of a cloth bag. He caught hold of it and dragged it up onto the stones. It was heavy and thick, the neck tied with a cord. The outer layer of cloth had frayed, but there were at least two more layers beneath that one. He heard the coins before he saw them. When they spilled out, they were so big that he couldn’t circle his fingers around them. They had strange writing on them, and faces of some other span’s gods or emperors stamped onto one side. Loctrean had never seen any coins like them. One bag, he thought, must be worth a fortune. He lay on the tiles again and reached into the hole, and his fingers touched a second bag. He drew it out, and this one contained gems: rubies and sapphires, diamonds and emeralds. It was a fortune for a king.
Kneeling there in the dust he praised his father for telling the truth, even though no one had ever believed him. He had sailed with the mythical Sindebad. Here was the proof.
That night Loctrean had another dream. In it his father apologized for not telling him about the fortune years earlier. “I kept it hidden,” he said, “because I wanted you and your sister to grow up unspoiled by riches, to know what it was like to have to work, to earn your way, the way almost everyone must. I wasn’t supposed to have an accident.”
After that, Loctrean saw both his parents from time to time in his dreams. His mother would tell him some incredible tale of the afterlife—how grapes grew as big as her head or animals talked—and his father would explain, “She’s lying. It’s nothing like that at all here, let me tell you.”
Loctrean paid off his debts. He had the house refurbished from top to bottom, and hung a bright new awning over the door. He bought a fleet of fishing boats, but left his father’s decrepit craft in a corner of the yard as a shrine. He showered his sister and her husband with gifts and ensured that they would never want for anything.
Eventually he sailed back to Perla on the very same ship, which he now owned. He cooked for the crew because by now he liked doing that. In Perla he gave the dismayed magistrate a generous sum in thanks for showing him compassion, adding, “Had I not listened to you, I wouldn’t have found my fortune.”
When finally he married, he doted on his wife, keeping her and their children happy every day—mostly by telling them fantastic stories of the glorious adventures of their grandfather, who had sailed to the ends of the world and faced every peril imaginable. And if the children didn’t believe him . . . well, it hardly mattered, after all.
Leodora sat back and the shapes of the flames on her palms unwound from the figures of a family and back into dancing green fire once more.
Diverus watched as the gathered feasters pressed fingertips together in front of them and hummed as they bowed to her, their faces lit with delight, their red eyes glowing with rapturous wonder.
The king of Epama Epam said, “Ah, that was quite . . . exquisite.” He waved one hand over hers, and the flames evaporated. “Your reputation is well earned, storyteller.”
“Thank you,” she said. “And your puppets are the most unusual I’ve ever seen.”
“Yes, but what else would you expect from the world that threads all worlds?”
She laughed at that, then tilted back her head as she stretched. Overhead, the ocean sky had grown darker and the sparkling upon its surface turned to stars. “We’ve missed our performance,” she said, mostly to herself, so that Diverus barely heard it. Her brow knitted as if puzzled by the indifference with which she realized this.
“Surely you can afford one or two,” said the king.
“You don’t know Soter,” Diverus replied. He hid his concern, stretching as if he had just awakened.
“Perhaps not, but now as you say you’ve missed the performance, you might as well settle in and enjoy our company. The night in Epama is nascent, and there are too many stories you still want to hear. That I know for certain.”
She nodded in a dreamy way. “You do owe me some in return.” To Diverus she added, “We can’t very well leave without the stories, can we? If we’ve sacrificed a performance, we deserve our reward.”
“There, it’s settled then.” The king grinned. He called for wine.