but all-seeing Ondun.
Following Baine, who led the procession up the winding path, Anjine watched in awe as the rising sun silhouetted the Arkship’s
single broken mast and winked through gaps in the crumbling hull. The rest of the ancient vessel had weathered into dust and
fragments of wood. A new rope ladder hung down the intact part of the hull to the Arkship’s bow, on which a special altar
had been constructed. A golden rail ran along the slanted gunwale. The hilltop and the skeletal vessel carried an aura of
majesty, a corona of holiness; Anjine glanced at Mateo and saw that he felt it too.
A hush fell as Prester-Marshall Baine and King Korastine moved to where ribs and hull planks lay scattered like bleached bones.
Turning back to gaze upon their followers gathered on the Aidenist side of the hill, both men raised their hands so everyone
in the streets below could see them.
On the prow high above, two figures appeared in traditional Uraban garb, Soldan-Shah Imir and Ur-Sikara Lukai. Moving nimbly,
like the captain of his kingdom, Korastine scaled the ladder to stand on the reinforced deck. Prester-Marshall Baine ascended
behind him, carrying one beautifully illuminated document: a copy of the Edict. Ur-Sikara Lukai carried a similar one. Each
document bore the same content, written in both languages.
Aboard the ancient ship, the holiest site of both the Aidenist and Urecari religions, the two political leaders and two religious
leaders faced each other and spread out their documents. Anjine held her breath and listened.
King Korastine read in a booming voice: “This Edict removes all cause for future conflict between our two lands. By drawing
this line along the meridian of Ishalem, we split our world into equal halves, Tierra and Uraba, Aidenist and Urecari. All
lands, known or unknown, to the north of this latitude shall fall under the purview of Tierra. All lands, known or unknown,
to the south shall be encompassed by Uraba.”
The sikara came forward to speak, as if she wanted to upstage the plump soldan-shah. Ur-Sikara Lukai’s pronunciation of the
Tierran words was rough, but understandable. “This is as Ondun wished it, the world split equally between the descendants
of Urec and Aiden, while Terravitae—wherever it is—remains in the hands of Holy Joron.”
Then she and Imir repeated the speeches in Uraban.
Having studied the maps of the known world, Anjine understood the consequences of this division. At first glance, the split
did not seem particularly fair: The northern half of the Middlesea was above the latitude line, in Tierran territory, but
the impassable mountains of Corag Reach blocked access from that direction. The only way to reach that coastline was by water,
and the Urabans now controlled the Middlesea ports on the other side of the isthmus of Ishalem.
On the other hand, great portions of the map remained blank, unexplored. The islands of Soeland Reach hinted that there might
be valuable lands to be found if one simply sailed farther west into the Oceansea. Urged on by Prester-Marshall Baine, Korastine
had already decided to expand exploration, commissioning a special ship to sail beyond all charted territories.
Korastine spoke in the rich, resonant voice he had cultivated over a lifetime of speaking before crowds. It was paternal and
sincere, and he lifted his eyes as if addressing distant Ondun rather than the gathered listeners. “This Edict is not merely
a document. It is not a piece of parchment. It is not a list of words. It is my promise, as the king of Tierra, in the name
of Aiden—a promise to be kept in calm seas and storms, an irrevocable vow.” Korastine was a direct descendant of Aiden, and
Imir traced his ancestry back to Urec. This treaty could never be broken, no matter what happened in the future.
Soldan-Shah Imir gathered his copy of the document and read the same words that Korastine had spoken, but in the