The Mapmaker's War (31 page)

For all of Wei's joyfulness, she was a serious girl as well. She shared some of what she had encountered while on the trails. As a younger girl, she told stories of people and places. As she grew older, she began to speak of what she discerned.

There is so much pain, Ahma, said Wei. She told of the children she found and the adults who crossed her path. She had learned to treat others as friends, but she and her warrior companions were often met with suspicion. She glimpsed lives full of cruel words, bitter silences, and harsh whippings. There were resentments and grudges that lingered long. She had felt unease and witnessed strife and poverty. With her own hands, she touched children who had endured treatment that left them sad, hurt, and confused. They all blamed themselves. They believed themselves to be bad and deserving of punishment. Wei did what she could to help them, children and adults, assure them. You are more than this pain. You are beautiful. But the wounding was too profound. These matters affected everyone to some degree, but some far worse than others. The harm of it twisted people deep within themselves and they hurt others in return.

So many believe the toil and trouble of life is all there is, said Wei. They believe this is how life is meant to be, that it will always be so, and they have no understanding that it can be different.

You nodded. You listened with your full attention. She said she was confiding this to you because you had been born away. You knew the consequences of these experiences. | all too well | If she asked questions about your life before, you replied as best you could. Some you simply could not answer. The most difficult was, Why? How does one explain a beginning no one remembers?

She didn't know then | or perhaps she did | that she was about to name her purpose.

As for Leit, he appeared more worn with each return. He was older than many of his companions. The exertion of travel was enough of a strain. He knew, and told you, that his endurance waned. He admitted he was rough in situations he might have once managed with a lighter touch. He couldn't discern whether the incivility had become more common or his tolerance for it less strong.

You watched his darkness loom like storms, then blow away. The man he was at essence would return for periods, then slip into hiding. You encouraged him to speak to Aza or Edik, but he refused. He thought his wound was beyond their healing. The dragon's brand didn't have the power. How could they? He wouldn't dare risk this pain with his daughter.

Despite this, you had more days of contentment than not. When Leit and Wei were home together, they played and walked in one another's company as before. Their shared experience of the trails drew them closer.

Wei was ever gentle with her father. Her affection for him was expressive and frequent. She still took his hand and kissed his cheeks. When he was occupied with a task, she sometimes looked at him with love. She knew what the warriors suffered. You wondered if she glimpsed into his wound, waiting for it to open.

Once, Wei came to you when you were alone.

Ahma, said she. He cannot forgive himself. Do you understand?

You stared into her violet eyes that saw beyond seeing.

The child's desecration and death were not at his hand. He intended no harm to her, said Wei of what had never been spoken aloud between you.

You didn't ask how she knew. You didn't ask why she spoke when she did. Wei had her ways and reasons.

I don't understand why he clings as he does, you said.

He wants someone punished for what was done. He only has himself to inflict with the pain. He judges himself unjustly.

What of . . . You paused to build your courage. What of the man who did the deed? you asked.

Listen, Ahma. He suffered before and continued to do so afterward. What is no consolation to the little girl, or Ahpa, or anyone else who suffered at his hand, is still heavy with consequence. His lifetime is a limitation but not the end, said she.

Wei embraced you. She tingled in your arms. You accepted the light she offered. You let it slip, for a moment, into the hard holding cells within yourself where forgiveness couldn't reach.

AS SHE GREW OLDER, WEI HAD GREAT COMPASSION FOR AS WELL AS CONflict with her father. She had always discussed the Guardians' ways with Leit. However, her observations on the trails deepened her inquisitiveness.

She was thirteen when she began to deliberately challenge him. Wei questioned why the settlements remained remote and why their | our | people had rare contact with others. Leit reminded her that new settlements were built when populations needed to be dispersed. She knew that but wondered why those born away weren't invited to join. He explained how often those born away struggled with their ways, even those who were mysteriously drawn to the Guardians.

That's not how it always was, said she. Remember, Azul gathered friends at first to build the early settlements.

We don't reject anyone who comes to us, said Leit.

We don't openly welcome them to stay, either, said Wei.

You cringed when the two of them slipped into these discussions. If the Guardians had a means for peace, why was it not actively shared? Wei wanted to understand. Your small daughter sat without a flinch in front of her giant father. The disagreement simmered. You waited for it to boil over. You waited for Leit to declare his authority but he refrained. He spoke to your child as an equal.

You haven't seen what I've seen, said Leit.

I have seen what you have not as well, said Wei.

She told of a child she'd found in the forest. The girl wept piteously but without sound. Wei asked the child why she cried but she wouldn't speak. Shame wrapped her like a cloak. She had been beaten without mercy with a belt. She had dropped an egg. Her father had beat her as her mother kept her back turned at her bowl. No supper for you! Get out of my sight! He had screamed at her.

An old wound split open. A cry thrust itself against your clenched jaw. Wei regarded you for a moment, then looked at her father.

