In the morning, Viggo indignantly learned that during the night, a shipment of sail canvas had arrived from the southern fishing village, and Natall, together with Electra, had spent the hours before dawn hauling crates from the boats to the shore and loading them onto wagons without a wink of sleep. The Kald was outraged to the depths of his soul that, while he had been sleeping soundly, stuffed with food and drink, their hosts hadn’t woken him up so he could help and repay them at least in some small way for their wine and hospitality.

  Be that as it may, Kairu, lying on a blanket spread over the cold, dewy grass beneath a bush near the cliff, was awakened by the fresh, salty wind off the ocean, carrying Viggo’s booming voice and the captain’s weary but good-humored retorts.

  Rita was still asleep, and even before opening his eyes, he felt her warmth and her arms wrapped around his neck, clasped together on his back. In her sleep, she breathed unevenly, her eyelids trembled, the wind stirred the copper strands of hair fallen across her pale forehead. And Kairu once again found himself captivated by her, lying motionless, his head spinning with happiness and with some new feeling—an unfamiliar sense of peace and confidence in tomorrow—that overflowed within him. He lay like that for a long time, afraid to wake her, thinking about everything he hadn’t managed to think through the night before, but no matter where his thoughts wandered, they always circled back to the same point: the end was very close now.

  The voyage across the ocean? The Seer’s goal? The First Temple? Nonsense.

  What comes after?

  He had asked himself this question more than once, prompted by others: Atgard, Joanna, Viggo, Petros, Lainter, even Rita herself… And never yet had Kairu dared to find a clear answer. But now the end was so near he felt it in his very bones. It was time to think. Long past time.

  After all, now he carried responsibility for the two of them. Like back in the crypt, he thought with a smirk.

  Then Kairu wrestled for a long while with what was stronger—the desire to kiss Rita again or the fear of waking her. At last, he risked it, carefully slipped from her embrace, and she, still asleep, pulled her hands to her chest and curled up against the chill. Gently, Kairu adjusted the shirt draped across her bare shoulders, pulled the edge of the blanket over her, rose, dressed, and looked out toward the house with its wide-open windows, the wagons waiting at the gate, the horses chewing hay nearby. A few sailors sat on crates with pipes in their mouths. Natall had been arguing with Viggo for twenty minutes already while giving out instructions, and not far off, the muffled roar of waves rolled up on the sand. The day was cloudy, the sun climbing above the forest as a blurred orange smudge.

  Kairu went down to the silent beach, washed up, then returned to the house where the morning bustle had begun. Electra, half-asleep, tried to prepare breakfast; Viggo, having given up on Natall, was now trying to help his wife; Natall smoked with the sailors, hiding monstrous yawns behind his hand; Remiz, perfectly calm and on his own initiative, took up a broom and began sweeping grape seeds from the parlor floor. Ashley lay in an armchair, staring out the window, apparently not quite awake herself. Shifting her gaze to Remiz, she muttered:

  "Right… Maybe they’ll sprout yet. Electra, let me write you a recipe for a plant tonic, your apple trees look like they’re withering."

  "The climate’s wrong," Electra grumbled. "I planted them for shade, not fruit… Well, maybe the tonic will help after all. Oh, tsunami and whirlpools, I’ve gone heavy on the oil again…"

  From the attic, a bleary Norton descended, yawned out a barely coherent "Good morning," dropped into a free chair, and shyly asked Petros, seated nearby, if he had a spare pipe.

  "Here," said Petros. "I got the tobacco from Natall, he smuggles it from the Desert Lands. Natall—" he turned to the captain who had just entered, "—where are those two lovebirds? Yuffilis and Demetra?"

  "Don’t bother the youngsters," Ganstair yawned again. "Let them enjoy a few quiet days while they still can. The shipments will be coming daily now, we’ll need every free hand."

  "But they’re needed now," Petros said worriedly. "The next load’s due after lunch, right?"

  "Should be. Hopefully not delayed."

  "Then let’s eat, gather everyone, and I’ll give a quick briefing. Long overdue—I was just waiting for Kairu and Rita, and now there’s no reason to postpone."

