Blankmap: Book I

23. Lojkan

Solomon had never seen such an impressive gathering. It looked like every citizen of Kwajro had come to wait on the shore as the first ships crept into view, and the flotilla appeared larger with each passing second. Like a storm cloud it rolled across the horizon, though no cloud ever cut the wind with such speed, nor inspired such wonder in the mind of the young traveler. 

He had been summoned to the beach by his father, who came back from working on the Petrichor looking worn out, bearing the news of the events to come that evening. Solomon marveled at how much things could change in the space of days: while he still felt a great pang of guilt at the idea that he had been responsible for the death of the Irooj, it no longer caused his face to burn with shame or made him fear the presence of the ri-Marij. They had made it abundantly clear that they had forgiven him for what he had done, if there was even anything to forgive. So the thought of the most powerful people in the whole country descending on Kwajro to pay their respects to Irooj Rubon, while intimidating, was not terrifying. Solomon was pretty sure that feeling that way was a healthy sign. 

"How many ships do you count?" Jacques appeared at Solomon's elbow. "Your eyes have always been better than mine."

Solomon squinted out into the late-afternoon sun. It burned with surprising vehemence off the surface of the water, making the task more difficult than usual.

"I count...fourteen, I think."

"Do you know how many we're expecting?"

"Bwenato said that there were nineteen islands in Marij. So it looks like there are four ships missing."

"Give it another minute. I'd bet anything you'll count three more before long."

"Three?"

"I have been told that the Irooj of Wokje is not overly sentimental."

"So he's not coming."

"I wouldn't think so. Count them again, if you'd like."

"Six--no, seventeen! Seventeen ships."

Jacques smiled. "I thought you might say that."

"It's a little hard to tell with the sun on the water. But once you look at the sails it's easy."

"And have you noticed anything about the sails?"

"They're not shaped like the ones on the Windjammer. They look like smaller versions of the one on the Petrichor. Though I suppose that makes sense, doesn't it."

"It certainly does. Still, it's an important observation. Tell me, what else do you notice about the ships?"

"They can't be even half as big as the Petrichor. I see the outriggers on each of them, but they don't look like they can carry more than a handful of people each."

"Also true. You must understand that the Petrichor is a singular vessel. The ri-Marij might never have tried to build such a foolish thing if it weren't for me. I was young, incorrigible, and full of wild ideas when I first lived here, and I greatly desired to see a ship built with Marij principles on the scale of those we have in Althus."

Solomon stared at his father, mouth wide, as though seeing him for the first time. "You...you built the Petrichor?"

Jacques smirked. "You say it as though I did it alone. I assure you that is not the case. There were more than twenty of us that put it together. The ri-Marij were the real builders. I thought I was smart--you should see Melion work on a ship. That man has an eye for it that I've never seen rivaled by anyone.