The Mapmaker's War (22 page)

Look, woman. Look at my body. Never mind the slices and gouges.

Look at the scar that split me in two. My navel is gone, eaten by maggots. The blade ripped only skin and muscle, but the deed tore more, far more.

I awake every day with that child's blood on my hands and in my own body. Every day with the trace of rage I could not conceive I possessed.

A sickness festers beyond our settlements, worse than I ever imagined. I am witness, and now I am carrier.

I looked into the fiend's eyes before and after the deeds. That was a wholly human evil. That was a wholly human choice. And I must endure the rest of my days knowing he and others like him live and befoul—in mundane ways, in secret hidden ways, in the worst ways—what is sacred. My wound reminds me of what I could not, cannot, protect.

SPEECH AND MOVEMENT ELUDED YOU. A COLD SWEAT CONTINUED ITS creep across your skin. Your heart beat wild. You were in shock. Your mind's eye continued to see the frightened, defiled, dead child.

Then you were four, five. Your brother was crying again. Your mother was silent. Your father was a shadow. You hid and screamed a wordless petition for escape. Take me from this place. I don't care the cost or the trouble or if someone dies, even if it's me. Take me far away. Please.

Leit slipped on his tunic. He put his head in your lap. You touched the welts on his neck. You smoothed his hair. All you could do was smooth his hair. Later you cried alone all night. So many tears, endless as the suffering you caused and endured.

NOT LONG LATER, YOU WENT TO HIS BED. THE INVITATION WAS UNSPOken.

The night was one of ice and fire. You walked to his home after a late meal with friends. He stepped ahead of you to block the force of the wind. Snow and ice covered horizontal planes. A world of white silver black. You loved the bell-chime flutter of falling snow.

Makha split through the darkness when you crossed the threshold. You felt intimate space before you saw its corners. He lived in a small two-room hut with no other person. He invited you to sit on the high bed near the hearth. It was warm from Makha's heat. She jumped next to your hip.

Leit placed logs and struck flint. He knelt at work until flames leapt. The space echoed with a sharp noise. You thought that cracks of fire and ice sounded much alike. A release, a giving way.

He removed his cloak, a fur-lined hat, a wool overshirt, and a tunic. You could discern welts that reached from his waist to his neck.

He stoked the fire. This is where memory loops, the first and the last | you think the last | and unions between. A precise steward of an efficient fire. He returned to you with his face and chest blazing on their own. Transferred to you. Oh, you move in and out of this memory because these were moments before | and after | Wei. Strange, the stray details that cling with such tenacity.

He gave a short bark to Makha and pointed her to the floor. She jumped down. He took you in his arms. Warm. You were so warm.

You asked him to sit with his back to the fire. You looked at the brand. He had not shown it to you when he revealed the scar. The shapes were not random. They formed an image. You swept his dark hair away from his neck. He was marked with a dragon.

And this didn't hurt? you asked.

No. I received merciful care, said he.

You asked him to lie on his back. The darkness beyond the fire spared you full sight of the gnarled knit but you could not avoid its texture. With gentle hands, you touched the scar for the first time. You reached the place where his navel had once been. He choked with a cry. He grabbed your wrist.

Allow it, said he.

You understood. You placed both hands where his life had begun. He held your arm as if it were a rope. He wept. You wept. Makha whimpered. You kept one hand on his belly and stretched at his side.

Where are you now? you asked.

Leit looked into your eyes. His hands twisted into your hair. His mouth sealed yours. He remained solid and he became fluid.

You were unprepared for the transformation. He abandoned himself to you. You, surprised, abandoned yourself to him. The cold beyond the bed gave love an edge. A border to contain it. Despite his scars, he was in other ways whole. There were places where sharpness had never touched him.

As you curled together to sleep, your hands rested each upon the other's healed skin. The one flashed through your memory, touched where your thighs met, and was gone. Aza and your daughter would later help you purge him for good.

YOU WERE NOT FOOLISH ENOUGH TO ALLOW THE SOWING OF AN UNWANTED seed again. All of the women of the settlement knew where to get aids to continue their cycles. You visited a midwife who had special knowledge of these matters.

