The Mapmaker's War (28 page)

Ahpa is near you at this moment. Leit, may she touch you?

He nodded.

Wei, touch him. You'll feel he is unharmed.

Your daughter touched her father where his navel had been. A

gentle press. She pulled her hand away. Her palm was covered in blood. Neither Leit nor you could see a stain or drop on his shirt.

Your mind became blank as a stare. Your body constricted with fear and grief. Poor Wei, you thought. What have we done? you thought next.

I'm sorry, Ahpa. I'm sorry, said Wei.

She wrapped her arms around his thigh and wailed.

Get Aza, said Leit.

You ran through the door. Each person you saw, you asked to get word to Aza that she must go to your home with haste. No one asked for an explanation. They responded. You ran to Aza's house | before then, she had left your home to pair | but she wasn't there. You trusted that the people would share the message. That Aza could help.

When you entered your house, Aza was sitting on the floor with Wei between her legs. She hummed. She held your daughter with crossed arms. Wei seemed entranced. Their eyes were closed.

Go to Leit, said she between breaths.

You found him at the house of the elders who had sheltered him upon his return. The warrior had died when Wei was a baby, but his spouse survived, ailing but strong. She led you to small chamber. Leit lay on the bed on his side.

Beloved, you said.

She knows, said he.

You stroked his hair. You touched his arm.

Not my pain alone, said he. That of the children. That of the fiend.

You knew she can see the others in memory, you said.

Leit turned and met your eyes.

No, said he. She said she faced, then entered them. She knows their stories as well. From the inside. That's why she was screaming. She said the rage wanted to kill her.

The elder crept into the room. You were too stunned to ask her to leave. She took your hand and pressed her other one against Leit's temple. She began to sing a lullaby. She was suddenly ageless. He tried to join her, desperate to match the tones. One phrase, one phrase, formed in perfection, then he strained until he stopped.

Grief leached from your bones. You had just heard the voice he'd lost to the war. You mourned the missing piece of him. You lamented what had been wrought on Wei.

BY THE NEXT EVENING, AN ELDER VOICE FROM A FARAWAY SETTLEMENT came to assist Wei. Aza didn't feel she could serve your daughter as she needed. What had occurred was rare. She didn't share Wei's ability. She didn't know what to do to guide your child.

You had never seen a human as old as Sisay. She stood strong with a slight bend in her limbs. Her black skin rippled against her bones like bark. Her teeth were worn and yellowed. Her coarse hair was white and trimmed close to her skull. Within two deep slits, her eyes were waning violet moons. Her voice made the arches of your feet ache, your body heavy.

Bring me the child born without the cloud, said Sisay.

You stepped outside to call Wei from her play. Whatever Aza had done the day before had soothed her. She had no signs of shock and slept well through the night. Aza said no one could be sure how much Wei remembered. The trauma might have been more than she could hold.

You introduced Wei to the woman. Your daughter's face brightened as they regarded one another. She hurried into Sisay's arms. They twined together and laughed. Their bond was immediate and mysterious. You felt a sear of jealousy. You gave her love, but the ancient woman offered understanding.

Leit fumbled with his composure when he met Sisay. He had heard tales of her. She was the oldest living Voice. She was known to be as ruthless as Nature, one who saw what was beyond all appearances. Her presence was another adjustment for you but a portent for him. He bowed to her, a rare gesture among the Guardians. The old woman took his broad hands in her thin small ones.

Your warrior heart beats in your daughter's chest, said Sisay. Prepare yourself to confront that strength again.

He nodded. He couldn't speak. His awe almost frightened you.

That night, Leit held you to the curve of his body.

You realize there's little chance now that Wei won't be asked to join the trails, said he.

I know, you said.

You remembered a conversation with Aza some time before. The most gifted among the Voices were asked if they wished to serve in the wider world. Their role was to accompany the Guardian warriors who traveled as traders. Voices who were boys didn't have gifts as strong as the girls, so only girls walked the trails. They weren't ordinary children. They could feel into people and places. What felt peaceful, what felt unstable, what felt dark. Because they were so young they were often overlooked. They appeared small and weak, therefore unthreatening. Most people were less guarded around them. They forgot their tongues because they thought what they said was over a child's head.

You've been brave, Aoife. No mother, even one born among, could have been more resilient, said he.

I feel shame to say this, but I sometimes wish she was like any other child, you said.

As I have in rare moments, said he. But to require that of her would crush what makes her Wei.

