. He had been navigating boats ever since the early 1500s, when he had sailed alongside the famous Portuguese sailor Fernao Mendes Pinto, who explored much of China. Kiril was an expert marksman, a skilled archer, a connoisseur of poisons, a master craftsman, and a scholar of over two dozen languages. He was, in short, a man who had made good use of his immortality.

Kiril had been rowing now for almost six hours, heading due west the entire time, in the direction that the sun had set. When night fell, and the clouds cleared very briefly, Kiril used his sextant to confirm his whereabouts. He was on course. It was all going so well.

For centuries, Kiril had contemplated trying to find his way back to Jasber, but it had always proved impossible. The High Peaks of the Urals were sprinkled with hundreds of lakes. Of course, Kiril had been aware of the legend that Jasber existed on an island in the Sea of Clouds, but how could he have known that the legend was true? After all, Jasber's location was kept hidden even from its citizens. Even if he had known the location, it would have been impossible to know which island was home to Jasber. Most of the islands lay in the Ferramentum Archipelago, where Kiril was currently rowing. It was a cluster of thousands of islands, all of them filled with impassable marshland, razor hedges, and other traps that had caused the death of so many explorers.

The surrounding landscape looked familiar to Kiril, but only vaguely so. Truth be told, his memories of leaving Jasber were vivid but incomplete. He recalled a stormy boat ride—he even recalled how the boat looked and smelled—but he had no recollection of the route that the boat had taken. Fortunately for Kiril, he had found the mosaic map in the Terminus; this had given him all the information he needed to find his way.

Kiril glanced over his shoulder. He was almost there. Just a mile off his bow he saw a series of sheer, algae-covered cliffs that pierced the waters and rose like a giant mossy tombstone jutting out from the sea. It occurred to Kiril that after centuries of wandering the globe, he was on the cusp of returning home. He briefly allowed his thoughts to shift to his mother and father.

Although his mother had died outside of Noctos after she and her children had been branded as Gahnos and cast out into the snow, his father, Kemal, had remained in Jasber. Typically, Kemal spent part of the year in the Hub, maintaining the Jasber Gate, and the rest of the year back in Jasber with his family. Kiril often wondered what had become of his father. Did he travel to Noctos to search for his family? Did he seek vengeance against those Dormians who had mistreated the Gahnos?

Very occasionally, Kiril allowed himself to wonder what his father would say about the man Kiril had become. Certainly his father would disapprove, but then again, his father had been fortunate. He had not witnessed the slow, agonizing death of his family. Kiril had witnessed this. And this was the kind of thing that changed a person. Kiril knew this, but it could not be helped.
They
had done this to him. The people of Noctos. The Dormians. He could not forget this as much as he sometimes wanted to. And this, of course, was the curse of living for six hundred years in fine health. Kiril's memory was stunningly lifelike in its intensity. He could recall the last breaths that his mother had taken as if it had been yesterday. He could see her face, feel her breath, smell her perfume. It was fresh in his memory. Always fresh. And this freshness was what fueled his undying bitterness. Kiril's only reprieve was exacting vengeance. This was his tonic, his drug. It was one of the few things that made Kiril feel truly satisfied—that and rubbing the ash into his eyes.

As he neared the cliff-hung island that was his destination, Kiril caught sight of something that gave him pause. A heavy fog was rolling in, and visibility was very poor, but Kiril could have sworn that he had seen an empty rowboat drifting several hundred yards off his starboard bow. This was very odd. The Sea of Clouds was an extremely remote and untraveled corner of the world. No one sailed these waters except for fools, bandits, and naive adventurers hell-bent on courting death. What was this boat doing here, so close to Jasber?

Kiril stopped rowing and strained his eyes to see through the fog. The boat reappeared for an instant, and Kiril saw the distinct image of an old woman sitting in the stern. An instant later, the boat disappeared. The fog began to grow even heavier and Kiril knew that he ought to be going. His eyes ached from a combination of nervousness and prickly fear, as if he had just seen an apparition. He was tired and his mind was playing tricks on him. That was the only explanation. "I'm seeing things," muttered Kiril as he picked up his oars and began to row away. "Fatigue always brings out the ghosts."

Kiril navigated his boat into a protected inlet along the coast of the island. The water here was calm, so calm that he was actually able to see his own reflection in the glassy surface. It was startling. His slender, youthful face had turned gaunt, and his raven-black hair was now gray. All this had happened in just a few months. More than anything else, however, Kiril noticed the awful scar along his face. It looked larger and uglier than before. Inevitably, he thought of the man who was responsible for giving him this grotesque mark.

***

Leif Perplexon was one of the most worthy adversaries Kiril had ever faced. It wasn't because he was skilled with a sword, or a gun, or a weapon of any sort. He wasn't especially fast or strong. But his stamina was
astounding.
Kiril had followed him day and night for the better part of a year as Leif made his way from Alexandria to the Urals. Leif hardly ever rested or slowed his pace in the least. Several times along the way, Kiril lost his trail, but then he always picked it up again. As they entered the Ural Mountains, Kiril's hopes began to rise. He knew that he was on the cusp of rediscovering Jasber. He was close—so close—and then disaster struck. Kiril was following Leif too closely along a series of cliffs and, for some reason, Leif turned around. The two men faced each other several feet apart.

"Who are you?" demanded Leif.

Kiril remained cool, and assured Leif, as calmly as he could, that he meant no harm. He suggested, as was his usual tactic, that he was protecting the interests of Dormia. Leif appeared convinced until out of the blue he charged Kiril. Kiril reached for his sword, but then stopped himself. The whole point was to follow Leif to Jasber, not kill him. A brutal fight ensued. Under other circumstances, Kiril would have been able to subdue Leif easily, but two things were working against him. First, he was exhausted from the walking he had done. Second, there was the fact that Kiril's rations of the purple ash had been cut severely. He still had the ash in his blood, but not much of it, and he was feeling weak. After many centuries of life, Kiril was slowing down—the grim specter of mortality had reappeared.