“Thank you, Captain,” said Zimmer, but without enthusiasm.
As Tanimura made plans to rebuild, they were only one city of many that had been damaged in the war. As the survivors of Renda Bay, Effren, and other devastated towns helped clear the burned-down warehouses, sawmill operators cut fresh lumber, and armies of carpenters worked to restore the city. Bricklayers formed foundations, clay handlers added stucco to walls, whitewashers used buckets of lime to finish the new structures.
Thaddeus and Rendell, who had become fast friends after saving each other’s lives more than once, worked to erect new homes and shops at the waterfront. Thaddeus said, “Now that we no longer have to worry about the Norukai, someday I would like to take my people back to Renda Bay and rebuild our own town.”
“I will go with you.” Rendell had sad eyes, but he managed a smile. “My Ildakar will never return, and I want a fresh start. I liked Renda Bay.”
“There’s still a great deal of work ahead of us,” Thaddeus said, “but we’ll have our freedom and our homes.”
Hearing them, Nicci stepped closer. “You will determine your own destiny, your own rule. You’ll be responsible for your actions, but you also have a strong conscience. Then you’ll truly be a part of the D’Haran Empire.”
Four of the Hidden People, moving quietly in the daylight that was still a blessing to them, came to Nicci, looking concerned and lost. Free of their ancient responsibilities, they had trekked across the land so they could fight for Nicci, but now they didn’t know what to do, since all the battles were ended and they were far from home.
“The bustle of this city confounds us,” said one man with deep lines of concern on his pale face. “Nearly six hundred of us still survive. General Utros is defeated, but what will become of Orogang? That city is still our home.”
“And it is quiet!” said another man.
“Then make it your home,” Nicci said. “Go back there and live in the sunlight. By now, the zhiss are all dead. You no longer need to hide in the shadows. Smash open all the bricked-up windows, let in the air. Orogang can become a grand capital again.”
“But we will be all alone,” said a woman, tugging on her gray hood.
“Not for long. Traders will come to Orogang. You will be one of the key cities in the mountains.” Nicci smiled. “And I’ll make certain Lord Rahl knows about you. He may even set up a satellite capital in Orogang. Would you like that?”
The Hidden People beamed, and it seemed as if light had returned to their features. It was just one more of the many pieces coming together after the defeat of General Utros and the Norukai scourge.
As the most urgent tasks were completed in the aftermath of the war, the refugees began to reassess their future. Scholar-Archivist Franklin, along with his rival and companion Gloria, gathered with the Sisters of the Light. “Cliffwall is destroyed, and all those books are lost. We have to re-create them as best we can.”
Gloria tapped a finger to her temple. “They are not lost if my memmers still know them. We can reproduce thousands of volumes, but it will take time.”
Because funeral pyres still covered Halsband Island, the Sisters had taken up residence in an empty inn whose owners had been killed in the attack. There in the common room, at long tables once used for boisterous crowds with tankards of ale, the scholars sat beside volunteer scribes. They used stacks of paper, ledger books from the harbormaster’s offices, any scrap that could capture words. The memmers sat back with their eyes half closed, muttering line after line as they recited the books preserved in their gifted memories.
The Cliffwall scholars had devoted their lives to learning, to poring over every word in those ancient books, and now they participated in writing them down. By day, they wrote in sunlit rooms, and at night they lit lanterns to continue scribing. The memmers’ voices grew hoarse as they dictated, but they didn’t stop. It would take many years to recapture most of the lost knowledge, but they would keep remembering and keep writing.
CHAPTER 87
After a brief squall the night before, the Tanimura harbor smelled of clean salt air rather than death, blood, and decay. Nathan inhaled deeply as he sat at the end of the dock and looked down at the last page in his life book, considering how he would wrap up his story.
A gray splat struck the boards beside him, and a seagull spun overhead with a shriek that sounded like mocking laughter. Nathan glanced up with an annoyed snort. “I could blast you out of the sky with a tiny ball of fire, you miserable bird.” The gull was not intimidated by the threat and flew away under the bright blue sky.
Out in the harbor, most of the wrecked ships had been dismantled to clear passage for trade. Two large cargo ships remained sunk in the shallows, their hulls tilted underwater, masts protruding like drowned trees. The people of Tanimura would leave those hulks as a memorial, so that anyone who came to the city would be reminded of the battle.
Nathan had nearly filled the life book with adventures, and that fact gave him pause, even stymied his creative efforts. If he’d had plenty of pages left, the words would flow. He would have described every thought, every setback, every victory. How could he sum up so many grand events on the single remaining page? He considered simply purchasing another blank book so he could keep writing, but this precious volume wasn’t just a book from a stationer. This was his life book, given to him by the witch woman Red, in the Dark Lands. The first volume had been written in ink made of his own burned blood, chronicling the first part of his life. He had filled this second book by his own hand, but the leather-bound volume was a special gift nonetheless.
With his boots dangling over the end of the dock, he reread the last pages he had written the night before while he sat on the barracks steps in the Tanimura garrison. Nathan knew he would need to find finer rooms eventually, provided he and Nicci remained here in the city. He already felt restless.
He looked down at his descriptions of the wizards of Ildakar, Mirrormask and the slave uprising, the awakening of the enormous stone army. His eyes stung when he read about dear Elsa, her transference magic, and how she had died. His brief workmanlike lines were sadly inadequate, not because he meant to give her short shrift, but because he didn’t have the heart to write what Elsa deserved.
He had tried to do better chronicling the end of Prelate Verna and the destruction of Cliffwall. His descriptions of the final battles in Tanimura were merely vignettes, but he simply didn’t have the room. Each event deserved a full chapter of its own, if not an entire volume. Still, what he wrote was the truth, and that was what mattered most.
Knowing the importance of his work, he forced himself to keep writing, to finish the job in the paper he had available. With tiny letters and succinct prose, he addressed the brave sacrifices of so many soldiers, Bannon’s victory over King Grieve, and the cataclysmic end of Utros’s ancient army when the underworld reclaimed them.
He had so much more to say, but he reached the bottom of the last page. His final lines were cramped and dense, and when there was no more room he simply wrote, “And thus was the Old World saved.”
The dock boards creaked with approaching footsteps, and he turned to see Nicci walking toward him in her black dress. The big sand panther padded along beside her, her tan fur clean and brushed, as if she were no more than a contented, groomed pet. Nicci stopped beside him at the end of the pier. “If this is how you spend your days, Wizard, you will grow fat and lazy.”
A seagull flew overhead, scolding Mrra. The panther roared, and the bird flew away.