The Mapmaker's War (8 page)

You understood each other much better when you weren't speaking.

The twins were conceived in this primal state, when you slept, ate, and moved like animals through forests of staggering beauty. You were not naïve but you were foolish. Mindless. Seeds need fertile ground. That is all. You thought the vomiting came because you crept ever closer to home.

You told Wyl. He didn't seem surprised. He wasn't angry. He took the announcement as an inevitability, but his response was not predictable. There was no suggestion to find someone to purge your womb. If so, you know you would have faked surprise and horror, then relented with feigned resignation. Of course, this is best, you would have said. There was no offer to place you in a remote part of the kingdom where you and his offspring would live your days in hidden comfort. As for that consideration, Wyl knew better. You were not one to be kept.

No. Wyl proposed. You protested. He was betrothed already. To break the agreement could be disastrous for the alliance with the kingdom of his bride. You gave every political reason you could conjure, each one a consequence Wyl was willing to face. You said you had not intended to become pregnant and didn't expect to marry him.

Now. Tell the truth.

You never said you didn't want to marry him or bear his children. Remember what happened. You told him of the life within. His expression was empty, then he smiled.

You will honor me with a son, said Wyl.

Not a child, no. A son. He spoke out of hope, not preternatural knowledge. You carried this hope. You carried an unborn prince. He touched your belly, and you looked into his eyes. Wyl was happy. You felt powerful, that you could affect him in this way.

Now name it. You wouldn't then.

You also felt guilty.

You, Aoife | who had anything, everything, you ever wanted from him | felt guilty for the life he'd given you because you had given him nothing in return. There was no other favor, gift, or tribute you could give to set the balance right. You had shared your body because you desired his. That was not payment. What came of the union might be.

So, you accepted. Where was your courage? You knew the word No. Instead, you rationalized that Wyl would not restrict you as another husband would. Perhaps you might continue, and eventually complete, the mapping of the kingdom. You might become a tutor for those who wished to learn the craft. Pupils from far and wide. Young men belligerent at first. The indecency done to them to have to study under you. The bad feelings wouldn't last long. You would follow Heydar the mapmaker's example. Fairness, encouragement, guidance. Perhaps, by some turn of fortune, one of the students would be a girl. You would help her. You would help her see the wider world.

Decision made, future set. Still, no peace settled within. You couldn't stop yourself from what you began to do. You knew the act was brutal. Cruel. Desperate. Nevertheless, you beat your abdomen enough to bruise. The excuse for all of this would be gone if the act succeeded. You wondered how something so loosely sown could so tenaciously root. You considered there was a flaw in your being because you felt no warmth toward that which was coming. Wyl did. His sleep-heavy hand pressed sore muscles and guarded what he'd wrought.

Then you returned to the facts of your previous lives still intact. You had been away for a year. That seemed impossible, but that was what they claimed. When you entered your old room in your father's house, all was as you'd left it. No one looked much older, other than the servants' children.

Arrangements began for a celebration of Wyl's successful quest. Before the event, he called your families together. As he wished, he announced you were to marry. Your body did not yet betray the impetus. You saw Mother overjoyed. Father elated. Ciaran confused. Raef dumbfounded. The King and the Queen mute.

This is no royal match! What blood might mix? said the Queen. You overheard her speak to her ladies-in-waiting. The forced intimacy, the assumed trust. Your fate once married.

The shocking declaration of your betrothal postponed everyone's curiosity about the quest. That did not endure for long. You and Wyl were called to meet with the Council. They wished to hear of the quest before the story was given to the people. The subjects knew Wyl was alive and well, but the custom was they would also see and hear proof of his feat.

Charming Wyl, what a tale he told. The Council hardly breathed as they listened. Such adventure and danger, most of which he had seen but had not experienced. Brave, cautious Wyl, who aided those in need, who used his wits, fists, or weapons all in good time.

You didn't challenge his story. You had no way to confirm or discredit what he had encountered before you'd found him in the forest. He didn't mention the spiral stair or mountaintop view. Neither did you.

Then the disagreement began.

He said he had seen a great hoard filled with the makings of war. There surely was a kingdom nearby with the power and men to fight a long battle, if provoked or inspired to do so. Wyl accounted the spoils. He described the craftsmanship of the weapons. He expressed his awe. He insinuated his dread.

Then you spoke of what lay among the swords and shields, the evidence of peace. Surely these were a people of remarkable skill and quiet times. What you discovered was beautiful beyond brief description. That which was functional | a pot, a cup | appeared strong and durable. They were lovely to regard, comfortable to hold. What was decorative | a buckle, a bracelet | seemed done with exceptional emphasis on beauty.

Did you see the dragon? asked Raef.

Oh, it exists, said Wyl.

From a pocket, he withdrew the prize he had found on the mountaintop. His proof. The object covered his palm and fingers.

A scale from its body, said Wyl.

Murmurs and gasps escaped the Council. You watched them lean forward and in to one another. You had touched what he held. It was a strange flattened thing that felt like a thick fingernail. Or the surface of a horn. You had never seen anything like it.

Did you see it, my brother? asked Raef.

I believe I did. A brief sighting of an enormous haunch and curving tail. Then large wings beat into flight.

Did you see it, Aoife, my soon-to-be sister? asked Raef.

I don't know. The land was strange, with queer movements of light.

Is my brother a liar? asked Raef.

We saw differently. That's all, you said.

