The Mapmaker's War (6 page)

Some might think you meant only to find Wyl. Much had been made of the fact that there was no reliable map to where he was headed. One might presume you a guide. Others would have another opinion. You knew what talk would be of you and Wyl. There were speculative witnesses about you two. There was no hiding what Wyl had done for you. The tower, the boat. Some might have assumed you repaid him with more than loyal service. You didn't care much. The assumption served in your favor. Was it not amorous that you would chase after your presumed lover?

The dragon was your reason, you told yourself. Wyl was your excuse. Deep down, you acknowledged the possibility that you would somehow find him. Nothing would be familiar. No one would know you. All rules could be broken.

YOU HAD DEVELOPED SELF-RELIANCE DURING THOSE MAPMAKING years. You didn't expect the crew to tend your every need or demand. If you could lift, untie, secure, kill, gather, fetch, or handle it, you did. They offered their help but didn't insist. They respected, even admired, your tenacity.

In spite of this, you worried how you would take care of yourself on the journey. You realized you would be without the protection of the crew. Although they left you alone, you were never wholly unguarded. You secretly resented this, although it gave you comfort. You knew they concerned themselves about you, a woman alone in the company of men. They had their instructions from the King, no doubt, no doubt from others. You surmised punishments awaited them if harm or insult befell you. On the roads, you never led. In the open, when a camp was necessary, you slept surrounded. A woman can suffer greater pains than death.

The clothing you wore was meant to obscure. This you had chosen on your own to avoid undue attention. You had a cloak made with shoulders padded thick and wide. You had mannish boots on your feet for all the trudging you did. More often than not, you slipped into shirts and leggings. A prudent costume.

On the morning you left, you had your own money earned in service to the King. You mounted your strong, reliable horse. You gathered your wits and off you went to see whether a little girl had told the truth about a dragon and a hoard.

You had nothing to lose except your life.

On the journey, the connection you had to that life, and its alternatives, began to disintegrate. You had no inclination to become what every woman you knew became. A wife, mother, domestic. You didn't begrudge them their roles if they were freely chosen. Yet who can choose freely when the options are few? Yes, you supposed you could have become a matronly scholar. That wasn't barred to you. That might well be how you would have found some tolerance with your life, had circumstances been different. Had Ciaran not given a name to the drawing you made naturally. Had your father not put you in the proximity of maps drawn to organize and capture the world. Had Wyl not taken you seriously when you said what you wanted to learn. Had the King not given you a chance and found you worthy to serve. Had Heydar not accepted you as his apprentice.

Now, tell the truth. You were not so different from other women. Your life depended on the favor of men. Your freedom was an illusion that you dared to dream.

ONLY DAYS AFTER THE START OF YOUR JOURNEY, YOU STOPPED FOR A meal in a village at a busy post. It was one stop among several along a main trade route. You and another traveler sat down across from each other at a large table. Bowls of hearty stew steamed below the nods of your heads. You noticed salt in a small bowl with a tiny wooden spoon. You didn't reach over. Instead, you asked that the salt be passed. You also pointed. It was possible you wouldn't know the other's language. The seasoning came to your hand. You said, Thank you, and the person replied, in your tongue in a strange accent, You're welcome.

Another glance, and you knew. You both wore men's clothing but neither filled such skin. She had a large bag next to her, a satchel covered in dozens of pockets with buckles for closures. She asked if you were traveling far. Yes, you said. You assumed it was customary not to say too much and that your response was enough. However, she began to speak.

One carries more than a load on the roads, said the traveler.

Then she told you a tale. She knew nothing of your quest. There was no indication from your clothing, bearing, or words. Yet these are the words she said to you.

An old woman once told me a story.

Once, there was a tribe of seers who lived deep in the forest of a great kingdom. It was rumored that they possessed writings about the whereabouts of the scarlet dragon and its secrets. Although many tried to get answers, the tribe refused to share with anyone. The tribe was stricken by a terrible illness, and all died save one. She was a girl when her parents died, and because she was so accustomed to living in the forest, she never left. She rarely entered the village except to barter. She lived in her family's tidy hut all alone except for the animals who kept her company. During the day, she worked the land with her father's tools. At night, she sorted and sewed by candlelight next to the small mirror her mother once prized.

Now, it is said that the young prince hunted wild boars in that forest and came to know this orphan. As unlike as they were, they became fast friends. He made sure she was never hungry or cold, while she made sure that he always left her company with a jolly heart.

Their joy was not to last, as all joy cannot. The prince grew to be a strong young man. Soon he would leave for his quest. That was when the visions began. The orphan's dreams were filled with his blood, running thick from cuts drawn by the dragon's claws. She told him of these dreams, and he laughed. He was a valiant prince. He was destined to rule his land. If he died, it would be the will of that which was much greater than he.