You thought of your life before. There were rumors of those who had plant wisdom. Discouragement of all kinds kept women away, including you. There were coercions, and there were lies. The wish to fill the womb was natural and welcomed. This was the female's highest purpose. As well, you, all of you, were told, in one way or another, that you suffer your mistakes. This had been ingrained in you without your knowing how. The inevitability of consequence. You resented it. Yet the twins were proof of how you embodied the lesson.

The old woman sat next to you in a cushioned chair. She asked if you'd had children. You could have lied. No one knew. But you stated the facts. Yes, twins. Did they survive the birth? Yes. How old are they now? You became blank and mute, then said, They would be five. Are they still with you? No. When did they die? They didn't. Or haven't, I believe. I had to leave them. | the truth |

I feel sorrow to hear that, Aoife, said she.

Yes, well, some time has passed, you said.

She stood to prepare two cups of tea. She closed the door to the hut.

We must have a talk about our ways in matters of new life, said she.

We are the only beings, at least to our knowledge, who can choose to create another, said she.

The beasts and we are driven by our bodies, but we have greater faculties. Unlike the beasts, we are aware of what these impulses are. This must be important, otherwise we wouldn't have this awareness.

The human can be long-lived. We rarely die in large numbers. We have no predators as the beasts have among each other. Nature seeks to balance itself. We are part of Nature, but we can manipulate it. We have no natural enemies—except one another, it seems. If we crowd, we can sicken each other. Some maladies are of the body. These correct with loving care, rest, and wholesome food.

Some believe wars are a way to thin our herds. The old woman believed violence was a sickness itself.

Without awareness, humans could strain, even break, the balance of which they were part. The land, the water, the beings whose lives were taken for food could be in peril.

The old woman said that the Guardians understood most people desired to have children. They also believed that none should be denied the joy that children bring. She reminded you of the myths of Azul the Orphan. Love transcended the body and all that came of it.

You gave birth to two children who survived, Aoife, said the old woman. You continued the cycle of young and gave your legacy and that of another man.

She said she could not and would not forbid you to have another child. It was not her place to decide for you. Her responsibilities were to share knowledge of their ways and treat you to bring you health and comfort. Before you left her hut, she gave you a pouch of herbs and told you how to use them.

Never once had you considered bearing another child. However, the visit sparked thoughts you didn't expect. You had no dispute with the strive for balance. The view was practical, although you knew of the instinctive forces that fought against it. The woman didn't speak of such impulses.

Neither did she mention dangers no beast considered. You thought of Nature's uncertainty. The Guardians, like you, were subject to drought, cold, famine, disease, and predators. All were brought forth in risk. Born to die. But the principle remained the same. Life repeats itself. Life wants to be.

You had replenished. Because of that alone, perhaps you should have considered no more. You could have waited for a foundling.

Still, the instinctive animal in you stirred. You had the prospect of a virile mate. You were not yet too old, in your thirtieth year. You felt your body warm in waiting.

You chose to pair yourself again. You left your room and your housemates. Leit's small hut was enough for you and the silver wolf. By mutual agreement, you decided to have the bonding ritual. You chose spring for obvious reasons, and one significant for you. It would mark your fifth year in your chosen home.

Any elder could have the honor, but you asked Edik to perform the ceremony. He smiled and held you close. He took unexpected joy in your happiness and your inclusion of him. His delight made you cry until your heart hurt.

You acquired a simple silk gown from the stores. A gifted friend cut and stitched it to fit. You had no mirror to see yourself at once, but you felt beautiful.

Leit reflected your feelings in his eyes when he beheld you that day. His gaze was transcendent. He was handsome in his new clothes. Three embroiderers had worked long on the elaborate vest that covered his linen shirt.

As agreed, you didn't exchange rings. He surprised you with a narrow sapphire bracelet with a center crystal of Guardian blue. You gave him a gold torc decorated with beasts of the forest. Neither could have chosen a gift more suited to the other. Yet that night, after the celebration, he brought to the bed you shared | room, house, life | one last token.

I smithed some fine pieces and traded well the last time I was away. Here, said he.

You opened a wooden box. Inside were several vials of ink, a clutch of feathers, and a stack of writing sheets. You had never seen the latter. They were made of fibers, not skin. They were so thin that light glowed straight through.

I thought you might like to try this for your writings, said he.

He knew about your records of the Guardians' history and ways. He encouraged you, although he didn't fully understand the purpose.

The ink and quills I'll use soon, but I will save most of the sheets for a special work, you said. You kissed him with pure affection.