PREVIOUSLY.
["It would seem, Sansua," he whispered with a note of victory, "that not everything is done poorly in the realm. The fear of fines and respect for your health laws are stronger than this man's desire to save a few coppers."
I remained silent, watching the officials of my own government manage the crisis with an efficiency I had only seen in my reports. For the first time today, I felt that Quemuen's wager was not just about training recruits, but about how much I truly trusted the structure I had created.
"A point to you, Quemuen," I admitted, never taking my eyes off the inspector. "A point to you."]
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Year 13 of the SuaChie Calendar, Third Month (May 1495).
Dawn City (Cuba), Federal Region of Floating Islands (FRFI).
Pier 3, Secondary Port.
The tension on the dock gradually dissipated, supplanted by an air of surgical efficiency. The English merchant, who moments before had seemed on the verge of a nervous collapse, exhaled a sigh so profound it rattled his heavy coat.
Shortly after, the rhythmic echo of boots upon timber heralded the arrival of reinforcements: a pair of men in thick leather aprons, bearing crates of tools and lime, trailed by an escort of two watchmen of public order.
The soldiers, clad in cuirasses of hardened leather and bearing imperturbable countenances, approached the merchant. They attempted to initiate the protocol, but the linguistic chasm was glaringly evident. The Muisca tongue spoken by the soldiers was technical and clipped; the merchant's English was a torrent of panic and confusion.
"Sansua, please…" the merchant implored, tugging gently at my tunic. "Tell them I am entirely at their disposal."
I stepped forward, adopting a submissive posture so as not to betray my disguise.
"The master of the vessel expresses his gratitude for your promptness, and states that his ship is yours to inspect," I translated to the soldiers.
One of them nodded, locking eyes with the Englishman.
"Inform him that, owing to his honesty in reporting the sighting immediately, his credit of trust within the port registry shall be elevated by two tiers. This will guarantee him swifter inspections and lower indemnity tariffs on his next three voyages."
When I translated this, the Englishman's face lit up as though he had been handed a purse of gold. Yet, the soldier added in a severe tone, "But warn him: we shall endeavor to salvage the grain, but should we discover contamination of urine or droppings within the sacks, the cargo will be confiscated for industrial use or fertilizer. These yields are less profitable, but such is the law of health."
The merchant nodded with a vehemence that nigh cost him his wig. While the sanitation men ventured into the hold with their lime powders and traps, I lingered to one side, observing the foreigner.
"Sir," I inquired with feigned curiosity, "why do you rejoice so? You stand to lose half your merchandise this very day."
The man wiped the sweat from his brow with a stained handkerchief.
"Lad, you do not understand. In the ports of London, men speak of this realm with a mixture of fear and avarice. Other merchants, even some nobles with vessels of their own, returned to England empty-handed, their coffers shattered, for attempting to conceal vermin... Here, if you lie, they ruin you. If you speak the truth, they help you keep trading. The profits of a successful voyage to Dawn City are so vast that we swallow our vexation over their sanitary laws. It is better to lose ten sacks of wheat today than to forfeit access to this port forever."
I exchanged a glance with Quemuen.
The 'Trust Credit' system was working. It was not merely dread of the law; it was a matter of economic incentives. I had succeeded in making honesty the most lucrative path.
A few hours later.
The sun began its descent, painting the harbor in a fiery crimson and orange. The heavy labor was done, and Quemuen and I walked toward one of the squares near the docks. The melody of reed flutes mingled with the strumming of strings and the deep, resonant thrum of deerskin drums.
The atmosphere was electric. Hundreds of laborers—Muiscas, Taínos, and the freemen of Guanza Quyca—thronged the square.
"What is the celebration?" I asked a stevedore passing by with two flagons of chicha.
"'Tis a bounty, Sansua!" the man shouted over the music. "An English nobleman, grateful for the joint expedition with the realm, granted his officers coin for a feast. And those selfsame officers have invited everyone who loaded their vessels this week!"