  "I agree," Natall nodded. "Soon we’ll be heading to Harkon, and then I’ll have to seriously work out the route and supplies. No time for thinking there—just work, work, and more work."

  Rita appeared, tying back her damp hair with a ribbon. She smiled at Kairu as she passed to the table, carrying the smell of the sea with her.

  "Good morning, everyone. Yuf and Demetra will be along soon—looks like Rodrigo finally found them and woke them up. He’s grumbling."

  "Of course, it took him ages to find them," Natall smirked. "Yuf’s no fool—he’s already scoped out every hiding place around here to make sure no one bothers him at the wrong time…"

  "Any grapes left?" Rita cut him off.

  "Natall said we had to finish them before they spoiled," Viggo shook his head. "While you two were gone, I took on that critical mission myself…"

  "Took on himself, ha," Ashley said crossly. "He scooped up half a crate in one go with that paw of his, seeds flying everywhere! No, I’m not exaggerating. Should’ve pressed the rest into juice and let it ferment in the cellar. Would’ve had wine."

  "I tried making wine, it never turns out," Electra muttered. "My husband brings grapes from every voyage…" She wiped her hands on her apron and sighed in frustration. "Everything keeps slipping today. Eggs and fish in the pan, vegetables on the platter, keg of beer in the cellar. I’m going to bed."

  Natall lazily tapped out his pipe ash, took plates, and began serving food to himself and the guests. Yuf and Demetra joined them, rubbing their eyes; right after came Rodrigo Antan, unruffled as ever, adjusting his kimono. Within moments, everyone was eating, polishing off Lady Ganstair’s cooking in no time.

  "Now the main task," Natall grumbled, "is to hold out till lunch—and not die of hunger, and not fall asleep on our feet. Kairu, where are you two going?"

  "For a walk," Kairu answered apologetically as he followed Rita into the fresh air.

  "Half an hour, back here!" Petros shouted after them.

  "Damn him," Rita muttered. "Old bore."

  Kairu only laughed.

  ***

  When they entered, everyone present at the estate of Shark’s Nest, except for the sailors and Natall himself, was already seated on stools around the table in the center of the room. Soon, the smuggler himself appeared; he came out of the pantry carrying several rolls of paper and spread one of them across the table. It was a map showing the coast of Vaimar, Aktida, the pirate island of Talaska in the northern seas, and the archipelago of the Nocturns in the south. At the far left edge of the map, Natall marked a cross and circled it.

  "Somewhere here," he said. "Your island of Darius—if the coordinates Rita gave me are correct."

  "Looks like if it were just a little farther west, you’d have run out of map to mark it on," Petros observed.

  "Exactly. No maps show anything farther west, because no one has ever sailed there. Beyond lies only the endless ocean…"

  "And the edge of the world," Electra said. "Though judging by the coordinates, this Darius of yours isn’t far from it. No ships go that far west. No one knows what’s out there—or if this island even exists at all."

  "It exists," Petros said firmly. "That is beyond doubt. Natall, you know what we agreed on. The deal is already made. All that’s required of you is to get us there and back."

  "Yes, but I had no idea it was this far," Natall muttered. "We’ll have to take on a great many supplies and stop at Rinklet on the way to replenish provisions. Well, we’ll think about that in Harkon. Petros, with your permission, I’ll be keeping this thing…"

  "No problem. So then—" the mage looked at the others—"you all know the goal. The island of Darius. Now, perhaps it’s time for a few explanations."

  Kairu smirked. He knew well enough that no one would ever get full explanations out of Petros.

  "When I first began studying everything related to the time machine, I understood very little," the professor said, sweeping his gaze over them. "It took time—an enormous amount of time, trials and errors—to grasp what was most correct. Konrad tried to convince me when we met fifteen years ago, but I still clung to my original plan. I wanted to live until the moment the Nocturns’ prophecy was fulfilled. I believed only then—if I could find the Seer, and he could unite both artifacts—that we could carry out the instructions given in the Vaimarakirian."

  "How much do we really trust that book?" Kairu asked. "The ancient Nocturns themselves considered it apocryphal…"

  "A good question, Kairu. That’s exactly the question I sought to answer when I traveled back to the fifth century before the Conquista."

