Read Online The Edge of the World by Kevin J. Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
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kept no fishhook pendant
on his person, fearing that someone might see, but he always carried the symbol in his heart, along with the prayers he had
memorized from the Book of Aiden.
While many of the Urecari fled down to the nearby harbor on the Middlesea shore, some people stayed and tried to fight the
flames, beating desperately and ineffectually at the blaze with brooms and rags. Buckets of water sloshed onto stucco-and-wood
buildings were mere thimblefuls against a conflagration. Orange fire washed up the building walls and caught on the rooftops.
A basket maker’s stall under a patched brown awning collapsed into blazing embers.
Shallow canals wound along many of the main streets, but this far inland, upslope toward the shipwreck hill, the water was
stagnant and shallow, covered with fetid scum. These canals were mainly wide drainage gutters used for sewage and waste water
and were not deep enough for the firefighters to use hand pumps.
The air was so hot Hannes could not breathe, and he covered his mouth with a dirty rag as he worked his way with determination
to the prime Urecari church, heedless of his own safety.
Glancing over his shoulder, Prester Hannes watched in disgust as the Urecari fled before the blaze. Though their church was
on fire, they did not stand and fight for it. How could they simply abandon their primary house of worship, leaving it to
be consumed by the fire? While he had no love for the religion, the people, or their relics, he was most disturbed by their
lack of
faith
. Were they not willing to give their lives to save their church?
Hannes, on the other hand, was afraid of neither pain nor death.
He circled the prime church and found a side door left ajar by some foolish acolyte who had run away. Hannes kicked it open
the rest of the way, ducked his head, and rushed into the smoke-filled chamber. Fire had already climbed into the main worship
center and begun to feed. The lead channels holding myriad bits of colored window glass had melted, and the jewel-like mosaics
crumbled to pieces.
Inside, cloth pennants hanging from the high ceiling were wreathed in fire. One of the support timbers overhead had already
burned out of its joint and collapsed in a great crash onto the spiral-path area where Urecari worshippers would wave the
ribbons upon which their pleas were inscribed. With everything on fire, Hannes wondered if they still believed that Ondun
could read the messages in the smoke…
Hannes stared ahead through stinging eyes and pressed forward to reach the altar in the middle of the spiral. He could think
only of the amulet of Urec that the priestess had presented as the most sacred relic of the church, the amulet that Ondun
Himself had supposedly given to Urec. Why had He not given it to Aiden?
Hannes would save the object from the flames and make his way back to the Aidenist kirk on the other side of the city. He
would find Prester-Marshall Baine and present the most sacred object to his mentor. After spending years among them, Hannes
had completed his mission here. He had learned much about the enemy.
On the wooden platform, the thick candles had melted in the heat, and he spied the amulet, surrounded by flames. On either
side of the display stood ewers of sacred oil, which the sikaras used to fill their braziers. With a crack and roar behind
him, another rafter tumbled into the nave, spraying flaming debris. Hannes knew he had to move quickly.
He tore part of his cloth sleeve to protect his hands and wrapped the fabric around the amulet; even so he could feel its
heat burn his fingers… or perhaps it was a tingle of holiness. If Ur-Sikara Lukai’s words were to be believed, Ondun Himself
had touched this medallion.
Hannes took his prize, tucking the object securely into his belt. But when he turned to leave, he saw that the fire had advanced
deeper into the church, catching all the structural beams on fire, melting the
on his person, fearing that someone might see, but he always carried the symbol in his heart, along with the prayers he had
memorized from the Book of Aiden.
While many of the Urecari fled down to the nearby harbor on the Middlesea shore, some people stayed and tried to fight the
flames, beating desperately and ineffectually at the blaze with brooms and rags. Buckets of water sloshed onto stucco-and-wood
buildings were mere thimblefuls against a conflagration. Orange fire washed up the building walls and caught on the rooftops.
A basket maker’s stall under a patched brown awning collapsed into blazing embers.
Shallow canals wound along many of the main streets, but this far inland, upslope toward the shipwreck hill, the water was
stagnant and shallow, covered with fetid scum. These canals were mainly wide drainage gutters used for sewage and waste water
and were not deep enough for the firefighters to use hand pumps.
The air was so hot Hannes could not breathe, and he covered his mouth with a dirty rag as he worked his way with determination
to the prime Urecari church, heedless of his own safety.
Glancing over his shoulder, Prester Hannes watched in disgust as the Urecari fled before the blaze. Though their church was
on fire, they did not stand and fight for it. How could they simply abandon their primary house of worship, leaving it to
be consumed by the fire? While he had no love for the religion, the people, or their relics, he was most disturbed by their
lack of
faith
. Were they not willing to give their lives to save their church?
Hannes, on the other hand, was afraid of neither pain nor death.
He circled the prime church and found a side door left ajar by some foolish acolyte who had run away. Hannes kicked it open
the rest of the way, ducked his head, and rushed into the smoke-filled chamber. Fire had already climbed into the main worship
center and begun to feed. The lead channels holding myriad bits of colored window glass had melted, and the jewel-like mosaics
crumbled to pieces.
Inside, cloth pennants hanging from the high ceiling were wreathed in fire. One of the support timbers overhead had already
burned out of its joint and collapsed in a great crash onto the spiral-path area where Urecari worshippers would wave the
ribbons upon which their pleas were inscribed. With everything on fire, Hannes wondered if they still believed that Ondun
could read the messages in the smoke…
Hannes stared ahead through stinging eyes and pressed forward to reach the altar in the middle of the spiral. He could think
only of the amulet of Urec that the priestess had presented as the most sacred relic of the church, the amulet that Ondun
Himself had supposedly given to Urec. Why had He not given it to Aiden?
Hannes would save the object from the flames and make his way back to the Aidenist kirk on the other side of the city. He
would find Prester-Marshall Baine and present the most sacred object to his mentor. After spending years among them, Hannes
had completed his mission here. He had learned much about the enemy.
On the wooden platform, the thick candles had melted in the heat, and he spied the amulet, surrounded by flames. On either
side of the display stood ewers of sacred oil, which the sikaras used to fill their braziers. With a crack and roar behind
him, another rafter tumbled into the nave, spraying flaming debris. Hannes knew he had to move quickly.
He tore part of his cloth sleeve to protect his hands and wrapped the fabric around the amulet; even so he could feel its
heat burn his fingers… or perhaps it was a tingle of holiness. If Ur-Sikara Lukai’s words were to be believed, Ondun Himself
had touched this medallion.
Hannes took his prize, tucking the object securely into his belt. But when he turned to leave, he saw that the fire had advanced
deeper into the church, catching all the structural beams on fire, melting the
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