I surrendered myself to the euphoria. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the maps, the looming threat of the great native kingdoms, and the reordering of the frontiers vanished. Music was a tongue that required no translation. I seized a still-rigid Quemuen by the shoulders and propelled him into the heart of the dancing circle.
"Dance, Captain!" I shouted, laughing.
He resisted for a heartbeat, but upon witnessing an English officer attempting to follow the rhythm of a Taíno dance with disastrous results, he burst into a hearty laugh and let himself go. We danced amidst the sweat, the dust, and the scent of fermented brew.
At that moment, I was not the Leader of an empire in its cradle; I was merely a man celebrating that, for today at least, all was well.
Two days later.
The contrast could not have been starker. The festive air of the square had been supplanted by the solemn silence of the council chamber within the Council House. The scent of chicha and the sea was replaced by that of polished cedarwood and the dry aroma of parchment scrolls.
I sat at the head of the table. To my right, Zasaba stood like a statue of shadow; to my left sat Umzye, whose very presence lent an authoritative calm to the chamber. Facing us were the masters of maritime logistics and the commanders of the armada, men whose countenances were weathered by the brine of the Sunrise Ocean.
"My thanks to you all for gathering here," I began, my voice echoing through the hall with a gravity that caused every man to straighten. "We have consolidated our routes, yet the world is changing swifter than our laws. A comprehensive reform of oceanic voyages is upon us."
A murmur rippled across the table. The commanders exchanged glances, some with anticipation, others with the natural wariness that arises when one proposes to alter the established order. I signaled to the attendants, who entered with swift strides and unfurled a map of monumental dimensions upon the table.
It was a masterpiece of art and science.
The Sunrise Ocean occupied the center, but now the coastlines were traced with terrifying precision: the contours of Europe, the profiles of Guanza Quyca (Africa), and the vast expanse of Great Quyca, encompassing every single island of the FRFI.
"Shall we only debate the Sunrise Ocean, Leader?" one of the officers inquired, pointing to the westernmost edge of the map. "What of the Sunset?"
"The Sunset is a titan we are yet studying," I replied, fixing him with my gaze. "That council will wait. The Sunset demands a seafaring technology and experience that we are still perfecting. Today, our focus shall rest upon the ocean that grants us life and commerce."
Umzye, who had been studying the map in silence, looked up. Her leadership in logistics was unquestioned, and her curiosity was ever a step ahead.
"What, then, is the core of this reform, Leader? You have not brought us here merely to admire a more finely drafted map."
I rose to my feet. From a velvet-lined casket upon a nearby table, I drew an object that captured all the light in the room. It was a slender, elongated tube of clear glass, hermetically sealed and filled with a colorless liquid that gleamed with an almost mystical clarity.
It was a rudimentary storm-glass—a thermoscope of our own crafting—the opening piece of a revolution they could not yet name.
"This," I said, holding the glass aloft before them, "is the future of our seafaring. We shall cease to depend upon mere luck and the sheer instinct of our captains to cross the oceans, charting our course with the knowledge forged by the realm."
The reaction mirrored Umzye's; curiosity vied with a measure of incredulity. One among them, the naval commander seated at the far left of the long wooden table, furrowed his brow.
His skin was leathery, cured by the salt of the Sunrise Ocean, and his hands were webbed with the scars of rigging—a man who believed only in what he could touch and see, not in subtleties. He blinked, staring at the clear glass tube I held as though it were a common fairground conjuring trick.
"Leader…" he began, clearing his throat to smooth his raspy voice. "Forgive my ignorance, but how can a shard of glass filled with water dictate the course of a battle fleet? I grasp not what this is."
I held the instrument aloft to the level of my eyes, letting the pale light filtering through the window of the Council House pierce the colorless liquid. Within, subtle crystalline structures floated suspended, nearly invisible to an unpracticed eye.
"It does not dictate the course, Commander; it grants the captain the eyes that nature denies him," I replied with deliberate calm, letting my words hang in the dense air of the chamber. "This instrument allows us to detect when a storm brews on the high seas, long before the first black clouds breach the horizon. It is a joint creation of Ubatas and Faoa. In their workshops, following months of observation and measurement, they chose to name it the Xiuracan."