  "And did you find an answer?"

  "Yes," said Petros. "Now I am absolutely certain Konrad and Gorentum were right. The best way to secure the coming of Elysium is to return Octarus to the place where it was first given to humankind. But you must understand—the First Temple is no child’s plaything. It is the most heavily guarded shrine of the Nocturns; more effort was poured into its defense than any other holy site. It is a place where human magic mingles with powers far older and stronger, guardians ensuring no outsider can penetrate within. I think I won’t be mistaken in saying that, at some point, Kairu will have to go on alone."

  Kairu nodded. A sudden unease gripped him.

  "What will be waiting for me there?"

  "That I don’t know. I only know that not everything there is the work of the ancient Nocturns. They themselves feared the place to death, even as they worshipped it. You are bound to Darius by your blood, which means there must be a way for you to reach the end. But most likely, trials await you—things only the Seer can overcome."

  "More turands? A lich? Living stone statues? Werewolves?"

  "I don’t know," Petros shrugged. "But I think all that would be far too simple. Standard traps could be passed by anyone—that was already proven by Axel, Rita, and even myself. On the island, there will most likely be something else. We’ll try to go with you and support you as far as possible, acting as your guard. How it will look, how it will unfold—I honestly can’t even imagine. But I fear we’ll have to face certain difficulties. And we must be ready for them, do you understand? This is not some leisurely outing, no matter what some of you may think."

  Viggo snorted.

  "We’re used to it, Petros," he said calmly. "By your grace, we’ve already had to pull off stunts far stranger than this."

  "I don’t know," the mage repeated. "I’m not sure. I think you haven’t seen any real stunts yet. So think carefully. It may be better for some of you to remain on shore."

  "Will you be going?" Yuf asked.

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  "Of course."

  "But why? The Cassians need you, Petros. You’re needed in the Mountain Fortress… If this trial is meant for Kairu, how can you help there? Forgive me, but your mind could be of far greater use right now than your sword—or your staff."

  "That I cannot yet explain," Petros answered quietly. "But I have no choice. I must be there with Kairu."

  ***

  The next day, Natall woke the guests at the crack of dawn. While Electra hurriedly warmed breakfast for them, the sailors were out in the yard harnessing horses to the wagons loaded with cargo. The morning was chilly and misty, the sky overcast, the wind blowing off the ocean and driving the waves harder against the coastal cliffs.

  It was time to depart.

  The journey to Harkon took another three days, during which neither the landscape nor the weather changed much. The ocean remained their constant companion, glimpsed as a blue edge to the left beyond bushes and strips of coastal sand, reminding them of its presence with salty winds and the crash of waves.

  The towers of the city appeared in the distance on the third day, and when the wagons crested the top of a hill, they could see the low fortress wall as well. Dozens of dark masts with white sails dotted the horizon, moving toward and away from Harkon. Far out on the cape rose the lighthouse. From the long pier stretching far north along the shore came the noise of the port, while caravans of wagons laden with goods rolled south and east along the trade road. The harbor bristled with a veritable forest of masts, some taller than the squat fortress walls; fishing villages clustered against the walls, and countless boats lay drawn up on the shore.

  The wagons descended from the hills and rattled along the trade road into the midst of the busy traffic, their wheels squeaking on ungreased axles. At the gates stood many guards, but they were too lazy for thorough inspection and let Natall pass after he showed them Vaimar papers, without even glancing at the cargo. The travelers rode on through narrow streets paved with gray stone, houses pressed close together, barely leaving space for wagons and horses to pass. Natall drove confidently, knowing the maze of stone well, shouting at passing teamsters and, with no hesitation, cursing at the top of his lungs in sailor’s language whenever someone failed to yield or blocked his maneuver. It had some effect, and in less than half an hour they emerged onto a broad street that sloped down toward the heart of the city’s life—the shipyard.

