The Mapmaker's War (4 page)

And endure grave dangers, said the young woman.

What dangers? you asked.

You shall see. Heed the voice inside, Aoife. Heed it without fail, said the young woman.

You opened your mouth to respond but could form no words. Instead, you stared at the young woman's pendant. You could discern a design of geometric shapes. Circle, triangle, square. The young woman followed your gaze with a lazy shift of her own. Then she looked at you as if she peered through your flesh. She spoke her native language. The man left the room and returned with an object.

You travel much. We are sworn to protect and guide anyone who carries this amulet, said the young woman.

You opened a delicate wooden box with dovetailed edges. Inside was a silver piece the size of a coin. It carried the same design as her gold pendant. What great care they take to the small things, you thought. What attention. You thanked your hosts for several moments.

When you were ready to leave, the young guardian appeared at the door. The three, in turn, took your hand and held it tightly. They wished you well and sent you away with a small bundle of food. Not much time had passed. You could tell by the arc of the sun. However, you felt as if you'd been there for ages.

You followed the guardian through the settlement and back into the forest.

As you reached the large rock you'd passed before, a voice called your name. The young woman who had translated your words rushed toward you. There was something else she wished to give. She told you to listen with your heart, not your mind. She said the known and hidden worlds weren't what they seemed. Like a map, they could fold. The shortest distance between two points was not always a line. Among all that was seen and unseen, there were links, the points, and gaps, the distance between.

Take care to notice the trunks of trees, said she.

Her fingertips touched the hollow of your throat.

Remember what I tell you, said she. See and say clearly in your mind where you wish to go. The words will show the way, if you follow the form in which they appear. The journey could be long in walking or brief in step, and you might be given no choice.

Then she told you the incantation in your native tongue.

| wind howl and whisper, water ebb and flow— |

Yes.

You remember it still. There are some things you will not force yourself to write, not entirely. Subtle forces answer the call, whether the speaker is friend or foe. There is no discrimination of the one who utters. Directions will be shown. The gaps will open to admit all, but you won't reveal the way.

The young woman and your guardian touched the rock. You did, too, for good measure. She left with a smile. He led you again with one. You felt too overwhelmed to speak. It was just as well he didn't use the same language. You repeated to yourself what the young woman had said. Her nonsense puzzled and fascinated you. A childlike curiosity stirred within.

When the guardian returned you to the river, you stood in front of him for a long moment. Nearby, your crew and four young men in blue kept watch on one another. You saw the captain approach, handed him your items, and asked him to step away.

Who made the gold road? you asked the guardian.

He spoke a word you didn't understand. Then he said, Small man. The young man pointed to his head and toes, flexed his arms and chest, and hovered a flattened hand at his waist.

A dwarf? you asked.

He shrugged. You matched his gaze and, without pause, tossed your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you in response. In that instant, you realized you had known Wyl all your life, had touched his hands, had linked with his arms, had once kissed his lips, but had never, ever held him that close. You felt the young man rip away. The captain wrenched the young man's arm behind his back.

Stop! Don't hurt him, Captain! you said.

The guardian turned in the hold and released himself with a fluid movement that was not violent. The ease surprised you all. The captain charged him in bluster. The young man blinked against the other's stare.

My lady, we must wait, said the captain.

Why? you asked.

An oarsman and the cook are missing. They went into the forest, said the captain.

Why? you asked.

I told them to trail you, said he.

You shook your head. Your guardian signaled he and his

companions would leave. As the five of them slipped into the trees, you waved goodbye. You refused to return to your kingdom's bank to summon guards. There was no threat. You and your King's men slept on the foreign shore.

In the morning, two young men in blue coats returned the crew members. The oarsman and cook arrived unharmed and bright-eyed. You knew what they had seen. You felt a protective impulse for the people of the settlement. You knew what the men would tell if not sworn to silence.

WITH HEARTS CROSSED AND OATHS SPOKEN, THE OARSMAN AND THE cook promised to hold their tongues. Neither their fellows nor their liege would learn of what they had seen beyond the riverbank. To quiet curiosity, you spoke at the evening's shared supper. You told the crew of a peaceful settlement, the people's kindness, and their wish to be left alone. You explained what you saw because you couldn't describe how you felt.

You thought the enchantment would wane for yourself and the two crewmen. But in the weeks before winter sent you home again, you three sometimes glanced at each other, not in warning but in wonder, as if to say, Yes, I did, I saw it, too.

The cold came early, all the colder over water. You released your crew with the intent to finish the work when spring returned. The men of the river stayed behind. The rest traveled back to the castle. The cook seemed unusually burdened, as if the sack he carried was filled with heavy, hidden stores. You stole a private moment with him to remind him of his oath.

On the day of your expedition review, you weren't surprised to see several others in attendance. You had stood at full tables before, the King, your father and various advisers, Ciaran, Wyl and Raef, even the Queen. You had sent occasional letters about your progress, yet specific questions were common at these meetings. There was also much study of the map drafts. The review was as ordinary as any other, except for your report about your visit on the opposite bank. You told no lies yet told no more than necessary. You were careful with your words, careful to raise no eyebrows. The group appeared content with your efforts and relieved that their neighbors posed no threat.