I sang to the girl, and she crept into my open arms, said Wei. I saw how often she'd been beaten. I also saw her father find dark corners and pound his own head with his fists. He is ashamed of himself and doesn't want to beat her but believes, as he was taught, a child learns through punishment. I saw her mother knocked senseless because of her child's beatings, although no hand had touched her. She goes through the motions of the day and says nothing until it or the next one is done. She believes without him she has nowhere to go and she and the child will starve.

She's right, Wei, you said. This was a truth for every woman of every station in your life before.

Her fear is frank in her circumstances, said Wei.

I know this story. It's a mundane horror by now. Our Voices and warriors hear, see, and feel it told in all its forms over and over again, said Leit.

Do you know in their deepest hearts they wish to know better? asked Wei.

The cry whimpered from your lips. Wei turned one palm toward you. You felt your pulse change.

They know better, said Leit.

In most cases, they know what they do is cruel and hurtful. For those who wish not to be, they've never been taught other ways.

She's right, you said to him. You remembered all you had to unlearn when you found your new home. You knew there were still matters to unravel.

Ahpa, I must share the truth as I see it. We've waited for the world to join us but they don't have the knowledge to do so. Our example is here, but few notice. Our warriors have protected Egnis from the fear and misunderstanding of others. But we cannot expect our warriors to protect us from those who fear and misunderstand us and our promise. The war wasn't the first or the last—nor was it the one that must be fought. Your scar bears proof, said she.

Leit flinched. Wei invoked what no one, no one, dared speak.

I know your wish to deny residence to those born away is meant to protect us. You want to preserve the integrity of our ways. That's noble, rational, and sound. But Ahpa, we can't expect love, cooperation, and peace to reign if we contain our knowledge as we do.

What are you saying? asked Leit.

We must begin to live among those born away and welcome anyone who wishes to live with us.

That is a beautiful but naïve idea, said Leit.

Dangerous and hopeful, too, said Wei. She smiled.

You wept from grief and pride. Had you spoken that way to your father, he would have slapped you for defiance. You looked at your daughter and your spouse passionate for the same ends, differing in their means. Theirs was a higher love too rare beyond your borders.

Ahma, what do you think? Our conversation has clearly moved you, said Wei.

I'm of two minds about the matter. I don't know, you said.

They tried to secure your opinion, but you had no firm one. You were a Guardian then, by choice, and wanted the ways protected. You once, by birth, were not a Guardian, and wanted another way to be. Your own house was as divided as your heart. The latter caused more strife. Knowing what you knew, how could you choose?

Well, you don't have to decide now, do you? said Wei. I didn't have my ideas together for the last Assembly. I intend to speak at the next one.

You have six years to prepare, said Leit.

As do you, said she.

She kissed your hand then kissed her father. Her light loose dress fluttered at her side as she walked across the room and through the front door.

What a formidable daughter I have, bold as her mother, said Leit.

WEI ENDED HER DUTY ON THE TRAILS THE WINTER BEFORE SHE TURNED fifteen. Your little daughter came home finally as a young woman. She enjoyed the company of friends and the admiration of young men. From a distance, you watched her consider the handsome options. You discovered an unexpected well of envy that sprang from the memory of your life before. No young woman of your station was given the latitude allowed your daughter and her friends. | had it been, would you have sat at Heydar's table? | Leit basked in the nostalgia of youth even as he glowered at the boys who stood on your home's threshold.

Your daughter knew of the collection of histories and tales you had worked to gather through the years. She agreed to chronicle some of her experiences as a Voice. You asked to teach her how to write them herself. She tried, but the attempts were frustrating. Her unusual sight as you understood it hampered her dexterity and precision. She tried to comprehend your texts through touch. She discovered she had little sensitivity to do so. She was sorry to disappoint you, but she wished to concentrate on the abilities she possessed.

This gives you pleasure, Ahma. Continue. I think there's a reason you persist.

And what is that? you asked.

Oh, the passage of seasons will tell, I suppose.

During the next few years, Wei served as Aza did. | beloved Edik had died | She had a reputation as a great healer, young as she was. Yet Wei expected more of herself and her gifts. She continued to ponder the possibility of showing others the Guardians' ways. Wei traveled to other settlements to speak to Voices and elders across the known world. She used the gaps, but sometimes she didn't. You understood to leave her alone when she sat in her room with her palms open.

You respected what you didn't comprehend.

There is interest, Ahma, said she. Others feel as I do. Not many, but enough to matter. The next Assembly will have a vibrant debate, I think.

She was fearless, your Wei. Courageous and inquisitive. What was, was not what would always be, she believed. She believed this as if it were her next breath.

The Guardians would be the least of her worries by comparison. You had been born away. You remembered what power, no matter how weak, others cherished. To release that called to chaos. Without might—over one's will or body, that of another person or a group—what control could there be? You had learned the power of love and trust. You were long suspicious of the lessons, trained as you were to accept the means of dominance.

When she was nineteen years old, Wei asked you to join her at the Assembly. This was a surprise. You had not been invited by the leaders. Neither was she, she reminded you. She had requested an audience. Such appeals were rarely denied, and hers was not. That she was Leit's daughter and a Voice must have made the leaders curious.