  The quay was already behind them somewhere to the left, while ahead the docks loomed, scaffolding stood, hammers rang—the work was in full swing, the busiest hour of the day. On the corner, wedged between taverns and warehouse sheds, stood a tall inn whose windows opened directly onto the sea. Natall stopped the horses, jumped down onto the cobblestones, and the rest of the travelers followed. Electra and the sailors drove the cargo farther on, while the captain was the first to climb the porch.

  "Alas, I have no house in Harkon. My son bought a small cottage here, but it won’t fit you all," he said. "So, I’ve already booked you rooms in this tavern. We’ll settle the bill, you’ll leave your things, and then we’ll go look at the ship."

  The day was overcast, the horizon hidden in a misty haze, and beneath the whitish sky the ocean, crashing against the granite quay, had taken on a leaden color. They descended onto the damp wooden planks, creaking under the boots of sailors and carpenters running back and forth, passing scattered barrels and crates. Kairu had never seen ships before in real life, only once in a prophetic dream of Surrell’s fall. And now he gazed in awe, head tilted back, at the sharp, graceful masts reaching skyward, at the web of rigging and ropes, at the flags quivering in the wind, at the white and brown sails furled on the yards, at the golden prows shaped like sea gods, and at the silver letters spelling out the ships’ names across the sterns.

  On open platforms stood ships nearly ready to be launched; hammers clanged, and saws screeched as they underwent final repairs. Ships requiring more extensive renewal were in the closed docks. The only exception was a single vessel standing at the very edge of the open pier. Work boiled around it, crowds of men with tools hurried everywhere, and several Nocturns armed to the teeth strolled nearby, clearly ensuring order and keeping strangers from approaching too closely.

  It was immediately obvious this vessel wasn’t merely being repaired. It was being resurrected, transformed from a pile of boards left from a twisted hull and broken masts into a ship again. The sides were only half-covered with planking; in places, its wooden skeleton still showed. Huge holes gaped in the deck, not yet patched. But the workers toiled relentlessly. Electra was already there, standing on the gangway and occasionally shouting commands at the idle carpenters. Compared to the other ships in the yard, this one was much smaller and far narrower. Along its sides were only ten gunports.

  "No matter," Natall muttered, taking a few unsteady steps forward, stopping as though swaying. "No matter. I’ve seen worse… well, no, nothing worse than this, but we survived that too… Soon, my beauty will be ready to sail the seas again."

  "This is your ship?" Yuf asked in shock.

  "Yes." Ganstair lifted his head. His eyes shone. "Allow me to introduce her. This is my Andromeda. The only thing I regret is that you are seeing her for the first time in such a sorry state… Once, she was the most beautiful ship in the entire Western Ocean. And she will be again, I swear by a thousand devils, thunder, and reefs…"

  "A corvette," Petros judged. "Yes?"

  "Built on the lines of a standard corvette, but with certain modifications. I worked on the design myself—removed everything I didn’t need and added what I did. What I needed was speed and maximum maneuverability, to transport cargo quickly and slip away from patrol ships. I’m a smuggler, not a pirate. The result of my labors is this little one, into whom I’ve poured all my time and means, equipping her with the latest technology. They’ve offered me millions for this ship… But damn, during our wanderings together, I earned more than that. Only the war ruined things, and after several failures, I nearly went bankrupt. This repair is happening now largely thanks to you and Petros."

  "The carpenters’ foreman says everything will be ready in three weeks," Electra said, descending the gangway to join them. "Well, Natall, you know as well as I do that the main part—the one reason she was worth repairing at all—was barely damaged… But damn, it’s sad to see the state of that wardroom where I spent twenty years putting salted meat on the table."

  "What happened to her?" Viggo couldn’t restrain himself. "A storm? Pirates?"

  "If Natall wishes, he’ll tell you that instructive tale himself, with the moral ‘what greed leads to,’" Electra smirked. "He came back from that voyage with two arrows in his buttocks, thunder take him…"

  "But alive," the captain answered cheerfully. "No matter, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll yet dance this shell across the seas! Give me time, and every sea wolf of Laugdeil will shudder at the name Natall Ganstair!"

  "Shudder they will…" Electra said.

  ***

  Two days later, Roger Nielder arrived in Harkon.

