Where The Gods Sleep

A Letter to the Most Serene and August Majesty, King João of Portugal

By Dom Estêvão Álvares, Admiral of the Western Seas

Written on the Shores of Terra Nova, in the Year of Our Lord 14—

To His Most Noble and August Majesty,

May this humble missive find Your Majesty in good health and the kingdom in glory. With God's favor and the guidance of Prince Henry's great vision, our expedition has pierced the veil of the unknown, setting foot upon lands that defy all understanding. It is with both awe and trepidation that I write to you, for what we have seen and heard along our voyage is both wondrous and ominous.

We first made landfall upon a coast of unparalleled beauty, which we have named Baía de Santa Cruz for the great wooden cross we planted upon its sands. The air is thick with the scent of strange fruits—some tasting of honey, others of fire—and the land hums with the cries of birds whose feathers gleam like the jewels of the Orient. Great rivers carve their way through emerald jungles, and in them swim creatures both monstrous and beautiful. We beheld fish with scales of silver, their eyes glowing like lanterns in the darkened waters, and beasts with the power to shatter trees with a single charge.

But it is not the beasts alone that mark this land as strange; it is the people. They call themselves the Tupinambá, warriors of fierce countenance and swift-footed as the deer of Lusitania. Their tongues spill forth sounds unlike any I have heard in the courts of Europe or the markets of Tangier. They wear little more than adornments of bone and shell, yet they carry themselves as kings, unafraid of steel or cannon. Their chieftains, draped in cloaks of parrot feathers, welcomed us not with bows, but with curiosity—though I see in their eyes the caution of men who have fought many wars.

Among them, there are whispers of lands further inland—of a city made of white stone and ruled by one called Açu-Açu, a king said to speak with the spirits of the earth. They tell of mountains so high they touch the breast of the sky, and rivers of gold that flow beneath them. Whether these are truths or the fanciful tales of savages, only further seeking will reveal.

But Majesty, there is more—a secret carried by the winds of the sea, a whisper we have heard in the most distant lands. Among the traders of the Malabar Coast and the learned men of Hormuz, there is mention of an empire far beyond Cathay, a land bathed in the first light of dawn. The Moors call it Jabban, while others name it Cipangu—the Land of the Rising Sun. They say its rulers dwell in palaces of silver and gold, and its warriors wield blades that cut through the night itself. No European has set foot upon its shores, and its existence is known only through the whispers of Persian merchants and the wind-worn maps of Chinese sailors.

Could this be the final key to the world's great mystery? A kingdom hidden beyond the edge of the known world, where the sun itself is said to be worshipped? If there is truth to these murmurs, then let it be Portugal that finds it first! Let our ships carve the path to the place where the dawn is born, and let Your Majesty's name be inscribed upon the stones of Cipangu as the first ruler to claim friendship—or dominion—over that distant shore.

With your blessing, we shall press ever onward. There are lands yet unseen, cities yet unclaimed, and knowledge yet undiscovered. The seas whisper to us, and I swear by my sword and soul, we shall not let those whispers fade into silence.

May God bless Your Majesty, and may Portugal shine brighter than the very sun that rises in the East.

Your humble servant,

Dom Estêvão Álvares

Admiral of the Western Seas