On the eve of his departure, the orphan found the prince standing in an open field below a brilliant blue sky. He pointed toward the east, where the sun rises. I must confront the dragon, he said. She asked him why he had to go. Surely, she said, he could rule his kingdom without a dragon scale to place above his throne. But this was not their way.

Night fell as quietly as the strands of her newly shorn hair. She prepared for a long journey, hemming tattered garments into the morning light.

Yes, this orphan followed the prince for several months, never far from him. He never knew of her presence. And finally, one day, he came upon the dragon. He was locked in dreadful battle with the beast, trying to get a scale from its body, when the dragon knocked the weapons from his hands. Its enormous claw poised in the air. A sharp blinding flash of light pierced its eyes. It reared back and closed its cold lids. In a glance, the prince saw his friend holding a beam of light in her hand. Without another thought, he grabbed his sword, sliced through the beast's breast, and grabbed a fallen scale. Together, they ran into the forest.

He thanked her for the act that saved his life. She showed him the mirror that had focused the power of the sun. When they returned to the kingdom, he told a tale of mortal battle. He did not speak of his friend.

She was among the crowd who very soon saw him crowned. Even as King, he arrived at her door to enjoy her company. They remained good and secret friends. The orphan seer cherished his visits, for she loved him truly.

Very soon after that, the young king fell ill. The sickness was painful and grave. Everyone worried for his survival. When word reached other kingdoms of his health, strife entered the land. Many wished to claim what the King called his own.

This was not to be, the people cried. He fought the dragon and returned with his proof. His success deemed him worthy to lead. Someone is to blame.

And in his delirium on his deathbed, the young King confessed the truth. He had received help to obtain the scale. He named her name.

Armed men sought the orphan seer, captured her, and took her

before the court. They demanded the truth from her, which she

told. All gasped in horror.

He was meant to die there, a great nobleman said.

How do you know? she asked.

Because young vibrant men do not fall deathly ill at random. This was ordained. You interfered with his destiny, and our kingdom's. She said the journey itself was very dangerous. There were bandits and rogues and all manner of Nature's risks. He could have died then, but did not.

A man walked through the hall to her side. She recognized him at once, those beady eyes and strange robes. He was the Wood Wizard. I know the future and the past, he said. Where they go is my land. It is my business to watch, and, on occasion, interfere. Tell us, woman, why did you save him? Because I love him, she said.

And great nobles, why did you risk his life with the quest? Because that is how it has always been.

The Wood Wizard pulled a small pouch from his robes. He asked what had she given to protect the King. Of course, she had given nothing but her wits and concern. Then the wizard asked if she knew what the kingdom had given to ensure his safe journey. The orphan seer looked at those who judged and blamed her. She did not know.

The wizard tilted the bag and out poured gold coins, more than could possibly fit in the pouch. He caught several coins and sniffed them between his fingers.

Every life has its price, he said. I will leave this for them to spare yours, for your act was done out of love and not duty.

So the orphan seer left with the wizard. When the young King died, never knowing of her deep love, her mother's mirror shattered. The kingdom fell to greedy foes. She herself was far, far away in a new life.

You were unnerved. The story carried an echo. Perhaps of warning. You managed an appreciative smile for her gifted telling.

I enjoy the old tales. Don't you? asked she.

Most entertaining, you said.

She grasped the clothing on either side of her chest and moved her torso. You knew that discomfort. You, too, adjusted the cloth that bound your breasts when the spiral wrap twisted. Then she pulled each buckle tight on the pack. She hoisted it on her shoulder and seemed balanced in spite of its size.

Safe travels, friend, said she.

It would not occur to you until much later that the braided cord and placket on her tunic were a certain shade of blue.

YOU JOURNEYED FARTHER, STILL ALONG THE TRADE ROUTES. YOU waved at fellow travelers. You marveled at the wares at the larger trading posts. There was no point in buying or exchanging any goods, but you did look. Traders offered you weapons, jewelry, and spices. Two or three attempted to sell you red flat objects with the texture of a soft horn. Dragon scales, they claimed. You laughed. Indeed. When your horse was stolen, you didn't try to acquire a new one. You continued onward on foot.

You inquired about Wyl here and there. You described him, but not his quest. It was not so difficult to find at least one person who marginally spoke your language.

Sometimes you could determine whether someone's help was sincere. You didn't always reply the same way if asked questions. Your intent was to follow Wyl. At times, you lied to do it. Sometimes you claimed he had a debt to pay, sometimes you owed one.