  He had spent the winter in Vairad in his new house, going mad from uncertainty, flooding the Temple of Tornir and all his acquaintances in every city of Vaimar with letters, trying to learn where his wife had gone, until at last a message from Shark’s Nest found him. Roger had set out immediately, wasting not a single day, and reached Harkon in record time, barely three weeks. The privileges of a captain of the Fighters’ Guild helped him; in every village, he easily found food, lodging, and a fresh horse. So the journey was without hardship, and on an early March morning, Roger burst into a room of the inn overlooking the ocean.

  There followed a silent scene, then cries, tears, and embraces. Then fear, bitterness, and at the same time a wild, overflowing, hard-won happiness that filled the scarred Ashley and the healthy, though worn by years, Roger. The other travelers left them alone to weep their fill, to calm down, to come to terms with what had happened, and to rejoice that after all the ordeals, they were still alive.

  When the two of them, clinging so tightly together it seemed they meant never to part again, descended to the inn’s hall where breakfast had been laid for the guests, Kairu looked at them—and understood that their story truly had reached its end. Perhaps not the end they had once dreamed of, but at least nothing more should befall them. At last, they were together and ready to defy the whole world, if only it could last until the end of their lives.

  "We’ll leave at the same time as your departure," Roger said later; his face shone with happiness, though his eyes were red from sleepless nights in the saddle. "The road is quiet now—no druids, no bandits—you can travel back to Vairad safely with any trade caravan. We’ll probably stay there until news arrives from the south. Perhaps the rebels of the Mountain Fortress will get some success if they begin their offensive?"

  "I feel completely cut off from the world," Yuffilis muttered. "I should be there, with them… Petros, I told Dalid they should begin in the spring. By now everything should be ready, but I don’t even know the state of things in Aktida, on the border, at the northern frontier—what’s happening and what to expect…"

  "There will be war," Petros said after a pause. "And it will come very soon. That much is certain. And Yuf, I know they will need you. But the letter we sent to the Temple of Tornir should already have reached its recipients—Dalid and Geonar. So guests should be arriving here soon, and they’ll bring news."

  "Then I’ll leave Harkon with them," Yuf nodded. "And with Ashley and Roger, of course…"—and then he involuntarily glanced toward Demetra. Petros did not miss it.

  "Rodrigo," he said. "I don’t know what you’ve decided, and I have no right to compel you, but I would like to see you as passengers aboard Andromeda. You see, I don’t know who guards the sanctuary on the island, and I fear we may need the help of the Daredevil."

  Kairu saw how Yuf’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his knife and fork. Demetra kept glancing between Lainter and Petros, and it was clear that some silent dialogue was going on between her and Yuf, one only the two of them could understand. At last, the sorceress said:

  "We need time to think."

  "No problem," Petros agreed. "Norton—"

  "I’m not staying behind!" his brother cut him off.

  "Norton, whatever you may think, you’ll be far more useful to the rebels at the Mountain Fortress. What awaits us on the island—that’s Kairu’s task, and his alone. The few who sail there are just an escort…"

  "I’m not a child!" Norton almost shouted. "I’m nearly sixteen, for god’s sake! I’m not chasing danger and risk—I’ve had enough of that when I ended up on that pirate ship… while I was shackled, I had my fill of fear for a lifetime, remember? I’ve gone through more than some of you. What I fear is something else, Petros. Separation. Not knowing."

  "Norton…"

  The boy jumped up and left the table. Petros spread his hands, watching him go.

  "I expected something like this," he said. "But you must understand me too. I don’t want Natall burdened on his ship with people who can’t be of use there. Maybe it sounds cynical, but truly, the fewer people make the journey, the better. Kairu, by the way. Come see me tonight before you go to bed. We need to talk."

  What now? Kairu thought, rising.

  He wanted to go down to the shore, to look at the ships, but instead he decided to visit Norton. Of course, in that moment, Kairu understood his brother. To once again face uncertainty, separation, not knowing if they would ever meet again—it was hard to accept.