You didn't reveal the shadow you'd seen the morning you'd left its realm. Before you followed Wyl into the margin of the trees, you looked back at the valley and mountain. Darkness fell from above like a passing cloud. You expected to see the outline of the white's inverse on the ground. Instead, a shape took form and circled on itself three times, lithe, serpentine, winged. You turned your face skyward to a hint of what you thought you saw. There was only a wafting reddish cloud. The edges were blurred. Its shape was speculative, interpretable. Show yourself, you wanted to shout. You said not a word, not then, not later.

Now you do. Now you can't contain the words.

The Council determined that Wyl had fulfilled the people's chosen feat. Soon enough, a few months later, you would learn Wyl unknowingly obtained curious evidence to corroborate what Prince Raef had seen for himself in the settlement. The beloved welcoming settlement on which he had imposed a visit while you were both away.

So, the next day, in the great hall, the people pressed together like sheep to hear Prince Wyl tell his dragon tale. The story was almost identical to what he'd told the Council. They cheered when he displayed the peculiar scale. You watched a small man spatter himself with ink as he scrawled notes. Later, Wyl's feat would be transcribed into the official chronicle.

Wyl's raised arms bade silence. As planned, he announced your wedding. He reached his hand to you. The heat of embarrassment filled you as the people muttered. Polite applause created its own modest din. He noticed and reddened. He knew they had known of the marriage promised to another. A princess. Even you understood, as well as shared, their confusion.

Wyl continued. He touted the fine service of your father on behalf of his own, the firm loyalty and sound counsel give to the King. For generations, your family had served with honor. The implication. You were good solid stock.

Furthermore, said Wyl, the woman at my hand journeyed at my side. I couldn't have chosen a more valorous, patient, and beautiful wife.

He drew your fingers to his lips and kissed them with affection. The people saw this. As you and Wyl dropped your arms, they clapped and cheered. Hail! Hail! Wyl, beloved prince, smiled and repeated the gesture. However, that time, unseen, his tongue moved against your knuckle. You had a dissonant response. Your viscera received. Your mind recoiled.

You found yourself back under your father's roof until the wedding. Your parents didn't know you felt confined. Certainly, at first, they had no idea of the confinement yet to come.

You had never felt so restless. Long walks in the forest kept you strong and occupied. There was no work to be done, no copying to complete. You realized you missed the company of your crew. At the start and end of each day, there was your mother.

Oh, this marriage will settle you nicely, Aoife. Enough of the men's business. Do as you were meant to now, said she.

To some degree, you did. You yielded to your mother's insistence. You acquiesced to repeat the past. You worked haphazard stitches on some linens. This tradition was the least sufferable. But there was no silence in the effort. Finally, captive listener, you sat as she spewed the woman knowledge for which before you'd had no time or need. Domestic details, daily, monthly, yearly. How to manage servants, guests, children, a husband. That was her hoard, poured out to you. You had no need or want of it.

You had not spent so much concentrated time in her company since you were a child. Then, as now, you were given instructions. She didn't know, in fact had not asked, what you had seen on your journey. The time alone with no demands, no expectations, you were yourself, not her daughter or the king's mapmaker. Aoife, traveler. But had she asked, that wasn't what you would have said. You would have told her so little. How could she understand?

You returned as a shame to her. Vanished! Worried me sick!

Then the announcement you were to marry Wyl. Elation! Oh, happy day!

You endured fittings in silk. She knew, as the seamstress had to pluck the stitches and expand the seams, she knew your secret. Why the limited pageantry. Why Wyl insisted you get your wish for little fanfare.

You stood mute and thought of the southwest border near the sea that you had not yet drawn. There would be less terrain to cover when you arrived. That land Wyl had given up in his exchange for you instead of another king's daughter. How arbitrary, the movement of borders and the acquisition of property. Yet there it was. Wyl assured his father this was no disaster. You were valuable because of your contact with those across the river. You came from a good loyal family.

YOUR FIRST WEDDING DAY. YOU REMEMBER BEING COLD. YOUR BREASTS crested over the bodice. You could not breathe. Despite the week's purgatives, your body fattened and threatened to rupture every stitch.

Wyl wore a dashing long coat. It was dark blue, almost black, embroidered with yellow leaves and trimmed in ermine along every edge. He also wore a simple crown. Gold, of course. He looked happy and handsome, unbearably both.

You exchanged rings and vows. You smiled as the line of guests wished you and your husband well. The feast could have fed a village for a day but stuffed a wedding party for a night. Wyl led you in the traditional dance of which you hardly knew the steps. You managed. Your dress seam gave way at the hip and midback. For the rest of the evening, you kept your right hand pressed below the waist and the veil bunched at your spine.

Each of you bade farewell to the large group who enjoyed endless food and drink. Then you went to the chambers prepared on the castle's second level. Someone had built a fire and tended it well. You heard a latch drop. Wyl stepped away from the door. He looked at you muted in the light of candles and fire. What shall come of this? you thought.

You tried to fill your lungs full and could not. Another seam ripped. A fury spread beyond your skin. You pulled the veil from your head. You kicked your slippers across the room. You grasped the bodice of your gown and ripped it away. Ripped the entire frock from your body. Naked, you were. There had been no room left for undergarments.

Wyl threw his coat on the ample bed. He had stared at you in that way before. This time, he misunderstood your actions.

What talk there will be among the servants. It's true. I cannot wait, said he.

His hands | warm, a mercy | cupped your cheek, a breast.

You glared at him with a passion not for consummation. You gathered the torn gown and threw it into the hearth. You took an iron and stoked the fire until you were certain every fiber would turn to ash.

So literal, Wyl, you said.

You knew your wifely duty. You lifted the bright crown from his chestnut hair, set it aside, and worked his buckle loose.