“Well…” The men hesitated. “The Land of the Immortals is very far away, so we’ll need a fleet of powerful ships, almost floating cities, to survive the long journey.”
“What about airships?” the emperor asked.
“Oh, no! It will be a journey of months, perhaps even years—much too far for the meager supplies that airships can carry. You must build a special fleet for the arduous journey based on our designs.”
Is skimming from the construction funds how they plan on profiting from this scheme? the emperor wondered. No matter, he had ways of dealing with such eventualities. “One of you will be in charge of the construction of the ships, while the other can gather the crews and supplies. I will give you whatever you need.”
The two men looked pleased.
“When the expedition is ready,” the emperor continued, “one of you will command it and the other will stay here to wait for the good news”—he watched the faces of the men carefully—“with me.”
The men looked at each other. “You should go, old friend,” said Krita. “You’re the better sailor.”
“No,” Métu said. “You should have the honor of going because you’re better at persuasion. I will stay and care for both our families. I know you will not disappoint us or the emperor.”
There is no honor among thieves, mused the emperor. If they’re truly frauds, neither of them should want to stay and face my wrath when the other doesn’t return. Yet they each have volunteered to stay and they’re willing to leave their families behind, so perhaps they really do know of a way to the Land of the Immortals.
Night and day, Mapidéré’s shipwrights labored to construct great city-ships based on the merchants’ designs: each as tall as the watchtowers of Pan and with a deck wide and long enough to allow a horse to gallop. They had deep holds for supplies that would last years and luxurious staterooms reserved for the immortal guests on the return journey. In total, a crew of twelve thousand skilled sailors, dancers, cooks, dressmakers, carpenters, blacksmiths, soldiers—some to impress the immortals with the height of Dara’s culture and others to persuade the immortals of the wisdom of obeying the emperor’s orders through more forceful means, should that turn out to be necessary—were conscripted for this expedition into the unknown waters of the north. A prince, born of one of the emperor’s less favored wives, would come along on the expedition as a gesture of the emperor’s esteem for the immortals.
Crown Prince Pulo personally came to send off the fleet from Dasu, the northernmost of the Islands of Dara. He led the crew in a prayer to Kiji, Lord of the Sky and Winds, and Tazu, Master of Sea Currents and Whirlpools. Then he gave the order to fill in the eyes painted on the bows of the ships so that they could peer through the mist and waves to find their way.
The day was cold, but the sky was clear and the sea calm. It was a good day to be off on an expedition.
The storm began as soon as the mast of the last ship had dipped below the horizon. The wind howled across land and ocean, tearing roofs off huts and bending trees until they snapped. Sheets of rain poured from the sky, making it impossible to see beyond one’s outstretched hand. The dignitaries and officials who had come to see the fleet off ducked into basements, shivering with terror as thunder roared overhead and lightning flickered across the sky.
Three days later, the storm stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving a bright rainbow arcing over the sea.
Prince Pulo ordered airships to scout the seas for signs of the fleet. They returned after three days, having found nothing.
While the navy was being summoned, all the fishing boats of Dasu were immediately dispatched into the ocean. By this time, most suspected that the fleet had been lost, and the fishermen were told to look for survivors. In reality, the only one they cared about was the prince. Though it was doubtful if the emperor even remembered his name—why else would he have been chosen for such a fool’s errand?—he was still a son of the emperor, and the governor and the magistrates of Dasu were terrified of the consequences if they didn’t demonstrate sufficient zeal in this effort.
So the fishermen were not allowed rest. As soon as they returned, they were told to go out again, and to sail farther. No matter how tired or sleep-deprived they looked, they were not allowed to go home unless and until the prince was found.
Many never returned.
Prince Pulo waited by the coast. He had given up hope of seeing his little brother again, and he was just waiting for wreckage to be washed ashore. But none of the flotsam that showed up on the beach seemed to be from the fleet.
On the tenth day after the end of the storm, a large naval fleet finally arrived from Müning in Arulugi Island, but Prince Pulo said, “Call off the search. This is the season for storms and we don’t need to put more lives at risk. I will inform my father.”
Ronaza Métu, who had stayed behind to assure the emperor of the explorers’ faith in their mission, swore that the fleet must have sailed beyond the reach of the airships and the fishing boats sent to look for it. The storm was nothing but Lord Kiji’s unique way of speeding the ships along.
But Emperor Mapidéré had a different interpretation of the omen. Kiji and Tazu had broken up the fleet and devoured the pieces until there were no signs of the ships ever having existed. This was surely the gods’ way of informing him that he had been duped again.
Métu was put to death, along with all the males of his and his companion’s families within three degrees of relatedness. The emperor didn’t particularly care if the blood would appease the gods, but at least he was satisfied. He hoped he had shown enough zeal for his dead son not to haunt him in this life and for himself to not feel embarrassed if they met again in the afterlife.
Storms like the one that had wiped out the fleet were not exactly unheard of in Dara. In the lore of Dasu and Rui, such storms were described as the result of tempestuous Kiji being angry with his sibling gods, and children born during such storms were sometimes said to be extraordinarily lucky. But the priests of Kiji and the clan headmen of Dasu didn’t record this particular storm in their divination books or family shrines, for had the emperor not already spoken? The hour was cursed.
Yet Aki Kidosu wasn’t willing to defer to their judgment. Her husband had spent only a few nights with their new baby daughter before the magistrate drafted him into the flotilla plying the winter sea to look for the unlucky prince on the expedition to the Land of the Immortals.
“Please, Your Grace, my wife and young daughter need me,” Oga had said. “This baby is a surprise, coming as my wife thought that her childbearing days were long behind, and the nuns of Tututika warned us that she needed extra care—”
“Childbirth is a natural part of the life of women,” the magistrate said. “Men of talent should be honored to serve the emperor. I am told that you’re the best sailor and swimmer hereabouts. You must go.”
“But my sons are already helping with the search, and surely we can take turns—”
“I have also been told that you’re a teller of stories,” said the magistrate, his voice turning severe, “a crafty fisherman with a tongue as slippery as an eel. Do not try to wiggle out of your duty.”
“I’d like to return the next day—”