You set to your work of drawing final copies of the new maps but had little peace outside of the task. You suffered your mother's redoubled coaxing to end your travels and settle upon an eligible nobleman. Admit it. A gracious family at times gave you and your crew shelter within and near their manor. The thought crossed your mind that you might meet a tolerable man during a stay. If you did, you could involve your father in the proper maneuverings. This assumed you wished to leave your work. Even on the worst days, the wet cold, hot dry, with your neck thick and tight as a rigging rope, you did not tire of it. You wished to do nothing else. Be nowhere else. Mere thought of the dreary alternatives made you glad for your blisters and calluses.

You relied on your father's hollow torn resistance. He knew well of the King's approval. You do me proud, Aoife, and strengthen us in His Majesty's favor, said he to you once. The uncommon praise struck you like a painless blow. Your father knew his responsibility, but he deflected tradition and your mother's insistence that time was short. The day will come when she will marry and not make a boring wife, said he.

Ciaran was not yet married. For him to do so would be of no consequence, except for what all assumed he could someday propagate and was sure to inherit. He would continue in your father's footsteps. You, however, knew the repercussions of your mother's great expectations and your father's patriarchal duty.

For a while, you were valuable on your terms. You were as useful as your brother. An exception to the rule. You imagined you were secretly admired for a cunning slip from the way things were and outwardly disdained for the betrayal of role and function.

The women's
tsk-tsk-tsks
that must have trailed your mother as you freely roamed the kingdom's yet uncharted wilds. The burn she must have felt at the banquets you missed. Ciaran missed them, too, as matches were made. Each passing year, your womb empty, your life full.

You had more immediate troubles tearing you in opposite directions. There was your ungratified rut for Wyl, and his for you, and the futility you'd brought on yourselves. He was still promised to a princess. You remained the object of his attention. He was not yours to indulge or keep. You wished you had not kissed him that once. Nevertheless, you entertained the notion of making an even worse mistake.

There, too, were thoughts of the settlement and its people. Never had you felt such an immediate peace in a strange place. You thought of the dear little boy whose greeting brought you to tears. You, who strained not to shed them. The elders and young woman who met with you seemed untouched by suspicion yet were clear that you must have caution. An affection had passed between you and the young guardian. You felt a desire to return, an irrational longing to stay.

Then came the summons.

You paused when you recognized Raef 's seal in the wax. You thought his formality undue, even with your shared coldness. You two had had private conversations about matters of state before, petty issues connected to your work, but this request was worrisome. He didn't write the purpose of your meeting, but somehow you knew.

You arrived at the appointed chamber on time. Raef was already seated but stood when you entered. He eased down again, cocked his eyebrow, and dropped his bent elbows heavily on the table. Raef asked you to tell again what you had seen on the other bank. You leaned forward on folded arms and repeated your report. He reached into a pouch, set down an object under splayed fingers, and flourished his arm to his side.

One perfect honeycomb cell lay between you. One piece of the gold road.

What were you told, Raef? you asked.

A fantastic tale you must know, said he.

We'll see, you said.

So it's story time for you, said he.

Raef shouted, Enter. The cook stepped into the chamber. He bowed to each of you. Raef instructed the man to tell what he had seen. The cook told his tale, a far richer one than you had spun yourself. He told of gold roads and jewelry, of grazing meadows and fertile arables, of a tremendous mill and large smithy. He told of the kindness he was shown when he was found in the forest, and the bed where he spent his night. Through this, you kept your gaze on the cook's lowered eyes. Raef watched you with a smirk.

The cook's story became like a dream. He sat in the garden outside the house where he had slept. A little girl came up to him with a quiet smile. He greeted her with a hello. She held a ball between her palms and asked to play. The cook didn't know if this was acceptable, so he told her to go away. She placed the toy in his hands and opened her arms to receive it. They spent some time in the game. Because she had asked, he told her why he was in her settlement. When she tired, she sat on the grass across from him. The cook remarked that she wore a pretty pendant. I have it because of what I know, said she. So the cook asked what that might be. The little girl, who could have been no more than three years of age, began to tell him of a family who lived far and wide all over the world and whose members guarded a red dragon and its treasure. Every person in this family was special, and all had different gifts. She wore the pendant because of hers. The cook asked what gift she possessed. I understand you, said she. Then she kissed him on the cheek and kicked her ball down the gold road.

You faced Raef, who almost seemed moved by the cook's words. You said that much of what the cook had reported, you had not seen for yourself. You were confused by his account of the little girl's visit. The people's language wasn't your own. How could he speak with her if that was the case? You asked him to describe the pendant, although you didn't say why. The cook said the child's was gold and round, with a design he couldn't clearly see. You thought of the interpreter with her pendant. As for the little girl's tale, you said each of you had heard stories of dragons and treasures as children. No doubt she had as well, and embellished the telling to suit herself. You thought her imaginative but not truthful.

After a measure of quiet, Raef handed the gold block to the cook and dismissed him. The man clutched the cell between his hands and looked at you.

My lady, Prince Raef questioned us all. I'm sorry, said he.

I'm sorry. It was my doing that we went ashore at all, you said.

The cook bowed and left you and the younger prince alone.

What did you do to him? you asked.

In a fair exchange, improved his station. He won't die a cook. He's a steward now, said Raef.