SISAY HAD COME TO DEEPEN WEI'S TRAINING. SHE ALLOWED YOU TO watch several sessions. You would have to understand how to help Wei with a new skill.

For your daughter to center herself would no longer be enough. If she had this greater gift, she risked being pulled apart, mind and soul. She could get lost in another person's story. She would forget she had the ability to help a person heal.

You watched Sisay teach Wei to find the space between herself and the memory she confronted. If she did, she didn't risk a merge with another's pain. She was taught to root herself in her physical presence. She had to connect with her feet and hands, with any sense she wished. Sisay told her to let her body choose a gesture to ground her focus. You saw your daughter move in a tuneless dance. Every part of her swayed. Her hands and arms twined and parted. Wei stood firm when her fingers laced together at the webs, each digit straight and firm.

When Wei mastered her ability to root, Sisay taught her another skill. An elder warrior who no longer walked the trails sat with them. He had resolved a painful experience but could still reach into the feelings if he tried.

Wei stood near him. She told Sisay what she felt and saw. She cried. Sisay told her to find her root. She calmed but quivered. Sisay told the warrior to stay in the moment.

Wei, find the gap that spans then and now. Know you can cross it or leave it alone, said Sisay.

Your daughter nodded.

Leave it alone. Observe from where you are. Do nothing but observe.

She nodded again.

Wei, you are a witness, said Sisay. Repeat what I say. I am a witness.

I am a witness, said Wei.

Now. Brighten, said Sisay.

Your daughter didn't move. Her focus seemed impenetrable. For an instant you thought the whole of her blurred. As if she escaped the corner of your eye.

Sisay stood at Wei's back and whispered to her. You couldn't hear what she said or see what she did with her hands. Sisay walked away. Wei approached the warrior. She placed her small palm against his broad forehead. He inhaled with force, held the breath, then exhaled with a long blow. When he looked at her eyes, his face relaxed.

Remember, Wei. You helped the moment to open because he was ready. If it is closed or dark, you must not cross the gap and use force. Guide, but allow them to see the truth for themselves, said Sisay.

Each day, your daughter and the ancient Voice went into the forest. A small group of warriors accompanied them at times. If you stood at the margin, you could hear human sounds. Screams, wails, shouts, laughter. Of course, singing. Sisay's sonorous tones pulsed like a heartbeat through the trees.

You knew some days Sisay took your daughter away. There were other Voices for her to meet. Wei had lessons to learn that couldn't be taught at home. When Wei and her teacher returned before dinner, they were tired but in good moods.

Each evening, Sisay took to her bed at twilight. You, Leit, and Wei visited friends, played games, or sat in quiet company. When you embraced your daughter, she vibrated with a noiseless hum. Her father had noticed as well.

There's a slight tickle when I hold you now, Wei, you said.

Sisay sings the pain out of my body. It gets caught, and she makes it go away. Then I tickle.

Whose pain? you asked.

The world's pain, Ahma, said Wei. She's teaching me to do it, too. I can use sound, but I'm better with light.

You looked at your spouse. He shook his head as he smiled.

Sisay taught me a word for what we do. Transmutation.

Transmutation, you said.

It means to turn into something else.

The mystery of your child deepened. You were told little. It was impossible to comprehend anyway. Wei wasn't forbidden to tell you, Leit, or others what she learned, but she was cautioned. Sisay, as some Guardians, believed everyone was born with the Voices' abilities. These were buried and unformed within the mind. If they were released without guidance or discernment, grave harm could be done.

SISAY LIVED WITH YOUR FAMILY UNTIL WINTER APPROACHED. SHE trained Wei with intense focus. When she left your home it was only physically, because Wei understood how close she was. Your daughter was not as alone as she appeared.

Before she left, Sisay invited you to walk in the forest with her. You felt tenderness for the ancient adept who apprenticed your daughter in their esoteric gifts. She surprised you when she took your hand.

Aoife, said she in her low firm voice.

Yes, Sisay, you said.

Wei has her father's heart and her mother's forward mind. You have shown courage to allow both to thrive in her. The proof will come to bear, if Wei follows her own will and moves past efforts to thwart her.

As before, you will not get to keep this child. She must leave you. The journeys ahead will clarify her purpose. Wei has the potential to be an eminent leader. If she chooses this, she will be misunderstood. You share this fate, and this is the legacy you have given to her.

In an era yet to be born, you will speak to a grandchild. With this child, and others whose time has come, beginning in the land of your exile, a great hush will force a reckoning between lies and truth. The future will depend on those who survive.

Sisay hummed softly like insects.