The name echoed through the room with an ominous weight.
Umzye, who until that moment had remained silent, scanning the borders of the Sunrise map, snapped her head up. Her eyes widened with a blend of skepticism and genuine fascination. She leaned so far over the table that her chest well-nigh brushed the parchment scrolls.
"Is this truth, Leader?" Umzye inquired, her voice taut with a contained urgency. "A forewarning? How in the heavens does such a thing function?"
"It is an instrument born of the observation of the world's laws, Umzye, and like all works wrought by human hands, it possesses not the absolute perfection of the gods," I explained, meeting the gaze of each officer present. "Its measure of certainty is high, nearing 80%, which is nothing short of a miracle against the unleashed forces of nature. Yet its use is astonishingly simple."
I paused with deliberate intent. Not a soul blinked. Every commander there—men who had seen their comrades swallowed by waves the size of temples—kept his eyes locked upon the small glass tube in my hands. The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant murmur of the harbor far below.
"You need only observe the behavior of the liquid and the crystals within," I continued, lowering the storm-glass so those nearest could inspect it. "Should the fluid within the tube rise sharply and in disarray, it signifies that the air is growing heavy, that the pressure of the world is shifting. A storm approaches. Not tomorrow, nor in three days' time; it approaches now... Armed with such a warning, a captain no longer needs to pray while the gale shreds his canvas. He may use the indicator to alter his course, skirt the storm front, or simply seek the sanctuary of a safe coast before the sea swallows him whole."
Umzye interlaced her fingers upon the table, absorbing the strategic implications.
"Does it serve, then, to evade the great tempests? Those that lash the FRFI and sink entire fleets without a trace?"
I grew grave. I carefully set the Xiuracan upon its wooden base in the center of the map, directly over the deep blue of the Sunrise Ocean.
"It is possible to evade them, Umzye," I answered, hardening my tone, "but never forget that the sea remains the domain of the gods. This glass grants you an advantage, but the ultimate fate of every vessel will ever rest upon fortune, upon the temper and skill of the captain beneath the gale, and above all, upon divine will... Do not grow arrogant."
My words cast a deathly silence over the hall.
The officers nodded slowly, the weight of reality dissolving any fantasy of total control. I resolved to shift the topic immediately to restore their practical focus; I desired no fear, I desired efficiency.
"Yet we are not here to dread the sea, but to master it," I declared, striking the table firmly but lightly. "This instrument arrives to aid the logistics of the realm, just as those before it has done. By foreseeing foul weather and unforeseen tempests, we shall not only preserve lives and timber; we shall drastically increase the frequency of our vessels' crossings from one side of the ocean to the other."
At that juncture, a naval logistics officer—a young man who spent his days surrounded by censuses, cargo manifests, and voyage schedules—rose from his seat. His face reflected the flash of pure revelation.
"It is true…" he murmured; his eyes gleaming as he stared at the map. "Leader, if the storm season ceases to be a blind threat that might shatter our fleets in the dark, we shall no longer be bound to the safe months. We can undertake far more regular voyages throughout the year. The flow of merchandise between Great Quyca and the eastern shores will no longer grind to a halt during the dead of winter."
"Precisely," I confirmed, granting him an approving smile. "You have hit the mark. The intent behind the Xiuracan is to maintain our absolute supremacy at sea, even when the other realms attempt to catch up or mimic our vessels. He who controls the transit time controls the commerce of the world."
Another naval officer, whose focus had ever been tied to coastal defense and the protection of landward ports, raised his hand to request the floor.
"Leader, if this instrument measures the shift in the air... could we not establish fixed stations upon the highest peaks of the islands and along the coast?" he reasoned with enthusiasm. "It would serve as an early warning system for the hurricanes and tempests that lash our primary cities. We could clear the docks and secure the storehouses before the first wave ever strikes the shore."
Pride swelled within my chest as I listened. I nodded with gladness at his reasoning.