  Kairu went upstairs and knocked on Norton’s door. No answer. He pushed it open and at once saw his brother, standing with his back to him at the window, a pipe in his teeth. Lately, Norton had been smoking a lot, almost as much as Petros, whom Kairu had hardly ever seen without his pipe and tobacco.

  "It’s fine," his brother said tiredly, without turning. "Honestly."

  "Then why did you run off?"

  "Wanted to think. Alone. More used to that way."

  Kairu came closer and sat down on a chair. Norton struck his flint and blew a stream of smoke out the open window.

  "What do you think yourself?" he asked slowly. "Or do you not care?"

  "Norton, you know Petros has his own mind," Kairu spread his hands. "And to some extent we all dance to his tune… If he doesn’t want to take you, I can’t change his mind, you see? I’d like you to come with us. More than that, I’m honestly afraid to let you go to the Mountain Fortress. Because if war breaks out… damn it, no one knows what could happen. But…"

  "But?"

  "Right now, Petros knows more than anyone about what awaits us on the island," Kairu said quietly. "And I’m forced to trust him. If he thinks this is best, then maybe it makes sense to obey."

  "You’re just afraid to take responsibility. But you’re no boy anymore. You could command him the same way he commands you now. He needs you far more than you need him—don’t you see that?"

  "Norton!" Kairu flared.

  "I’ve only known that old man for a few days, and I’m already sick of him," his brother muttered, turning back toward the window. "And I’m sick of seeing you follow him so blindly. Kairu, you’ve lost much more on this journey than he has. You have the right to choose who goes with you. Even if it’s the last journey."

  "That’s exactly why I agree with Petros," Kairu said, his voice trembling. "I’m afraid this path might be the last."

  "Don’t talk nonsense. You’ll come back," Norton said firmly. "The war will end. And life will go on. If now you have to sail—well, fine, sail. It’s not such a long time—just a few months. You know, I… I’ve been thinking about something while we traveled from Ardrai."

  Kairu patiently waited until he finished his smoke and set the pipe aside.

  "When it’s all over," Norton said, "I want to… You’ll laugh at me. I want to write a book about it. About all our misadventures. From the very beginning, from Petros and Saelin’s campaigns, all the way to your return from this voyage. And you’ll help me. Together we can do it. Deal?"

  "Yes," Kairu smiled faintly. "I suppose so. But it’s strange to hear that from you. I’d never have thought you’d want to do something like that."

  "Everything changes," his brother answered mysteriously, and Kairu was struck by how much their thoughts coincided. "You know what I think now?"

  "What?"

  "Before, when I lived in the village, it drove me mad that nothing ever changed. I swear, if I had met Petros back then, I would have agreed right away that a good war was needed, just to shake everything up—shake those people who spend their lives in one place without even thinking what more they could achieve… But now, after wandering the world, and after surviving death by a miracle more than once—I hate war, and everything about it, and I think it should never have happened… Damn it, Kairu, I can’t string clever thoughts together properly, sorry… But I’ve changed, you see? I’ve learned a great deal in this time."

  "I understand," Kairu said. "Is that what you want to write about?"

  "I don’t know yet. I hate war, but now I see I want to make my contribution to change for the better—not with a sword, but in whatever way I can. I’m tired of living without purpose. Tired of being a wanderer. I often think of Atgard… He joined the Fighters’ Guild because he wanted to make the world better. To serve order, to strive for justice. And it seems to me… Much of the injustice around us exists simply because people don’t know how to live otherwise. This world was frozen in place, and when Petros and Saelin stirred it up, it turned out everything inside had rotted, and one kick was enough for it all to crumble to dust. And if we have to rebuild the world after this war, I want people to know what it was really like. So they don’t repeat the same mistakes. That’s what I want to write."

  "That’s an excellent plan," Kairu said softly, smiling. "And I’m sure you’ll succeed. Rita and I saw the new world. And it’s beautiful, Norton. I think it will become beautiful thanks to people like you."

  His brother smiled faintly.

  "I don’t know if I’ll manage," he said. "But I know I have to try. That would give my life some meaning. And I truly believe it could be needed—and useful."

  "Of course," Kairu said warmly, and thought to himself how much his brother had changed in the last three years. Probably more than anyone.