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“Land ho, Captain—coastline dead ahead!”

Middlesea Coast, Near Sioara

    Holding his Book of Aiden, Ciarlo walked into the Uraban harbor town. He wore a calm smile; he whispered prayers. Despite the previous rejections, he kept believing these people would listen to a stranger.
    Larger than a typical fishing village, this town boasted several long docks where Middlesea trading ships could tie up and unload. As he walked along the streets, Ciarlo passed crowded mud-brick homes, a small marketplace, a craftsworkers’ district, and three Urecari churches built of wood and stone.
    He didn’t know the name of the town; in fact, he’d never even seen a map of Uraba. Making his way down the coast, he merely followed the roads that took him in the general direction of Olabar, where he hoped to find clues about his sister Adrea. During his travels, he had another calling: when he saw those poor, misguided followers of Urec, he had to preach to them.
    Ciarlo went through the village, responding with a benevolent nod to anyone who glanced at him. His faith was a barricade against the resistance and hostility he had encountered so far. Very few of the stubborn Urecari were receptive to his message—in fact, they didn’t want to hear him at all—yet he continued nevertheless. Now that he had met the fabled Traveler in person, he was more certain than ever.
    The mysterious wandering hermit had appeared in camp one evening, told him stories, and left behind a new volume of handwritten tales. The Traveler had also healed Ciarlo’s lame leg—a true miracle. Now Ciarlo felt he had to repay Aiden by preaching his word.
    As the Uraban villagers stared at the stranger’s pale skin and odd clothing, he raised his hand in blessing. When he showed his Fishhook, they recoiled as if a monster had just appeared in their midst. Women rushed children into their homes and closed the doors.
    “I am glad to see you,” he said in pidgin Uraban. He understood the language now and could communicate well enough, though his accent marked him as a foreigner. He held up his Tales of the Traveler, knowing these were safer stories, and even Urecari were more likely to listen (though these people erroneously believed that the Traveler was Urec rather than Aiden). “I have good news! Let me tell you about Aiden’s voyage and his encounter with the Leviathan. Let me tell you—”
    A woodworker stepped away from the bench he was building, still holding a hammer. “We don’t want to hear it. Go away.”
    A potter came out of his shop and nudged his young apprentice down the dirt street. “Bring the sikara—now! Tell the mayor, too.”
    Ciarlo spread his open hand. “There is no need to be frightened. Ondun loved both of His sons. You should not cover your ears against the words of Aiden. We can learn much from the examples of his life.” He lifted his book. “Aiden sent me a dream that led me here.”
    Someone threw a rock, which struck his shoulder with a stinging blow. Startled, he turned to them, his face plaintive. “Why are you afraid?”
    Another rock grazed his cheek, though he raised the Traveler’s tome to fend it off. More craftsmen emerged from their shops and began shouting, finding bravery in numbers.
    Several guards marched down the streets, escorting a pompous-looking man who wore the maroon olba of a mayor. The official yelled such a rapid stream of Uraban that Ciarlo had difficulty understanding the words.
    Ciarlo greeted him, offering explanations even before the man could ask. “I’ve come here to tell you of wonders.”
    The man’s face flushed. He straightened the maroon olba on his head, tightened the silken sash that held his shirt closed over his potbelly. “You are not welcome here. Why do you come to this town?”
    “Because Aiden guides me.”
    A woman in the red robe of a sikara strode down an intersecting street and said in a loud voice, “Cover your ears against his lies!”
    In his travels, Ciarlo had