To witness such proactivity, such strategic thinking focused upon the welfare and security of the realm without my having to dictate it word for word, was proof that the minds of Suaza were evolving. They were casting aside superstition to embrace the logic of my former life.
"We have already conducted trials to that effect," I informed them, resting my hands upon the edge of the table. "And though, as I have warned, it is no infallible method owing to the variables of weather, preliminary results demonstrate it will save thousands of gold coins in coastal infrastructure. The realm shall stand prepared before the first gales begin to blow."
Umzye, ever steering back to the axis of administration, cleared her throat to focus the discussion.
"Then, Leader... how shall we rewrite the routes and naval schedules as of today? The captains will require new sailing orders."
…
The remainder of the morning dissolved into an intense debate.
For upwards of an hour, the chamber filled with the scratch of bronze compasses scoring parchment, disputes over the wear of rigging, and calculations of food provisions. Ultimately, we arrived at a fluid and dynamic plan.
Oceanic voyages would be scheduled continuously, as regular as the crews could endure. Departures would no longer be canceled by the calendar, but merely rescheduled in the face of specific alerts of unusual tempests detected by the Xiuracan. The total volume of vessels crossing the Sunrise Ocean would depend exclusively on the size of our fleet, which grew month by month within the harbor shipyards.
Before sealing the documents, one of the armada's commanders suggested we begin gathering similar data for the Sunset Ocean, utilizing the meteorological logs of the past joint expedition to calibrate the future instruments that would sail west. I nodded, marking the point in my mental ledger. The Sunset Ocean would also be ours, in due time.
I rose to my feet, signaling the end of the session. The scrape of my chair caused every officer to snap to attention immediately, maintaining a reverent silence. I held their gazes one by one, letting the authority of the Leader of the Suaza Kingdom descend upon the chamber like a slab of stone.
"Everything we have discussed and witnessed within this room today is a state secret of the highest order," I said, my voice dropping to a cold, absolute register that brooked no argument. "The Xiuracan is the heart of our naval supremacy. Any leak of its existence, its mechanics, or its manufacture to foreign merchants or rival realms shall be deemed high treason... And you well know the penalty for traitors in this realm: the absolute forfeiture of your status and lifelong enslavement within the deepest mines of the kingdom. Guard this glass with your lives, commanders."
No one dared break the tension. With a final, collective nod, I dismissed the meeting, knowing that the Sunrise Ocean had just grown a little smaller for us—and far more perilous for our foes.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Thank you all for your support. Let's get straight to the chapter comments. And please, your_favtauthor, read the Author's Comments section.
CHAPTER COMMENTS
First, it's a short chapter... that's true, but I didn't want to pad out the navigation section.
One reason is that, no matter how much I research, I still feel that navigation in that era was truly a miracle.
I don't understand how they could navigate in a small wooden ship compared to modern ones and still manage it.
The other reason is that if I delve too deeply into this, I'll have to reveal that the kingdom's first voyages were a miracle. Hahaha.
Second, I realized that every chapter about meetings and planning, even those related to technology, was written as a way to solidify the novel, to fill in some plot holes. However, the most important thing is that I didn't do it on purpose.
I generally write the general ideas for the following chapters, or even the following arcs. I only realized this now.
The reason for this is that I had already written months ago that this instrument should be included in the story and establish a 'correct' navigation system that would justify the voyages.
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS
First, I want to apologize to your_favtauthor for not taking their comment into account.
As I told him, and so everyone knows, time hasn't been on my side lately, and while I read all your comments and even reply to some immediately, I know it's rude and disrespectful not to respond.
I'm very sorry about this.
In general, I've tried to reply in the author's comments section of the end note, so you don't feel ignored. It's true that I didn't make sure to let you know about this.
On another note, I apologize for the short chapter, but as I said, I don't want any filler. Also, the map is still a work in progress.
However, regarding the map, I just realized I was taking a very slow approach when a program could do it for me.
I was taking screenshots, quadrant by quadrant, and then manually stitching them together. But I discovered there's a program for that... I felt stupid, haha.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (ON HOLD)
You can find them on my profile.]